good, but to beat a knight?
“You underestimate yourself, my friend. You surpassed my own skill years ago. I know no better contender.”
“I don’t know…”
“Don’t worry yourself, the competition is a while off. Now let us eat.”
They made their way down the stairs and out of Ocean Mist. The city was abuzz, and as the sun set, lights were being lit all over the city. Green, blue, red, orange, purple, and yellow lights hung from every building and were stretched across every street. Children now wielded sparkle-sticks and pop balls as they ran the streets, leaving loud bangs and pops in their wake. Abram gave a teenage kid a couple coins and motioned Whill to get in a strange, two-wheeled cart. Once they were seated on the heavily cushioned seats, the boy picked up the two poles that connected to the cart and began to run. Abram gave Whill a wink.
“Beats the hell out of walking. This is a big city, and if you go on horseback, you have to worry about finding a stable. This is a nice way to get around.”
Whill sat admiring the city. “This is a beautiful place. I could get very comfortable here.”
“You might as well-we’ll be here for a while, at least until my arms heal a bit.” Abram rubbed his forearms.
After about ten minutes they had reached the middle of the city. To the left loomed the great lighthouse. Seeing it up close, Whill noticed that its surface was made entirely of pure white marble tiles that curved perfectly in intricate shapes. Between the tiles were strips of fine silver, and at the top was a glass-encased room which emanated a white light in all directions, so bright that it illuminated most of the city. It was a gift from the elves of Elladrindellia, given to the king of Eldalon more than four hundred years ago. It was rumored to have been made by elven magic and would burn eternally.
After another ten minutes of silent travel, during which Whill thought of the upcoming competition, they reached their destination. Getting out of the cart, Abram threw another coin to the driver and thanked him for the ride.
They ascended the steps of an expansive lodge. “This lodge boasts the best dining this side of the Thendor Plains, my friend. I hope you’re hungry,” Abram said.
Inside, the large room was filled with soft music and hearty laughter. Four huge pillars stood in the four corners of the great room, carved with exquisite craftsmanship. Large paintings adorned the walls, depicting naval battles of old, dragons attacking ships, underwater scenes, and various portraits. The walls themselves were made of fine oak. At the rear of the room was a window that made up the entire back wall. Through it the moonlit ocean was so still, it appeared to be made of glass itself.
Abram gave Whill a nudge. “Come, you can marvel while we sit.”
Thanks to a handsome tip to the host, they were seated at a table next to the large window. After ordering the “celebration feast,” they toasted Fendale. The wine was sweet and warmed their bellies till the food arrived, a feast of seafood fit for a king. Upon large plates sat lobster tails and shrimp, scallops and crab. There were heaping bowls of vegetables and a variety of cheeses. Fresh bread and butter and a delicious-smelling soup were set before them, along with roasted duck and snails bathed in a thick white sauce.
They ate mostly in silence, speaking only to comment on one item of food or another. They had not eaten this well in a long while and Whill savored every bite. When they were done, Abram lit his pipe and gazed out at the ocean beyond.
“It will be nice to sail again, to get away from land for a bit and feel the free wind on my face.”
Whill simply smiled as he took a long drink of wine.
“Not too much of that, or you will be in no condition to fight tonight,” Abram warned.
“You know, I had hoped to enjoy myself tonight and not worry about using my sword. We are here to relax, are we not?” Whill asked, a hint of aggravation in his voice.
“I understand, but will you not enjoy yourself the more if you win your weight in gold? Besides, there are certain people that are anxious to see you fight.”
Whill frowned. “What people? And why should they want to see me fight?”
Abram took a drink from his glass. “Lord Rogus, for instance, and King Mathus.”
“The king!” Whill exclaimed. “The King of Eldalon wishes to see me fight? How in the world would he know of me and why-?” Suddenly he sat up in his chair. “Abram, what is going on here?”
“Whill, listen. There are a great many things you do not know about yourself.” Whill started to speak, but Abram silenced him. “Let me speak. Your lineage being what it is, the king and a great many other people have a keen interest in you. I have told you of the oncoming war. Soon you will have a choice to make, a very great choice that will shape your future in ways you cannot imagine.”
Whill stared at Abram, his brow bent with anger. “What choice? For years you have kept my heritage a secret from me, and now you decide to hint about it here, in this place? What is the harm in my knowing? I am a man now. I have waited patiently for years to hear the truth from you.” His eyes burned, but Abram stared back kindly.
“I intend to tell you all you wish to know soon, very soon. Trust me, Whill, it pains me to keep such secrets, for I know that you deserve to know all that you should.” He looked out at the moon that lingered among faint clouds. “I love you like a son, and I do what I think your father would wish. I have helped you become a man, prepared you to face whatever road you choose, be it a road of peace or of war. And I will stand by you until the end of either road.”
Whill listened to Abram with a feeling of anger and relief. Tears welled in his eyes at the mention of his father, a man he had never known, a man who had not been mentioned to him in fifteen years. He had seen his father in dreams only; once he was a sailor, another time a farmer, another a knight. Sometimes he had brown hair and green eyes; other times his hair was raven black and his eyes blue. His mother too had haunted his dreams; on those nights, he had awakened with an intense feeling of loss and regret.
“I will trust you as I always have, but know that I do not demand answers only out of respect for your judgment,” said Whill. “If you say I will know soon, then I wait for the day with all my heart, for it pains me to wonder still. As for the competition, I will fight, and these people you speak of will see me for what I am.”
With that Whill rose and Abram followed him into the night. They joined a gathering crowd that made its way down Twentieth Street.
“I assume they are going to the competition,” Whill said.
“Yes.” Abram tried to keep up. Soon they reached the competition area. It was a small coliseum built against the western wall of the city. It was not an extremely large building, but it still seated more than two thousand spectators. However, only the wealthiest people or personal friends of Lord Rogus could attend. Now Whill knew how he and Abram had been allowed to watch the competition when he was eleven: Abram was a friend to Lord Rogus.
“Why didn’t you tell the guards that you knew Lord Rogus when we arrived?” Whill asked as they made their way toward the main entrance. “They would not have given us a hard time.”
“Because they would not have believed me.”
Guards were keeping a walkway clear for the distinguished guests as people tried to sneak, lie, or buy their way in. Abram led Whill to the entrance.
“Name?” the guard asked.
“I am Abram. This is Whill. He is a competitor here tonight. His number is two-seven-nine-four-eight.”
The guard looked at a long scroll for a moment, tracing his finger down the length of it. “Very well. After entering, go left to the fighters’ quarters. And good luck.”
Inside, the crowd roared as trumpets sounded the beginning of the competition. Whill and Abram made their way to the fighters’ quarters. A hall led around half the length of the circular building under the crowded seats. Soon they arrived at a great oak door. Abram repeated Whill’s fighter number to the standing guard and they were admitted to the room. The quarters, nothing more than a large room with about a dozen benches, was crowded with about fifty men who had signed up to challenge the knights. They eyed Whill and Abram as they entered. Some were fitting themselves with armor, while others practiced for the fight. There were small men and large men and a few rough-looking fellows who towered over the rest, shoulders broad as tree trunks and arms like thick branches. Armor hung from the walls. Above each set was a numbered cloth. Whill found his number and was astonished to see the armor that hung under it. He looked at Abram.
