Most believe the essence of my position, my title, my wealth, is the palace and the spoils but that is not the whole of it. There is a weight always on my shoulders, a duty to those beneath me, and a knife always lurking in the shadows.
But that burden is my responsibility. I rule because I must, because I am best suited. Do you disagree? Then prove me wrong.
-Harald Erling, as dictated to Leif Olander
***
Of course Leif had heard of the war games. There wasn’t a member of the aristocracy throughout Aren who hadn’t. Many friendly kingdoms sent their sons to Danaria to participate. The young men who participated were encouraged to ferocity and cunning although killing or maiming other participants was forbidden. The king didn’t want his best fighting aged males killing each other off or unable to swing a sword.
Other than that, the rules were loose and the objective was simple: take and hold the citadel by any means necessary. The boys were placed in the forest alone with limited information. Find your team and figure out how to win.
The war games tournament and ball were held to celebrate and entertain the victors.
Leif and Vigo worked their way to the tournament field and took their seats adjacent to the royal family. The celebration began with a series of friendly duels among the aristocracy.
Leif took his seat next to Vigo who sat next to Estrid. Karalee sat on the other side of her and the two of them chattered happily. Hestan came over from his seat near his father and plopped himself down behind them. “Hello friends!”
“You must be lost dear boy, your seat is back over there,” Vigo nodded his head back towards Harald.
Hestan looked back at his own seat and shook his head, “Boring. I don’t see why you all get to sit together and have all the fun,”
“I understand brother, you simply can’t go more than a moment without our company,” Estrid chuckled and patted Hestan’s arm.
“Pah! Can’t think of anything less interesting. Certainly don’t want to get too close to this old stodgy,” he slapped Vigo’s arm. Vigo just shook his head as Hestan continued, “No, what I’m really here for is Leif. Good sir, what ticket did you pull, you must tell me.”
“Which ticket? What do you mean?” Leif asked.
“Who are you dueling, man? Whose name did you pull?”
“Oh, I'm not dueling. I’m not participating.”
“What?! You’re good! Not as good as me of course, or Vigo, but very handy with a blade. Just don’t use magic. Come on! It’s not too late.”
“Wizard’s don’t participate in duels with non-mages. Not very fair.” Vigo added.
“Of course you must join, Leif! Why would you not?” Karalee’s voice swirled around and through him. He felt it like a physical touch, pulling him towards the registrants table.
“Alas, I must forgo. As Vigo said, any victory would be attributed to magic whether I used it or not.” What Leif did not add was that after falling onto Karalee in the middle of the dance floor at Vigo’s wedding, he was still trying to avoid as much attention as he could from Harald’s court. He felt his face flush at the memory of it and he shifted back into his seat uncomfortably.
“Ah, have it your way. I’ll be the only one having any fun in this group. I’m sure Magnus will put on quite a show. Can’t wait to hear Isabella retell it to us afterwards.” That earned Hestan an annoyed head tilt and a click of her tongue from Karalee.
Vigo was visibly disturbed to hear Magnus was participating, “He’s a fool.”
Karalee turned to Vigo in surprise but he ignored her. “He lacks the scruples for this. He won’t win any friends today, I assure you.” At his last word he looked into Karalee’s eyes before turning back to the field. Karalee sat, a look of anger and confusion on her face, wishing she were away from them and unsure how to respond.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine and it will all blow over quickly, my love,” Estrid squeezed Vigo’s arm.
The field was ringed by seating so all members of the court, many off the gentry, and the teams from the war games could see. The young men were cheering and singing loudly with their arms over each other. Leif suddenly wished he was one of them.
The urge to register for the tournament sparked within him again; Leif enjoyed a competition as much as the next man, and dueling moreso, but in his mind he could still hear Karalee’s dress ripping and her uncle’s jabs. He would keep quiet and focus on his training. And if opportunities came up to speak with Karalee, so much the better.
A horn sounded and Harald stood up before the crowd, “Thank you all for coming. Let’s have a cheer for our victors!”
The crowd raged with joy. Flags with house sigil’s waved excitedly, families screamed the names of their sons, while hands clapped and feet stomped against the wooden seating.
“It has been a pleasure hosting the war games and the reports from this year have been particularly entertaining. When I started the games I wished for an endeavor that would accelerate the growth of our boys into men. A trial. A coming of age. A daunting and dangerous task for the sons of Danaria to struggle through together, and overcome, alongside their friends.
“Today is a celebration of that overcoming. You have done remarkably well and now it’s your turn to enjoy some spoils and entertainment. Congratulations to you all. Now, let’s begin.”
The crowd cheered again. The energy of the place brought a smile to Leif’s lips and he clapped along heartily.
The first duelists, Oskar Valdsen, son of a Duke of Cairn and William Brockdorff, took their positions and the horn sounded. Swords clashed throughout the arena. The tournament brackets were displayed at the far end of the field but only the final few rounds, empty for now, were large enough to be visible.
As duelists won or lost their bouts, the next round of registrants cycled in. The crowd cheered with every heroic strike or parry. Leif and his group watched as Hestan stepped out for his first duel. Estrid and Karalee cheered him forward as he flashed his laughing smile and waved to them. Past the princesses, Leif saw Harald lean forward in his seat, eyes intent on his eldest son.
The judge for his match rang the bell. Hestan and his opponent, Dedrick Berge according to the brackets, touched blades and started circling. Leif didn’t recognize the man Hestan fought but the aristocracy of Aren and even just Danaria, stretched far beyond those who frequented the Danarian court.
Hestan was methodical and arrogant in his swordplay. Leif couldn’t hear his words but he could see Hestan was mocking Berge as they dueled. His blade and body danced around and between the man’s swings and lunges. Hestan finessed his lithe frame past parries and strikes. His opponent resorted to wide powerful swings, hoping to put Hestan on the defensive and to strike his blade out of the way for long enough to score a point. Hestan danced around them easily. He grazed the man three times across the leather armor covering Berge’s chest. The judge rang the bell calling for an end to the bout. He raised the prince’s arm and the crowd cheered and pounded the ground. Hestan and his opponent shook hands. Estrid and Karalee stood, clapping and screaming his name.
Hestan returned to his seat with his arms out, waving to the crowd and grinning. Harald laughed and clapped the prince on the back.
Leif begrudgingly watched as Magnus stepped out to face his first opponent. His mood soured further when he noticed how intently Karalee watched the Maedish prince.
They touched blades and their judge rang the bell. Leif glanced over at Isabella whose eyes were glued to her son. They darted over and met Leif’s just for the briefest of moments before returning to Magnus.
The Maedish prince wasted no time. He wielded his blade as if it were no heavier than a thin reed stalk. His swordplay was vaguely similar to Vigo’s. He was strong, fast and efficient.
Leif watched to see if Magnus drew on his magic but he didn’t think so. His opponent, Bernard De Boer of Danaria, actually seemed a decent swordsman - his parries and attacks were tight and clean. He didn’t overextend and kept his weight centered with each lunge.
Despite the man’s ability, Magnus parried and cut across the man’s leather cuirass three times with ease. The bell chimed. The two shook hands and Magnus walked back with a smirk towards his seat with Isabella. As he passed where Leif and Vigo sat he called to Vigo, “I wish you’d been brave enough to participate, Vigo.” Vigo didn’t respond then Magnus turned and gave Leif a wink, before he turned and gave a wave and a wink to Karalee.
Leif watched Magnus reach his seat where his mother stood and fawned and kissed his cheek, before she slapped the shoulders of the observers around her, cackling.
The duels continued. The field thinned. After a brief intermission, the final four matches commenced. Hestan was still in. So was Magnus. They moved through their opponents with far less ease than earlier but with no less doubt in their victories. In Hestan’s case, with no less arrogance.
***
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Hestan and Magnus stepped into the ring for the final. They faced each other. Magnus didn’t quite stand up to Hestan’s height although Magnus out-muscled the Danarian prince.
Cheers and energy emanated from the crowd as feet stomped and hands clapped. The effects of the ale and wine were audible; the small crowd seemed to have gotten louder the closer they got to the final.
“You know Magnus, if you win everyone will think you used magic. They probably already do. That’s why mages don’t enter tournaments with non-mages. In case you didn’t know.” Hestan pointed to where Vigo and Leif sat.
Magnus smiled, “Is that fear I’m sensing from you Hestan? Or doubt? Surely you know I’d never dishonor myself by using magic in a non-magical tournament.”
“Uh huh, well prepare to be dishonored anyway.” Hestan raised his blade. The bell chimed. Magnus slapped Hestan’s blade and moved in swiftly. Hestan sprung away. He parried Magnus’s attack and scored a point on a quick repost into Magnus’s cuirass.
“You’re slow.” They reset and tapped their blades again. “And clunky.” Magnus raced in and their swords clashed together. “Now I know you used magic to get here, you couldn’t have beaten my last two opponents without it.”
Magnus just laughed. Hestan feinted forward. He slipped his blade around Magnus’s parry and slashed deeply along the exposed side of Magnus’s cuirass.
The judge held up two fingers towards Hestan’s side of the ring. The crowd cheered.
They tapped blades again. “Just do it, Magpie. Just use your magic. You’re outmatched without it. It’s obvious.” Magnus laughed again and shook his head but his eyes showed frustration and anger.
Their blades clashed and separated three more times. Hestan was grinning, “You seem to be tiring, Magpie. You’re already slower than you were when we started. I’m sure there’s someone else you could get to step in for you. I know you have a fondness for bounty hunters.” Magnus disengaged to read Hestan’s face. To his credit his own face remained blank though he shot a glance at Vigo and Leif. Hestan just smirked.
Magnus reengaged and cut in low. He skillfully deflected Hestan’s swing then cut upwards at Hestan’s own chest. At the last moment, Hestan danced away but not before Magnus’ blade cut along Hestan’s cuirass.
The judge held up one finger for Magnus. Surprise and glee rolled through the crowd followed by enthusiastic cheering.
“Magic,” said Hestan. They tapped blades and circled again. “Are you going to lose gracefully or are you going to hide behind your mother’s skirts when I beat you?” Magnus attacked with ferocity. He swung his blade powerfully but angrily and wildly.
Hestan just danced away, “tsk tsk, Magpie.”
He heard the cheers of his sisters. He spared a glance at Vigo. Vigo wore a gluttonous look. His eyes devoured Magnus’ coming defeat. Hestan’s eyes darted back to Magnus and he smirked.
He feinted and pulled back, “magic Magnus, it’s your only hope.” He cut in. He swept Magnus' blade aside with his gloved wrist, and whipped his sword up for his final blow.
Hestan’s sword never reached Magnus’s cuirass. He was blasted backwards as his sword spun out of his grip. He tumbled end over end and stopped in a heap on the grass.
Vigo shot out of his seat. Leif and Harald followed. Estrid and Karalee screamed their brother’s name as the judge yelled, “what is the meaning of this?!”
The crowd had gone silent. Magnus walked over and slapped the flat of his blade twice against Hestan’s cuirass. Leif looked over to see Isabella smiling sheepishly as the judge spoke for all to hear, “No magic was permitted in this contest. You sir, are disqualified. The victory is Hestan’s.”
Magnus ignored him. The wizard prince pointed his sword at Vigo, “Come Vigo! These non-magical bouts are meaningless to us. Let’s give them all a real show. Let’s show them a wizard’s duel.”
Hestan pushed himself up to all fours. He was gasping for breath but he pushed out a chuckle, “I told you, Magnus.”
There was fire in Vigo’s eyes. He looked to Harald. The king’s expression was severe, his eyes were full of murder, “it’s your call Vigo.”
Vigo nodded and turned back, “You have shamed yourself, Magnus. You should be apologizing to everyone here rather than standing there like a clown. You lost. The contest is over.” He stepped down to help Hestan up.
Isabella stood up, clearly angry, “he couldn’t help it! All that power, it’s just instinct! He was just protecting himself. You can’t blame him. Come Vigo, I think a friendly match between the two of you would be wonderful.”
Harald’s voice boomed, “Quiet Isabella! Not another word from you or I’ll put your fat body on the next skiff back to Maedelund. I should have never let you defile my shores. I’m glad King Boe did not live to see what you have become.”
Isabella’s jaw opened wide and she immediately covered it with a hand. She looked back to Magnus who suddenly seemed very lost. He looked at Karalee, hoping for a sign of affirmation but her face was only fear and hurt and confusion.
“You’re not going to fight him?” Leif’s own anger at what Magnus had done to Hestan, had done to him, boiled over. He stepped down from his seat. Vigo put an arm across Leif’s chest to stop him, “Don’t.”
“If you won’t fight him, I will.” Leif pushed through Vigo’s arm as he drew his sword and stepped out into the dueling ring.
Magnus regained his composure. “Ah this will be fun. Come Leif, it’s time for your first lesson at the school of Magnus Bakken of Maedelund. I will correct any shortcomings from your Danarian education.” He winked as he said it.
The crowd looked on in silence. Leif channeled magic into his body, into his limbs. He felt his body glowing, radiating with it. He closed his eyes and felt the power pulse through him. He could destroy Magnus once and for all. Here and now, in front of Vigo, and Karalee and Harald. The throne of Maedelund was moments away. It could be his.
Leif wasted no time. He stepped up and attacked. Magnus wore a wicked smile. Leif lunged, Magnus parried. In the throes of magic, the Prince’s reflexes were almost inhuman. Leif strove to match him. He forced power into his blows. Slamming his blade against Magnus’s own. Leif feinted and parried and drew on every ounce of skill and magic he could muster.
At first, he felt that he was making progress. He felt he could match the Maedish Prince. Until Magnus spoke, loudly so everyone could hear, “Come on, Leif. Is this all there is? He slapped two of Leif’s thrusts to the side with ease. “Vigo please tell me there’s more. This can’t be all there is to show for your training? The great Vigo Salverson?” Magnus struck back. His blows were crushing. Leif’s own power only narrowly deflected them. It was just barely within Leif’s ability to react to the speed of his movements. He felt frustration snaking through him and a hint of fear coiling at the edge of his magic.
Magnus lunged forward with his blade. In the sliver of an instant as Leif brought his blade up to parry, he realized that with no cuirass, he had no protection if Magnus’ blade reached his chest. In the last instant, when the tip of Magnus’ sword had almost reached Leif’s chest, Leif twisted and parried, narrowly escaping. He forced his blade low and struck back, slapping it violently against Magnus’ knee. He let a smile creep onto his face at his small victory. His hope and determination was reignited. His magic roared inside him.
Magnus stepped back and stopped, shaking and bending his leg. “Well done, Leif. But you’ll have to be more ruthless than that to equal me. Here, let me show you.”
Leif lunged again. In what seemed to be slow motion, Magnus slapped Leif’s sword aside and stepped into his guard. He grabbed Leif’s sword arm then kicked low, sweeping Leif’s legs out from under him.
Leif slammed into the ground with a force far stronger than gravity. His head spun. The breath flew from his lungs and he gasped for air. The pressure on his body held. He would be crushed against the firm ground. He desperately tried to take a breath. The humiliation of it made the pressure feel all the heavier. Karalee was watching. He wondered if she’d care. He was an idiot. He’d stepped into the ring with Magnus to show her a victor, a hero. Now all he’d earned was pity, if anything.
Magnus stood above him. Leif’s sword arm was still in Magnus’s vice grip. Magnus raised his own blade above his head to strike down at Leif. Leif didn’t know if he was about to lose his head or if Magnus was going to rake his chest. He was vividly aware that he wasn’t wearing a cuirass. He formed a shield above himself like Vigo had taught him, but with the spinning in his head and the pressure on his chest it was weak. It flickered and sputtered. Leif didn’t know if it would stop Magnus’ blow.
A sliver of air finally trickled into his lungs. He looked up at Magnus’s raised sword. Time seemed to slow and he waited to see Magnus’s blade cut towards him.
A blur crossed Leif’s vision. It swept into Magnus’s raised sword with a violent crash. Two swords flew away from Magnus’s raised hand and clattered to the dirt. Magnus released him and grasped his own ringing sword arm in reverberating pain.
The weight on his chest eased. Leif looked back to see Vigo standing near them.
“Enough.” Vigo held his hand aloft. His sword lifted itself from the ground and raced through the air back to him. He caught it and sheathed it in the scabbard at his hip. Vigo’s eyes were locked on Magnus.
Magnus was still grasping his arm in pain and anger. He glared furiously at Vigo. “Trying to steal my victory from me, Vigo? You can’t stop me - he asked for this.”
Harald’s voice swept over them all. “Isabella, Magnus, You have shamed yourselves and shamed the name of your house. You are ill-suited to my court and no longer welcome in my kingdom. Consider yourselves uninvited. Isabella, you wretched woman, you perhaps should never have been invited in the first place. At least Magnus has a faint sense of decorum when you’re not smothering him. Leave my shores immediately in that silly boat.”
Isabella stomped in place, “I have never been so insulted in my life! My late husband would be ashamed to have called you a friend. My son was simply–”
“Silence!”
The quiet that followed Harald’s command was deafening. Queen Isabella looked as if she’d been physically struck. Leif looked at Karalee. She stood, a desperate pleading on her face as she looked at her father. It cut through Leif worse than the utter defeat Magnus had dealt him. He hadn’t wanted it to end like this. He was supposed to have bested Magnus. He didn’t want her pity, he wanted her to choose him over Magnus. Anger and hopelessness burned through him. He wished he’d listened to Vigo.
***
Later that evening, Leif swirled the wine in his goblet. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose. Aromas of cherry and black pepper filled him. They swirled through him and wove together with the music that filled the hall. Flutes and strings. The sensory flood washed over him. The formal attire he wore was stiffer than his daily clothes but not uncomfortable.
Despite the crushing and very public defeat he’d suffered, he felt a calming relief now that Magnus and Isabella were gone. He focused on the wine and the music of the room around him and hoped not to make eye contact with anyone. The war games ball was nearly as extravagant as Vigo and Estrid’s wedding feast.
“You did well, Leif.”
Leif opened his eyes at Vigo’s voice. He saw Hestan across the hall. He’d convinced the pretty young harpist to leave her harp and he was twirling her around the dance floor. “Of course, you shouldn’t have gone out there in the first place. Should have listened to me,” said Vigo, “It’s easy to become confident in your abilities when you see progress but challenging wizards who have years more experience is stupid.”
“But not for you. You’d challenge anyone.”
“I am not most wizards,” he paused and took a sip from his own glass, “you’re leaving in the morning.”
Leif looked at him in surprise. “To the Temple of Godfrey. You’re ready.”
Leif wasn’t sure how to respond but his first instinct was to argue. “I can’t leave now, Vigo, not after being shamed in front of the entire court.” Twice. Leaving now meant leaving the Danarian court after a severe and public humiliation, with no chance to rebuild his reputation. It meant leaving Karalee with her last image of him being shamed by the man she’d perhaps expected, and hoped, would propose to her.
“And yet, you shall,” Vigo clinked his glass against Leif’s with a smirk.
Or perhaps, a brief time away would lift some of the weight and shame from his shoulders. He watched as Hestan bowed to the harpist, and returned to his seat.
His mind returned to Karalee. He was enchanted by her. By his first meeting with her and every time he’d seen her since. He abruptly realized that if he was indeed to leave tomorrow, he needed to act. He took a small sip of his wine. He savored the flavors until he could identify each one individually. Then he gulped down the rest, stood, and walked towards Karalee.
She sat on the other side of the arched table. To the left of Queen Arja, and now Hestan. Despite her apparent melancholy and cloudy demeanor, Karalee’s radiance still shined through. He ached to share that glow, even if only its reflection. Leif steeled himself and approached.
“My lady.” he bowed, “Dance with me.”
“I’m so sorry, Leif, I simply do not feel suited to it tonight.”
“No woman has ever been more suited to dancing than you,” he paused. He could feel the eyes of Harald and Arja, Vigo and Estrid, Hestan and the rest of the Erling children.
Hestan looked pointedly between Leif and his sister, Karalee, one after the other, with the biggest of smirks on his face.
Karalee continued watching the dancers with empty eyes. Leif added, “My lady, you must save me from Karsten’s sisters.”
Karalee pursed her lips into a small perfect smile, “Very well, Leif.” She stood and walked to the table end, then gave him her hand.
They took their place on the dance floor. The court and the aristocracy around them were jovial. The room was swimming in warm golden light, a sanctuary against the cold night outside. He stood in line opposite her. Beautiful women in flowing gowns filled the spaces next to her but they were nothing. Their looks and their voices were dull next to her shimmering radiance. She was a diamond. She would be his diamond. The music began and they stepped towards each other. He bowed, she curtsied, then their hands touched.
They danced in silence together. The brightness had returned to her eyes for a moment when she had smiled at his joke. He scoured his mind for something clever; something to say to keep her mind off of Magnus when Karalee beat him to it, “are Katya and Saxa so bad?” Leif was encouraged that she asked it with a small smile.
“Katya and Saxa are perfectly fine. It’s only that I needed to redeem myself after our last dance.” He hesitated, then, “and you must know I only wish to dance with you.”
Karalee looked up into his eyes. She didn’t respond but he was glad he’d said it. Now he could leave and she would know. He didn’t know how long he would be gone or what the temple even entailed but in that time perhaps she would think of him. Perhaps she would look forward to his return.
They finished the dance in silence.
