A Mage's Power (Journey to Chaos) (21 page)

“We're getting paid to do nothing? Sounds great.”

A large grin broke out on Basilard's scarred face and he
gave Eric's shoulder a playful punch. “That's the spirit! I was gonna go
anyway, but now I'll have company.”

“I thought you didn't like royal events,” Nolien said.

“I don't, but Culmus is competing and I'm going to support
him.”

“Why?” Tiza asked, all too amused. “Does he need a lance ‘cause
his sword isn't big enough?”

Eric chuckled, then swiftly covered his mouth when Basilard
scowled.

“Stop making fun of him. He's my nephew and I won't stand
for it.”

Nolien blinked. “He's really your nephew?”

“In an obscure and round-about way.” Basilard said, “Didn't
Tsilaer talk about the guild family?”

“Yes . . . but I thought that was some silly gimmick.”

“Nope!” Mia said. “Basilard's my uncle, which makes Culmus
my obscure and round-about cousin. You know Raki, right? She's my big sister.
Leader Ridley and Captain Hasina are sisters too. Old Man Aaloon is the great
great great grandfather of many of us, including me! Esoli and Kae too, they're
distant cousins, and they're related to Retis whose related to Captain Giji, whose
related to Alf—”

“That's enough,” Basilard said, “There you have it, Nolien;
the six stages of separation.”

The healer could only stare. “That's a convoluted family
tree . . .”

They were walking, of course.

Almost everyone did; most vehicles transported merchandise,
not passengers. Roalt just wasn't big enough to make cars a practical industry.
Some rode horses and Eric, just for fun, guessed at their relationship. A human
boy passed them on a pony and by the way the boy held on by hugging the horse's
neck without even a saddle, they were probably best friends. Then there was a
man who carried reins in one hand and a rolled up newspaper in the other.

You'd think that would be illegal in this world.
Eric
saw a similarly-equipped boy ridding behind the man; a familiar boy with silver
hair.  . . ..
Norej . . .from the noble Darwoss family. Annala said they lost
power a long time ago, but apparently, they still have enough to feed their
egos
.

There were other mounts in the crowd besides horses; lizards
as big as his hand rode on the shoulders and head of a human wearing a yellow
jacket. A bull marched by with birds on his back. There were people climbing
onto a large turtle. At that, Eric shook his head.
They won't get there by
nightfall, let alone the Joust
. Then the turtle rose above the crowd and
floated at a slow and steady pace.
I stand corrected.

 If Eric had any lingering doubts about the similarities
between Ataidar jousts and Threan sports, they were vanquished as soon as he
arrived at the stadium. There were people everywhere flooding in and some had
coats of arms painted on their faces. A section of land was reserved for
vehicles and there were poles in the ground that asked for coins.

 Team Four walked past a cart with people gathered at the
back. A jar standing on the edge spouted a small flame beneath an attached
metal grill sizzling slaps of meat. Everyone had a bottle in their hand, paw,
claw, etc and more at their feet.
Tailgating  . . . they probably don't call
it that though.

At every entrance to the stadium were people selling
tickets; some behind a booth and others scalping. Basilard showed the mission
bill to the ticket counter, who waved them in. Inside, Eric smelled the
concession food before he saw the stands: grease, butter, salt, and human
sweat. It made him hungry. Everything was so reminiscent of Threa, he was both
puzzled and fascinated.

“Daylra, what year is it?”

“You don't know what year it is?” Tiza asked. In a flash,
Eric realized the stupidity of his question and his face burned.

 Basilard chuckled softly and said, “I keep forgetting
you're an Otherworlder.” He stopped in front of a concession stand. “The year
is 2000 AA. If you guys want anything, now's the time.”

“What's the year in your world?” Nolien asked. He turned to
the counter and said, “I'll have a medium soda, thanks.”

“Same: two thousand years since the last time we changed the
notation.”

Nolien paid for his drink and took a sip. “AA, either Avatar
Alliance or After Alliance; a worldwide event reaching to the fundamental
nature of our world. No one argues about it.”

The school taught him about the AA term, but his teacher
never went into enough detail for him. They explained how Ataidar was founded
around this time and that an alliance between many different organizations made
it possible. They spoke at great length about the first ruler and her struggles,
but the scope of the entire Alliance was too great for the single history class
he attended. His nine-day stay in the library proved the opposite; there was
far too much for him to take in quickly. That's why one of the books,
History
of the Avatar Alliance,
was under his arm.

Their post was a stretch of grass between the stands and the
field; front row seats, really. It was an ideal day for a game; sunny and balmy,
but clouds hovered above. Basilard sat down, took out his dirty book, and told
them to enjoy the show.

“I came to here to
guard
.” Tiza growled. She gripped
her hilt so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Not to watch men show off.”

Basilard turned a page. “There are women competing too, you
know.”

“Really?” Tiza asked.

 “Oh yes!” Nolien said, “I heard Yasoi of Raging Mountains
is favored to win 8:1.”

Tiza's grip lightened and she shifted nervously. “Well . . .
I guess I could guard until her match.”

She sat down next to Basilard. Nolien sighed and joined her.
Eric sat down next to Nolien and put down his refreshments.

“Hey, Eric!”

 It was Annala and she was wearing a dress; a simple and
cute purple one with full length skirts. She gathered them in one hand and
walked over. “I didn't know you'd be working here.”

 The way her dress fell back around her legs mesmerized
Eric.“Well . . .ah . . .you know . . .” He scratched the back of his neck in
his struggle to remember why he was here. “ . . . Mercenary.” That was the best
he could come up with. Annala giggled.

A party of trumpets blared fanfare. “Well, I'd better go.
See you after the Joust?”

“Huh? Sure! I mean . . . yeah, sure.”

He was so distracted he didn't notice Tiza snickering.

Annala left and it was like coming out of a trance.  . . .
Was
I ogling her?
The thought made him shudder. He was so comfortable around
Annala and, since she normally wore pants, he would forget he was talking to a
girl. Why was she dressed up, today of all days?

A Jouster and his partner stepped onto the field, both
outfitted in full armor. The rider's head was concealed by a helm with a
pincher claw on top. From their shoulders to their hands and feet, they wore
tournament grade plate mail. In one hand was a seven-foot lance made of oak and
in the other was a heater shield with a coat of arms: four beetle-like pincers
surrounding a flower. The horse wore a pincer helm and barding with the coat
painted on both sides. This knight-in-shinning-armor trotted to the stand to
receive a handkerchief from a fair maiden.

“The First Round of the Opening Joust shall now begin!” shouted
an official, his voice magically amplified to carry over the stadium. The
pincer helm jouster clasped their lady's hand before trotting to their lane.
The lady looked adoringly after them. Normally, Eric didn't see girls wearing
full-length dresses
or
medallions.

With a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach, Eric
realized the answer to his question.
The Joust is the biggest gathering of
eligible bachelors all year
. Eric shook his head wildly, as if he could
toss the idea out of his mind.
Annala wouldn't do that! Yeah, she won't.
She's still in high school . . .focused on that, yeah . . .She's way too smart
and independent . . .ignored all the love letters . . .
As his worries
subsided, another blow came.
What if the right one hadn't come yet!?
His
stomach turned over and twisted itself.
It would explain the dress and on a
day like this . . .
He was so lost in thought, he jumped clear off the
ground when he heard a shout.

 It was Tiza and her eyes were glued to the list field. He
followed her gaze and saw one of the jousters had been unhorsed. A team of
attendants was dragging him away while the horse followed. The winner was the
pincher-helm.

“Did you see that clash!?” Tiza shouted at Nolien. On her
face was the smile of a fan. “That guy had no idea what he was doing! Putting
the lance straight out like that. Idiot!” When Nolien covered his ears, Tiza
stole his drink and took a swig of it. “He deserved to be knocked off.”

Basilard looked up from his dirty book and asked, “Have you
seen a joust before?” Like a game canceled on account of rain, Tiza's smile
vanished behind a cloud of scowls . . . and a drizzle of fear.

“None of your business,” she said before taking another long
drink from Nolien's bottle while making a loud slurping noise. She slammed the
bottle on the ground and belched. Nolien looked at the drink and weighed the
pros and cons of taking it back. He sighed and sat back against the railing. A
sticky white projectile fell out of the sky and landed on his shoulder.

“If you insist,” Basilard said and went back to his book.

More jousters lined up to receive the favor of their damsel,
or in some cases, their dude. Though if these were the women of which Basilard
spoke or homosexuals, Eric couldn't tell because of their helms.

Jousters took their places up in the list field, two by
three. An official called out the names of the round's competitors and then rang
a gong. The jousters charged. In the early bouts, one of them would be knocked
off instantly and the winner would be declared. Tiza would sneer when this
happened and point out what the losers did wrong. Basilard would agree or
challenge her and they would debate. He never questioned her knowledge.

Every ten minutes or so, the list field would empty.
Basilard explained this was because the folks at home were seeing a commercial.
The jousters used this time to adjust their armor or drink water or fish for
compliments from their personal cheerleaders. As weaker players were weeded
out, the jousters needed several runs to unseat each other. Cheers diminished
as the jousters focused on each other. It reminded Eric of the silence on a
putting green. The Joust continued as more competitors lined up and were
knocked down. The more he watched the more Jousting reminded him of Football;
the players put on protective padding, ran at high speeds, and knocked each
other over.

Every round or two, he'd glance at the Royal Box. Aio was
many things, but not dishonest. If he said that Eric should keep an eye on the
princess, that's what he would do. Even if he hadn't, he'd still be sneaking
glances. Kasile looked even more beautiful today than when he first meet her.
Her dress and gloves seemed to be made of spun fire. Her hair was held in a bun
and she wore a gold tiara with a ruby fixed in the center. On her neck was a
gold necklace with a second ruby.

He noticed no one had asked her favor yet.

When Yasoi of Raging Mountain was called, Tiza glued her
eyes to the woman warrior. She was easy to spot as she was the only one riding
a griffin instead of a horse. On her shield were a dragon and a griffin
standing back-to-back and surrounded by monsters. When her bout ended, Eric
realized Nolien spoke the truth earlier. Yasoi's bout lasted only one round and
her opponent was knocked clear off their horse. Basilard had to drop his book
and plug his ears when Tiza cheered.

Next up was a jouster baring the crest of Stratos—two immense
grey swords pointing up and down respectively inside a flaming red border.
Basilard told Eric this was Culmus and that was his family crest. The knightly
figure didn't stop at the stands to ask for anyone's favor. However, as he
passed Team Four, he pulled the corner of a handkerchief out of his right
gauntlet. Basilard put his book down and gave him a thumbs up.
Proudly
waving the Crest of Stratos on his shield, Culmus took his place on the list
field. He won his bout and shoved past another jouster.

This one held the crest of Esrah: a silver sword and shield
crossed over red land. According to the library, Stratos and Esrah were rivals
and had been for generations.
No wonder they weren't set against each other.
Esrah trotted straight up to the royal box and requested the favor of the
princess.

Kasile arose and, to the giggling of her ladies-in-waiting,
tied a handkerchief above his right elbow. The boy trotted to the list field
and an older gentleman, bearing the same crest, noted that the one she gave him
was different from the one from last season. Kasile hid behind a fan and
demurred.

Tiza drained the last of her (Nolien's) drink. “I'm getting
a refill.”

“Eric, go too,” Basilard ordered, “I don't want her
wandering off, if you know what I mean.”

Tiza made a face, clearly disappointed, and hauled Eric to
his feet. She pulled him to the concession stand and made him save her place
while she leaned against the wall away from the crowd. When Eric reached the
front of the line, Tiza rejoined him. The rest of her ice went down his shirt.

Night came early that day. Darkness rushed the hallway in a
wave of black fog. There was a crash of metal and a bleating of horses. Someone
cursed and someone screamed. Then all abyss broke loose. Battle cries
challenged roars and the smell of blood filled the air. The hall shook with
combat and panic, but most chilling of all were the screams of pain and fear.