Erec nodded, remounted his horse. Thor mounted his, realizing he’d be up against Erec.
Thor and Erec each circled around the entire perimeter of the jousting grounds, the final loop, as the crowd roared with a great cheer, chanting both Erec and Thorgrin’s names.
The two stopped at opposite ends of the jousting field, facing each other, and the crowd went wild. Thor felt nervous to face his old friend. He was determined to fight him on his own terms, and not to draw upon any of his powers. Thor wanted to see if he could win, as one man to another, one warrior to another.
They each lifted their faceplates in a gesture of respect, Thor facing off against his old mentor, a man he was once squire to. It was a funny feeling.
A horn sounded, and the two charged for each other. Thor focused with all his might and all his will, trying to drown out the screams of the crowd. He did not want to hurt Erec, and he tried to aim his lance for Erec’s chest, where the armor was thickest. But as he tried to focus, Thor realized that Erec was different than all the other opponents he’d faced. He was faster, harder to pin down, and his custom-forged silver armor, with all of its interchanging plates, shined in the light like the scales on a fish. It made it even more difficult for Thor to concentrate.
The two met in the middle, and Thor braced himself, as he felt for the first time that day the impact of a lance on his chest. Yet at the same time, Thor felt his own lance impacting Erec’s chest. The two of them hit each other at the same time and they each went flying backwards, off their horses.
The crowd groaned as each hit the ground at the same time. It was the first time of the day that had happened, and the rules of jousting demanded that if both fighters fell, then the fight must continue.
As Thor and Erec faced each other on foot, attendants ran out and handed each one a long mace with a studded wooden ball. They faced each other and charged.
The two of them fought hand-to-hand, slashing and blocking, maces clacking on armor. Thor knew that the rules demanded that whoever hit the ground first would lose—and he was determined not to lose.
But so was Erec.
Back and forth they fought, pushing each other forward and back; memories flooded back of Thor’s real battle with Erec, when he fought for Andronicus. Thor felt overwhelmed with guilt; he lost focus, and as he did, for a moment Erec got the better of him. Erec landed several blows and Thor stumbled back, nearly falling, the crowd cheering as it seemed he was finished.
Thor shook his head and cleared his mind. He had to stay focused and forget about the past, to let go of his guilt. This was just a tournament now, not real life. If he won, he would not be hurting Erec.
Thor rallied and pushed Erec back—but then Erec rallied and pushed him back. The two of them went blow for blow, until Thor’s arms grew tired, neither able to gain an advantage. They were well-matched. That alone made Thor proud, given that Erec was a veteran knight and Thor was years younger than he.
Erec brought his mace down in one great blow, and Thor turned his and blocked it. The maces locked, and Thor held it in place, his arm shaking against Erec’s great strength. He felt that in moments he would give way. He did not want to lose, not in front of all these people. Especially not in front of Gwendolyn, whom he knew was watching with everyone else. Thor dropped to one knee, arms shaking, barely hanging in there.
Thor closed his eyes, and involuntarily summoned a power from some deep place inside. Without trying to, his magic, his true power, suddenly surfaced. He felt himself gushing with energy, a heat racing through his body.
Thor stood in one burst of energy, raised his mace, and pushed Erec’s mace so that it went flying from his hand. Thor swung around in the same motion and struck Erec in the chest, and knocked him down, onto his back.
The crowd cheered like crazy, Thor the victor.
Thor lifted his visor, reached down, and gave Erec a hand up, feeling guilty.
The crowd came running in, all converging around him to embrace him.
“What happened to no magic?” Erec asked with a smile, goodheartedly.
“I’m sorry,” Thor said. “I did not mean to.”
Erec smiled wide, and Thor could see he was not upset.
“I’m proud of you,” he said. “You are a great warrior.”
The crowd closed in, hoisted Thor high up on their shoulders, and carried him off into the festivities. A chorus of horns sounded, and casks of ale and wine suddenly appeared, rolled out onto the fields by an army of attendants. The jousting fields instantly transformed into a field of festivity. More and more horns sounded, people drank and cheered, and it was clear the day’s festivities had begun.
Gwendolyn walked through the bustling crowd swarming in the rebuilt courtyard, thrilled to finally be out of King’s Castle, done with her official duties of the day, and out joining her people in the day’s revelries. After all, it was the day of the Summer Solstice, and a day like this only came once a year. It also coincided this year with the celebration of the reconstruction of King’s Court, and with the imminent celebration of her wedding. It would be a joyous year unlike any other—especially in the wake of such a year of darkness and gloom. Her people craved any occasion to rejoice, and they now had many of them.
Gwen took a deep breath on this beautiful summer day; she was determined to leave all the darkness behind her, and to rejoice with her people. The endless affairs of court could wait; she’d seen enough people already today. And now that the jousts were done and the horns had sounded, Gwendolyn was thrilled to finally have a chance to mingle with Thor.
Gwen was thrilled to see him so happy, and she had been so proud of him throughout the day, watching all of his jousts on pins and needles, cheering with the crowd, groaning when he was hit. She never doubted that he would win; he brought honor on himself, and on her, in everything he did. Even if he had lost, she would have loved him just the same.
Gwen held Thor’s hand, and the two of them walked through the crowd to the cheers of thousands of well-wishers, as Thor led her through the parting masses and up the steep wooden steps towards the high platform overlooking the court. Thor led her halfway, and then stopped; as queen, Gwendolyn walked the final steps alone, and took the stage alone.
Thor stood below, in the front row, looking up and watching with thousands of others, Reece, Kendrick, Godfrey, Erec, Steffen, Atme, Brandt, O’Connor, Elden, Conven, Aberthol and dozens of others at his side. The crowd grew silent as Aberthol slowly ascended the steps himself, leaning on his cane, seeming much older, each step an effort. In his other hand, he carried a long, tapered, unusual yellow sword, with a golden hilt.
Aberthol reached the stage and took his place beside Gwen, and the crowd grew silent. Thousands of people watched, transfixed, as Aberthol gingerly held out the long, yellow sword to Gwendolyn. She reached over, bowed her head, and took it from him carefully, grasping its golden hilt. It was the golden sword of summer, used once a year, every year, by kings, to initiate the Summer Solstice.
Gwen held the sword out before her and stood before a huge, round yellow fruit which hung from a rope before her. It dangled there, twice the size of a watermelon, bright yellow with white sparkling nubs, dazzling in the sun.
Aberthol turned and faced the crowd.
“The Summer Solstice is a precious day,” he boomed out, his voice raspy but able to be heard in the rapt air. “A day of powerful omens. A day that portends the year to come. A day honored and celebrated by kings for thousands of years. As our ruler slashes this water fruit, it signifies the bounties of summer should be showered on us all throughout the year. It portends the blessing of a good harvest. And yet we also destroy the fruit, to signify that nothing lasts forever, and that our ultimate security comes from the almighty above.”
Aberthol nodded and stepped aside.
Gwen examined the long, yellow sword, the one used by her father, and his father before him; it felt odd to be holding it. She remembered being a young girl and standing down there and watching each year, so anxious, hoping her father slashed the fruit just right, and that it was filled with water. She, like all people, wanted a good omen for the year to come.
Gwen took aim, her heart pounding, not wanting to miss, wanting to slash the fruit perfectly, as her father always did; he had always made it seem so effortless, showering all of his subjects with the bounty of the water fruit. She wanted this to be a good year and a good harvest, especially after all the darkness they had gone through.
