dukes was a rat-like little fellow who thought he was clever. His
name was Carteon, and he began find excuses not to attend the
meetings of the Arendish Council. After the third year marked by
his absence, I decided to go have a talk with him. My champion at
that particular time was one of my own barons, a huge man of
Alorn background named Torgun. We rode on down to Vo Astur,
and Baron Torgun let it be known that he’d dismantle large numbers
of people if I were not immediately escorted into Duke Garteon’s
presence. Alorns can be useful at times.
The unctuous little Carteon greeted me with a oily smile and fell
all over himself apologizing for his repeated absences.
Have you by chance heard of “Nerasin’s complaint”, your
Grace?’ I cut him off. ‘You show all the symptoms of an onset of
the disease to me, and I am a trained physician, so I recognize all
kinds of illnesses. I’d strongly advise you to make a special point
of attending the council meeting next summer. Duke Nerasin found
squirming around on the floor while he squealed and vomited up
blood to be terribly inconvenient.’
Garteon’s face went very pale. ‘I’ll be there, Lady Polgara,’ he
promised. Evidently Nerasin’s tummy-ache had entered the body
of Asturian folk-lore.
‘We’ll be expecting you then,’ I said quite firmly. Then Baron
Torgun and I left Vo Astur.
You should have let me split him down the middle, my Lady,’
Torgun growled as we rode away.
‘We’re supposed to be civilized, Baron,’ I replied. ‘Civilized people
don’t hack up their neighbors. I think Carteon got my message. If
he doesn’t show up at the meeting next summer, I might have to
be a bit more firm the next time he and I have one of these little chats.’
‘Can you really do that?’ Torgun asked curiously. ‘I mean, can
you actually make a man start throwing up blood?’
‘If I need to, yes.’
‘What do you need me for, then?’
‘For the pleasure of your companionship, my dear Torgun. Let’s
move right along, shall we? It’s almost harvest time, so there are all
kinds of things that need my attention.’
cil, and I think that made the chore of keeping the peace even easier.
Toward the end of the century, however, the Oriman family came
into power in Asturia, and the relations between the four duchies
became strained. The Orimans were greedy, ambitious and devoid
of anything remotely resembling scruples. The first of the Oriman His son, also named Carteon,
was probably an even greater
scoundrel than his father. Asturia was
getting to be a problem.
We entered the thirtieth century, and I realized that I’d been
manipulating Arendish affairs for almost six hundred years. I rather
enjoyed it, actually. The Arends were much like children in many
ways, and they’d come to look upon me as a wise parent to whom
they brought most of their problems. More importantly, maybe, was
the fact that they checked with me before they put anything major
in motion. I was able to head off all sorts of potential disasters
because of that.
It was in the spring of 2937 that I advised my co-rulers that
Torgun,s
successor as my champion, a Mimbrate knight named
Anclasin, was getting along in years and that his hearing was
beginning to fail. Moreover, he had a number of grandchildren down
in Mimbre, and he really wanted to spend more time with them.
Parenthood is nice, but grandparenthood is golden.
This, of course, added a certain excitement to the annual tourney
at the Great Fair that summer. The winner, always referred to as
‘the mightiest knight of life,’ would be rewarded with the dubious
pleasure of living under my thumb for the next several decades.
I arrived at the fair a few days early that summer, and my
seneschal, one of Killane’s descendants, nosed about and brought me
some rather disturbing news. It seemed that an enterprising
Drasnian merchant was accepting wagers on the outcome of the
tournaments. Now, if someone wants to waste his money on gambling,
that’s none of my concern. What I didn’t want was for someone to
start tampering with the various events in order to determine the
winner in advance. I spoke rather pointedly with the Drasnian,
laying down a few rules for him to follow in his venture. The rules
were fairly simple. No bribes. No tampering with equipment. No
introduction of exotic herbs into the diets of contestants or of their
horses. The Drasnian entrepreneur’s expression was a little pained
when he left my pavilion. Quite obviously, he’d had some plans
that I’d just disrupted.
A formal tournament can be viewed as a kind of refinery where
the slag is boiled away and only the true gold is left behind. That’s
probably a very offensive metaphor to those who end up on the
slag-heap, but life is hard sometimes, I guess. The winnowing-down
process went on for several weeks, and eventually there were only
two contenders left, a pair of Wacite noblemen, Lathan and Ontrose,
who’d been boyhood friends of Duke Andrion. Baron Lathan was
a big, boisterous fellow with dark blond hair, and Count Ontrose
was a more studious and polished man with black hair and deep
blue eyes. I’d known the both of them since they were children, and
I was really quite fond of them. Frankly, I was a bit surprised that
the cultured Count Ontrose had advanced so far in a competition
that was largely based on brute strength.
The final jousting match took place on a breezy summer morning
when white puffy clouds were skipping like lambs across their blue
pasture. The spectators were all gathered around the lists and were
beginning to grow restive until an extended trumpet fanfare
announced that the ‘entertainment’ was about to begin. I was seated
on a regal throne flanked by Andrion of Wacune, Garteon of Asturia,
and the aged Moratham of Mimbre when the pair of friends, all
clad in gleaming armor and with pennons snapping from the tips
of their lances, rode forth to receive my blessing and instruction.
They reined in side by side and dipped their lances to me in salute.
That sort of thing can go to a girl’s head if she doesn’t keep a firm
grip on herself.
MY ‘instruction’ was suitably flowery, but my conclusion had some
un-flowery practicality to it. ‘Don’t hurt each other,’ I commanded
them.
Their expressions at that point were a study in contrasts. Count
Ontrose, far and away the more handsome of the two, wore a look
of civilized adoration. Baron Lathan, on the other hand, seemed so
caught up with emotion that his features were almost distorted.
There were tears in his eyes as he looked at me.
Then, with a final flourish, the armored pair posted formally to
opposite ends of the lists to do battle upon each other. The ‘list’ in
a formal joust consists of a stout waist-high rail designed, I think,
to keep the horses from being injured during the festivities. A joust
is a simple game, really. Each knight attempts to knock his opponent
off his horse with a blunted twenty-foot lance. Draws are not
infrequent, and in the event that both knights are sent crashing to
the ground, they both get up, get back on their horses, and try it
again. It’s a very noisy affair that usually provides many business
opportunities for the local bone-setter.
At the traditional signaling horn call, they both clapped down
their visors, lowered their lances and charged, thundering down the
lists toward each other. Their lances both struck true against those
stout shields, and as usual, both lances shattered, filling the air with
Splinters. The jousts at a formal tourney can seriously deplete the
supply of trees in a nearby forest.
They both wheeled and rode back to their original starting point.
Ontrose was laughing gaily but Lathan was glaring at his friend
with a look of competitive belligerence. Baron Lathan seemed to be
missing the point here. A jousting match is supposed to be a sporting
event, not a duel to the death. In previous tourneys, I’d been
moderately indifferent about the outcome but this time was somehow
different. My ‘knights protectors’ in the past had not really loomed
very large in my life. They’d been no more than appurtenances to
mY station. I had an uneasy feeling this time that should Baron
Lathan be the victor, he’d cause difficulties later on. Arendish
literature Positively swarms with improprieties involving high-born
ladies and their bodyguards and Lathan seemed to be well-read.
Should he happen to win. he’d clearly cause some problems. My
impartiality started to slip just a bit.
The second pass with lances proved to be no more decisive than
the first, and when the contestants rode back to take their places for
the third, Lathan’s look of open belligerence had become even more
pronounced.