The day was hot and humid. At least, that’s how it felt to the men in the field. They had been working from when the sun just peeked over the horizon to when it reached its highest point in the sky. Word had been sent from the inner kingdom that the king was collecting produce early for some royal event. So of course the peasants were forced to work twice as fast to prepare their offerings to their liege, under the stern oversight of his knights.
Lander wiped the sweat from his brow as he searched through crops of wheat and barley to find sections that were ready to be harvested. His eyes darted to the closest knight. They were officially described as overseers to make sure the villagers were working efficiently for the king, but he knew what they were really here for. The shifty way the knights’ eyes roved from worker to worker gave them away. They were hunting for sorcerers.
For reasons unknown, the king had been sending more and more of his knights to the outer villages to seize and execute suspected magic-wielders. Now there were even some stationed permanently to keep a closer eye on the peasants. Lander often wondered if something had happened within the walls of the inner kingdom. What else would trigger such a reaction?
One of the knights met his gaze, and Lander quickly turned back to his work at hand. He didn’t want any of them to suspect him of being a sorcerer, because he actually was one. He had kept a low profile since his childhood, mostly due to his parents’ protection and cover-ups, and so far the knights in his village were unaware of his talents. He wanted to keep it that way.
The workers finished their jobs just before sunset. Everyone returned home according to another newly enforced law: the curfew. No one was to be outside after nightfall. Lander walked with some of his neighbors past the knights, chatting idly to make himself look like just another work-weary peasant, however in reality he was listening to the knights’ conversation. He had gotten into this habit a few days ago when the king started stationing the guards in the villages. The eavesdropping had paid off twice since then. He had been prepared for two “random” home searches and had enough time to hide anything in his room that related to magic. So when the other villagers rounded a corner to head home, Lander slipped into a nearby alley to continue listening to the knights.
“…to enter the tournament? I know I am. I heard the prize is a sizable amount of gold.”
“Of course I am. I heard a rumor that the king is going to give the winner a portion of his land in the south.”
“Really? I’m not so sure. The king is allowing peasants to enter. I doubt he would offer up land if there’s a chance some lowly commoner could win it.”
“But what are the odds of that happening? I mean we’ve been trained to kill since birth. The peasants are only there to amuse the spectators.”
“That is very true. I hope I get to fight one of them just to see the look on his face when he realizes he doesn’t stand a chance.”
The two knights walked off, laughing about the foolishness of peasants. Lander stayed behind. A tournament that commoners could enter? The winnings from something that prestigious would pay off his village’s taxes for a generation. It wasn’t even a choice; he had to enter. Lander slipped through the shadows to return home and tell his family the news.
--
“Absolutely not.”
“You’ll be killed!”
Lander glared at his parents as they forbade him from entering the tournament. He had been sure they would be excited about the news. He could win enough gold to secure their home for life. He hadn’t expected they would react like this.
“What if someone catches you using magic in the inner kingdom?” his father said. “You would be executed on the spot.”
“I’m not going to use magic,” Lander said tiredly. “Besides, I’m going to enter this whether you ‘permit’ me to or not. Don’t forget, I’m not a child anymore. I just figured I would tell you my plan before I left.” His parents fell silent at that. He knew they would always think of him as in inexperienced young boy, but that didn’t mean they could dictate the decisions he made. He was only still living with them because he was worried for their sakes. Everyone in the village had noticed the increasing taxes by now, and Lander’s parents were struggling to keep up in their old age. Lander lived with them to help them make payments to the king. Sometimes they forgot that little detail and treated him like he was still under their custody.
“If you do this,” his mother finally said. “Just… be careful.”
“You know I will,” Lander replied. “And you take care of yourselves while I’m gone.”
--
Lander left early the next morning, journeying to the inner kingdom on foot and making use of the cart of the occasional travelling merchant. He arrived as the sun began sinking in the sky, leaving him with plenty of time to explore the marketplace.
The inner city was bustling with activity. There were more people packed together in one place than Lander had ever seen before in his life. He knew they had to be middle-to-upper-class commoners. There was no way the royal family was this large. He wormed his way through the crowds, searching for the location to sign up for the tournament. After a while of being jostled by the elbows and shoulders of strangers, he finally found it. The man in charge of admittance made a face as Lander approached him.
“Let me guess, you’re here for the tournament tomorrow,” he shook his head and muttered to himself. “Now they’re letting peasants enter? What is the king thinking?”
“Careful, saying such things could be considered treason,” Lander said casually. The man shot him a wicked look.
“Maybe so, but it doesn’t matter,” he spat. “No royal in his right mind would listen to the accusations of such a low-class commoner.”
“Well this low-class commoner would like to enter that tournament now,” Lander said. “And he would appreciate it is you add his name to the list.”
“Fine,” the man said. “I hope you know I could send you packing right now, but I won’t. I think I would much rather see that smug look of yours get wiped off your face when you face a real warrior in battle.”
“Thank you for your generosity,” Lander said. He gave the man his name so he could write it down. The man did so, and then looked him over again and sneered.
“I hope you’ve brought something stronger than cloth to wear to the fight,” he said. “Otherwise you won’t last long enough to entertain me.”
“I’m sorry, but this is all I’ve got,” Lander held his arms out and shrugged. “If you point me in the direction of an armor smith, I’d be glad to oblige you though.”
“You’re an odd character,” the man shook his head again and scoffed. “But I suppose I’ll be nice just this once.”
Lander soon had his new armor and sword. It was nothing like the fancy equipment used by the knights, but it would serve its purpose. The only problem was that he had spent all of his money to purchase it. He didn’t even have enough left over to buy food in the lower-middleclass market. He could afford to go hungry one night, but he needed to find a place to stay. After all, the curfew was enforced in the inner kingdom too.
He was fortunate enough to run into a middleclass woman who was willing to take him in for the night. She didn’t even ask for any payment. Apparently he somehow reminded her of her son who had died two years back, so she was happy to help him. He made a mental note to give her some of the money for her troubles if he won the tournament.
Lander woke up early the next morning to practice with his new equipment. He struggled with figuring out how to put the armor on, as he had never worn such a thing before, but he learned quickly enough and soon he was headed out to find a good place to warm up.
It seemed he wasn’t the only one with that idea. Other men in armor walked the streets of Camelot. All of them seemed to be headed in the same direction. New to the area, Lander followed a group of knights to find out where they were going and so he wouldn’t get lost. Eventually he came upon a training ground where the men were sparring with each other and practicing their fighting techniques. Lander stood off to the side to watch. These people were quite obviously professionals, and their training showed through in their swordsmanship. For the first time, Lander felt a twinge of doubt that he could defeat them. He was mostly self-taught, which was helpful in the sense that his style was unorthodox and his opponent wouldn’t be able to predict his next moves. However it put him at something of a disadvantage for the same reasons. He also wasn’t used to wearing heavy armor into battle. It took away from his speed, which he always relied on in the past to win matches against his father and the other boys in the village. If he wanted to win this tournament, he could leave no room for error. Lander approached one of the knights who was standing off to the side, taking a break. He had to fight against one of them to find out where he needed to improve on his own techniques.
“Would you care to spar against me?” Lander said. The knight looked him over and snorted.
“Your armor looks like it came from a secondhand market,” he said. “Where are you from?”
“Why does that matter?” Lander dodged the question. “The only thing that really counts in battle is a warrior’s skill, not where he comes from.”
“With words like that, I can only assume you’re not a knight,” the man narrowed his eyes. “So what are you? A commoner?”
“Yes,” Lander said simply. “Now will you fight with me or not?”
“A common peasant is challenging me to a match?” the knight said, his voice pointedly loud to attract the attention of anyone else who happened to be standing nearby. “Do you even know who I am?”
“No,” Lander glanced to the side as heads turned to see what the commotion was about. He didn’t want to draw this much attention, but the knight was giving him no choice.
“I am second-in-command of all the knights of Camelot,” the knight said haughtily. “You would do well to stay out of my way, commoner.”
“Well congratulations to you,” Lander said “But my request still stands.”
“Then you are a fool,” the knight hissed. “Very well, I am not against putting peasants in their place.”
The knight drew his sword, a beautiful piece of work with ancient letters carved into the blade. Lander’s shabby sword looked like a child’s toy in comparison. He studied the knight’s stance and the position of his weapon, and then adjusted himself to a stance that best matched it. He saw a flicker of something in the knight’s eyes when he did this, but it was gone too quickly for him to read it. The knight lunged forward to strike at Lander’s side, but he parried the blow just in time. While he was safe against the first attack, Lander could feel the effects of the weighty armor slowing his movements. He would have to react even faster to account for the lack of speed.
They exchanged blows for a while, neither one able to find an advantage over the other. But then, as the knight pulled away from him after yet another attack, Lander spotted a weak point in his defense. He moved in to strike at it. His heart sped up as he began to swing his own blade down. The knight was responding too slowly to cover up his blunder. He could win this fight. But at the last second, he turned his sword and missed the opening. The knowledge that he could have beaten the knight was good enough for now. He didn’t need to give his abilities away before the real fights began. Lander purposefully misstepped so the knight could bring his sword down on his shoulder. The armor he was wearing protected him, but the blow still knocked him off-balance. The knight put his sword point against Lander’s throat.
“Do you yield?”
“Yes,” Lander dropped his sword and held up his hands.
The spectating men cheered, but Lander’s opponent looked uneasy. The knight knew he threw the fight, but Lander knew he wouldn’t say anything for the sake of his own pride. He also knew he stood a chance at winning the tournament if the man he just faced was one of the best fighters in the kingdom. Lander sheathed his sword and walked away to continue practicing on his own. His could feel the cold gaze of the knight following his back as he left.
--
The stands around the area were completely packed with people. It seemed like the entire kingdom of Camelot had come to watch the knights battle each other. Lander walked among the tents where the other contenders were preparing. He didn’t have one for himself, or course, so he contented himself with setting up in a secluded corner. So far, he hadn’t seen very many other peasants. He had only come across three or four of them. They were easy to pick out due to their plain armor (or lack thereof) and rugged features. Lander knew he must look the same way to the knights, but he held his head high in the confidence that he was skilled enough to face them.
“There you are,” a voice called out behind him. Lander turned around to see the woman who had taken him in the night before. In her hands was a long, bundled object.
“What are you doing here?” Lander asked.
“I came to give you this,” she held out the object. Lander took it and drew the object from the cloth that covered it. His eyes widened in surprise. It was a longsword, masterfully crafted with a double-edge blade. “It belonged to my son,” the woman explained. “I thought about it for a long time, so don’t try to talk me out of giving it away. I have no use for it anymore. Please, use it to defeat those awful knights.”
“Thank you,” Lander said. He slid the blade into its sheath and strapped it to his armor. “You’ve done so much for me. I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”
“Don’t worry about that,” the woman shook her head. “Just win one for me, okay?”
The knights began filing out of their tents and heading to the arena. The tournament would soon begin. Lander said goodbye to the woman and quickly joined them, slipping into the line as they stepped before the crowd. It was here that Lander got his first look at the king. He was standing in a raised section at the front of the arena, holding up his hands to silence the audience. He definitely had a regal appearance, wearing fine clothes and jewels and a golden crown that reflected the light of the sun. There were only four other people in the stand with him. Two were obviously servants, and one of them looked like some sort of advisor to the king. The last person was a young woman who also wore luxurious clothes and a more feminine crown. Lander guessed she was the king’s daughter. He had heard a little about her, but royal gossip hardly ever reached the outer villages so he only knew her name: Moria.
“Thank you all for coming,” the king’s voice projected over the arena once the crowds had hushed. He described and explained the rules of the tournament to the knights, then called the first two competitors to step forward. Everyone else was to either return to their tents or wait on the sidelines until their names were called. Most of the knights walked back to their tents. Lander marveled at their arrogance. They weren’t going to stay to watch the competition, to find weaknesses in the other knights’ techniques before they had to face them. He chose to watch from the side.
The battles went by rather quickly, as the first knights were badly matched and one side always dominated the other. Then the first peasant was called. He was one of the commoners with no armor, so his status was completely apparent to everyone watching. Lander felt a pang of sympathy for him when the crowd jeered. The fight was over before it even started. To make a show of his skill, the knight didn’t even unsheathe his sword. He just battered the peasant with the covered blade until one strong blow to the head made him lose consciousness. It was cruel, but at least the commoner wasn’t killed, Lander thought.
He watched two more battles before his name was announced. “Sir Baul and Lander, come forward.”
Without the title of a knight, everyone instantly knew he was a peasant. He tried to ignore the jeers as he stepped into the arena to face his opponent. Sir Baul was a bear-like man. His size was intimidating, but Lander could tell he was slow. Compared to the knight he sparred with in the training grounds, this man wouldn’t be much of a challenge. The two fighters unsheathed their swords and the king called for them to begin.
Baul charged first, shouting loudly to try and frighten his opponent. But Lander wasn’t about to fall for such a simple trick. He sidestepped and swung his sword, using the flat of his blade to knock the larger man off-balance. When Baul stumbled, Lander brought the hilt around to hit him in the small of his back. The knight still had too much momentum from his initial charge. When Lander added the extra force, he couldn’t stop himself from falling to the ground. Lander set the blade of his sword against Sir Baul’s neck. The battle was over. His mind was racing. He won. He won against a real knight. He looked up. Instead of the usual cheering and applause that came with a victory, the crowd had gone quiet. The spectators whispered among themselves. No one expected a peasant to defeat a knight.
But that didn’t matter. Lander sheathed his sword and walked out of the arena.
--
He won his next fights with ease. The opponents grew increasingly more skilled as the competition was shaved down to only the best, but Lander was more than a match for all of them. The audience had even begun to cheer for him towards the end. He was an unexpected underdog that made the tournament more entertaining for them. At last, he made it to the final match. There was only one other man remaining.
“Sir Jerald and Lander come forward,” the king said. “I must say, this was not the final battle I was expecting.” His eyes fell on Lander. “However, have proven yourselves to be the greatest among the knights gathered here. The winner of this last match will take home one hundred gold pieces and have the honor of dining with the royal family. I wish you the best of luck.” This time his gaze rested on Sir Jerald. Of course the king would want one of the knights to win the tournament. It would be an embarrassment to the kingdom if a simple peasant bested one of Camelot’s finest warriors.
As Lander took his place in the arena, he lifted his eyes to meet his opponent’s. Then he froze. It was the knight he had fought with that same morning. Sir Jerald smirked at him.
“Well, well,” he said venomously. “It looks like I will have my revenge sooner than I thought.” As Lander had suspected, Jerald had caught on to what he did during their last match. “This time, I will put you in your place, commoner.” With that last word, he darted forward and swung his sword at Lander’s side. It was the same opening move he had used in their last fight. But this time, when Lander moved to block the attack, Jerald altered the course of his blade and struck him in the arm. The blow almost made Lander drop his sword, but he managed to keep his grip.
“I went easy on you last time,” Jerald said as they parted. “Consider yourself honored that I’m using my full force now.”
“Shouldn’t you be focused on the fight rather than bragging?” Lander said. He lunged at Jerald. Despite what the knight was saying, he knew Jerald had made a mistake in their sparring match. He was just trying to use big words to cover it up. Lander still had a chance to beat him.
They both fought viciously, the crowd roaring its approval all around them. Finally, Lander saw it again. The knight pulled away from him after an unusually strong attack. While he was recovering his balance for another blow, he had an opening on his left side. Lander didn’t hesitate. He swung his sword right into it and felt it connect with a chink in Jerald’s armor. The blade didn’t cut very deep, but it was enough to draw blood and knock the knight off his feet. Lander stood over his fallen opponent, breathing heavily. He couldn’t believe it. He won the tournament. He lifted his gaze to see the king’s reaction. If he was shocked or disappointed, he showed no sign of it.
“It seems we have our winner.”
Lander wiped the sweat from his brow as he searched through crops of wheat and barley to find sections that were ready to be harvested. His eyes darted to the closest knight. They were officially described as overseers to make sure the villagers were working efficiently for the king, but he knew what they were really here for. The shifty way the knights’ eyes roved from worker to worker gave them away. They were hunting for sorcerers.
For reasons unknown, the king had been sending more and more of his knights to the outer villages to seize and execute suspected magic-wielders. Now there were even some stationed permanently to keep a closer eye on the peasants. Lander often wondered if something had happened within the walls of the inner kingdom. What else would trigger such a reaction?
One of the knights met his gaze, and Lander quickly turned back to his work at hand. He didn’t want any of them to suspect him of being a sorcerer, because he actually was one. He had kept a low profile since his childhood, mostly due to his parents’ protection and cover-ups, and so far the knights in his village were unaware of his talents. He wanted to keep it that way.
The workers finished their jobs just before sunset. Everyone returned home according to another newly enforced law: the curfew. No one was to be outside after nightfall. Lander walked with some of his neighbors past the knights, chatting idly to make himself look like just another work-weary peasant, however in reality he was listening to the knights’ conversation. He had gotten into this habit a few days ago when the king started stationing the guards in the villages. The eavesdropping had paid off twice since then. He had been prepared for two “random” home searches and had enough time to hide anything in his room that related to magic. So when the other villagers rounded a corner to head home, Lander slipped into a nearby alley to continue listening to the knights.
“…to enter the tournament? I know I am. I heard the prize is a sizable amount of gold.”
“Of course I am. I heard a rumor that the king is going to give the winner a portion of his land in the south.”
“Really? I’m not so sure. The king is allowing peasants to enter. I doubt he would offer up land if there’s a chance some lowly commoner could win it.”
“But what are the odds of that happening? I mean we’ve been trained to kill since birth. The peasants are only there to amuse the spectators.”
“That is very true. I hope I get to fight one of them just to see the look on his face when he realizes he doesn’t stand a chance.”
The two knights walked off, laughing about the foolishness of peasants. Lander stayed behind. A tournament that commoners could enter? The winnings from something that prestigious would pay off his village’s taxes for a generation. It wasn’t even a choice; he had to enter. Lander slipped through the shadows to return home and tell his family the news.
--
“Absolutely not.”
“You’ll be killed!”
Lander glared at his parents as they forbade him from entering the tournament. He had been sure they would be excited about the news. He could win enough gold to secure their home for life. He hadn’t expected they would react like this.
“What if someone catches you using magic in the inner kingdom?” his father said. “You would be executed on the spot.”
“I’m not going to use magic,” Lander said tiredly. “Besides, I’m going to enter this whether you ‘permit’ me to or not. Don’t forget, I’m not a child anymore. I just figured I would tell you my plan before I left.” His parents fell silent at that. He knew they would always think of him as in inexperienced young boy, but that didn’t mean they could dictate the decisions he made. He was only still living with them because he was worried for their sakes. Everyone in the village had noticed the increasing taxes by now, and Lander’s parents were struggling to keep up in their old age. Lander lived with them to help them make payments to the king. Sometimes they forgot that little detail and treated him like he was still under their custody.
“If you do this,” his mother finally said. “Just… be careful.”
“You know I will,” Lander replied. “And you take care of yourselves while I’m gone.”
--
Lander left early the next morning, journeying to the inner kingdom on foot and making use of the cart of the occasional travelling merchant. He arrived as the sun began sinking in the sky, leaving him with plenty of time to explore the marketplace.
The inner city was bustling with activity. There were more people packed together in one place than Lander had ever seen before in his life. He knew they had to be middle-to-upper-class commoners. There was no way the royal family was this large. He wormed his way through the crowds, searching for the location to sign up for the tournament. After a while of being jostled by the elbows and shoulders of strangers, he finally found it. The man in charge of admittance made a face as Lander approached him.
“Let me guess, you’re here for the tournament tomorrow,” he shook his head and muttered to himself. “Now they’re letting peasants enter? What is the king thinking?”
“Careful, saying such things could be considered treason,” Lander said casually. The man shot him a wicked look.
“Maybe so, but it doesn’t matter,” he spat. “No royal in his right mind would listen to the accusations of such a low-class commoner.”
“Well this low-class commoner would like to enter that tournament now,” Lander said. “And he would appreciate it is you add his name to the list.”
“Fine,” the man said. “I hope you know I could send you packing right now, but I won’t. I think I would much rather see that smug look of yours get wiped off your face when you face a real warrior in battle.”
“Thank you for your generosity,” Lander said. He gave the man his name so he could write it down. The man did so, and then looked him over again and sneered.
“I hope you’ve brought something stronger than cloth to wear to the fight,” he said. “Otherwise you won’t last long enough to entertain me.”
“I’m sorry, but this is all I’ve got,” Lander held his arms out and shrugged. “If you point me in the direction of an armor smith, I’d be glad to oblige you though.”
“You’re an odd character,” the man shook his head again and scoffed. “But I suppose I’ll be nice just this once.”
Lander soon had his new armor and sword. It was nothing like the fancy equipment used by the knights, but it would serve its purpose. The only problem was that he had spent all of his money to purchase it. He didn’t even have enough left over to buy food in the lower-middleclass market. He could afford to go hungry one night, but he needed to find a place to stay. After all, the curfew was enforced in the inner kingdom too.
He was fortunate enough to run into a middleclass woman who was willing to take him in for the night. She didn’t even ask for any payment. Apparently he somehow reminded her of her son who had died two years back, so she was happy to help him. He made a mental note to give her some of the money for her troubles if he won the tournament.
Lander woke up early the next morning to practice with his new equipment. He struggled with figuring out how to put the armor on, as he had never worn such a thing before, but he learned quickly enough and soon he was headed out to find a good place to warm up.
It seemed he wasn’t the only one with that idea. Other men in armor walked the streets of Camelot. All of them seemed to be headed in the same direction. New to the area, Lander followed a group of knights to find out where they were going and so he wouldn’t get lost. Eventually he came upon a training ground where the men were sparring with each other and practicing their fighting techniques. Lander stood off to the side to watch. These people were quite obviously professionals, and their training showed through in their swordsmanship. For the first time, Lander felt a twinge of doubt that he could defeat them. He was mostly self-taught, which was helpful in the sense that his style was unorthodox and his opponent wouldn’t be able to predict his next moves. However it put him at something of a disadvantage for the same reasons. He also wasn’t used to wearing heavy armor into battle. It took away from his speed, which he always relied on in the past to win matches against his father and the other boys in the village. If he wanted to win this tournament, he could leave no room for error. Lander approached one of the knights who was standing off to the side, taking a break. He had to fight against one of them to find out where he needed to improve on his own techniques.
“Would you care to spar against me?” Lander said. The knight looked him over and snorted.
“Your armor looks like it came from a secondhand market,” he said. “Where are you from?”
“Why does that matter?” Lander dodged the question. “The only thing that really counts in battle is a warrior’s skill, not where he comes from.”
“With words like that, I can only assume you’re not a knight,” the man narrowed his eyes. “So what are you? A commoner?”
“Yes,” Lander said simply. “Now will you fight with me or not?”
“A common peasant is challenging me to a match?” the knight said, his voice pointedly loud to attract the attention of anyone else who happened to be standing nearby. “Do you even know who I am?”
“No,” Lander glanced to the side as heads turned to see what the commotion was about. He didn’t want to draw this much attention, but the knight was giving him no choice.
“I am second-in-command of all the knights of Camelot,” the knight said haughtily. “You would do well to stay out of my way, commoner.”
“Well congratulations to you,” Lander said “But my request still stands.”
“Then you are a fool,” the knight hissed. “Very well, I am not against putting peasants in their place.”
The knight drew his sword, a beautiful piece of work with ancient letters carved into the blade. Lander’s shabby sword looked like a child’s toy in comparison. He studied the knight’s stance and the position of his weapon, and then adjusted himself to a stance that best matched it. He saw a flicker of something in the knight’s eyes when he did this, but it was gone too quickly for him to read it. The knight lunged forward to strike at Lander’s side, but he parried the blow just in time. While he was safe against the first attack, Lander could feel the effects of the weighty armor slowing his movements. He would have to react even faster to account for the lack of speed.
They exchanged blows for a while, neither one able to find an advantage over the other. But then, as the knight pulled away from him after yet another attack, Lander spotted a weak point in his defense. He moved in to strike at it. His heart sped up as he began to swing his own blade down. The knight was responding too slowly to cover up his blunder. He could win this fight. But at the last second, he turned his sword and missed the opening. The knowledge that he could have beaten the knight was good enough for now. He didn’t need to give his abilities away before the real fights began. Lander purposefully misstepped so the knight could bring his sword down on his shoulder. The armor he was wearing protected him, but the blow still knocked him off-balance. The knight put his sword point against Lander’s throat.
“Do you yield?”
“Yes,” Lander dropped his sword and held up his hands.
The spectating men cheered, but Lander’s opponent looked uneasy. The knight knew he threw the fight, but Lander knew he wouldn’t say anything for the sake of his own pride. He also knew he stood a chance at winning the tournament if the man he just faced was one of the best fighters in the kingdom. Lander sheathed his sword and walked away to continue practicing on his own. His could feel the cold gaze of the knight following his back as he left.
--
The stands around the area were completely packed with people. It seemed like the entire kingdom of Camelot had come to watch the knights battle each other. Lander walked among the tents where the other contenders were preparing. He didn’t have one for himself, or course, so he contented himself with setting up in a secluded corner. So far, he hadn’t seen very many other peasants. He had only come across three or four of them. They were easy to pick out due to their plain armor (or lack thereof) and rugged features. Lander knew he must look the same way to the knights, but he held his head high in the confidence that he was skilled enough to face them.
“There you are,” a voice called out behind him. Lander turned around to see the woman who had taken him in the night before. In her hands was a long, bundled object.
“What are you doing here?” Lander asked.
“I came to give you this,” she held out the object. Lander took it and drew the object from the cloth that covered it. His eyes widened in surprise. It was a longsword, masterfully crafted with a double-edge blade. “It belonged to my son,” the woman explained. “I thought about it for a long time, so don’t try to talk me out of giving it away. I have no use for it anymore. Please, use it to defeat those awful knights.”
“Thank you,” Lander said. He slid the blade into its sheath and strapped it to his armor. “You’ve done so much for me. I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”
“Don’t worry about that,” the woman shook her head. “Just win one for me, okay?”
The knights began filing out of their tents and heading to the arena. The tournament would soon begin. Lander said goodbye to the woman and quickly joined them, slipping into the line as they stepped before the crowd. It was here that Lander got his first look at the king. He was standing in a raised section at the front of the arena, holding up his hands to silence the audience. He definitely had a regal appearance, wearing fine clothes and jewels and a golden crown that reflected the light of the sun. There were only four other people in the stand with him. Two were obviously servants, and one of them looked like some sort of advisor to the king. The last person was a young woman who also wore luxurious clothes and a more feminine crown. Lander guessed she was the king’s daughter. He had heard a little about her, but royal gossip hardly ever reached the outer villages so he only knew her name: Moria.
“Thank you all for coming,” the king’s voice projected over the arena once the crowds had hushed. He described and explained the rules of the tournament to the knights, then called the first two competitors to step forward. Everyone else was to either return to their tents or wait on the sidelines until their names were called. Most of the knights walked back to their tents. Lander marveled at their arrogance. They weren’t going to stay to watch the competition, to find weaknesses in the other knights’ techniques before they had to face them. He chose to watch from the side.
The battles went by rather quickly, as the first knights were badly matched and one side always dominated the other. Then the first peasant was called. He was one of the commoners with no armor, so his status was completely apparent to everyone watching. Lander felt a pang of sympathy for him when the crowd jeered. The fight was over before it even started. To make a show of his skill, the knight didn’t even unsheathe his sword. He just battered the peasant with the covered blade until one strong blow to the head made him lose consciousness. It was cruel, but at least the commoner wasn’t killed, Lander thought.
He watched two more battles before his name was announced. “Sir Baul and Lander, come forward.”
Without the title of a knight, everyone instantly knew he was a peasant. He tried to ignore the jeers as he stepped into the arena to face his opponent. Sir Baul was a bear-like man. His size was intimidating, but Lander could tell he was slow. Compared to the knight he sparred with in the training grounds, this man wouldn’t be much of a challenge. The two fighters unsheathed their swords and the king called for them to begin.
Baul charged first, shouting loudly to try and frighten his opponent. But Lander wasn’t about to fall for such a simple trick. He sidestepped and swung his sword, using the flat of his blade to knock the larger man off-balance. When Baul stumbled, Lander brought the hilt around to hit him in the small of his back. The knight still had too much momentum from his initial charge. When Lander added the extra force, he couldn’t stop himself from falling to the ground. Lander set the blade of his sword against Sir Baul’s neck. The battle was over. His mind was racing. He won. He won against a real knight. He looked up. Instead of the usual cheering and applause that came with a victory, the crowd had gone quiet. The spectators whispered among themselves. No one expected a peasant to defeat a knight.
But that didn’t matter. Lander sheathed his sword and walked out of the arena.
--
He won his next fights with ease. The opponents grew increasingly more skilled as the competition was shaved down to only the best, but Lander was more than a match for all of them. The audience had even begun to cheer for him towards the end. He was an unexpected underdog that made the tournament more entertaining for them. At last, he made it to the final match. There was only one other man remaining.
“Sir Jerald and Lander come forward,” the king said. “I must say, this was not the final battle I was expecting.” His eyes fell on Lander. “However, have proven yourselves to be the greatest among the knights gathered here. The winner of this last match will take home one hundred gold pieces and have the honor of dining with the royal family. I wish you the best of luck.” This time his gaze rested on Sir Jerald. Of course the king would want one of the knights to win the tournament. It would be an embarrassment to the kingdom if a simple peasant bested one of Camelot’s finest warriors.
As Lander took his place in the arena, he lifted his eyes to meet his opponent’s. Then he froze. It was the knight he had fought with that same morning. Sir Jerald smirked at him.
“Well, well,” he said venomously. “It looks like I will have my revenge sooner than I thought.” As Lander had suspected, Jerald had caught on to what he did during their last match. “This time, I will put you in your place, commoner.” With that last word, he darted forward and swung his sword at Lander’s side. It was the same opening move he had used in their last fight. But this time, when Lander moved to block the attack, Jerald altered the course of his blade and struck him in the arm. The blow almost made Lander drop his sword, but he managed to keep his grip.
“I went easy on you last time,” Jerald said as they parted. “Consider yourself honored that I’m using my full force now.”
“Shouldn’t you be focused on the fight rather than bragging?” Lander said. He lunged at Jerald. Despite what the knight was saying, he knew Jerald had made a mistake in their sparring match. He was just trying to use big words to cover it up. Lander still had a chance to beat him.
They both fought viciously, the crowd roaring its approval all around them. Finally, Lander saw it again. The knight pulled away from him after an unusually strong attack. While he was recovering his balance for another blow, he had an opening on his left side. Lander didn’t hesitate. He swung his sword right into it and felt it connect with a chink in Jerald’s armor. The blade didn’t cut very deep, but it was enough to draw blood and knock the knight off his feet. Lander stood over his fallen opponent, breathing heavily. He couldn’t believe it. He won the tournament. He lifted his gaze to see the king’s reaction. If he was shocked or disappointed, he showed no sign of it.
“It seems we have our winner.”