The Inquisitor Ch. 36

The champions rode in on heavy horse, adorned with armor and brightly colored banners. From their saddles, they held aloft flowing standards of matching colour which snapped in the crisp air. Each man wore a different shade, and each bore a crest of their ancestors. Some displayed wild boar, others mighty castles, and others still wore they crest of the dragon.

Lord Tymrill was among this group. The princess supposed, and rightly so, that they belonged to the King's company which had imprisoned the dragon so long ago. Each of these men wore the deepest crimson and black, and across their breastplates roiled the ancient seal she had seen carved into the door guarding the ancient dragon hold. Though her readings had answered many questions, it had raised even more. How could these same men have fought with the King so long ago, as the pages in the book seemed worn by countless years? How was there a passage leading down to the dragon hold, when Syr Va'ahl had been so adamant the dragon could use its weakness to escape its prison?

The princess sat with the Queen and watched the gallant pageantry unfolding on the Tournament grounds below. Flowing patterns of moving shapes formed and reformed as the champions and company performed astounding shows of horsemanship. Close quarter drills and furious displays abounded as the company at last came to a crisp halt in a long line stretching the length of the grandstands, Lord Tymrill in the direct center, just below them. Without command, each champion snapped up his visor and issued a sharp salute to the Queen, who in turn gave each a small bow of her head in tribute.

As the formation broke up, each man and company headed off to their respective events, until only Lord Tymrill remained, motionless before them. At last he spoke in a loud and commanding voice.

"Hail, worthy Queen Belladonna. You honour us with your invitation, and we shall honour the Mistress of the Moon with display of glory!" To this the crowd roared and cheered.

The Queen stood from her tufted throne, and a hush fell over the crowd.

"And to you, mighty Kinsman from the North! Welcome once again to our kingdom. It has been far too long. If you compete not in these games, then join me here and enjoy their glorious spectacle. To all those who shall compete, may the Mistress of the Moon show mercy upon you and keep you from all harm. Let the Games begin!" To this, the crowd roared as one voice, the sheer magnitude of sound an audible force.

The great chieftain below dismounted, and a lowly page took his horse's reigns, leading it from the field. The crowd gathered below the Queen's viewing box parted before him, and he strode confidently up the stairs, bowing low before the Queen and her guest, the princess. When he saw her, a broad smile creased his weathered face, and he bowed lower still.

Pleasantries and courtesies were exchanged, and the Queen bade Tymrill be seated upon the other comfortable chair. Lord Tymrill eyed it as if it were a snake.

"Surely I should not sit upon the seat of the King, my lady." He said, shocked by her notion. He looked all about as if he might actually see the King rise up and admonish him.

"Do not trouble yourself, my Lord." Responded the Queen, flashing her brightest and most devastating smile. "All in this realm know the King has fallen ill. And all know you are his closest kinsman. Not a soul in this kingdom would feel it a dishonour for you to sit at my side." She let the sentence hang there in the air, as if perhaps the realm desired him to be named consort or perhaps even ruler in the King's stead.

Lord Tymrill looked concerned, looking back across the field at the grandstand of commoners and subjects. At last, he shook his head and slowly sat upon the throne. There they watched the proceedings unfold. Lord Tymrill upon the throne of the King, with the princess next to him on his right, and the Queen next to the princess in a throne of her own, even grander and beautiful than the King's.

- - -

Below them, the games raged on. First came the bowmen, longbows polished until the wood shone with deep amber light. The thok of their arrows striking the mark was punctuated by cheers and howls from the gathered masses,

Next came the sword. Armored men battled and banged at each other for what seemed hours, A champion would rise, only to be challenged by an even more formidable opponent. The ring of sword against sword and the clatter of metal against metal sounded out over the field. In the distance, men on horseback put their mounts through practice runs, preparing for the mounted joust.

At long last, a victor emerged from the meleé that was the sword competition. His once bright armour was dented and scuffed, but his ruddy face smiled a wide smile, and he extended a hand to each he had laid low. Sportsmen all, they laughed and congratulated him on his victory. The princess caught his glance, and he bowed low. In spite of herself, she blushed and grew hot, knowing that it would not be long until his prowess would be displayed to her as well.

At the last, came the mounted joust. As they horsemen took the field, another tremendous cheer went up from the crowd. This was their favourite event, and each had their favorite. Money and coin exchanged hands as bets were laid and the joust began.

The first was adorned in deep red leather armor, laid over with a coat of bright mail. His horse was festooned with red and green, and he thundered down the run toward his opponent. Grasps and groans from the crowd as lances connected, one pass, two passes, and a third, unseating his opponent with a terrible crunch.

Cheers and whoops sounded as the defeated lost his horse to the victor and was helped up by squires. The victor dismounted and clapped him on the back, softening the blow of losing such a prized possession. They shared wide smiles and good humored jabs as they left the field. Cheers and hoots as money exchanged hands, losers calling rematch, victors testing the clarity of gold with gnarled teeth.

The joust raged on, the crunch of lance against armour, the grunt of men taking sharp blows. One braggard knocked clear from his horse by a much smaller and less seasoned opponent was met with jeers and catcalls as he slunk away, his younger counterpart waving mightily to the crowd.

The tournament wore on until late in the afternoon. At one point during the games, a glint of metal from the commoner's stand caught the eyes of those in the Queen's viewing balcony. The Queen leaned close to the princess, whispering.

"Ah... I see you master there below." She said, pointing to where the tiny shine had occurred. As the princess squinted, she caught sight of the robed Inquisitor amongst the cheering masses across the field. The Queen gave him a slight wave, but he returned it not.

"Hmph." said the Queen. "Probably sulking because he knows what awaits you... jealous old fool. Can't bear to watch his precious slave pleasure all of the champions at once, I'm sure." The princess said nothing. The Queen returned her attentions to the games, and the princess made small talk with Lord Tymrill.

"Tell me Lord Tymrill of the great crest which you wear." she said.

"Ah..." he said. "Many seasons ago, we traveled with our kinsman, your King, to these lands, after he escaped from the land of the infidel. We bore him safely to his home, only to find it had become lair to a terrible dragon."

"We jailed the beast in the very ground in which it slept. Walled it in as the old monks do their dead." said he, in a voice which tellers of ghost stories invariably employ, grave and sincere. "And there it remains to this very day!" he added with a devilish smile.

"Those of us who were among the company all wear the crest of the dragon as badges of honour." he finished.

"And a mighty deed it was." said the Queen, overhearing their conversation. "Our realm is forever grateful to you and your men, Lord Tymrill."

"T'was long ago, your highness." responded Tymrill. "I was a much younger man then." To the princess he added. "Young and brave... and foolish. I remember swearing to go down and vanquish the beast all alone. Ha! What folly! But the wizard who traveled from the desert lands with us... you might recall him... the old man who cackled and laughed and caused such a ruckus when you came to visit our camp?" The princess nodded, but said nothing more about Syr Va'ahl. The Queen heard him mentioned as well, and her back stiffened.

"Ah." thought the princess. "So she did not know he sojourns with the outlanders still." The thought made her laugh to herself, but she kept a still exterior.

Lord Tymrill took no notice of the Queen's discomfort, barreling on through his tale.

"Yes," said the chieftain. "The very same. When I proposed we slay the dragon, he railed at us all, and would have none of it. He was most clear that no one was to go down into it's lair or anywhere near the dragon, as I remember."

"T'was he who proposed we wall it up, seal it inside the earth, where it would sleep forever; unawakened by the warmth of spring and summer. You know, as I recall, I believe your Queen wrought magick upon the seal as well." he said, gesturing towards her. "A mighty good plan as it turns out, as the beast did not emerge, and still slumbers to this day."

The Queen could stand no more of this prattle, and snapped a curt response. Tymrill caught the inflection in her voice and let the subject drop. The princess was amused by the vexation of the Queen, but said no more.

The games wore on as the sun sank lower in the sky. By the time a victor was decided, it had turned to deep golden hues of scarlet and blue. On the field below, the victor sat unsteadily on his horse. He'd taken on every challenger, and he alone remained afield, all other long since retired. From her lofty perch, the princess recognized him as one of the guards who had accompanied her and Chrysanthemum back from the outlander's camp.

Much ale and mead had flowed throughout the day, the crowd was loud and boisterous. As the sun sank even lower, the Queen rose to announce the champions of the tournament to the cheering crowd. Drunken as they were, the crowd grew still as the Queen stood to address them.

"Champions, competitors, and citizens of the realm... Glorious has this day been!" Much cheering. "Behold, I give you your Champions!" The cheering grew as she announced the winners of the bow, the sword, and the lance. At last they died down and the Queen continued.

"Today has seen much sport... and I am much pleased with all of our guests. If the champions declared this day will join us here on this balcony, they shall receive their reward."

"To every citizen of the realm, and to our guests from the North... as everyone knows... tonight.... is the High Moon! This time the crowd went wild, singing and joyous celebration ensued.

"I have smelt the cook-fires all this day." continued the Queen. "And tonight there shall be such a feast that all will remember this day!" As she spoke, she cast a knowing look to the princess. "And this very night, under the High Moon, all of the faithful are welcomed. Come and join us as we invoke the Rite of the High Moon. If any among you wish to pay homage to the Mistress and join in the Revel, join with us in celebration under the night sky!" The crowd could be contained no longer, as cheering and rejoicing throngs flowed from the grandstands and into the tournament field.

The princess saw two men begin to climb up from the field below as the crowds began to disperse and head for their places. From across the land, happy song and good food flowed freely. The princess grew nervous as she watched the sun slip lower on the horizon. She remembered her master's warning, and hit upon a plan of distraction.

As the two champions gained the balcony, the Queen flashed them her brightest smile.

"What ho, valiant champions. Come so quick to claim your prize, I see." She shot the princess a wicked glance. "But pray, where is the third. Champion of the bow, I believe."

"Your forgiveness, mighty Queen." said the Champion of the Sword. "Our bowman cannot claim his reward."

"What?" she snapped. "Explain yourself."

"After he completed the display of skill with the bow, he decided to enter the sword event as well, your majesty. I am sad to say he was injured, not gravely, my lady, but enough that he is weakened and attended by our surgeons."

"But... this will not do!" stammered the Queen. The princess felt the air grow colder, and knew the Queen was growing angry. "I have promised this girl as sport! And now there is no third for her!" The princess felt the frightening crackle in the air.

The princess spoke up quickly. "Fret not, my Queen. I choose Lord Tymrill for my Third Champion." Tymrill's eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open.

The Queen softened, and her eyes grew sly and cunning. "Lord Tymrill, you say?"

"Yes, my Queen." Continued the princess, pouring it on thick. "I lay with him when we were sent to their encampment, and I must admit... I have not forgotten him."

The Queen mulled it over. Clearly she'd had other plans for the great chieftain, but in the end, she decided the further humiliation and subservience of the princess was a suitable alternative.

"Very well." She snapped. To the champions, "You may take her away."

The princess thought quickly. "Wait, my lady!" she blurted. "I was hoping... It was my hope you might... look upon us as the Champions claim me."

The Queen turned fully around to look square at the princess. Her face was a mask of surprise. "Do you mean... you desire me to watch as they ravage you?"

"Yes, my Queen." said the princess, bowing her head low. "I serve you, do I not? I know it would please you greatly to watch these fine men take me."

To all of this, the two champions and their chieftain looked on in amazement. Truly they had never witnessed such an exchange in all of their days.

The Queen's eyes grew hungry and her smile grew even more wicked. "You are learning well, my young one. Yes. I should enjoy that very much... and you shall please them all! Here, in this very balcony... let me see you pleasure them before me!"