Emperor Valerian
First Post
Back... moved into my new apartment. I'll get to work typing up the rest of the story as soon as I can.
Into the Icy Darkness II: The Next Generation
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Emperor Valerian
First Post
Siabrey was never one to take half measures... and this day, above all others, was stamped with this creed.
You march to kill my daughter, and burn my city! her mind seethed, You tried to kill my children, and destroy my family! Her crimson eyes caught the sight of her horse drawing itself up along the flanks of her batteline, forming a wall of steel over a mile long.
Still she waited, Kelir aloft, feelings of strength and control washing over her from her blade. He has only knights here... we must have smashed through his foot, she thought.
There is dust up the road... more foot, she heard the whisper of her blade. They do not march steady... kerns, peasants, likely, the sword dryly remarked. Siabrey did not need to glance... over a decade and a half with Kelir had taught her to trust his instincts.
“Orders!” she called, and a young squire reined up beside her. “Tell Captain Dreggo to take a hundred cavalry from the left, and ride at those people coming up the road,” she pointed with Kelir. “They’re kerns... they’ll run. He is to break them up as a fighting body, not ride them down.” They likely don’t know what they fight over... and probably want to go home to their crops.
Yes... give them a reason to run home early, without their lord’s permission, Kelir laughed lightly. Is it me, or is Erelion being a fool and drawing up his horse to charge? With Xanadu at his back... along with Vintressa’s force?
No one claimed the so called Emperor Valdemar was skilled, Siabrey thought darkly as shouts from below echoed the hurried movements of banners to form a charge-line at the far more numerous Imperial forces on the hill. Today will be a slaughter of many men...
Men you wish to slaughter? the blade’s whisper asked.
I only want the blood of one, Siabrey growled, her gaze finding the gilded form of Erelion galloping to the front, shouting commands and encouragement. Her grip on Kelir tightened slightly. Behind her, the noise of Casalad Rangers pulling back their powerful longbows creaked in her mind.
Manse looked about him in frightened confusion. Edging closer to their south was the force of city watch and Hosuehold guards, someone clad in the Empress’ dragonscale at their lead. Behind them, to the east, was an immense silver dragon... and to their front, the massed ranks of the Imperial Guard.
They are looking about too, now, Manse thought quietly, as other knights let their horses shy away from the threats. A distant column of dust came from the north, their only route of escape, shouts and panicked screams arising. The kerns... they are fleeing, Manse realized.
The world seemed to slow, as Manse saw the chaos before them was beyond their control. They were hemmed in.... a powerful host on three sides and by the shouts, another coming in on the fourth. For all I know, that is the Emperor himself! The Empress wasn’t supposed to be here!
“Knights and Bannermen! Rally!” Manse heard Erelion’s voice shouting, “Remember your oaths to your Emperor! The oaths taken on your honor this day! He who has honor and loyalty will follow his lord, even unto death!” He does look impressive, in all those gilt trappings, his sword aloft, Manse frowned.
“If you would follow me into combat, set your lances!” Erelion called.
For a moment, Manse felt his hands follow the usual routine, his lance dipping down to be set at his side and hip, his shield coming up to charge set.
What am I doing? His wife and young children came into his mind again. I am about to die, following a man who tried to murder two children! Dark thoughts arose in his mind, questions about foolishness versus honor, pride versus right. Finally, his honor spoke for him.
He dropped his lance.
Manse found he was not alone, as the dull noises of many lances dropping all about him told him that others were thinking as him. There was no honor in following a promise to an ambitious lord... there was honor in standing against a childslayer. Manse looked up, and instead of the expected sword at his throat, saw most of the knights around him had dropped their lances as well.
“What is this!?” he heard Erelion’s voice snapping, growling, shouting. In the midst of all in his mind, it sounded distant, as if on a far off hillock. He was vaguely aware of the Baron thundering up next to him, the man’s blue eyes piercing, sharp and angry. “You!? All of you!” The man spat at Manse, before swinging his horse around. “Those of you not craven, follow me! For death, and glory!”
So you chose death above honor... Manse thought as half of the lances lowered, and thundered up the hill, banners streaming in the twilight...
“I believe I require your sword, sir,” a dark, forbidding voice spoke to Manse only a half hour later. It was the person in dragonscale, close and foreboding. Curiously, the steel titan did not raise a katana or hand and a half sword to Manse’s throat, but a pink rapier.
“I yield, Sir Knight,” Manse said, raising his hands, “as do my men and these others.” Around him milled some ten thousand other knights, the Household Guard and other Imperial troops now in their midst, collecting trinkets from the dead, and taking weapons from the living.
Erelion’s last charge had been a farce. Before it was headed out at any decent speed, the fire from the Empress’ rangers slaughtered their ranks. What arrows did not finish, massed spearpoints and a dragon in their rear completed merely minutes later. Manse for a second had thought he could see a gilt set of armor lying amongst the dead, but this too vanished into the pile of soon to be festering corpses.
“You will be subject to the Emperor’s justice, milord,” the helmed man continued. “Should you be found treasonous, you will be hanged. Should milord father have mercy on you, you shall live, forever swearing your fealty to him.”
Milord father? This is...
THe helm lifted, and a clump of matted blonde hair looked at him. He was slightly taken aback at seeing here the same face he saw the night Haldris’ troops were driven away.
You march to kill my daughter, and burn my city! her mind seethed, You tried to kill my children, and destroy my family! Her crimson eyes caught the sight of her horse drawing itself up along the flanks of her batteline, forming a wall of steel over a mile long.
Still she waited, Kelir aloft, feelings of strength and control washing over her from her blade. He has only knights here... we must have smashed through his foot, she thought.
There is dust up the road... more foot, she heard the whisper of her blade. They do not march steady... kerns, peasants, likely, the sword dryly remarked. Siabrey did not need to glance... over a decade and a half with Kelir had taught her to trust his instincts.
“Orders!” she called, and a young squire reined up beside her. “Tell Captain Dreggo to take a hundred cavalry from the left, and ride at those people coming up the road,” she pointed with Kelir. “They’re kerns... they’ll run. He is to break them up as a fighting body, not ride them down.” They likely don’t know what they fight over... and probably want to go home to their crops.
Yes... give them a reason to run home early, without their lord’s permission, Kelir laughed lightly. Is it me, or is Erelion being a fool and drawing up his horse to charge? With Xanadu at his back... along with Vintressa’s force?
No one claimed the so called Emperor Valdemar was skilled, Siabrey thought darkly as shouts from below echoed the hurried movements of banners to form a charge-line at the far more numerous Imperial forces on the hill. Today will be a slaughter of many men...
Men you wish to slaughter? the blade’s whisper asked.
I only want the blood of one, Siabrey growled, her gaze finding the gilded form of Erelion galloping to the front, shouting commands and encouragement. Her grip on Kelir tightened slightly. Behind her, the noise of Casalad Rangers pulling back their powerful longbows creaked in her mind.
Manse looked about him in frightened confusion. Edging closer to their south was the force of city watch and Hosuehold guards, someone clad in the Empress’ dragonscale at their lead. Behind them, to the east, was an immense silver dragon... and to their front, the massed ranks of the Imperial Guard.
They are looking about too, now, Manse thought quietly, as other knights let their horses shy away from the threats. A distant column of dust came from the north, their only route of escape, shouts and panicked screams arising. The kerns... they are fleeing, Manse realized.
The world seemed to slow, as Manse saw the chaos before them was beyond their control. They were hemmed in.... a powerful host on three sides and by the shouts, another coming in on the fourth. For all I know, that is the Emperor himself! The Empress wasn’t supposed to be here!
“Knights and Bannermen! Rally!” Manse heard Erelion’s voice shouting, “Remember your oaths to your Emperor! The oaths taken on your honor this day! He who has honor and loyalty will follow his lord, even unto death!” He does look impressive, in all those gilt trappings, his sword aloft, Manse frowned.
“If you would follow me into combat, set your lances!” Erelion called.
For a moment, Manse felt his hands follow the usual routine, his lance dipping down to be set at his side and hip, his shield coming up to charge set.
What am I doing? His wife and young children came into his mind again. I am about to die, following a man who tried to murder two children! Dark thoughts arose in his mind, questions about foolishness versus honor, pride versus right. Finally, his honor spoke for him.
He dropped his lance.
Manse found he was not alone, as the dull noises of many lances dropping all about him told him that others were thinking as him. There was no honor in following a promise to an ambitious lord... there was honor in standing against a childslayer. Manse looked up, and instead of the expected sword at his throat, saw most of the knights around him had dropped their lances as well.
“What is this!?” he heard Erelion’s voice snapping, growling, shouting. In the midst of all in his mind, it sounded distant, as if on a far off hillock. He was vaguely aware of the Baron thundering up next to him, the man’s blue eyes piercing, sharp and angry. “You!? All of you!” The man spat at Manse, before swinging his horse around. “Those of you not craven, follow me! For death, and glory!”
So you chose death above honor... Manse thought as half of the lances lowered, and thundered up the hill, banners streaming in the twilight...
“I believe I require your sword, sir,” a dark, forbidding voice spoke to Manse only a half hour later. It was the person in dragonscale, close and foreboding. Curiously, the steel titan did not raise a katana or hand and a half sword to Manse’s throat, but a pink rapier.
“I yield, Sir Knight,” Manse said, raising his hands, “as do my men and these others.” Around him milled some ten thousand other knights, the Household Guard and other Imperial troops now in their midst, collecting trinkets from the dead, and taking weapons from the living.
Erelion’s last charge had been a farce. Before it was headed out at any decent speed, the fire from the Empress’ rangers slaughtered their ranks. What arrows did not finish, massed spearpoints and a dragon in their rear completed merely minutes later. Manse for a second had thought he could see a gilt set of armor lying amongst the dead, but this too vanished into the pile of soon to be festering corpses.
“You will be subject to the Emperor’s justice, milord,” the helmed man continued. “Should you be found treasonous, you will be hanged. Should milord father have mercy on you, you shall live, forever swearing your fealty to him.”
Milord father? This is...
THe helm lifted, and a clump of matted blonde hair looked at him. He was slightly taken aback at seeing here the same face he saw the night Haldris’ troops were driven away.
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Emperor Valerian
First Post
Um... no. Its just graduate school and planning another campaign have started to interfere. I'll try to get a final update up... soon. *crosses fingers*
Emperor Valerian
First Post
“Isn’t this exciting?” Vintressa rolled her eyes and sighed. The soft breeze that wafted through the wood and daub structure underneath her did not stir her long blonde hair, so tight were the curls pinned by silver and jade brooches. She shifted uneasily in the ornate wooden chair she was forced to sit in. The canopy overhead kept the sun from her, at least that was a minor blessing.
“Very,” Raven gave an exaggerated nod. “Knightly tourneys are my favorite,” she sighed, before adding, “I wish Valaron was here. He’d be able to explain to me the points and all.” Raven hadn’t sat through any major tournaments before, despite the fact that St. Valerian’s Square in Iskeldrun was cleared every year on Vintressa and Valaron’s birthday for a series of tourneys of magic and swords.
“And drool over you,” Vintressa gave a wry grin at her friend. Raven wore a courtly dress worthy of a duchess, jeweled necklaces around her neck and a small tiara of diamonds on her head. A twin to the princess’ outfit. “I still don’t know why he was so stubborn.” Vintressa crossed her arms, thinking of her brother’s anger earlier that day.
“He wanted to come on his terms,” Raven said, “Not your parents terms. I didn’t mind him entering the lists... I don’t know why your father had such issue. Valaron is a prince, after all.” And since the Crossroads Battle, he’s been practicing with lances as much as his katana...goaded on my his sister’s success, I suppose...
“They’re worried about him getting hurt, that’s all,” Vintressa sighed, “Imperial Tourney or not, his birthday or not, Father felt it best that he not enter. Imagine if he got injured, Raven.” Vintressa nodded politely to a duchess next to her, and the woman twittered happily when the Crown Princess acknowledged her presence. “Besides, he wants to fight like my mother... and plate-mail and broadswords are not a part of that. He needs speed to fight that way... and one can’t move fast in a steel suit.”
“Maybe he’s trying to learn another fighting style?” Raven offered, and Vintressa shrugged.
“Maybe. Don’t know. Mother tells me he spars better than her now... but don’t tell him that. He’ll get full of himself,” she said with a smile.
Raven gave a smirk. “Let him get a cut on his cheek again... could do him some good! You know he still complains about that?” she said in a mock huff. The twinkle in her eyes showed she really thought it was funny. “He can be slightly craven sometimes, when he spars,” she grinned. They sparred often but rarely practiced... the sparring rooms in the armory were the easiest way to get away from prying eyes for a few hours.
“I can only imagine. You’ve dealt with him extensively for a year... I’ve had seventeen years of his bravery and complaining,” she grinned herself. She looked up from her friend in time to see this new list of knights lined up on the far side of the field, lances held high, waiting for her signal to begin. She gave another sigh. “I guess we should begin.”
Raven nodded, and stood beside her friend as Vintressa cleared her throat. Conversations under the noble’s canopy died away, and a hush came over the common crowd... until the commoners saw it who it was that was standing. Cheers broke out, and Vintressa had to endure a few minutes of approval before she could motion the crowd for silence. The commons liked their heroines, and some of the songs that bards sang about her and Raven on that day a year ago made her blush.
The ‘Young Dragon,’ they called her, ever since the battle at the crossroads. All of her life she thought it would be Valaron that would’ve gotten such a title, not her. And she teased him about it whenever she could. She had no doubt that he’d earn more nicknames by the time it was all said and done, but for this once, she was known as a warrior in higher esteem than him.
“Lords and Ladies, both great and small, it is my pleasure to welcome these fine knights to this grand tourney, celebrating the birth of His Majesty’s heirs some seventeen years ago!” The commons broke into cheers, despite the rehearsed status of the words, and chants of ‘Dragon’ rang in the air. “My Lords, please, come and be recognized, before the snap of lances shall determine who among you is worthy of being named champion!”
As Raven and Vintressa stood, the thirty knights rode past, each stopping as a herald announced his name. Some were old familiars... Count Mychilis Argyl had been in every year of this tourney since its inception. Most were names that neither Vintressa nor Raven knew. Some of the knights stopped during their parade in front of the noble canopy, dipping their lances so their ladies could attach some token of favor.
“Chivalry rubbish,” Vintressa said quietly. “Why am I here anyways?”
“Your Father said the commons and knights would appreciate looking at two beautiful women in the Lordly Seat at the tourney instead of a weary old man,” Raven repeated what the Emperor had said, verbatim. “Besides, the city folk still cheer for you like a hero... they saw the firebrands coming towards them a year ago too.”
“Father isn’t old,” Vintressa whispered sourly as a knight took a rather long time to gain a token from his love. The woman was rather tipsy, and his lance was too high for her. “He thought this was boring. He hates tourneys, and I can’t believe he tricked me into officiating,” she hissed. He’s probably altered his appearance, and is laughing in the crowd incognito!
“Perhaps it becomes more exciting after the pageantry turns into a contest of blades?” Raven whispered hopefully as the next knight in line, one Sir Joyus Marbal, leaned his lance over to a woman two seats down from Raven. The young maid gave a blushing giggle, and attached a green scarf to his lance. “I think the trinket bit is rather romantic.”
“You would,” Vintressa replied as the line of knights thinned out. “Thank god Royukgan thinks this is all rubbish like I do. I’m so happy he didn’t get it into his head to enter the lists!”
“I would think it funny. Val has only been teaching him to tilt for what... three months?” Raven laughed. “He’d probably do at least two cartwheels before he landed on the ground after getting-“ She stumbled to a halt, as the blunt head of a tourney lance hung only a few inches in front of her.
“Milady, may I have a token of your honor?” a muffled man’s voice asked. His greathelm was plain, his tunic, shield and horse only bore a blue and orange checkered pattern. Desperately, Raven tried to think of his name, only to realize she’d been so busy talking with Vintressa, that she hadn’t caught it.
“I...um... Lord...” she stuttered in embarrassment at not knowing his name, “I am already spoken for.” Val would go insane if he caught me doing something like that!
“Milady, your beauty is so great that I have little care who this man is. Let me have a merest token, to speed my steed and set my lance true!” the knight pressed. Raven looked nervously towards Vintressa, who had a rather triumphant look on her face and her arms crossed.
“Not so romantic now, is it?” she asked with a raise eyebrow, before turning suddenly to the knight. “Sir Boros,” she repeated the announced name, “she is not spoken for. Lady Raven is merely shy,” Vintressa grinned evilly, turning back to Raven. “Go ahead. Give him a token. It’ll teach Val to be a craven stubborn idiot to ditch us here since he can’t enter the lists!”
Reluctantly, Raven took her decorative belt, green with yellow and forest patterns, and wrapped it tight around the lance. “My lord, this belt is new. I expect it to not touch the ground,” she said. If it comes back ruined, Sir Boros, I am going to expect you to replace it!
“Thank you, my lady. I ride with your honor spurring my steed,” he said gallantly. As he turned his horse to ride further down, Raven blushed a deeper shade of red, as Vintressa rolled her eyes.
“...Your honor spurring my steed!” Vintressa groaned. “He’s hoping to spur you into his tent!”
“Don’t remind me,” Raven sat down morosely. “What on earth do I tell Val?”
“The truth. You didn’t have a champion at the tourney, and he was being a baby for not showing up, so I urged you to pick that man. If Boros does anything craven, he’ll answer to me,” Vintressa said, gesturing towards the familiar rapier beside her seat. Heart’s Rose had a few more nicks than a year ago, but still was in excellent condition. The Princess put her hands on her hips triumphantly, only to see Raven start to giggle.
“Um... Vintressa?” Raven pointed between snorts.
Another plain-helmed knight was holding his plain wooden lance out to her. In the midst of the pomp and finery, the poor fellow seemed homely. He sat poorly on his saddle, his steed lacked cloth covers to display any crests, and his shield was plain steel... there were no crests to display.
“My... Lady... um...may...I have...” a voice stumbled in a familiar accent. Vintressa’s face turned deep crimson.
“Royukgan!” she shouted, confusion in her voice.
“Yes... milady,” a sheepish voice admitted. The helm popped off, and the young prince’s face appeared. “Val told me I should tilt to gain experience, and since all the other knights were claiming tokens, I thought I’d request one from you.” His head went down slightly. “If I embarrassed you, I’m sorry.”
Vintressa seemed stunned, not sure what to think of the sight before her. The young prince did not even have a knightly longsword at his side... instead he had his two sai clinking against his half-plate. My poor beau... he’s going to be dismounted on his first tilt...
She smiled, and walked to the railing that kept her from falling onto the tourney field. “Come closer, and I’ll give you my token,” she said softly. Royukgan rather awkwardly moved the charger closer. Vintressa suddenly leaned out, and kissed him fervently on the lips.
Cheers erupted from the commons, as to be expected. Above their roar, Vintressa gave him a heart-breaking smile. “That is my token to you. Remember what Val taught you, and whatever happens... I’m very pleased with you,” she winked. Royukgan’s smile made it apparent his blood was up, and he felt he could take on the world. With aplomb, he closed his visor, and spurred his horse off... almost into the lists, before he awkwardly pulled the reins back.
“He is definitely going to fall on his first run,” Raven said softly. “I can see that as clearly as I can see the palace next to us.”
Raven was still wincing from the crash, as splinters went up. Royukgan, to her surprise, was still mounted, leaning back awkwardly in his mount, his lance broken. His opponent, the same Sir Marbal, was laying in the dirt, his horse galloping away. She saw Royukgan sit up in the saddle, and slovenly turn his horse around, cantering to where the fallen man lay. He climbed down, rather awkwardly, and said something to his opponent, before he mounted again.
“Um...” she heard Vintressa say. “That’s his second victory. Um... who does he face now?”
Raven jogged her memory of the arranged matches, and calmly replied, “The winner of the match between Sir Boros and Sir Albrecht Manse, I believe.”
“Manse?” Vintressa’s eyebrow raised. “Wasn’t he one of Erelion’s dogs last year?” She wasn’t sure why the name stuck out... Erelion had dragged some fifty houses behind him in his scheme. Many had been ruined... after Earl Bearsans death at The Crossroads, his earldom had been taken into the direct custody of the Imperial family.
Erelion himself had fallen prey to the Emperor’s rage. Vintressa knew that her father rarely completely lost his temper... but when Erelion’s trial came a few months after his failed coup, she had witness such a fearsome explosion.
That’s why I remember Manse’s name. He spoke against his liege lord, Baron Erelion, at his trial. Said the Baron was hellbent on burning down the city, and slaughtering those inside. She shuddered on hearing those details, despite having seen Erelion gathering his mangonels, bombards and scorpions to pummel the city.
He sealed Erelion’s fate.
Executions were more rare under the reign of Lucius II... but Erelion and several of his more infamous compatriots were huge exceptions to this rule. Erelion’s family was removed from their estates, and sent to exile in the far north, beyond even the Empire’s furthest borders... while Baron Valdemar himself found the hangman’s noose less inviting than an Emperor’s crown.
“He was the only decent one of the bunch, it seems,” Raven spoke, jostling Vintressa from her memory. “Haldarman was incompetent, Yoren was craven, most of them looted and abused during their march. Manse was one of a few that I know of, at least, that didn’t do any of that.”
“He sounds like he might actually be chivalrous,” Vintressa said dryly, watching with well-hidden delight as the methodical Sir Boros unhorsed Manse in one easy run. The delight turned to concern when she realized that Boros would be facing her Royukgan.
He’s utterly methodical... just like Val in the practice turns. He sits on his mount perfectly, he aims his lance true, he spurs his horse at just the right time. Her heart sank. He’s like a clockwork machine... he moves exactly the same each time... poor Royukgan!
She had to sit through several minutes of agonizing ceremony as the two final riders were presented, and trotted down the course lances high in salute as they passed each other.
“He’s going to get pummeled,” Vintressa said softly. “I don’t want him to be pummeled...”
“He’s done well, Vin,” she heard her friend say encouragingly. “I don’t think he’ll get pummeled... Sir Methodical is going to get a run for his money.” By her eyes, Vintressa guessed that Raven didn’t think Royukgan could win either. “I’m hoping your prince knocks down that man. He’s already had my belt fall when his lance broke!”
It’ll be easier to unspur his eagerness for you too... Vintressa thought.
The tension built as the two took positions on opposite ends of the course, squires tending to them and their mounts. While Sir Boros sat perfectly on his steed, lance and shield set, Royukgan sat sloppily again, his lance waving as he struggled to hold it.
“Stop toying around, love,” Vintressa whispered, as if he could hear her thoughts. “Sir Boros is serious... he’ll hurt you if you are even the slightest bit off!” The Princess looked down, and realized she was rubbing her hands together as if it was cold. She could feel nervous beads of sweat form on her forehead, as if she had her mother’s greathelm on once again.
An eternity seemed to pass by, until the master’s flag flashed downward. The two horses screeched, iron spurs hard in their flanks, and they charged forward, two masses of steel hurtling towards each other. Both lances dipped, reaching out towards their opponent.
Then, suddenly, they both raised high into the air, as both knights thundered by each other without touching. A dull rumble of boos drifted down from the commons, who had been eager to see their patron... they had been refering to Royukgan as “Sir Drunk,” in their chants, versus the so far unblemished Sir Boros.
Vintressa gave a sigh of relief... the two had refused to match lances, and the contest was a draw. No doubt Boros saw how sloppily Royukgan was riding, and felt sorry for him... or that he wasn’t worthy of tilting. The two turned their steeds and rode to in front of the noble canopy.
“Princess!” Royukgan shouted rather joyfully, lowering his lance with one arm and ripping his helm off with the other. His dark skin was matted close to his face from sweat, though a massive grin covered his face. “Can you believe it! I unhorsed two people!” He was clearly pleased with himself. Vintressa was merely relieved he was unhurt, showering him with grateful kisses... which the commons loved.
“Sir Boros?” Raven stood as the knight sat before her. “I believe you have a sash that belongs to your lady.” I am not spoken to you. Hand it back!
“Milady, you would break a knight’s heart?” a muffled voice said from within the helm barely heard above the roar of the crowd. Raven was no coward, and shook her head yes. “Well then,” she heard him sigh, “you shall not have this back unless you grant me one request after I remove my helm.”
Who does he think he IS? Raven thought about viciously screeching at him, giving him a piece of her mind. Are you that desperate, boy?
“That depends on the request,” she replied rather sharply. “I can grant some, but not others.” I will not warm your tent! Her anger grew when she heard the knight laughing inside his helm. “Take off your helmet, so I can know who is mocking me!” she snarled over the din. “I shall have you no that Prince Valeron has spoken for me, you stupid twit!”
The knight gave a nod, and motioned for her to come to the railing. She complied, if only to be close enough to slap the man. He reached down, and a handsome face emerged into the sunlight, red hair clinging to his copper skin from sweat.
“Can I make my request?” Val asked, his eyes laughing as Raven’s jaw dropped. The crowds cheering was still going on, and he missed the words that leapt from Raven’s mouth. The statement was short, and by the way her mouth moved, it looked like his name.
“Raven, would you like to receive a crown on your head?” he yelled over the noise and shouts for “Sir Drunk!” and “Young Dragon!” He wanted to laugh as he watched her stammer a reply, before he heard her shout of, “yes!” in reply.
They locked lips, amidst the din of the commons cheering. Behind the two lovers, Royukgan pranced around on his mount, Vintressa laughing, as the commons chanted for him.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
There's the end to the story
I hope everyone enjoyed it!
“Very,” Raven gave an exaggerated nod. “Knightly tourneys are my favorite,” she sighed, before adding, “I wish Valaron was here. He’d be able to explain to me the points and all.” Raven hadn’t sat through any major tournaments before, despite the fact that St. Valerian’s Square in Iskeldrun was cleared every year on Vintressa and Valaron’s birthday for a series of tourneys of magic and swords.
“And drool over you,” Vintressa gave a wry grin at her friend. Raven wore a courtly dress worthy of a duchess, jeweled necklaces around her neck and a small tiara of diamonds on her head. A twin to the princess’ outfit. “I still don’t know why he was so stubborn.” Vintressa crossed her arms, thinking of her brother’s anger earlier that day.
“He wanted to come on his terms,” Raven said, “Not your parents terms. I didn’t mind him entering the lists... I don’t know why your father had such issue. Valaron is a prince, after all.” And since the Crossroads Battle, he’s been practicing with lances as much as his katana...goaded on my his sister’s success, I suppose...
“They’re worried about him getting hurt, that’s all,” Vintressa sighed, “Imperial Tourney or not, his birthday or not, Father felt it best that he not enter. Imagine if he got injured, Raven.” Vintressa nodded politely to a duchess next to her, and the woman twittered happily when the Crown Princess acknowledged her presence. “Besides, he wants to fight like my mother... and plate-mail and broadswords are not a part of that. He needs speed to fight that way... and one can’t move fast in a steel suit.”
“Maybe he’s trying to learn another fighting style?” Raven offered, and Vintressa shrugged.
“Maybe. Don’t know. Mother tells me he spars better than her now... but don’t tell him that. He’ll get full of himself,” she said with a smile.
Raven gave a smirk. “Let him get a cut on his cheek again... could do him some good! You know he still complains about that?” she said in a mock huff. The twinkle in her eyes showed she really thought it was funny. “He can be slightly craven sometimes, when he spars,” she grinned. They sparred often but rarely practiced... the sparring rooms in the armory were the easiest way to get away from prying eyes for a few hours.
“I can only imagine. You’ve dealt with him extensively for a year... I’ve had seventeen years of his bravery and complaining,” she grinned herself. She looked up from her friend in time to see this new list of knights lined up on the far side of the field, lances held high, waiting for her signal to begin. She gave another sigh. “I guess we should begin.”
Raven nodded, and stood beside her friend as Vintressa cleared her throat. Conversations under the noble’s canopy died away, and a hush came over the common crowd... until the commoners saw it who it was that was standing. Cheers broke out, and Vintressa had to endure a few minutes of approval before she could motion the crowd for silence. The commons liked their heroines, and some of the songs that bards sang about her and Raven on that day a year ago made her blush.
The ‘Young Dragon,’ they called her, ever since the battle at the crossroads. All of her life she thought it would be Valaron that would’ve gotten such a title, not her. And she teased him about it whenever she could. She had no doubt that he’d earn more nicknames by the time it was all said and done, but for this once, she was known as a warrior in higher esteem than him.
“Lords and Ladies, both great and small, it is my pleasure to welcome these fine knights to this grand tourney, celebrating the birth of His Majesty’s heirs some seventeen years ago!” The commons broke into cheers, despite the rehearsed status of the words, and chants of ‘Dragon’ rang in the air. “My Lords, please, come and be recognized, before the snap of lances shall determine who among you is worthy of being named champion!”
As Raven and Vintressa stood, the thirty knights rode past, each stopping as a herald announced his name. Some were old familiars... Count Mychilis Argyl had been in every year of this tourney since its inception. Most were names that neither Vintressa nor Raven knew. Some of the knights stopped during their parade in front of the noble canopy, dipping their lances so their ladies could attach some token of favor.
“Chivalry rubbish,” Vintressa said quietly. “Why am I here anyways?”
“Your Father said the commons and knights would appreciate looking at two beautiful women in the Lordly Seat at the tourney instead of a weary old man,” Raven repeated what the Emperor had said, verbatim. “Besides, the city folk still cheer for you like a hero... they saw the firebrands coming towards them a year ago too.”
“Father isn’t old,” Vintressa whispered sourly as a knight took a rather long time to gain a token from his love. The woman was rather tipsy, and his lance was too high for her. “He thought this was boring. He hates tourneys, and I can’t believe he tricked me into officiating,” she hissed. He’s probably altered his appearance, and is laughing in the crowd incognito!
“Perhaps it becomes more exciting after the pageantry turns into a contest of blades?” Raven whispered hopefully as the next knight in line, one Sir Joyus Marbal, leaned his lance over to a woman two seats down from Raven. The young maid gave a blushing giggle, and attached a green scarf to his lance. “I think the trinket bit is rather romantic.”
“You would,” Vintressa replied as the line of knights thinned out. “Thank god Royukgan thinks this is all rubbish like I do. I’m so happy he didn’t get it into his head to enter the lists!”
“I would think it funny. Val has only been teaching him to tilt for what... three months?” Raven laughed. “He’d probably do at least two cartwheels before he landed on the ground after getting-“ She stumbled to a halt, as the blunt head of a tourney lance hung only a few inches in front of her.
“Milady, may I have a token of your honor?” a muffled man’s voice asked. His greathelm was plain, his tunic, shield and horse only bore a blue and orange checkered pattern. Desperately, Raven tried to think of his name, only to realize she’d been so busy talking with Vintressa, that she hadn’t caught it.
“I...um... Lord...” she stuttered in embarrassment at not knowing his name, “I am already spoken for.” Val would go insane if he caught me doing something like that!
“Milady, your beauty is so great that I have little care who this man is. Let me have a merest token, to speed my steed and set my lance true!” the knight pressed. Raven looked nervously towards Vintressa, who had a rather triumphant look on her face and her arms crossed.
“Not so romantic now, is it?” she asked with a raise eyebrow, before turning suddenly to the knight. “Sir Boros,” she repeated the announced name, “she is not spoken for. Lady Raven is merely shy,” Vintressa grinned evilly, turning back to Raven. “Go ahead. Give him a token. It’ll teach Val to be a craven stubborn idiot to ditch us here since he can’t enter the lists!”
Reluctantly, Raven took her decorative belt, green with yellow and forest patterns, and wrapped it tight around the lance. “My lord, this belt is new. I expect it to not touch the ground,” she said. If it comes back ruined, Sir Boros, I am going to expect you to replace it!
“Thank you, my lady. I ride with your honor spurring my steed,” he said gallantly. As he turned his horse to ride further down, Raven blushed a deeper shade of red, as Vintressa rolled her eyes.
“...Your honor spurring my steed!” Vintressa groaned. “He’s hoping to spur you into his tent!”
“Don’t remind me,” Raven sat down morosely. “What on earth do I tell Val?”
“The truth. You didn’t have a champion at the tourney, and he was being a baby for not showing up, so I urged you to pick that man. If Boros does anything craven, he’ll answer to me,” Vintressa said, gesturing towards the familiar rapier beside her seat. Heart’s Rose had a few more nicks than a year ago, but still was in excellent condition. The Princess put her hands on her hips triumphantly, only to see Raven start to giggle.
“Um... Vintressa?” Raven pointed between snorts.
Another plain-helmed knight was holding his plain wooden lance out to her. In the midst of the pomp and finery, the poor fellow seemed homely. He sat poorly on his saddle, his steed lacked cloth covers to display any crests, and his shield was plain steel... there were no crests to display.
“My... Lady... um...may...I have...” a voice stumbled in a familiar accent. Vintressa’s face turned deep crimson.
“Royukgan!” she shouted, confusion in her voice.
“Yes... milady,” a sheepish voice admitted. The helm popped off, and the young prince’s face appeared. “Val told me I should tilt to gain experience, and since all the other knights were claiming tokens, I thought I’d request one from you.” His head went down slightly. “If I embarrassed you, I’m sorry.”
Vintressa seemed stunned, not sure what to think of the sight before her. The young prince did not even have a knightly longsword at his side... instead he had his two sai clinking against his half-plate. My poor beau... he’s going to be dismounted on his first tilt...
She smiled, and walked to the railing that kept her from falling onto the tourney field. “Come closer, and I’ll give you my token,” she said softly. Royukgan rather awkwardly moved the charger closer. Vintressa suddenly leaned out, and kissed him fervently on the lips.
Cheers erupted from the commons, as to be expected. Above their roar, Vintressa gave him a heart-breaking smile. “That is my token to you. Remember what Val taught you, and whatever happens... I’m very pleased with you,” she winked. Royukgan’s smile made it apparent his blood was up, and he felt he could take on the world. With aplomb, he closed his visor, and spurred his horse off... almost into the lists, before he awkwardly pulled the reins back.
“He is definitely going to fall on his first run,” Raven said softly. “I can see that as clearly as I can see the palace next to us.”
Raven was still wincing from the crash, as splinters went up. Royukgan, to her surprise, was still mounted, leaning back awkwardly in his mount, his lance broken. His opponent, the same Sir Marbal, was laying in the dirt, his horse galloping away. She saw Royukgan sit up in the saddle, and slovenly turn his horse around, cantering to where the fallen man lay. He climbed down, rather awkwardly, and said something to his opponent, before he mounted again.
“Um...” she heard Vintressa say. “That’s his second victory. Um... who does he face now?”
Raven jogged her memory of the arranged matches, and calmly replied, “The winner of the match between Sir Boros and Sir Albrecht Manse, I believe.”
“Manse?” Vintressa’s eyebrow raised. “Wasn’t he one of Erelion’s dogs last year?” She wasn’t sure why the name stuck out... Erelion had dragged some fifty houses behind him in his scheme. Many had been ruined... after Earl Bearsans death at The Crossroads, his earldom had been taken into the direct custody of the Imperial family.
Erelion himself had fallen prey to the Emperor’s rage. Vintressa knew that her father rarely completely lost his temper... but when Erelion’s trial came a few months after his failed coup, she had witness such a fearsome explosion.
That’s why I remember Manse’s name. He spoke against his liege lord, Baron Erelion, at his trial. Said the Baron was hellbent on burning down the city, and slaughtering those inside. She shuddered on hearing those details, despite having seen Erelion gathering his mangonels, bombards and scorpions to pummel the city.
He sealed Erelion’s fate.
Executions were more rare under the reign of Lucius II... but Erelion and several of his more infamous compatriots were huge exceptions to this rule. Erelion’s family was removed from their estates, and sent to exile in the far north, beyond even the Empire’s furthest borders... while Baron Valdemar himself found the hangman’s noose less inviting than an Emperor’s crown.
“He was the only decent one of the bunch, it seems,” Raven spoke, jostling Vintressa from her memory. “Haldarman was incompetent, Yoren was craven, most of them looted and abused during their march. Manse was one of a few that I know of, at least, that didn’t do any of that.”
“He sounds like he might actually be chivalrous,” Vintressa said dryly, watching with well-hidden delight as the methodical Sir Boros unhorsed Manse in one easy run. The delight turned to concern when she realized that Boros would be facing her Royukgan.
He’s utterly methodical... just like Val in the practice turns. He sits on his mount perfectly, he aims his lance true, he spurs his horse at just the right time. Her heart sank. He’s like a clockwork machine... he moves exactly the same each time... poor Royukgan!
She had to sit through several minutes of agonizing ceremony as the two final riders were presented, and trotted down the course lances high in salute as they passed each other.
“He’s going to get pummeled,” Vintressa said softly. “I don’t want him to be pummeled...”
“He’s done well, Vin,” she heard her friend say encouragingly. “I don’t think he’ll get pummeled... Sir Methodical is going to get a run for his money.” By her eyes, Vintressa guessed that Raven didn’t think Royukgan could win either. “I’m hoping your prince knocks down that man. He’s already had my belt fall when his lance broke!”
It’ll be easier to unspur his eagerness for you too... Vintressa thought.
The tension built as the two took positions on opposite ends of the course, squires tending to them and their mounts. While Sir Boros sat perfectly on his steed, lance and shield set, Royukgan sat sloppily again, his lance waving as he struggled to hold it.
“Stop toying around, love,” Vintressa whispered, as if he could hear her thoughts. “Sir Boros is serious... he’ll hurt you if you are even the slightest bit off!” The Princess looked down, and realized she was rubbing her hands together as if it was cold. She could feel nervous beads of sweat form on her forehead, as if she had her mother’s greathelm on once again.
An eternity seemed to pass by, until the master’s flag flashed downward. The two horses screeched, iron spurs hard in their flanks, and they charged forward, two masses of steel hurtling towards each other. Both lances dipped, reaching out towards their opponent.
Then, suddenly, they both raised high into the air, as both knights thundered by each other without touching. A dull rumble of boos drifted down from the commons, who had been eager to see their patron... they had been refering to Royukgan as “Sir Drunk,” in their chants, versus the so far unblemished Sir Boros.
Vintressa gave a sigh of relief... the two had refused to match lances, and the contest was a draw. No doubt Boros saw how sloppily Royukgan was riding, and felt sorry for him... or that he wasn’t worthy of tilting. The two turned their steeds and rode to in front of the noble canopy.
“Princess!” Royukgan shouted rather joyfully, lowering his lance with one arm and ripping his helm off with the other. His dark skin was matted close to his face from sweat, though a massive grin covered his face. “Can you believe it! I unhorsed two people!” He was clearly pleased with himself. Vintressa was merely relieved he was unhurt, showering him with grateful kisses... which the commons loved.
“Sir Boros?” Raven stood as the knight sat before her. “I believe you have a sash that belongs to your lady.” I am not spoken to you. Hand it back!
“Milady, you would break a knight’s heart?” a muffled voice said from within the helm barely heard above the roar of the crowd. Raven was no coward, and shook her head yes. “Well then,” she heard him sigh, “you shall not have this back unless you grant me one request after I remove my helm.”
Who does he think he IS? Raven thought about viciously screeching at him, giving him a piece of her mind. Are you that desperate, boy?
“That depends on the request,” she replied rather sharply. “I can grant some, but not others.” I will not warm your tent! Her anger grew when she heard the knight laughing inside his helm. “Take off your helmet, so I can know who is mocking me!” she snarled over the din. “I shall have you no that Prince Valeron has spoken for me, you stupid twit!”
The knight gave a nod, and motioned for her to come to the railing. She complied, if only to be close enough to slap the man. He reached down, and a handsome face emerged into the sunlight, red hair clinging to his copper skin from sweat.
“Can I make my request?” Val asked, his eyes laughing as Raven’s jaw dropped. The crowds cheering was still going on, and he missed the words that leapt from Raven’s mouth. The statement was short, and by the way her mouth moved, it looked like his name.
“Raven, would you like to receive a crown on your head?” he yelled over the noise and shouts for “Sir Drunk!” and “Young Dragon!” He wanted to laugh as he watched her stammer a reply, before he heard her shout of, “yes!” in reply.
They locked lips, amidst the din of the commons cheering. Behind the two lovers, Royukgan pranced around on his mount, Vintressa laughing, as the commons chanted for him.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
There's the end to the story
I hope everyone enjoyed it!Emperor Valerian
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