The Apprentice Read online

  The winner was Byron’s mate, and after announcing his victory, the trainer hustled him off to the side so that the next bout could begin. Erik fought in the second match and performed well. Rowan cheered for his friend as he won, though his victory clearly took its toll. Erik left the ring with a number of bruises and clutching his shoulder. Rowan expected Erik to come and sit with him, but Erik took his rest on the far side of the ring instead.

  The third match passed by quickly and was won by one of the boys who had been practicing with Rowan and Erik. The boy was younger than Rowan but he had done well. As the boy was led off the field, Rowan was called forward for his first match.

  Rowan finished tightening the straps that secured his armor and then he strode forward, approaching the ring with the blunted tourney blade clutched tightly in his hand.

  “Ready yourselves,” the trainer said as both boys stepped into the dueling ring.

  “I am ready,” Rowan told the trainer as he donned his helm, fastening a strap under his chin so that it would not wobble. Rowan’s opponent stood opposite him, taking practice swings.

  “Gregor is also ready.” The boy’s voice boomed like thunder, surprisingly deep for one his age. He was built like a boulder, his body massive and his arms rippling with muscle, and stood almost a full hand taller than Rowan.

  Rowan knew little about his opponent other than that the boy was a friend of Byron’s, which made him Rowan’s enemy.

  “You both know and understand the rules of this bout?”

  Rowan and Gregor nodded.

  The trainer stepped back and shouted at them to begin. It was a lengthy affair. Rowan took his time gauging the other boy’s skill. He chose to err on the side of caution since he did not know Gregor’s fighting style or ability.

  After a time spent dodging the other boy’s wild attacks, Rowan took advantage of an opening and knocked the other boy out, ending the fight. The audience cheered for him as he was proclaimed the victor and then was hustled out of the ring to make way for the next competitors.

  The matches flew by for the rest of the first round. Both Andrew and Byron won their respective matches and before he knew it, the second round had begun. Erik was fighting in the first bout of the second round but Rowan was not able to watch his friend’s match. He was busy stretching and preparing his armor, which he had removed while waiting. By the time Rowan was ready, Erik’s match had ended and Rowan was being called out.

  His second match went by almost as quickly as his first. Rowan fought against the boy from the first round who had been practicing in a group with himself and Erik. The boy fought well for his age but Rowan easily took the victory.

  He hadn’t had time before his match to check on Erik, so after he was once again declared the victor, he looked around the ring and spotted him. His friend was still wearing his armor and the tourney blade was stuck in the ground next to where he sat, so Rowan assumed that Erik had won his match. He suddenly felt apprehensive as he realized what this would mean. His next match would be against Erik. Rowan felt sick. It would have been one thing to duel his friend in a fair fight, but Erik was handicapped. Dueling him as he was would be dishonorable, but it would be just as bad to go easy on him. Rowan wondered if he even could fight seriously against an injured friend.

  “Don’t go easy on me.”

  Deep in thought, Rowan had not noticed Erik’s approach. He looked up at his friend and responded calmly.

  “I never said that I would.”

  “You don’t have to say it,” Erik said. “I can see it in your eyes. You don’t want to fight me while I’m injured.”

  Rowan wanted to argue but he could not. He wouldn’t lie to Erik.

  “Your silence speaks for itself,” Erik said. “I just want you to know that I won’t be holding back against you. I don’t expect any favors and I don’t want any special treatment just because of my damned arm.” Erik turned to leave.

  “Fight me as if we were sparring or don’t bother fighting me at all. You are better than me and we both know it. If I lose, I want to know that I lost honorably and completely. Show no mercy.” With that, Erik left Rowan alone.

  Still sweating from the exertion of his match, Rowan loosened his armor and tossed his helm to the ground, frustrated. He leaned back and allowed himself to become absorbed in his thoughts. How was he going to handle his bout with Erik? He could not think of an answer.

  Before he knew it, the trainer was once again calling his name. As the event progressed, the time between matches grew shorter and the time for the semi-finals quickly arrived. Only four remained: Rowan and Erik, and Andrew and Byron.

  When his name was called, Rowan stood and approached the dueling ring. He watched as Erik did the same. Neither one said anything. Neither one had anything to say. Rowan had already wished his friend luck in the tournament.

  Rowan took his place opposite his friend, the trainer acting as referee standing between them. When Erik caught his eye Rowan held his gaze, showing no weakness or hesitation and not once glancing at Erik’s injury. The trainer ran through the necessaries, introducing them to the crowd, checking their weapons and armor, and making sure that both of the boys were ready. It was a quick process, but by the end the crowd was riled up and Rowan was ready to begin. Sweat was already gathering in beads along the nape of his neck and his arm grew restless as it held his blunted blade.

  Finally, Darius stepped forward from the sidelines, where he would be officiating the match, and stood alongside the referee.

  “I congratulate the both of you on making it this far in the tournament. You have done well and tonight, whether you win or lose, you will be honored for your skill.” He gave them each a brief nod and flashed a rare smile. “Are both participants ready to begin?”

  “Yes.”

  “I am.”

  “Good. Then let the match proceed,” Darius shouted, much to the delight of the crowd. The head trainer stepped back and allowed the referee to take his place.

  Rowan and Erik both made the customary salutes to each other, to the referee, to the king, and Rowan to his master. Then they each took a defensive stance.

  At a sign from the referee, the match began.

  Instead of immediately engaging his opponent as he normally would when sparring, Rowan chose to wait. He was caught off guard as Erik immediately closed the distance between them and attacked. It was unlike Erik to fight so aggressively.

  Rowan retreated and parried the blow, a two-handed slash aimed at his chest. He continued to retreat as Erik pressed the attack and continued forward, trying to press Rowan back to edge of the ring. Many of Erik’s blows were sloppy, and they did not hold the power that his two-handed blows should have, since his arm was injured. But Rowan continued to block, parry, and dodge blow after blow as he slowly retreated at an angle, careful of his footing as he led Erik in a circle to avoid the edge of the ring.

  He waited patiently for an opportunity to make a riposte and strike back, and finally he seized his chance when Erik overreached on a lunge and was left off balance. It was a sloppy move and Rowan had no trouble taking the initiative and closing the distance to strike, but when he made his blow he held back at the last moment. Erik was open on his injured side and Rowan wanted to avoid causing too much damage.

  The blow landed and Erik was knocked sideways. Instead of pressing the attack, Rowan disengaged and retreated back to the center of the ring while his friend stood. Erik’s bad arm hung at his side and he now held his blade with only one hand. The tourney blades were light enough to accommodate a one-handed fighting style, but not without difficulty.

  “Aaarrrrrrrrgh.”

  Erik’s shout caught Rowan by surprise. He knew he hadn’t caused too much damage with his blow, and it did not seem as though Erik’s arm pained him any more than it had before. Rowan was confused.

  Erik suddenly lashed out wildly, all style and form gone as he repeatedly swung his sword with both hands.

  “Fight me, Rowan
! I want you to fight me for real,” Erik screamed as he pressed forward. Though Rowan was the better swordsman, he was hard pressed to defend himself against Erik’s wild attacks. His arms grew numb from the constant clash of blades as he retreated.

  “Fight me as you do when we spar together, Rowan!”

  “I am fighting against you,” Rowan said as he continued to retreat. He didn’t know how much longer he could fend off Erik’s attacks. His friend was fighting like a wildling and with a fury that Rowan had not known he possessed.

  “No, you are not. You aren’t taking this seriously. You are holding yourself back whether you know it or not.” Erik punctuated each sentence with a blow, ending with a vicious downward slash. Rowan saw him grimace in pain as the blade struck ground and the shock went up his arms. Erik released the blade with his left hand and renewed his attack using only his right. This gave him a greater reach and more maneuverability, but the power behind his blows began to fade.

  “I know you, Rowan. You and I both know that you are the better swordsman.”

  Erik swung again and forced Rowan to deflect the blade. Both boys were sweating and breathing heavily by now. Erik halted his attack and Rowan took his distance.

  “On any other day you would have killed me already. And you would have done it without so much as a second thought. You are not one to take advantage of another’s weakness, but this is not the time for that. There is a fine line between honor and pity, Rowan. I am trying my best to win and if you don’t try your best then you’re only making my defeat more humiliating.”

  “I am fighting against you with everything that I have,” Rowan said, but the words sounded false even to him. He had been holding back on account of Erik’s injured arm and now he could see it was paining his friend, even more so than the injury itself.

  “Fine. I won’t hold back against you anymore.”

  “Good,” Erik muttered. A momentary silence passed between them and Rowan seized the opportunity to attack. He stepped forward and made a thrust-lunge which he quickly followed with a spin that allowed him to strike at Erik with his shield hand. The second blow caught Erik off guard and Rowan’s blow connected and sent his friend sprawling to the ground. Rowan waited for Erik to rise before he continued, but he was relentless in his attack. Erik was only using his able arm at this point, but his advantage in both height and weight gave him an edge that made the fight close to even.

  The clanging of their blades echoed loudly as they fought, trading blows with one another. Rowan was now giving as good as he got, and for every blow that he received, he was able to strike Erik twice. He was the better sword. But his reluctance to strike Erik’s weak side held him back and was allowing Erik to get away with a great number of attacks that would normally have left him open to an easy counter.

  Erik noticed Rowan’s hesitation to strike his injured side and began to take advantage of that. Rowan was hard pressed to keep Erik from maintaining the upper hand. Even though his friend was only using one arm, his size advantage coupled with Rowan’s hesitation to further injure his friend’s left shoulder allowed him to slowly gain ground and gain the advantage.

  The shouts and cheers from the crowd were deafening as their fight became the center of attention. Rowan forced himself to tune those sounds out and focus on Erik’s blade.

  Block, parry, strike head. Sidestep and strike chest, retreat, recover, advance-lunge. His body moved through a series of steps and motions, acting and reacting.

  His mind was focused and he was filled with adrenaline as his friend began to push him to his limits. He quickly realized that if the fight continued the way it was going, he did not know if he would win. Erik had given up all pretense of defending his left side, making it much harder for Rowan to find an opening. He continued to score touches against Erik but the boy refused to give up. Driven by a need to win and prove himself, Erik had long since exceeded his normal battle endurance. His friend would not fall unless he was struck down, and Rowan was only humiliating both Erik and himself by giving his friend an obvious handicap.

  He knew what he had to do.

  As Erik closed the distance between them and made a thrust-lunge, Rowan swept the blade to the side and feinted at Erik’s head. As his friend brought his blade up to block the blow, Rowan quickly shifted into a different stance and brought his blade down in an arc, striking the upper left side of Erik’s chest. Rowan held nothing back, but he made sure to avoid hitting Erik’s injured shoulder directly.

  The blow struck clean and sent Erik reeling backwards. Rowan did not hesitate. He followed up on his attack by advancing and striking again while Erik was off guard. His second blow hit but Erik recovered before Rowan could make a third.

  Despite the situation, Rowan would have sworn that he saw a grin on Erik’s face.

  The bout continued but Rowan’s advantage quickly became obvious. It was not long before Erik fell to the ground, taken by exhaustion and unable to continue. But even though Erik lost, he had fought admirably and the crowd applauded him as he walked himself off the field, insisting that he was unhurt and refusing to let the trainers take him away to the healers.

  Rowan was kept in the ring to be declared the winner of the match. The trainer held his sword hand high in the air and proclaimed him the winner. The crowd cheered for him wildly. He received an approving look from Baird.

  He walked off the field filled with energy, his head in the clouds. Then he saw the look on his friends’ faces. Erik stood among them, his tourney blade gone and a stunned look on his face.

  “Andrew lost his match. You will be fighting Byron for victory in the swordsmanship competition.”

  Chapter 30

  Rowan still did not know what to say. He stood beside Erik as he waited for the resting period to end. Soon the final match of the swordsmanship competition would begin.

  Andrew lost.

  Rowan couldn’t get over that fact. He had been so sure that Andrew would win. The boy was gifted in the art of swordsmanship, he focused all of his effort and training on that single skill. In contrast, Byron had never displayed any exceptional proficiency with a blade. In a battle between skill and brute force, Rowan would never have expected Byron to triumph. Especially after Andrew’s speech on the first day of the Revel.

  Andrew had come to congratulate Rowan on his victory a short while ago. He had been bloody and bruised, the wounds still fresh from his duel. He walked with a slight limp, but as the swordsmanship competition was his only event, his injuries would have time to heal. “Do not hold back,” Andrew had told Rowan. “Byron caught me off guard. I underestimated him and lost my chance at honor. Do not make the same mistake.” He had turned and left without another word.

  Afterwards, Rowan had told Erik of his conversation with Andrew. His friend nodded and told him that the advice was good. Now Rowan stood, waiting to face Byron in the final match. His stomach was knotted with apprehension but he also felt an eagerness to fight. Byron was an intimidating figure, but Rowan did not fear him. As an opponent, Byron would be strong, but he had no intention of losing.

  The bully deserved to fall and Rowan would be the one to push him. Deep down, he knew that he would take a certain satisfaction in doing so. The Gods knew that he deserved it and the thought made Rowan smile to himself. Byron would not take defeat very well.

  But this was a public event of honor and Rowan would not act in a shameful way. He would duel with all of the honor that Baird had instilled in him and conduct himself in a manner befitting the apprentice of a great knight.

  Horns sounded over the clamor of the crowd and the tournament, announcing the finals of an event and drawing the attention of the crowd. It was the signal that Rowan was waiting for. His match would begin soon.

  “Good luck,” Erik told him.

  Rowan thanked him. Not wishing to waste time, Rowan grabbed his blade and made his way to the dueling circle. Darius stood alone in the center of the ring. When he saw Rowan, he beckoned him over. Ro
wan strode forward and gave the trainer a polite bow.

  “Will you be officiating this match?”

  Darius nodded.

  Rowan was glad to have Darius officiating. The head trainer would be able to keep the fight clean. Rowan wondered if perhaps that was why he was officiating.

  “I do not see Byron yet, so you will have a few minutes before you must be ready to begin. Once he gets here, I will present the both of you to the crowd and then I will begin the match.”

  Rowan nodded and made use of the time to check over the bindings on his armor. He stuck the blade into the ground and laid down his helm while he did so. His gloves made it difficult to make adjustments, but Rowan did not want to remove them. They were difficult to secure quickly and he would need to be ready the moment Byron arrived.

  Byron arrived as Rowan was finishing making the adjustments to his chestplate. The older boy strode across the field quickly and with an air of haughty arrogance, but Darius intercepted him before he reached the center. The two briefly exchanged words. Rowan was unable to hear what was said. He had just enough time to quickly tighten the bindings on his armor and don his helm before the two finished talking.

  It was time to begin.

  Darius brought the two boys together and raised their hands in the air, presenting them to the crowd as the finalists in the swordsmanship competition. Their names and victories were announced and Darius made them shake hands.

  “Good luck, lolfar.” Byron squeezed Rowan’s hand, hard, his knuckles turning white.

  Rowan said nothing. He did nothing. Byron’s taunt, his cheap attempt at rousing Rowan’s anger would not bait him. He would save his energy for their duel.

  Rowan broke Byron’s grip and stepped back. He grasped his sword in both hands, holding his blade steady towards his opponent. The crowd roared as the two boys faced each other and took ready stances.

  There was a brief lull in the shouts of excitement and encouragement. Rowan tensed and in that moment, even as Darius was signaling for the match to begin, Byron made his move. But Rowan was ready for him. He deflected the larger boy’s blow, shifting into a defensive stance and retreating. Rowan would allow Byron to set the pace while he waited for an opening. Byron was large and unwieldy, and he had a tendency to react slowly.