Chapter 37 – Roles

“It has been decided,” explained Tancred, leading them past the half-finished jousting arena, “that, for reasons of time and practicality, the Trial of Reclamation will be incorporated into the Concord Tourney.”

Shaelith would have laughed out loud if it hadn’t been so exasperating. Nothing here among this ridiculous bunch of ceremony-lovers ever happened quickly.

“But it basically boils down to a duel between them, doesn’t it?” she asked impatiently. “Benderast against Gwilet.”

“Essentially, yes. But it’s not a duel in the usual sense, oh no.” Tancred pointed to the rows of banners at the head of the field, which were already bustling with conversation at this early hour. “The banners don’t measure a knight solely by his prowess, of course. To fulfill the chivalric ideal, it takes a little bit more than that. That is why the contest tests all chivalric virtues. There will be two types of contests. First, the exclusive trials, which will be contested solely between Prince Gwilet and the noble Benderast. These are the trials of Courtesy, Faith, and Largesse, each worth one point. In the event of a tie, each opponent receives one point.”

“Why do humans always have to come up with such complicated rules for everything?” Thaelon sighed under his breath.

“Then there are also the open trials,” Tancred continued, “which are part of the tournament and in which the entire field competes, and the two opponents are judged both against each other and against everyone else. You get one point if you perform better than your opponent, and there’s a bonus point on top of that if you manage to win the entire competition. And in this case, that would be the Hunt, which is the archery competition, and-“

“-the Lists,” Honor interrupted with enthusiasm. “THE SUPREME DISCIPLINE! First the joust, then the melee!”

“That’s right,” Tancred confirmed patiently. “And both of them are judged separately, which means there will be a total of six scored competitions that are part of the Trials.”

“Oh no,” Mirrsoss shook her head so hard that her antennae fluttered around. “How are we supposed to remember all that? Could you write it down for us, Master Tancred? With your ink?”

“And whoever has the most points, gets the banner in the end?” Shaelith asked, mentally calculating the possible total score.

Tancred hesitated, so it was Honor who answered. “No, Lady Shaelith. The points do not DECIDE for me. The points are a means of persuasion, and they demonstrate to the court and the world who is the more worthy bearer, that much is true. They urge me, compel me even, but they do not BIND me. I alone judge who is worthy of me.”

Well, great. If the points aren’t binding and Honor can decide as he sees fit in the end anyway, then-

“So Gwilet could win every single point, and if you’re still not convinced, you’ll just stick with Benderast anyway?”

“Theoretically,” Honor said, slightly offended.

Then why are we even going through all this nonsense?

“As I said, the contest tests the chivalric virtues,” Tancred interjected eagerly. “Skill with arms, courtesy, faith, and largesse.”

That made four. Shaelith knew that the chivalric ideal of Tulvia recognized a total of six virtues. Mercy and true, self-sacrificing valor were missing. Presumably because they were hard to test in a show trial.

It was Grimbart who was the first to face the hard facts. “Sounds like a bad deal for us.” He nodded toward the field. “Benderast’s good in close combat, I give him that. In the jousts, he probably has a real chance even against the best. But I don’t think he’s much of an archer, for once.”

Benderast was realistic enough to look sheepish. “Yeah, I’m more of a fighter.”

“And these three exclusive tests,” Grimbart continued relentlessly, “are all just courtly nonsense. Manners, piety, and that sort of thing. That’s definitely not your strong suit.”

“Yeah, these are areas where Gwilet has a decisive advantage, I guess. After all, he was raised that way.” Shaelith sighed.

 We’re behind before it’s even started.

~

Back at their tents, Grimbart crouched in front of the cooking fire and fried some meat with onions in a pan, which made Shaelith’s mouth water and her stomach ache with hunger.

“Okay, everyone.” Benderast clapped his hands. “Huddle.”

Mirrsoss flapped her wings in confusion, and Thaelon looked at him as if he’d made an unusual animal sound.

“A… huddle,” Benderast repeated. “Well, that’s when the team puts their heads together briefly before the next play, and everyone discusses who’s doing what. Head to head, in a circle… oh, never mind.”

They all moved closer together, except for Grimbart, who stayed a little apart and kept an eye on the meat, though he was still facing them.

“Let’s look at this objectively,” Shaelith began. “We probably can’t beat a prince who’s spent his whole life learning nothing else, neither in courtly manners nor in generosity, I mean, the guy just has more money than we have anyway. But Benderast doesn’t have to win every competition either.” Her gaze swept across the group. “It’s enough if Benderast stays within striking distance until the jousts come up, and that’s where he needs to score well.”

“If he could win the joust and the melee,” Thaelon said thoughtfully, “that would be four points, after all.”

“If,” said Grimbart. “He’ll have to work hard beforehand.”

Thaelon shrugged. “I’d be happy to teach him archery, at least as much as time allows.” He looked up. “But I think it would be a good idea if I’ll take part in the Hunt myself, too. If I join in, then at least Gwilet won’t be able to score a bonus point for winning the contest, no matter how good he is at archery.”

“I can prepare him for this Faith test,” Grimbart said, turning the meat. “I know everything there is to know about the Forge Father. The real version, mind you, not that human nonsense.” He pointed his wooden spoon at Benderast. “I think I can at least drill enough into you so you don’t make a complete fool of yourself.”

“AND THE JOUST,” Honor boomed from his perch, “I’LL TAKE CARE OF IT! I’ve seen generations wield the lance. There’s nothing about the art of jousting that I don’t know!”

“You’ve watched,” Grimbart snorted. “That’s not quite the same as doing it yourself.”

“You’ll see, Master Dwarf, you’ll see!”

“Cool,” said Benderast, glancing furtively at Shaelith. “Then, um, that just leaves courtesy.”

Shaelith sighed inwardly. “I’ll help you with that. I do know a thing or two about courtly behavior. I just don’t know how far my Shaeravyn customs will take us here, and I’ve only learned Tulvian customs superficially. I think there are a few things I’ll have to figure out for myself before I can teach them to Benderast.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” asked Mirrsoss. “Should I, um, persuade someone for you with my wing dust?”

“Please don’t, Mirrsoss, really I think that would just cause trouble.” Shaelith shook her head firmly. “I think I already have an idea.”

The meat was done, and Grimbart served a portion to each of them. Shaelith really enjoyed it, even though she’d eaten meat only very rarely over the last years.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I can’t shake the feeling,” Benderast finally said with his mouth half full, “that something’s not right here. This Prince Frambert doesn’t even know me, and yet he’s got a huge problem with me right off the bat.” He waved his fork wildly through the air. “You know, I was thinking. Dalibor’s notes mention that the Story Engine uses certain roles to create drama. Things like Mentor, Rival, Hero, Damsel, and so on, you know what I mean.”

“And you think Frambert is one of them,” said Shaelith.

“Yeah, basically some kind of antagonist or something, supplied by the Story Engine. He has to be, right? I show up, and right away some dark prince gets in my way for no reason and starts yapping at me. It’s straight out of the textbook.”

Shaelith chewed and swallowed as she thought.

“The hostility is strange, actually,” she said. “I’ve been mulling that over since yesterday myself. But that guy hardly is a dark prince and I think there might be a much more mundane explanation for it, Benderast.” She looked at him. “After all, Prince Frambert is betrothed to Princess Obelaine, and the princess is quite obviously completely smitten with you.”

Benderast nearly choked. Mirrsoss giggled, while Thaelon patted Benderast on the back.

“The way she was gazing at you longingly in the throne room was quite obvious, to me at least,” Shaelith continued. “Maybe even her betrothed noticed, you know, the man she’s been promised to for years and who now has to watch her knees go weak just because some random hero walks into the hall. I’ve heard jealous humans act strangely like that.”

Benderast nervously poked at the remains of his meal. “Well… I guess that’s not completely…” he muttered, actually blushing. “My UI actually marked her as… as a romance option. I got a notification.”

I knew it!

“But that doesn’t mean anything!” he added hastily. “I mean, I didn’t do anything… It wasn’t my fault, it just popped up, and besides, we’re talking about the Trials right now, aren’t we? Shouldn’t we be talking about the Trials? Thaelon, when are we starting archery? Right after lunch?”

“Speaking of this UI of yours,” Shaelith said casually, sensing an opportunity. “You once mentioned, um, numbers that you can see for your skills and attributes and stuff like that. If you’d just tell us exactly what your stats are, we could definitely help you prepare your abilities for the Trials in a much more targeted way.”

“Oh, no!”

Shaelith blinked. “What?”

“I’ve actually been thinking about that, too.” Benderast sat up straighter. “And I’ve realized that I’ve been way too careless with that stuff so far. I’ve been telling everyone what I can do, talking about my stats and all that, but I’ve come to realize that that’s really dangerous.” He hesitated. “Imagine if you got caught by some villain again and he tortured you to get my stats, to find out my weaknesses. That… that’s not… I wouldn’t want that. I mean, for you to… oh, damn it, you know what I mean! In any case, it’s better if you don’t know too much about it. Then it can’t be used against you or me.”

Shaelith had to reluctantly admit that this was one of the most thoughtful things she’d ever heard him say.

Of all times. How many times have I wished he’d just have one sensible thought? But of course, OF COURSE, he decides to start growing a brain just when I’m trying to get some information out of him.

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” she said with a wooden smile.

“Thank you!” beamed Benderast, who seemed completely oblivious to the lack of warmth in her voice.

It was Grimbart who noticed that she wasn’t entirely happy with that and tried to smooth things over. “Benderast is right,” he said.

Shaelith turned her head. “What do you mean?”

Grimbart scraped the bottom of the pan. “It’ll do him good to be a little more discreet about it, don’t take it personally.” He raised his spoon in Benderast’s direction before he could look too smug. “I’m coming to you now! This whole Story Engine thing probably isn’t completely made up, I know. There’s some truth to it, I’ll admit, and that’s giving me a massive headache, let me tell you. But that warlock guy, Dalibor, whatever his name is, he had one hell of a screw loose. Even if there’s some truth to it, the paranoia practically jumps out at you from the notes you showed us. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. I used to be an archivist and all kinds of people brought us their rambling scribblings, I’ve seen it all before. If we start suspecting the invisible hand of this Story Engine behind every grumpy prince and every ill-timed rain shower, we’ll end up just as crazy ourselves before long.”

“While we’re on the subject,” said Shaelith, “if you ask me, if there’s anything designed by the Story Engine to throw a wrench in our plans, it’s this whole damn trial business. We’re actually on our way to Maenwallon, who might be able to shed some light on the situation, and here we are, possibly wasting weeks on these silly and completely useless competitions. We could save ourselves all this trouble if Benderast would just give Honor back.”

“GIVE ME BACK?!” Honor swelled to his full height in indignation, hanging from his pole almost like a silken bullfrog. “Over my faded shreds!”

“Be honest, Honor.” Shaelith crossed her arms. “Is there even the tiniest chance that you’ll actually end up returning to Gwilet? Even the tiniest?”

Honor puffed himself up defiantly. “It’s Gwilet’s right to try to change my mind. It’s written right there in the Charter.”

Shaelith sighed and threw her arms up in the air. “So it’s exactly as I said. It’s a massive, pointless waste of time, and the Story Engine-“

“And that,” said Grimbart, pointing his wooden spoon accusingly at her, “is exactly the kind of talk that gets us nowhere. Engine or no engine, we have to prepare this giant here for his competitions, which are very real.”

Shaelith managed to hold his gaze for a moment, but then gave in.

I’m not getting anywhere like this.

“All right.” She sighed. “All right. I’ll help him with the courtesy exam, as promised. At least once I’ve found out more about the local courtly customs from someone.”

“And who are you going to ask for help? Tancred?” Benderast looked at her doubtfully.

“Obelaine.”