《The King's Favour》


 Prologue - Travellers

    Wind blew into its feathers as it flew up above the scene. A mighty eagle screeched inbetween the low and lonely clouds of a sunny day of autumn. The sky was bright blue, and the vivid light shun atop the rooftops and through the alleys, as it should''ve been: the Summer had just ended, after all. The sound of rattling gravel made rats scutter away: a group of kids, in rugged clothes, were running towards the city plaza, and they stopped briefly to look up to that creature overhead.


    "Look, look! I''ve never seen one!", shouted a child, and the others confirmed that strange appearance as real and quite bizarre, but they laughed it off, just marvelling at the fact that they got to see such a bird of prey, in the midst of the town''s dullness. But they knew that it was all just the beginning, at least until the end of the year.


    They all started running again, but, as they passed an alley and turned a corner, they were blocked by a slow caravan being dragged on its wheels by two mules. Driving it, sitting on one of the animals, was a man -quite brawny and chubby to say the least- with a scratched and closed eye. He was grunting something to himself, clearly half-drunk in the middle of the morning. Still, the children looked at him in awe, as he wore on his shoulderpads the emblem of the Duchy of Noth, and an elaborate leather armour, that, to their eyes, was something straight out of those adventurer''s journals that they read inbetween breaks, at their school.


    "H-he looks scary! Let''s stay here!", said one, as she hid behind a wall, still peaking.Curiosity is of the young, but not the youngest, and so many of the older boys disregarded the little girl''s worried cry, and kept walking, going to the side of the road, to let the man guide the convoy with no problems, but still wanting to talk to him.


    "S-sir, were are you going? Is the tournamentbeginning yet, sir?", asked the bravest (or dumber) one, obviously a bit frightened by the mean looking man, as he could hear in the kid''s voice and see in his face.


    "Uh? No, little guy, no, the tournament is in a couple o''daes.", grunted back the bloke, looking at him with his only eye with no concern of what was in front of him, assuming that everyone would make way, and so they did. Not many people were in the street anyways, or in the city, for that matter, but still, he wasn''t the most responsible driver.


    "We''re just settling in. Tell your friends to root for the Duke of Roth, aye? Now scramble,I drank way too much to keep this conversation going without spitting on your face too much..."This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    And so they went away, running faster than the mules walked, heading towards their original destination.


    "Stupidkids...", mumbled the brute, searching through his backpack for his liquor. He nearly dropped his canteen as a horse galloped just an inch past his mule''s nose, scaring the crap out of him and his animal -almost literally for the latter- and neighed loudly, as its rider laughed it off. The man begrudgnigly put his drinking addiction aside for a moment, to throw foul insultsbehind whoever was the scoundrel that dared to cross his path. He almost got down from his saddle to chase after him, but then immediately realized that he would''ve never catched up to him even without being drunk, especially by foot. That horse was quite the sprinter, and that was rather apparent: it had already went over the bend, that seemed to be a hundred meters or so away from the middle of the intersection it had just rushed through.


    "Shite... horse fuckers... how many times did we hear one near us as we took the county''s main road? Aboot one too many, I sae!", he shouted. To scare him again, someone had popped his head from underneath the tent that covered the caravan behind him, answering his call.


    "I mean... what do you want them to do, fly here?", asked a slim and hungry looking older man, with grizzled hair and a grizzled beard. His brown eyes looked up above as the eagle screeched again.


    The beast glided down and sat atop the fountain that adorned the middle of the town. A jolly man sat in hispompous chair right beneath the sprinkling games of light the water created, hooting and cheering a crowd the kids had just joined. It was the first time that the fountain worked in years.


    "Knights! Sorcerers! Wizards and clerics! Everybody, gather here, as these days you''ll see foreigners from faraway lands of our kingdom come and stay for the Grand Tourney of Nelaime!", he said, once in a while, using the acoustics of the plaza to his favour, being on top of his stage.


    The eagle screeched one last time, as a cloak of shadows appeared around it. A puff o smoke, blown away by a light breeze that everyone there could feel, and the eagle was no more. A tall and lanky, slender woman, stood in its place. Long black hair and black eyes, a stern look to her face and her arms wide open, she laughed. The townsfolk went silent.


    "A salute from the Vultures, people of Nelaime! Be sure that we will bring joy to your eyes! Watch carefully those warriors in shiny armour, as we will shatter their hopes in an heartbeat! I declare this a challenge!... Anyone who calls himself ''sir'' and wishes to oppose me is welcomed to do so in the duels, yes! I will teach you a lesson about brain over brawn!"


    And after that speech, the woman laughed and disappeared, leaving her audience with no words to describe what had just happened.

 Chapter I - The Sword

    "So, is the list out yet?"


    A rough sounding voice, almost rasping, echoed through the hall of that small tavern. Silence seemed to be engraved in the wood of the inn. Not many souls went around and passed through the city. But now, with the Tourney, many were rushing in to take a piece of the city for themselves. If that place was silent, now that the Duke of Noth had bought every bed for himself and his court, the running water outside the cabin, as the small river of the city of Nelaime passed rather near it.


    After all, not many had arrived, so the sounds of nature were the only music playing for the ears to hear. Only that man with an hoarse throat and a much younger looking boy had already traversed the town to their destination. Both wore armour, but the first was clearly a superior to the other. His protections were elaborate. On his chest, a shining white iron plate displayed a strange symbol. Black engravings showed, to the more knowledgeable, that he was indeed a noble of Noth.


    Brother of the Duke, the man was known as the Badger. Sure, it might not be one of the happiest nicknames to have, since the nature of the animal in question and their tendency to eat the dead, but if anyone had to be called after that creature, it was him. Scratches all over his body proved that his skin was as tough as the fiercest of those beasts, and he had often fought when no one else would, crossing the border between corageous and crazy without a second thought. The badger was the symbol chiseled onto the metal.


    "No, master. You''ve already talked to the only attending families that we know of, sir."


    The kid had a light and bright tone to his words, but it was clear that he was very diligent. In fact, even though he did sound happy, he tried to hide it behind professionalism. His armour was made out of leather, and he had no icons or emblems sewn or stitched on his clothes, if not the badge of the duchy.


    "What a bunch of cretins. This is why I hate when small towns get picked for the competition. It''s always a hard time trying to find information about our adversaries...", the man answered


    "Well sir, it is decided by chance, isn''t it? It''s drawn out of a cu-", tried to say the boy, but the older man made him quiet by raising his hand and shaking it, as to show his disagreement.


    "Those fuckers at the palace do what they want, they must have a reason to make the tourney here. I don''t know why they would do that but you get my point, don''t ya?", whispered with his voice low the knight, grunting at the end of the rhetorical question in discontent.


    The boy smiled. He had served the man his whole life under the Duke''s orders, and being his squire he appreciated how the man tried to open up to him form time to time. He liked how, slowly, he was gaining the warrior''s trust. He even made such statements in his presence! It wasn''t exactly something to say lightly.


    "We''ve got ten competitors in the game, El. Did you know that?", asked the older man, referring to his adjutant through a shortening of his name. He looked at him, with worried black eyes. He looked at him like he was his pupil.


    "R-really?... only ten? Has the population diminished?", replied the green squire.


    "No, not at all. The rules changed, apparently, because I can''t wrap my head around it."


    The two stood in silence, as they exchanged emotions briefly through glances and stares.


    "Do you mean to say that... I won''t be able to take part in the tournament?", asked the kid this time, with his voice much lower than before, and with his greyish eyes fixed on the floor planks, as if he was shaming himself for making such a selfish request in searching an answer to his doubts.


    The duke''s brother put a hand on his shoulder, and frowned. He shook his head, neither confirming or denying the young man''s fears, but it was quite clear to the squire that the chances of being chosen were very low.


    The annual contests had a very special set of rules: every county and duchy was invited, and each country had a predetermined number of maximum members that could take part in it, based on the stable residents present in the land itself. Sometimes, rules were changed, and that time around, even though the Duchy of Noth had achieved the highest member total possible the year before, which was fifteen, they had to drop five people.


    The squire had gotten his hopes up the whole year, being denied from the competition for quite a while, even though he was elegible: after all, he was no knight, and in previous editions, many that wanted to fight had priority over him. That year, though, he was supposed to be the fourteenth member of Noth''s party: they even had a spot open if someone wanted to join in at the last second!


    But now, his dream had shattered right before his eyes. Just looking at him was enough to see that the youngster was quite gloomy. He almost opened his mouth again, but then he shut himself up, not wanting to annoy the blue blooded noble with the whining of a mere squire.


    The door of the hall opened behind them. Then inn suddenly became lively as the beastly man with a scratched eye walked inside the room, shouting jibberish as he drank till he was drunk, and drunk he was, as he saluted his superior with an hiccup, and the boy with a belching noise.


    Behind him, here came some other knights, following the Duke himself. The men saluted him, almost as if singing in a choir, and everybody laughed. Even the Badger seemed to put a friendlier face in front of his brother, and soon their conversation shifted towards the city''s event, after cordial reunions ''tween soldiers that hadn''t seen each other in a while. Shamuel the squire, that we will sometimes call El for short like his master did, really didn''t participate in those exchanges. It was almost like an unrwitten rule: in front of the Duke, only "grown up talk" could take place. Obviously, Shemuel was far from being a knight, and legally, he still was not elegible for the role. He was merely a kid. Being only sixteen, one year was what divided him from the chance at having "sir" after or before his name. but it wasn''t that easy. It was common for squires to mantain their position even after turning twenty. But, Shemuel felt strong enough to take out many of the soldiers he had seen besides the Badger: the boy was strong, buff, robust, and his body had matured before his face had grown a beard. He felt enough to be "Sir Gavriel", he wanted to be Sir Gavriel. He had taken his father''s name as his surname, since he was not from a noble family, because it was somewhat needed among the people at court. I hope that I won''t have to explain why his nickname quickly became El in the hallways of the Duke''s castle.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    He thought to himself, "Why don''t I just talk?", as he leaned into one of the debates, hearing gossip about mages and wizards that would attend the matches. But then he didn''t. And he leaned back against the wall to the left of the entrance, waiting for his master to leave, or call him to help him with something inside the inn itself. The men didn''t care about freeing the doorway: they had the place all to themselves, after all!


    A light knock tapped inside the squire''s mind, distracting him from his thoughts and his grudges.


    Only El could hear the knock. Confused, he went to open the door, but the drunken man had convinced the Badger of something, and so he was called. He looked at the knob and waited a couple of seconds, as if he was waiting for someone to turn it and come in, but nothing happened. Nobody even knocked again. A prank from a child? Maybe. But why at an inn, that was clearly full of people shouting and speaking out loud? Why was that knock so quiet?... Perhaps the infant had chickened out as he was touching the timber.


    "Ah, lil El ya ol''chump! Yea''ve been growin''! You look as tough as one o''those mules that brought us here!", joyfully cheered him on the drunken blind, showing his broken smile with happines in his eyes.


    "I was saeing to ya ole man, why don''t ya participate in the tourney, huh?", he said, closing in on the sixteen year old, and taking him by the shoulders with one of his arms, bringing him so near him that his breath became almost unbearable for poor little El. A whisper in his ear slowly ignited a spark in his chest, just when he thought that the man was going to make fun of him, even if he knew that it would''ve been out of character for that jokester.


    "In all honesty I hate that neu folk, wass his name?"


    "Thorne, sir Thorne, you were talking about him.", filled in the Badger, and the drunk man answered with a very loud "Ah! Yes, yes, him!", and then started whispering again to the young lad he had just made deaf with his shouting.


    "I ain''t smellin'' anything good from him, aye? He sounds wae too serious the whole time... how will I have fun with someone like him?..."


    "W-what are you suggesting?", asked the innocent Gavriel, almost scared of the answer, and the Badger laughed.


    "We aren''t doing anything fishy, you can calm down El.", murmured his master, and so he nodded, letting the brawny man continue without interrupting him, as the fire was starting inside his heart.


    "So, ya take mae glove, you hand it to him and you challenge him to a duel. Whoever wins gets to be part of the tournament! Aye? Aye? It''s all written in the rules, chump!"


    El''s eyes were shining. Did the two really think that he could beat that sir Thorne? The confidence in the drunken man''s speech and the Badger''s look... yes, they both were honest. Was he finally being recognized? He felt a chill going down his spine. He had no idea such a rule existed in the first place.


    "... I-I think I''ll do it. Can you... let me have the day off to prepare, master?", asked the kid, with confidence in his last sentence, clenching his hands into fists as he looked at the knight with a smile.


    The man nodded.


    "Oh! What a wonderful thing being young and fighting your first knight, aye ole man?", asked the man with his scratched eye pointed towards the Badger. He just laughed at his words and answered with a "Yes", which was frankly not heard by the other, that just burped and laughed with him.


    The squire stayed for some brief chatting with the other lords and knights. He felt more confident, now. Stronger, even though nothing really changed, if not inside him. His pride was coming out of its shell, as he was becoming a man.


    The youngster went for the entrance of the inn. Suddenly, a recent memory rushed back into his head, as a light tap on the lumber woke his conscious mind up. He had been talking and joking without really thinking about it, until that very moment. This time, he went with his hand for the doorknob. The metal was unusually hot to the touch. He looked at it, bewildered, but he still turned it, allowing for the light to come in from outside. At last, he saw who was behind the entryway.


    A tall but rather slim man, hidden underneath patched up rags and cloth, with a turban on his head. His face was almost hidden, but El could see the shining eyes through the darkness of his covers: they were purple, like a lavender''s flowers. Quite curious, our young squire stared at him for a while, until the beggar opened his mouth.


    "Might you have a place for me inside this inn, sir?"


    El looked at the man, confused. His light knocks, his looks and his deep but almost silent voice made him quite perplexed, he looked back at the crowd of knights, that didn''t seem to be paying attention to that encounter. He said, still turned with his eyes fixed on the Badger''s brother:


    "The inn was bought out until the end of the year by the Duke o-"


    He felt a tap on his shoulder. As he looked back, the man was smiling, pointing at his ears.


    "Wha-"


    "I''m deaf. Please speak while facing me, or I won''t understand anything.", muttered the beggar, and El bowed and apologized three or four times, before the man calmed him down with a pat on his shoulder.


    The squire thought about it for a second, and then started talking while enunciating all his words, trying to make the matters easier for the poor man.


    "The inn was bought out until the end of the year by the Duke of Noth, sir... I''m afraid there''s no beds left, but you could ask him for a place to stay this night, if that''s what you need. I''m sure he''ll be generous."


    El smiled, as the man nodded, and thanked him. He started to walk past him, without even asking to be pointed towards the man that the squire had mentioned. The young boy didn''t notice at first, but as soon as the beggar made two steps, he tried to get his attention like he had done before, tapping on his back.


    The man turned.


    Silence.


    His eyes pierced Sir Gavriel, into his very heart. A smile made him shiver. His words made him question what was really going on.


    "You won''t win."


    El left the man alone. He stood there, with his guts turning and burning inside him. His mind trying to connect pieces of a puzzle that wasn''t there. His eyes looked down on the dark wood of the pavement, and then up again, to see if he could stop the mendicant, but he wasn''t there. Maybe, he was swallowed by the crowd of knights, and now he couldn''t see him anymore. He didn''t bother to chase after him, now. He felt as though he had no strenght to talk to that strange man again, as if his look had made him reconsider his power. The squire left the inn, thinking, spending his time reasoning with what the man''s word meant. Was he a vision? Was it his mind playing tricks on him? Did he mean that he wouldn''t have won against Sir Thorne?


    He used up the day not by training, but by letting his doubts eat him alive.

 Chapter II - Premonition

    Inevitably, the sun had already went down. Our young squire walked pastthe city gate. The beggar''s voice echoed through his head as he mindlessly paced around the forgotten town. Like a curse, it stuck with him all throughout the day.


    Before the sunset had started, the boy had been outside the settlement, in the woods. Surely not the best thing to do on his own, but the youngster knew how to take care of himself, in case something happened. But nothing did, and so he started his stroll back to the inn as he saw light fade away, slowly.


    First, let us retrace his steps. In the forest, he sat atop a small waterfall, on a flat rock, carved and smooth, right beside the water. It looked old, and it was almost certain caused by the passage of the stream, that was diminished in size. After all, autumn had just arrived, and the Summer must have treated that part of the kingdom with its scorching sunny days.


    He was pitiful, to be honest: in his armour he silently watched as nature flowed and flourished around him, and all he could think of was that man''s words, and the fight against Sir Thorne, that he was suddenly quite unsure about winning. His pride had left him with a simple look and three words! Wasn''t he a man?... He tried to tell himself these things on his own, but really, that realization made no difference, as if those lavender eyes really had a greater impact on him that he could manage. What was he worth?


    He had stopped there to think, but his thoughts didn''t help him, at all. On the contrary, he felt more and more nauseated as the hours passed by, and finally, he catched onto something that maybe a brighter lad would''ve noticed right there and then. Or, to articulate further, he had noticed it, but his shattered strenght made him back away before trying to get a hold of the mendicant once again.


    Just how did the deaf man know of his duel?


    Yes, El had initially thought that it was all just a vision, but, in an attempt to keep his sanity, he later denied to himself that all toghether. If he didn''t, he might''ve really gone crazy right there in the outskirts of the burg.


    And so now, after finding his way back to the main road, the boy slowly realized that something was off. Something... something unnerving. He feltunsettled, as his hand were shaking, in a strange fear of the unknown...


    No moon shone above his head. The darkness had caught him by surprise, and now he felt agitated, and he felt his soul rattle inside his heart. He heard a crackle, and then a whisper. The boy had enough, and he turned on the spot, but nothing was behind him, or to his left, and niether to his right.


    His blood raced inside his veins. Without even having his mind comprehend the reason for his movement, the young El made a leap backwards, taking his sword out thanks to his reflexes: the blade collided with an arrow, and the warrior was just as surprised as you might be. His body''s reaction were far beyond the ones of a normal lad like him, and his brain couldn''t connect with his perception, which far outsped his mental capabilities, and as such he had learned to let his muscles free to react on their own when he knew that his instinct would''ve beat his intellect.


    Now, he had found the attacker''s position: somehow, his enemy was above him.


    "Curse you, bandit! Show yourself!", he shouted, as he took his buckler from his side, not trusting his sword to parry anymore, knowing that such a feat was not possible without luck on his side, and not feeling the need to test his fate twice in a row.


    An owl came down from where the projectile had been shot. It was a typical owl, but the boy was no expert on animals and animal names. For you readers, I will tell you it was a crested owl, with its long and white brows.


    "What... what is this?"


    The beast opened his beak, and just stood there, in the middle of the street. El almost dropped his guard, baffled, but then, something curious happened. It was a good thing that he had gotten his shield on his arm.


    Another arrow came out of the owl''s mouth, stretching it and going straight for the young man. He let it hit the iron, and it bounced off, broken. A big puff of smoke surrounded the owl, and, in his place something else appeared.


    "Magic?!", murmured our young fighter, at a loss of other words, as a figure emerged from the purple mist that had been created by the creature he had just encountered.


    The two were several meters apart, and now they stared into eachother''s eyes. The soldier looked at his features, to remember him. The criminalwas surely recognizable in a crowd: he had a slim body, he was as tall as El was (and the squire was tall, even for his master''s age), he wore robes and scarves, colored like sand, and his brown hair was decorated and laced with golden and silver bonds and little chains. The jewerly on his head seemed quite expensive, and looked quite bizarre. He had blue eyes and he was darkskinned. His smirk showed white and perfect teeth, that was very uncommon. It was obvious that the young offender not only was a mage of some kind, but he was also rich, very rich.


    "A strong fellow, uh? I said I didn''t mind taking care of a small fry, but I guess I was wrong. This fills me with wonder..."


    "Who are you?", asked El, not listening to the lawbreaker, waiting for his chance to strike. He was not the most intelligent, but he knew his strategy, and he knew that against someone that had displayed such a strange way of fighting and throwing projectiles, he couldn''t just charge in. Talking, in a way, was stalling, for both of them.


    "Ah, the age old question! Who am I? Who am I... let''s see...", answered the enemy, taking a step back. El made a step forward, mimicking his adversary. The bandit smiled, evidently amused by the situation.


    "Let me introduce myself, since you withstood my attacks. I''d say it''s fair. My name isStrigidae,the master of owls. I come from one of the faraway lands your king has conquered, I come from the Lost Shores. I am part of the Vultures, and even thought the name could use a change, I serve them well, and so I''m here for you, on behalf of them.", explained the man. El''s eyes widened.


    He had heard of the Vultures once or twice, from the Badger. He had talked about them while discussing criminals, and he had described them as ''lawful lawbreakers'', as they had the right to do what they decided was best for themselves and for the kingdom. They were crooks and convicts, fugitives and felons, or at least that was his master''s view of them. He had described the fact that they had no external hierarchy, and they were controlled by the strongest of them, hence the name of that organization: many preyed on the weak to move up in the ranks the boss made. The King really didn''t care how they administered themselves, all he needed was for them to act fast in cases of emergency. Then, the Badger had spoken about their magical capabilities: all Vultures were to learn the arcane, one way or the other.


    "Why would the Vultures want to kill me? I''m a nobody, just... just a squire. And if it''s linked with the competition that will be held in Nelaime, I don''t even know if I will participate in the Tourney!",replied our poor El, now trying to hold his sword without shaking too much. The fact that he knew how powerful one of the Vultures could be instilled a certain fear inside him that washed away the beggar''s curse, for now.


    "Well who said t''was the Vultures who want to kill you? I don''t even want to kill you. What made you think that way? Didn''t you see my arrow was aimed at your arm?...", whispered in return Strigidae, wtih a grin on his face.


    "What do you mean?... Why are you here then?"


    "You see, a certain knight from that party of yours, with the same symbol you have on your shoulder on his asked me to...impair you, yes, let''s put it like this. A knight of Noth apparently doesn''t like your company... or maybe, he knows something that you thought he didn''t. Does it ring a bell?"Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    El grunted, and left his eyes wide open, in shock. The only one that could''ve wanted something like that wascertainly Sir Thorne! Otherwise, why would one of the Duke''s trusted warriors want to hurt him? He was friendly with everyone, and he was but a mere squire... But how did Thorne come to know about his plan to duel him?


    As his mind tried to go through the possibilities, only one answer came to him. The beggar. It must''ve been him... somehow.


    Distracted, our soldier didn''t notice that the Vulture had justmade a jump towards him, nimbleon his feet. Fortunately, his body answered to the bandit''s attack, as he hopped back and raised his shield, parrying the blade of a knife that Strigidae tried to swing at the arm he had the buckler on, trying to avoid saidprotection but failing. The boy attempted to retaliate, bringing his feet forward and swinging his bastard sword towards the Vulture''s hip, but the man he was fighting against was far too fast for him, and his enemy went back to his initial position. His face showed how impressed he really was about the squire''s potential. The man took his knife by its blade, hodling it between his index finger and his thumb. He sprung back his arm, and then back towards the young boy in front of him, throwing his weapon at high speed towards him. Our El was just quick enough to deviate the weapon that was heading for his right hand, that held his sword.


    "I have to say, his judgment of you was incorrect.He said that he didn''t want to fight you out of fear of killing you, but it would be much easier to send him to hell than to paralyze one of your limbs.", claimed Strigidae, laughing. El was not amused.


    "Or maybe, he just was trying to sound tougher than he is to me. Well, I don''t care about him either way. I just owe his family a favour, that''s all there is to this. I''d like for you to make this easier, but I know you won''t listen.", sighed the master of owls, with an entertained look on his face.


    "But I digress... I hope that no words of this encounter will escape from your mouth, right, boy? You wouldn''t want to kill anyone, would you?... You seem like a precious specimen, but I won''t have the same care with other toys you''ll bring into the pit by mentioning my name...", giggled the lawless fighter, unsheating from under his robes another knife, licking its blade. He made a slight cut on his tongue, and a single drop of his blod touched his weapon, spreading onto it.


    "I give you... ten seconds."


    The enemy jumped again. El was ready for his move: he tried to puncture his chest with his sword as he was running towards him, hoping the speed of the collision would favour his counterattack. But the Vulture was two steps ahead, and he evaded the blade by crouching, and then trying to stab his leg, but once again the squire''s buckler proved to be quite useful, as the young man used it to strike his adversary''s arm and make him drop his weapon. El might''ve been out of balance, but he wasn''t easy to surprise, and he was almost always ready to defend himself.Almostalways.


    Strigidae cussed after the hit but he obviously didn''t stop, grabbing onto El''s arm with his undamaged hand, pulling him downwards. The squire had to let go of his sword, fearing that while falling it could''ve pierced both of them, and he had no choice but to succumb to the Vulture''s grasp. The man covered in robes rotated as he pulled him, and practically kicked behind himself with one of his feet, hitting one of El''s shins, and making him lose all grip to the ground. The young man tripped over the mage and started flying in the air, pulled by his enemy''s strong arm. The squire smashed his back onto the stone road, shouting a curse while trying to control the pain. Fortunately, his armor absorbed part of the impact.


    The attacker quickly got up, still pulling El by his limb, and the man put a foot on the soldier''s chest, pinning him down, declaring his victory with a smile.


    "I was wrong. You would''ve survived only five seconds, if my mission was to kill you. But I guess I gave you a challenge that exceeds your current strenght..."


    Our youngster fixated his eyes on the blue ones of the bandit. Bitterness filled his heart, feeling incapable and unable to do anything against Strigidae, in that position. He tried to use his buckler to hit his opponent''s leg, but he had no strenght behind his strike, with no breath in his lungs to send oxygen trough his veins and into his arm.


    "I wouldn''t want to have you bleed out on your way to the city.", murmured the master of owls, slowly.


    El felt something pinching his forearm''s skin, through his leather armor, and the criminal let go of him, vaulting over him, using him as a pedestal to launch himself faster. Since they had switched positions in relation to the town, he started running straight ahead, escaping before the squire could even get on his feet.


    "I''ll see you on the bleachers! Train for next year!", shouted behind himself Strigidae, and El, looking to the sky, out of breath, could hear the man smooch the air. The Vulture was making fun of him, sending him a kiss?


    "Goddamnit...", whispered to himself the soldier, all alone with the night''s sky, trying to at least sit. But when he tried to put his weight on his arms, the right, the one that his enemy had held in his grip, failed to hold any of it, and the boy fell onto the pathway once again.


    He tried to do the same once more, but his limb didn''t respond, and so he had to make do with just his left. He got up, finally, and he stumbled and faltered a bit, before finding his pace. There was no point in following the direction Strigidae headed in: all he could do was go back to the inn, inform his master that he was attacked and, with him, he would''ve tried to find someone able to check his arm. The man with the laced hair had to have done something to him: his arm felt numb, as if he had slept on it a whole night, but the sensation wasn''t fading away.


    And so, we are back where we started, at Nelaime''s entrance. Stone walls surrounded the town, but they were not built to hold off or repel any assaults: they were small, and narrow, and their only purpose was to signal the settlement. On the gates themselves there was a sign.


    <hr>


    Nelaime


    <hr>


    Apparently, nobody cared enough about the place to put the sign in a better place: if the doors were open, there was no way to see it, and at night (when they were always closed) no light shun to reveal it at a distance.


    A guard looked concerned, seeing the squire holding his arm and wobbling towards them, and so the man made him pass without asking many questions, saying that ha had to "go and see a doctor", because apparently he was "as pale as a mop". El disregarded the sentinel, thinking about talking with the Badger first, but he said nothing to the warden and started pacing around the streets, trying to find his way to their inn, frustrated. He didn''t want to look helpless, for some reason. The fact that Thorne had told that Vulture to stop him was just now starting to make him fume out of his ears, and he was angry, to say the least. He didn''t want to have anyone around, apart from someone he could trust.


    But... sometimes...


    Walking around on your own will get you to unexpected confrontations.


    El found himself in an alley, surrounded by a thin fog. A familiar sensation sent a pulse of nervousness inside his being. At first he tried to send the feeling away, by trying to turn around... but something pushed him forward. Nothing physical, no... something in his body made him keep his eyes on the dark end of that back street, and something made his legs move towards it.


    A voice made his whole body shudder.


    "I told you, didn''t I?"


    It came from behind him, and so the boy managed somehow to face the beggar! It was his voice, the voice of the man from the inn he had talked with just earlier that day, it was him!...


    No. It wasn''t him. In fact, it wasn''t anybody. Behind him there was nothing but the dark street he came from. He felt a faint breath on his neck, and he spinned on his feet again, and there he was. Somehow, he had just... teleported? El didn''t really know, but there he stood. Themendicant.


    "You won''t win because you won''t even fight. A shame, really. You are a much better fighter than Thorne is."


    El felt his throat dry up. He wanted to move, do something, talk to the man but... his lavender eyes blocked him. He couldn''t move.


    "But... I guess it''s fate. You won''t fight in the tourney, and he will die in your stead..."


    The squire flinched, and hugged himself even more.


    "But... I see that you fought a scoundrel..."


    "What do you know about him?... H-how do you know all of this?", shouted the soldier, managing to speak, knowing well that it wouldn''t have made a difference with the deaf vagabond.


    "Ah, that doesn''t matter, really... why would it?... You''ll lose your arm if you don''t treat it."


    El remained silent. He nodded, slowly. He didn''t know if the man''s words were true. But... he had been right, and he had this strange aura to him...the squire felt like the beggar wouldn''t have lied to him, for some odd reason.


    "I know just the one that could help you with this type of venom, and I believe our two meetings were something more than mere coincidence... but I know that the person in question is not avaiable at the moment. I fear... we''ll have to see eachother tomorrow. You may find help on your own, that I don''t mind. And you''ll still have to wait until the sun rises again. But... if you do so..."


    The beggar sneered.


    "You''ll lose your last chance at participating in the tourney. You''ll hear how you''ll be able to, I''m almost sure of it... I hope I will see you here at noon, young boy."


    Our squire couldn''t answer. He was panting, cold sweat on his forehead. He watched as the man went past him, and laughed. The soldier couldn''t even look at him disappear around the corner. He just stood there, his psyche shaken by themendicant''spresence.