IN THE SHADOW OF THE SPIRE
HARVESTTIME – PART 1: TOR AT THE TOURNEY FIELDS
PBeM – November 12th through December 1st, 2007
Harvesttime in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty
The next day, despite the weariness with which they had collapsed, they all awoke bright and early – looking forward to the festivals of Harvesttime and a day of rest and relaxation before attending the party at Castle Shard that evening.
Agnarr went looking (unsuccessfully) for a dog. And Elestra took simple joy in wandering the streets of the city. But for many of the others, the day held new wonders and discoveries…
TEE AND TOR – BREAKFAST CONFESSIONALS
Tor, knowing that Tee was always the first among them to rise, made a point of waking particularly early and heading down to breakfast. He wanted a chance to speak to her without the others around.
He went to the kitchen first, grabbing a salad of the seasoning grasses that had been steeped in the juices of last night’s roast; a dollop of fresh cream; and a cup of black coffee. He wasn’t sure what he thought of these Arathian meals, yet, but he had never been one to be choosy.
Heading into the dining room, he found Tee sitting alone. He joined her, eating his breakfast in silence for a minute or two.
Then, without pausing or looking up at Tee, he said, “Did you mean what you said, about going back to help those goblins?”
Tee thought about it for awhile, picking at her food. Then she sighed lightly and said, “I don’t know. While I think that they could use our help, and would not mind providing assistance necessarily, I am not sure if that is the best course of action for us to take at this time. I suppose it depends on how much more exploration we choose to do of the underground area – it might be useful to have the goblins as allies if we plan on being down there more.”
She fell into silence for a moment, before hestitantly asking, “Do you have something against helping the goblins in general, or was there something else that made you walk away? I do not like to pry, Tor, as I myself am a very private person, but we find ourselves in a situation where I think it would do us good to be more forthright with our intentions.”
“For a certainty.” Tor swallowed the last of his coffee. “Never saw a goblin before. They’re taller than I’d figured. And I can’t say that I care for a goblin more than any other creature, but I can’t say less neither. What I am against, in general, is helpin’ ’em, then shootin’ ’em, then helpin’ ’em again. It don’t seem proper.”
Tor paused for a moment, then continued. “Nor does leavin’ the party behind. It seems to me that weren’t right. It might not matter to the others one way or another, but to you…. I owe you an apology, is what I’m sayin’. I’m sorry about that business.”
“Forgiven and forgotten. I, too, owe an apology. I am sorry for the confusion that caused the situation, and your distress. It was an ugly business, one made worse by miscommunication and a lack of patience and understanding. Should we go back to help the goblins, which I am sure will take much more discussion with all of our party, I will work to keep the translations coming in a more efficient manner. I… am not sure how I know their language, honestly, and was ill-prepared to face them as anything but foes. Life has become so complicated with this… situation that we find ourselves in.”
Tee pushed away her plate, her food hardly touched, and rubbed the base of her neck lightly, still in obvious discomfort from the wounds she had sustained. After a moment of consideration she said, “I would like to talk with you about the condition that I and the others are currently in. I do not know how much more you have figured out or even care to know, but I feel it necessary to let you know that I am open to discussing it with you. Of course, I do not really know much about it myself, as to the cause or likely outcome of it all, but it certainly does affect things, and I—“ Tee cut herself off abruptly, feeling the words spilling out of control. “Since we woke up that morning, we have gone whichever way the wind blows, with no anchor to ground us or sail to direct us,” Tee smiled wryly, “Which I have no doubt is evident in our behaviour. I still do not know which direction to go, but I hope to provide more of an anchor to the group.”
Tor chuckled, a broad smile breaking open across his face. Tee was suddenly struck by the fact that the fine lines around his mouth and eyes spoke to a face made as much for laughter as for austerity. “Well, you can’t be both, seems to me! A sail would make a terrible anchor, and an anchor a worse sail!”
Tor laughed at his own joke for a minute (and Tee laughed along), then spun his chair to face Tee directly. “I like you. I like that you have a plan, and you have the best interest of your folk at heart… if not always in hand. Tell me what you mean to do, and I’ll help you if I can.”
Tee smiled brightly. It was a delight to see this side of him. Then she laughed, saying, “What I mean to do? I have to admit I am still working that out.” The thought seemed to sober her and she was quiet for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “No, that is not quite right. I mean to recover my memories. To determine the cause and correct it and to confront whomever, if anyone, is responsible for it. What I am still working out is how to do that. I think a first step is talking to the group, making sure that we are all working towards the same thing. I have my doubts as to the…urgency that many of them feel about resolving this situation.”
Tor nodded. “All right. I think I can live with that.”
Tee grinned. “Well, living is better than dying.”
They both laughed.
TO THE TOURNEY FIELDS
There was a lighter load on Tor’s shoulders as he left the Ghostly Minstrel that morning – freshly shaven and dressed in his finest clothes. Tee and Elestra had asked him if he would stop by the Jade Woman to pick up their gowns for the party, so after saddling Blue, he rode there first.
But after that he knew exactly where he wanted to go: The Tourney Fields. He’d seen them just outside of the North Gate as he’d ridden into Ptolus, but had been kept so busy over the past few days that he hadn’t been able to return. He knew, though, that if they were to be busy on any day, then that day would be Harvesttime.
As soon as he passed through North Gate, he could hear the distinctive clatter and clash of the martial bouts — they carried quite easily over the flat grasslands of the Arathian plain. He gently turned Blue towards the large, wooden structures standing a few thousand feet away.
When he first rode past these tourney fields upon his arrival in Ptolus, his practiced eye had picked out the distinctions which set these fields apart from those in his native Barund. There was also a kind of crudity about them — a lack of the finer points and polish.
Then the structures had been barren wood, but now he could see that they had been festooned with decorations of all kinds. When he drew nearer, he could clearly make out three distinct heraldries on display: A golden cross upon a field of crimson. A blade being plunged into a vortex. A dawning sun above the shield.
There appeared to be two events active: The jousting tilts and the archery range. There also appeared to be an arena prepared for a martial melee, although it stood empty for at least the moment.
Blue whickered gently and Tor smiled, rubbing him behind his ears. “Shame we just had a bath, isn’t it?”
THE KNIGHTS AND THEIR MOUNTS
He cantered Blue over to the Board of Ranks, on display just outside of the lists. Each name was noted with heraldry, and he noted that most of the names were accompanied by the three prominent heraldries on display (along with a smattering of others).
Marked by the golden cross upon a crimson field were the names Sir Naevin Swanwing, Sir Jallek Pedastan, Milady Uetha Wolanat, Sir Quaelin Fillasti, Milady Dessis Palath, and Milady Ralelle Noramar.
Marked by the blade-and-vortex were Milady Dierna Hillerchaun, Sir Brig Stoneheart, Sir Ironheart, Milady Zurita Kapella, Sir Allarde Beranek, and Sir Raed Kocurer.
Marked by the dawning sun above a martial shield were Sir Kabel Dathim, Sir Isak Gemmell, Sir Tagel Unergart, Sir Erick Kaworsk, Milady Jeanah Coish, Sir Nasim Grinstead, and Sir Sadrem Arbetman.
He also noted that the martial melee was scheduled for late in the afternoon, and only those marked with the three primary heraldries were listed as competing.
Glancing around, Tor noted that there was only a single set of stables. Riding Blue there he discovered that common and tourney steeds were separated into two wings. He also saw a small paddock out by the jousting field – it looked as if the horses were led from the stables and prepared there for the rites.
There were several stablehands on duty, but this only made it easier for Tor to squirrel away a lad named Jerrek for a few minutes and – with the aid of a gold Barundian crown as tip – learn a fair deal about the steeds.
There were many fine steeds, but only a few that could match the royal lines he had managed back in Barund. But he was struck particularly be three mounts: The unicorn ridden by Milady Dessis Palath. (“Can’t get near her, can we?” said Jerrek. “Milady comes herself to tend it.”) A dire horse with a coat of rich roan-and gold. (“Milord Steron Vsool’s steed, and a gentler one I’ve never seen.”) And a buckskinned tiger horse which you recognize as belonging to one of the royal steed lines. (“Aye,” Jerrek confirmed. “There is a knight down out of Barund. Rare at Harvesttime, but we see a fair number come the Midsummer again.”) The name he gave Tor, however – Sir Kalic – was not one that he recognized, although the family name would seem to place him out in the western duchies. He was likely Corinthian.
His curiousity satisfied, Tor headed up the slight hill towards the jousting tilt while chewing on a tough oat stem he’d plucked from the feedbags – an old habit that tasted of home. Halfway there, he heard a great cry go up.
THE JOUSTING TILTS
There were only seats along one edge of the field (rather than on both sides as there would be in Barund), but as he paid his silver piece and rounded the corner he could see that it was quite full. Children were scampering here and there, and red-faced laughter and cheering could be seen all around. So it was not an ill-attendance, he thought, but perhaps it was a rare one?
Chatting around he quickly found this to be true. Apparently the tournament fields were rarely used. In fact, tourneys were usually only held for the great festivals and occasionally upon the Commissar’s command. It turned out that the Commissar was, in fact, in attendance today – watching the jousting from a dark blue pavilion which had been raised on the opposite side of the field. His wife, seated next to him, was pointed out to Tor. And the other girls nearby were apparently his daughters. “See that one? Therese. The eldest. She’s not quite so prim and proper as one might think. These six months past—“ But then a cheer cut him off.
Tor looked down to the lists. One of the jousters had caught the tip of the other’s lance and broken it. A fine pass indeed. He settled down to watch.
A few passes later, there came a pause between the riders. After a moment, a bright light rose suddenly at one end of the field. It grew brighter and brighter, reaching an almost blinding intensity. And then, out of it, there rode a single rider upon a dire charger. He wore plate trimmed with gold and his heart glowed so brightly that it could be seen through both his chest and his armor. He raised his sword in salute to the crowd, and a great cheer went up.
While this spectacle has been building, a second tilt had been carried onto the field and laid in parallel to the first. Tor found this strange, but then the heart-glowing knight took up two lances – one in each hand. He rode down the middle of the two tilts and two knights rode against him. The twin lances struck unerringly. Five times this pass was repeated, felling two of the knights who rode against him while he himself was barely moved in his saddle.
It was an amazing feat. Asking around, Tor discovered that this was Steron Vsool – a paladin of Itor and a champion and hero to the people of Ptolus. These passes were not truly part of the tourney, but rather a mere entertainment of martial skill to fill the lull and pause between the rounds of the tourney of exception (which essentially functioned as an elimination tournament).
The three primary heraldries he had identified before, it turned out, belonged to three orders of knighthood within the city: The cross upon a field of a crimson to the Knights of the Golden Cross; the sword-and-vortex to the Knights of the Pale; and the dawning sun above the martial field to the Order of the Dawn.
The three orders apparently had a long-standing rivalry. Tourneys like this one were as much about which of the knighthoods would be able to field the largest and most dominant knights in the melee tourney.
TOURNEY’S END
As the long hours of the harvest afternoon passed by, the tourney of exception continued. The form and riding of many of the knights here seemed strange to Tor at first, but after awhile he realized the difference: The knights here were riding in combat trim and practicing combat charges. So many of the knights in the tourneys of Barund practiced their jousting only upon the tourney fields that it had given rise to an esoteric form. Perhaps a commoner wouldn’t notice it, but it was something that Tor’s trained eye was recognizing without even realizing what it saw.
By the end of the jousting, the Knights of the Pale had gained a slight advantage over the Knights of the Golden Cross and the Order of the Dawn. Sir Kalic of Barund, a knight not sworn to any of these orders, was the only such to reach this point as well. Given his choice, he tourney-swore to the cause of the Order of the Dawn.
A half hour break was then called. After that, a martial melee was fought between the Cross, Pale, and Dawn. The event was quite strange to Tor’s tastes – he’d never seen anything like it in Barund. Again, there was that edge of true combat in what they did. In the end, the Knights of the Golden Cross prevailed — although it was a narrow thing. Tor could clearly see that the Knights of the Golden Cross, although few in number, were easily the most skilled in arms between the three orders.
He headed back towards the Ghostly Minstrel. The sun was half-shaded by the tall pillar of the Spire. As he crossed the bridge from the Temple District into Midtown, he fell into its cold shadow.
