Lucius

First rule of jousting

Stormbolt let out an incessant neigh irritated by the morning sun. The large stallion forced his hooves on the soft ground digging it already impatient, mind set on the upcoming festivities. As if he knew. Which he probably does, Lucius decided holding the reins firmly until the animal quieted down. His eyes, set on the direction of the river docks, missed the arrival of Roderick atop a much more patient Butter.

“Either Holt of Asturia or Lennox of Cediorum,” The loyal man announced. “On the second round. They gave you a pass since you are a-two-times champion. Huh! Bunch of fools.” He pulled aside him a skeptical look on his weathered face.

“The old man?” Lucius asked absentmindedly, his attention elsewhere. “They’ll have me fight my father’s banner man?”

Roderick sucked the right side of his mouth in, he’d a broken tooth there that bothered him greatly, then let it go audibly.

“They figured we fight amongst ourselves, whilst they do the same. Then meet up on the final rounds, to the great suspense of the ladies,” He paused, saw his quip went unnoticed and added. “It’s Sir Rupert. Not the old Marshall.”

“Much the same. I’ve beaten his father. He’s a better general than a knight.”

The old Marshall practically lived with the Legion, despite his father's objections.

“He’s not a kid anymore. And you don’t know if he’ll win.”

“Aye. We’ll see,” Lucius replied and dug his heels on the sides of his horse to push it forward. “We have time then,” He said to the hurrying behind him Roderick.

“I wouldn’t put… Where are we going?”

“Remember… yesterday you talked to me about a Knight’s duties,” Lucius replied urging Stormbolt to pick up his pace. The horse swiftly obliged much to the dismay of the loyal hand.

“I did?”

“Aye,” They breezed through the narrow streets leading to the marketplace next to the docks. There they stopped, earning the curious looks of the much-less-than-usual crowd perusing the stalls. Lucius pushed himself up on his stirrups to search over them.

“Ehem… what does a knight hope to achieve in a fish market?” Roderick asked, face flushed from the ride and breathing as heavy as Butter.

“Save a fair Lady of course,” Lucius replied, his eyes spotting a group of soldiers marching in the market square from one of the gates leading to the Riverdor keep.

“A fair…” Roderick paused following his stare, now a look of worry on his face. Lucius nodded and spotting his target clicked his tongue once to force Stormbolt to move again.

“We must do the right thing,” He said cutting through the crowd.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,’ Roderick was heard murmuring behind him, ‘…but it would serve this knight better, not missing the tourney for a lass.”

The ‘lass’ saw Lucius coming and stopped talking with an Issir merchant. She forced a polite half-smile on, barely pulling it off, as she turned to eye him clearly irritated.

“Sir Lucius,” Zofia said in a measured tone that hid nothing. “We meet again. So soon.”

“Apologies for bothering you my lady,” Lucius replied tactfully “But this couldn’t wait.”

Roderick murmured under his breath behind him. He as well, wasn’t pleased with his decision.

“I’m sure you feel this way but… ahm, let me try again. I’m not really interested in knowing you further Sir Lucius.”

“My lady you misunderstood my intentions,” Lucius snapped offended. “You are in grave danger.”

“Huh, that’s rich. Are you gonna hurt me Sir?” Her voice daring him to try, equal share threatening and alluring.

“Save this brazen wetch?” Roderick rumbled in disbelief unable to control himself. Lucius signed for him to stay silent.

“These soldiers are here to arrest you,” He pointed at the approaching group and her eyes narrowed. “We are wasting precious time.”

Zofia shook her mane not convinced. Stubborn as a tired mule. “This is absurd Sir.”

“Not really,” His loyal hand commented deictically.

“Roderick!” Lucius growled, frustrated having to fight two opponents at the same time.

“For what reason?” She demanded accusingly as if he was responsible.

“Your father attacked Lord Vanzon’s men. Cut down his son. They are going to use you as leverage against him,” Lucius frowned as he watched her beautiful face darken at the news. “Force him to bend the knee.”

“He’ll never do it,” Zofia murmured still shocked.

“That won’t help you much.”

“Nonsense… they’ll never dare—”

“Where’s your mount?” Lucius cut in determined. “We need to move.”

“I don’t have one here,” The girl said.

Stormbolt neighed annoyed at the prospect. Lucius patted him lightly. “I’m sorry boy,” He whispered and turning towards the still processing all that was happening Zofia, extended her a helping hand embellished with half a grin of his own.

She swatted it away. “Make room then. And wipe that off your face.”

Roderick at least found it extremely amusing.

They rode out the market with no incidents. Not even when they went through a group of Kalthian men-at-arms that didn’t spare Lucius more than a customary look, enough to recognize a high Lord. An hour later Roderick went to find out how the first round had gone and they waited at the house he’d rented, belonging to a merchant friend of his father.

Zofia had masqueraded into a servant girl, covering her distinct hair but was still in a bad mood. It was difficult for Lucius to ignore her. He’d taken a risk without much thought, but now time and duty had started weighing on him. What was he really doing? He thought watching her walking nervously up and down the small yard, while he donned his armour.

“My father would never attack unprovoked,” She said coming to a rare stop.

“Heard it with my own ears. The man sounded sincere enough.”

“Which side of the river?” Her question made him pause remembering the Priest’s words.

“I don’t know.”

“If they were caught raiding, no blame lies with him.”

“Perhaps. It doesn’t change the fact you are in danger.”

“Why help me? It is not why you came here in the first place,” Zofia asked after a moment of thought.

“That’s true,” He replied sending the servant assisting him away. “I came here for the tourney.”

“Of course,” She’d a frown on her face now, Lucius found it endearing before he caught himself and looked away. “So is she worth it?”

“The Princess?”

“Are they giving another prize? I may give it a crack then, especially if it’s gold.” She mocked.

“It is a political matter. My father’s wish.”

“You don’t sound very excited.”

“I’m not looking to get married again,” Lucius snapped the topic too personal. Roderick’s arrival saved him from saying more.

“It’s Holt,” The older man exclaimed, seeming less than pleased. “That darn fool Lennox dropped on the first pass. Darn pity. Then again his uncle was always the better fighter. Anyway, his horse may be a little tired but that’s just about it. Not much of an advantage.”

“Don’t need one.”

“Well, I’d prefer him slightly maimed just in case,” He gave him an once-over not bothering climbing down his mount. “We need to get moving.”

“What about me?” Zofia asked.

“Roderick will take you out of the city,” Lucius replied over the man’s objections. “See you safe back to your lands. If that is not possible, then Regia first and we’ll figure it out.” He stared at the seething loyal man. “It’s an order. Whatever happens, she gets out of here.”

“Aye,” Roderick yielded not pleased at all.

“What does this mean?” Zofia intervened alarmed. “You’re supposed to be a great Knight, are you not?”

Lucius grimaced.

“Lots of good Knights out there today. Only one of us will win.”

The great helm smelled of oil and metal. The deep murmur of the crowd muffled but strong, Stormbolt’s breathing reacting to every sharp increase in volume with a jolt. His opponent a shiny small statue, man and horse joined as one thing, the sun dancing on his armour. Lucius swallowed, lips salty and gluey, breathed one time trying to collect himself. Push everything else out of his head. His father and the past, Regia and his mother’s smile, everything good and bad, one memory at a time. Focus on the now. The task at hand.

His mind wandering still though. The present as much treacherous as the past. Saving the girl was reckless. Difficult to justify that, but also impossible to stay idle. Breath caught on his throat and the present moved forward.

Stormbolt charged ahead, his body adjusting mechanically, his lance lowering on the ever growing target. Everything going faster now, the noise drowned but for the hooves thundering, the horse’s excitement potent but for the eyes. Ever swelling, mad-filled, black as Ora’s heart. The blunted tip came at him, leading ahead of man and horse. A moment sooner than he’d expected. His shield was all wrong, arm tensed pushed out not to let it slip past his defenses.

The crowd gasped shocked. Half a breath later, the lance shattered on his shield, the force traveling up his arm, tearing at the muscles of his shoulder. Holt had almost threw him off and as they snapped past each other towards the end of the field, Lucius roared in agony first then shock, left hand numb, his fingers unresponsive for half the journey.

The feeling returned and with it came the pain, searing hot and excruciating. His nostrils expanded but he forced his damaged arm up repositioning the shield, sweat smarting his eyes as he turned the mount around. Stormbolt neighed angry, great body trembling between his legs but he kept the reins firm with his throbbing arm grinding his teeth. Roderick galloped near with a spare lance but he waved him away.

“Lucius!” The old hand was heard behind him worried, when he realized he’d missed on the first pass completely. He clicked his tongue, sound lost on the buzzing of the crowd but Stormbolt knew what he wanted and was galloping back down the track again. Mind fully awakened now, eyes focused everything else forgotten. Sir Holt had switched lances and kicked his legs to charge his own mount, when he saw him coming.

“Go boy,” Lucius whispered and the stallion charged again.

Faster this time but everything was clearer. The danger of getting cut down and the thrill of victory. Can’t fight with your mind elsewhere for sure. You can die though. The mounted knight grew, crest displayed proudly on the shield, lance tip bobbing aiming at his chest. Lucius shield was slipping, shoulder too hurt to keep it up. It was a matter of will this part. His gloved fingers tensed on the ashen stock and he guided the three meter lance towards the smaller but unprotected target.

Sir Holt saw it and turned his head lightly, but the blunted tip was too fast, the hand aiming it too sturdy. It was a matter of skill this. Lucius felt the strike on his shield, the rattle hurting his bones, but at the same instance Sir Holt’s helmet snapped back, face lost in an explosion of splinters.

The crowd screamed in terror and excitement as they flew by each other. Lucius realized he’d blood in his mouth and he gulped it down. It tasted like salted iron. He used his right hand to turn Stormbolt around, eyes squinting as he saw Roderick galloping his way, behind him people storming the field, but most of them cheering elated on the stands.

“He dropped like a sack of rocks,” Roderick growled jumping off his horse and running towards him.

“Take the shield,” Lucius managed to say, coming down from the rush. He needed a drink badly, but lowered on the saddle patted gently Stormbolt’s neck instead. “You did it boy.”

Thank you.