Kellanved's Reach

They headed for the largest of the tents, Courian’s command quarters, Gregar assumed, and passed its pickets. Within, a large central bonfire blazed while tables all around held more of the Guard. Everyone’s attention, however, was upon two figures close to the bonfire, a man and a woman, who appeared to be engaged in some sort of slow, ritualized duel. Each held a stave, and they circled one another in an awkward-looking upright and painfully slow gait. The reason for this soon became apparent as Gregar made out that each held an apple balanced atop their head, and each was attempting to knock the other’s off.

Bets flew thick and fast across the tent, together with crusts of bread tossed at the duellists, all amid a huge uproar of laughter and cat-calls. Red stopped here and crossed his arms to watch.

The woman sent a great sweep at the head of her opponent which fell just short, perhaps even brushing his nose. A great cheer went up at that. Both apples wobbled, but did not fall. The fellow eased one step to his left and sent an answering sweep, but was well adrift. Experienced stick fighter that he was, Gregar instantly saw that the man was deliberately holding his grip short, and had a good hand’s breadth of reach yet.

The woman shifted forward, her boots dragging over the dry bare earth; the man appeared to yield more ground, but it was a feint, and the woman came on.

Even as Gregar saw her mistake, the man swung, knocking her apple flying in a spray of pulp. An enormous roar went up, half of triumph, half of displeasure. A great giant of a man was banging a tankard to his table and yelling, ‘Too eager, Lark! Too eager by far!’

By his great shaggy greying mane and beard and his one good eye, the other a blind white orb, Gregar knew this was Courian D’Avore, commander of the Crimson Guard. On his left sat a dark Dal Hon native, in oiled leathers, who Gregar imagined might be one of their most famous fighting mages, Cal-Brinn; while on the commander’s right sat a lean youth with a very sharp hawk-like gaze that he took to be Courian’s son K’azz, whom some named the Red Prince.

Red took the opportunity between amusements to lean towards Courian and speak to him. The Guard general cocked his head, listening, then nodded and gruffly waved Haraj forward. ‘So, you wish to join, do you?’

‘Ah, yes sir. If you please.’

Courian snorted. ‘Please me or don’t! I’m no damned spoiled noble to care either way!’ He tore at a haunch of meat and chewed, glowering. ‘You’re a mage, I understand?’

‘Yes.’

The great shaggy giant of a man looked the pale and pole-thin Haraj up and down and obviously didn’t think much of what he saw. ‘You’d better be, son. What can you do?’

‘No one can hit me,’ Haraj answered, and Gregar looked to the tent ceiling, suppressing a wince.

The mercenary general’s thick bushy brows rose and he peered about, greatly amused. ‘Now that’s quite the boast – given present company. But, ah,’ and he picked up another piece of rare meat, studied it, and popped it into his mouth, ‘we’ll be happy to give it a go.’

Now Gregar did wince.

Courian raised a paw to the fellow who’d just finished the staff fight. ‘You first, Cole.’ And he leaned back, his grin widening, to announce, ‘Fifty gold Untan crowns to land a hit on our boastful friend here!’

The wagering erupted in a roar. Cole immediately swung at Haraj only to stagger forward as the staff passed through nothing but empty air.

The tent fairly exploded with renewed betting. Half the Guard cheered Haraj on while the other half baited Cole mercilessly.

‘Have you forgotten how to fight, man!’ Courian yelled.

Lark offered, ‘Sure you’re holding the right end of that stick?’

Cole smiled tolerantly and waved to the crowd; he made a pantomime show of taking careful aim at Haraj, who wisely now retreated behind a main support pole.

This time Cole thrust straight out, and though Gregar would’ve sworn he should have hit Haraj a solid blow to the stomach, once more he stumbled forward, impacting nothing, and the skinny youth slid aside.

Most of the assembled Guard cheered Haraj now. Thrown bits of bread and gnawed bones came pelting at Cole, who lost his smile and focused on stalking Haraj round the central hearth. After three more determined swings, each striking nothing, Gregar saw the lad, K’azz, lean over to murmur to his father, and the commander, until then laughing at the guardsman’s troubles, frowned, leaned back and waved an end.

‘Good enough!’ he ordered, and Cole stood down. ‘So you’re hard to hit – that will come in handy when you’re married, lad, but you do understand that we’re a fighting company.’

Haraj nodded. ‘Oh, yes, sir. I’m also rather good at getting in and out of places … if you know what I mean.’

Courian frowned, not particularly impressed, but he did glance over to the Dal Hon at his side. ‘What say you, Cal-Brinn? Do we have a use for such things, you think?’

‘I believe that we do, sir.’