“Eh?” Tristan repeated. “You talk strange.”
“Pardon,” Ere’s speech took on a strange, exaggerated accent.
“Lady Morgan and Queen Guinevere hold no love for one another. Yet Morgan is about to give away her greatest jewel in honor of her enemy at the most lavish affair that the kingdom has ever seen.”
“Aye,” Tristan confirmed. “More or less. In answer to your second question, all of the best warriors will be competing. As much for the prize, as for their pride. Whoever wins will be undisputed Champion of the realm.”
Ere exchanged a quick glance with Rui.
She got the message.
The stakes were high and the odds were tough. But she had confidence in her abilities. These men had never seen the likes of her.
They’d never fought a dragon warrior.
“As to the events,” Tristan continued, “we will only know for certain when we get there. There is typically archery, sword fighting, wrestling, battle on horseback, javelin throws…sometimes, there are wild animals involved.”
“How are the points determined?” Ere asked.
“What do you mean?”
“How do we know who is the victor?”
“Simple,” Tristan answered. “It’s the person who remains standing.”
“What are the rules?”
“No rules.”
“This sounds rather barbaric. I thought these were mock battles for show?”
“Oh no,” the young warrior quickly disabused him of the notion.
“These fights are as real as they come. The loser will always be carried off the field. Dead or alive.”
“Which is the more likely outcome?” Ere asked, his voice thin.
Tristan shrugged.
“Toss of a coin.”
~ * ~* ~ *~ * ~* ~ *~ * ~
Caerleon Castle and the surrounding towns were boisterous with anticipation, festivities and bustling trade. Cardigan Bay was filled to capacity with ships flying various flags, many of which Wolfe did not recognize.
The dirt road gradually became paved, the closer they drew to the metropolis, one of the lasting legacies of Roman rule. The five travelers navigated slowly through congested streets, filled with tradesmen and cargo-bearers of every sort. As well as lords and warriors from far and wide, come to take part in Arthur’s tournament.
From his vantage point on top of his war stallion, and with his considerable height, Wolfe could see beyond the milling crowds and frenetic activity to the hills beyond.
Great tents were already set up on the perimeter of demarcated lots for various events. Wealthy lords who weren’t competing, only here as spectators, likely bedded down inside the castle. While most warriors preferred to stake out tents so that they could be closer to the action, and practice at the events during breaks.
At the center, on a stepped hill, there stood a gigantic wooden and stone fort. It would be the gathering place where the contestants dined and drank in the nights, away from the more formal events at the castle. They would also find armorers, smithies, and horse masters at their disposal.
Wolfe had coins enough to rent one of the most luxurious tents for himself and Tristan. But first, he needed to complete an unpleasant task at the castle.
He turned to the group, meeting Ere’s eyes in particular, for the only non-warrior amongst the three foreigners seemed to be their de facto leader.
“This is where we part ways,” he said, careful to keep his gaze away from the second rider on Tristan’s horse.