Imperial Longblade fencing was fought in full armor with two-handed blades. There, Lenz’s edge in strength bested me in the third round. A sell-sword by the name of Max Kempf won that event overall. But he had fifteen years of experience using the weapon in real battles, so that was nowhere near the surprise my win in Valayan fencing had been. Yet, the hundred and six point mark set by Lenz in the rings was still unsurpassed. My own score had sunk in the rankings, but somehow wasn’t below halfway, though, even Ritter had eked out a twenty six. I shook my head at the board and turned my attention back to the rails along the edge of the lists. There, the shields of the contestants enrolled in the joust hung, a leather pouch and a set of racks below them.
“What does ‘mad’ stand for?” Ritter asked. The letters in question were marked by each rack, one by each tier.
“Mutual, Accepted and Declined,” I said. “You know the challenge tokens you dropped in other pouches last night?”
“So, I understand accepted and declined,” Johan started.
“If someone you challenged also challenged you, their token goes on the mutual line and you have to tilt against them.”
Ritter reached into the bag by the shield bearing his modified heraldry and came out with four tiny wooden shields. Each one bore the heraldry of another contestant. “Oh, hey, Rappe,” he said, placing that token on the ‘Mutual’ rail.
“You challenged Rappe?” I asked.
“He made me change my livery by being here,” he said.
“Now if you have less than three challengers on your accepted rail, you have to accept challenges until you get to at least that many.”
“So, I could end up with six bouts?” Ritter asked.
“Since you only have three tokens left, if the other two challenges you issued get accepted, yes,” I said. “At least you don’t have to worry about insulting someone by declining their challenge.”
Johan shrugged and set the other three tokens on the ‘Accepted’ rail.
“How many did you get?”
We headed down the line until we found the Raven Coast Roc. I reached into the pouch and withdrew the contents. There were only two. The first one I didn’t recognize, being silver vines of ivy climbing up a red field. But with so few challengers, I had to accept it. I set it upon the rail and looked at the other token.
“Crap,” I said.
“What?”
“Hackenhof,” I said, setting the yellow token on the rail. I shook my head and walked down the row, checking on the tokens I had handed out. One had not checked their bag yet, but the other two had declined.
“You look less than fully enthused.” I looked up at where Freinmarkt-Zeigeberg was hobbling my way, leaning heavily on his goat-headed cane.
“I am not looking forward to tilting against Otto Hackenhof,” I said. It was another half-truth. I’d been telling a lot of those since arriving in Farcairn.
“Oh?”
“To tell you the truth, I’m not that skilled with a lance.” I gestured at the slates of scores from the rings. While my twenty-four was still in the middle of the pack, Hackenhof had picked up a more respectable thirty-nine.
“That number would be higher had you ridden a shorter horse,” Hubert said.
I looked sheepishly off to the side. “You heard about that?”
“Dear boy, this is my tournament. Of course I’m going to hear something like that.”
“You wouldn’t happen to have any say in scheduling, would you?”
“Not one,” he said. “When the adjudicator lays out the rules, he will go over the formula by which the order of bouts will be chosen.”
“And what is that?”
“Going through contestants by order of precedence, each will choose an opponent from among their mutual challenges, or from their accepted challenges once those have been exhausted. There is nothing I can do to influence it.”
“I see, thank you.” So Hackenhof would go first, but since I didn’t challenge him, I would not be his first opponent. Hubert looked at the racks of challenges.
“Only two?” he asked.
“It looks that way,” I said.
“I’ve not seen von Sturmbrucke ride, so I fear I have no advice for you.”
“So you recognize the heraldry?”
“Erwin Blattrebe von Sturmbrucke,” Hubert said. “His land is limited to what amounts to a fortified bridge.”
“I see,” I said.
“I would like to invite you to sit in the Royal box for today’s proceedings,” Hubert said. His tone dropped from open and cordial to muted and concerned. “There are more guards there.” My brow furrowed in confusion and slight irritation. It slowly dawned on me why that would matter. He was concerned about assassins. Their repeated failures were not the foremost thing on my mind, so I quietly acquiesced to avoid an argument. Indeed, I didn’t have to actually voice my assent as we were interrupted by an exclamation behind me.
“Are you kidding me?”
I turned around to see Lenz holding a heap of challenge tokens and an obviously very crowded bag. Suppressing a smirk, I strolled over.
“Something the matter?”
Lenz gave me a look that declared he was not amused.
“Did everyone challenge me?” he asked.
I pointed to the scores from the earlier event. “You are the man to beat with the lance,” I said.
“I don’t have enough lances to accept most of these,” he said.
“I’ll have plenty of spares you can use.”
Lenz looked over at my challenge rack and fell quiet.
***
Were Hengist jousting, he would have gone first, but the king was a spectator for the event, seated much the same as he had been for the introductory ceremonies. Alyssa de Corval was to his left, Hubert to his right, and I was to the Herzog’s right. The King of Heralds stood in the space in front of us and officiated. As such, Hackenhof had the first tilt. I hadn’t heard of his opponent before, but the contest was so embarrassingly one-sided that the poor knight was likely regretting his decision. At least he was able to walk away after picking himself out of the dust on the last pass. Otto rode a lap around the lists, the splintered remains of his lance held high as though it were a trophy. I couldn’t hide the sneer of contempt at his behavior, though it did mask my building dread.
At the sound of my overly-long formal address, I rose and quietly informed the King of Heralds of my choice. While I crossed the lists, he called out, “Erwin Blattrebe von Sturmbrucke.” I had started toward the stables, but found Ritter coming the other way, leading Graymire. Evidently he’d listened to my remarks about the horse, as he had no trouble with the beast. Armored up and ready to ride, I had no idea how much Graymire weighed now. I climbed into the saddle, and we headed to my first starting position. A short wooden fence in bright red separated the riding lanes, though it was decorated with the shields from the challenge racks, mutual and accepted tokens now firmly nailed into place. The declinations had all quietly disappeared. Page boys in Zesrin Royal livery brought lances up to the racks at either end.
Erwin Blattrabe rode a normal sized horse, and was of normal height. The visor of his helmet hid his face and any expression that may have crossed it. Indeed, the only thing that identified him was the red tabard crawling with silver ivy. I firmly seated my own helmet before accepting my shield. A jousting shield felt wrong on my arm. Where a normal shield was convex to deflect blows and turn them aside, a jousting shield was mildly concave to catch the opponent’s lance and keep it from sliding towards a weak spot in the armor. Anxiety crawled up my nerves as Ritter handed me a lance. While Farcairn might have been out of blue cloth, there was enough blue paint that my lances were banded blue and white. Steering Graymire to the proper place at the start of the list, I tried to force myself to loosen up. Getting knocked from the horse would hurt worse if I were tensed when it happened.
Two lesser heralds standing by the list swung their flags down to indicate the start, then bolted perpendicular to the path the horses would take. Graymire exploded into a gallop almost before I spurred him on. Sturmbrucke’s horse was a moment slower off the start and our lances came down closer to his starting point than mine. With a crunch and a spray of splinters, I rode past him, reining in Graymire before he took the turn. With a momentary glance at the half a lance in my hand, I looked back across the list. Erwin was still in his saddle, and pages were collecting the lance fragments from the dirt. All of the pieces were blue and white. Sturmbrucke had missed.[30]
I traded for a fresh lance and positioned myself for another pass. Graymire pawed at the dirt, eager to run again. Erwin found his mark where I’d started on the last run, and the flag bearers returned to the center line. With a sweep of cloth, we raced towards each other again. Our collision was a thunderclap crash in a shower of shattered lances. I staggered from the shock of Sturmbrucke striking my shield, but I stayed in the saddle. Swaying back to the upright, I brought Graymire to heel and steadied myself. It was over so quickly, the only sign that I’d struck as well were the splinters of lance still in my hand. I discarded them and accepted a replacement. Lining up for another pass felt like tempting fate, but the contest was not over.
Erwin straightened up as the flag-Heralds took their positions again.
Another crash and a rain of wooden shards plinking off steel as the cascading remnants of lance staves bounced from my armor. I did not want to cast aside the remains of my lance, as it was the last one I was permitted for the bout. I forced my grip to release and brought Graymire about. Sturmbrucke had rolled over and was starting to rise from the dirt, his unbroken lance laying by the base of the rail.
“The contest is decided,” the King of Heralds declared. “The last pass cannot change the outcome, and thus will not be ridden.”
The words slowly sank in. I had broken all three of my allowed lances, and even unhorsed Sturmbrucke once. There was no way he could even stalemate me at this point. Even if I rode without a lance. Though common decency would forbid Erwin from trying to hit an unarmed opponent. I dismounted and walked over to where Sturmbrucke had just regained his feet. He turned to face me as I offered my hand. After a moment, Erwin accepted the gesture at face value and shook it. He removed his helmet, revealing a blunt face and more gray hair than I’d anticipated. I removed my own helm out of courtesy.
“You rode that horse against the rings, didn’t you?” he asked.
“I did,” I admitted.
“That would explain your score. I should have remembered Ashmen were horse-born.”
I started to lead Graymire back to the stables, but Soren slithered in and stole the reins from me. He gestured towards the royal box with a half-bow.
“Do you know something that I don’t?” I asked.
“Just that our host has requested that we take your safety more seriously than you do,” Soren said.
“The stables-”
“Are relatively secluded and a good point for an ambush.”
I scowled for Soren’s benefit before turning towards the Royal box and returning to my seat.
***
Ritter’s joust against Rappe did not end so well for Johan. I think it was his first time against a live opponent, and he ended up in the dirt twice. As Lenz and Soren consoled the sullen youth, I became acutely aware of the distance between us, both physical and metaphorical. I was stuck here with strangers deemed my peers by virtue of titular rank, though part of me doubted I’d fit in much better among my chronological peers.
Despite the brevity of each pass, the event dragged on. There were too many contestants, too many challenges. Despite the thunder and theatrics of each collision, it was boring. I had no vested interest in the outcome of most of the contests. I did watch Soren eke out a draw and Lenz win handily in their first bouts. But the only thing that made it of note was that fact that I knew them. This whole tournament was proving to be a colossal waste of time. Hackenhof returned to the field in his gilded armor, golden livery emblazoned with black manticore and crimson lindwyrm. He played to the crowds as his horse trotted to the starting position. The knot of dread in my gut twisted as Hackenhof smashed his second opponent into the soil.
I drew my helmet on and rose as Otto rode a lap around the lists, broken lance held high.
“I only have one opponent left,” I said to the King of Heralds. He nodded and announced the contest.
“Erbprinz Kord Grosz von und zu Karststadt-Salzheim accepting the challenge of Herzog Otto Hackenhof von Altschaft.”
Hackenhof nonchalantly discarded his broken lance as I accepted the reins of Graymire and climbed into the saddle. I steeled myself and took my arms. Hackenhof’s helm turned my way. It was an older style, a simple brain bucket that none the less allowed for thick plating where it counted. The lower rim on this one disappeared behind the exaggerated gorget of his breastplate. No good against falling arrows, but superb at deflecting lances. There were no air vents on the left hand side of the helm either, another adaptation for the joust.
I had thought myself resigned to being unhorsed, but the idea of Hackenhof being the one to do it rankled. The joust might not have been an elimination event, but I did not want to give him the satisfaction of humiliating me. Sunlight shone from the exposed giltwork as Otto took his place opposite me. The flag-heralds came to the center and stood at the ready. I adjusted my posture, the subtle rasp of steel over steel marking my movements. The flags dropped and our horses vaulted into a gallop. We crashed in an eruption of wooden fragments. The impact rocked me back and dangerously far over Graymire’s flank. Fear iced my veins as I struggled against the ground’s pull upon my body and the steel cladding it. I was still tipping out over the air as Graymire slowed at the end of the rail. Hauling myself back into the saddle, I looked towards Hackenhof. He was smugly snug in his seat. Dropping my lance I took up a replacement. Thankfully, my helm hid the sour expression writ across my face.
There was barely enough time to compose myself for the next pass before the flags dropped again. We thundered into a gallop, the distance vanishing fast as our lances dropped. Another splintering crash nearly sent me over Graymire’s haunches. I was bent back over the rim of the saddle, with a clear view of the clouds, nearly levered out of my seat, but I did not fall. The ache as I straightened up told me I would probably have been better off if I had just slid off. Readjusting my posture, I traded for my last lance. A growl built in my throat as Graymire snorted and started pawing the dirt again. I choked it back and glared at the sight of Hackenhof, his horse all but dancing its way back to position.
The flag heralds signaled again.
In a drumbeat of hooves, we charged at one another. Lances came down as we closed, my tip lined up with the space between the Manticore and Lindwyrm on Otto’s shield. The collision shook me to the marrow. Graymire slipped from under me, and I tumbled to the dirt. Lance pieces pattered around me. Drawing pained, ragged breaths, I stared at the sky. As my breathing evened out, I let out a long sigh. Movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention. Hakenhof’s horse regained its feet, the vibrant caparison was marred with a fresh coating of beige dust. A grim smile crossed my lips as Otto stood shortly thereafter.
My satisfaction dimmed as the King of Heralds made his proclamation. “Herzog Otto Hackenhof von Altschaft remained in his saddle. Point goes to him. All lances have been expended. Match goes to Herzog Otto Hackenhof von Altschaft.” Of course. His horse fell over, but he had not been unhorsed. Still, I’d taken the luster off his gilded armor with a coating of dust.
A shadow fell over me. I looked up at the shape blocking the light.
“Are you all right?” Lenz asked.
“The fall stunned me a bit,” I said, reaching up to take his hand. Lenz helped me to stand.
[30] Prince Kord never goes over the rules of the joust under the expectation that they are universally known. As someone who was ignorant of them until I looked it up, I can attest to the falsehood of that assumption. A contestant is allowed three lances for the four passes against their opponent. A point is scored if the opponent is unhorsed. If neither rider is unhorsed, a point is scored for breaking your lance upon the opponent’s shield. The rider with the most points wins.
If you want your own copy, the whole book is available from Amazon in eBook, Paperback, and Hardcover variants.
Will you be
hawkingoffering autographed hardcover copies at HH?I debated bringing an inventory with me, but decided not to in the end.
If you ahve a copy, you might convince me to sign it.
It’s on the way. Let’s see if UPS can get it here before HH.
Oh yeah…
Plants available for delivery to HH: Rex Begonia, Corn Plant, Prayer Plant, Wax Plant, and Zebra Cactus. They’re all pretty small and easily transportable.
That goes for any other HH attendees; my wife planted up some house plants for a rummage sale but had no takers. Free to a
goodwilling home.This Zebra Cactus? Because a 4 inch tall cactus would be easier to handle than anything that might get big.
Or a different plant by that common name?
Like this one
The variety she has is a darker green, but yup, that’s it. Cute little guys.
Here they are
As long as they won’t get too big, I can take one of the Cacti.
Bring one of those little guys for Mrs F. Come back in 2025 and see if it’s still alive. She likes plants but is a little carefree with the maintenance. She does fairly well with plastic ones though.
I’ll bring one each for the both of you.
😁👍
And a trailer for the plow, MikeS, we’ll load it up with campfire wood as well.
Tuah person, he would be happy to.
lol
I’ll pass
Fun.
Thanks for bringing your stories here.
Fun fact – I had written this chapter long before I wrote that previous short story on Glibs about the other, unrelated joust that takes place decades later. (Saving Face Part 1 Part 2) In that other story, you might notice a background character named Julian Castor. 🤔 Wonder if he has any connection to Lorenz Castor.
Wait… there’s no wondering involved.
I had written this chapter long before I wrote that previous short story on Glibs about the other, unrelated joust that takes place decades later.
I thought some of this seemed familiar.
Obligatory disclaimer: No animals were harmed in the writing of this chapter.
Granted I don’t like him, but I can’t help suspecting that Hackenhof had himself tied to the saddle, which is risky for the poor horse.
He wasn’t tied to the saddle, he held on. It is uncommon, but a horse and rider combo did get knocked over from time to time at the joust. That’s why he got a point for not being unhorsed.
I sheepishly admit I’m losing track of who is who.
I suppose Hackenhof appeared previous chapters but I cannot remember who he is.
Otto Hackenhof had two small scenes, prior to this. He’s a Herzog (Duke), and has not had much dialog.
Well Port Adelaide bailed out Carlton. After CFC choked against St. Kilda, Port stomped on Fremantle. Carlton qualified in 8th spot by about 8 percentage points over Collingwood.
@Raven
Regular season over? Haven’t followed a bit this year, not since I stopped paying for the gourmet channels that show the game.
Sydney on top – ugh.
Looks like the Premiership is not a cakewalk this year. 😟
@UCS
You don’t happen to have a dramatis personae prepared do you?
Or I can just purchase the thing already and do a search in Kindle. 🙂
The last chapter is a “Whatever happened to…” but it includes spoilers.
Great tomato meat sauce made. Pork butt and ribs on smoker.
Sounds like something you need help with (to eat). I’m pretty got with that part.
Pretty good…
🦗🦗🦗
Hey, UCS. I live in Albany, OR, and I would be happy to meet you. The 7th works great for me, so hit me up at mapbookman at the gmail.
Will do.
I expect to arrive in town after 6pm.
Sent
And replied.
Map book man?
/map nerd
He’s still annoyed at being tricked by Hercules.
That email is a hold out from when I owned a business. I made maps that located antique stores in a city.
What was Hackenhof’s secret? Gorilla glue?
Don’t be silly, they don’t have gorillas to render down into glue.
A contestant is allowed three lances for the four passes against their opponent. A point is scored if the opponent is unhorsed. If neither rider is unhorsed, a point is scored for breaking your lance upon the opponent’s shield. The rider with the most points wins.
If they unhorse each other, they both get a point or both get no points?
Both would get one point, just as if both had broken a lance on the other’s shield but neither was unhorsed.
Got it, thanks!
For KK:
I was seventeen. Mom wanted to see Duran Duran.I fell asleep seven rows from the front row. Pretty sure it was to Rio. I told you it was short.
(The only time I’ve said that in my life winky face.)
German warship blasts Darth Vader anthem in heart of London. ‘No deeper message,’ navy says.
Norm Macdonald has some thoughts.
Oh…you think being First is your ally. I was born First. Molded by the First. I didn’t see second until I was already a man. By then, it was nothing to me but…BLINDING! The Firsts betray you because they belong to me!
You are burning man,
Irrelevant
Start the week in a foul mood; ABC says Harris now polling ahead of Trump in every swing state except Georgia.
And you believe them?
Polls,no , but they give credence to fortified results.No sense whistling through the graveyard.
Don’t worry, next release they’ll put GA in the Harris camp. Your Eeyore Party pals can rest easy that they’ll lose biggly.
The problem is much bigger than who wins this election. The problem is that the polls are complete bullshit and the populace has no confidence whatsoever in the election results.
What happens when this country’s government loses legitimacy in the eyes of the people.
I dont know what things are like today but I do remember reading about Greece a couple of decades ago.
No on there considers the government legitimate. The majority of the country’s economy is black market. No one pays income tax, they pay bribes. All of their officials are utterly corrupt, everyone knows it and just accepts that that is the way it is. The government eeks along on bribes and foreign aid being careful not to get too greedy lest the people get out their pitchforks. The people put up a facade of obeying the law, paying taxes etc and all try and stay in step so they dont get singled out. It was then a fake country with an uneasy relationship between govt and the people.
I use that example because it is the one I read about. There are lots of them like that.
From African countries you hear king this, president that, chief so-and-so but in fact over the vast majority of the continent their leaders have little to no power outside of their capital cities or even outside their own palace walls.
We are not supposed to be that. We are supposed to have a solid deal between the people and the govt. I know it is quaint and most people in power would laugh at me, but our govt is there to serve the people, not the other way about.
Are we descending into Greece? Mexico? Russia? They are supposed to be the fucking hired help.
I know what govt officials want, that is made clear by their never ending efforts to disarm the populace. It is not a system I want to live under.
Jousting is toxic masculinity
Masculinity is toxic masculinity.
Ah, yes, it’s Monday. Again. Wooooo.
Get up and be a productive tax slave. CommaLa needs your money.
😶🌄☕
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ct-qa6SjRZo
🎶🎶
Fuck that, I’m on vacation.
You get tax free vacation pay?
Safe travels!
He’s GovSec. I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets some sort of benefit better than what those of us who pay his salary get.
Yes, Ted, My pension is still funded, and protected in the State constitution.
Until the state goes utterly bankrupt, I might actually get paid my future pittance. (Though with the fiscal mismanagement of New York, I can’t really count on that)
Even if the state goes bankrupt, pensions will still get paid. That’s the backbone of the vote-buying system.
There comes a point when you’ve run out of other people’s money.
Good morning, Sean, U, Ted’S., Grumble, and Suthen, and good afternoon, Pie!
Good morning, GT and all.
How’s it going, Grumble?
Morning.
Slowly loading the car and waiting for trash pickup. (-.-)
“”Musk Should Be Nervous” – Deep State Lackey Admits Real Target Following Telegram Founder’s Arrest”
https://www.zerohedge.com/geopolitical/russia-calls-detained-telegram-founder-political-prisoner-demands-france-provide
Shut up Lt. Colonel Vindman, you fat sack of shit effete fuck. That being said, he’s right: Musk should be nervous.
suh’ fam
whats goody
Good morning, homey.
Are there minima/maxima on the number of challenge tokens? What’re considered legitimate excuses for declining?
I believe in the dialog each contestant had three to hand out. I don’t think there’s a maximum for someone can recieve, nor a way to force anyone to ride against a given contestant, so the minimum is zero. I didn’t dive into the social aspects of declinations.
So did Kord not issue his three challenge tokens, or was he declined?
“He didn’t say” -Dug