This is the map for my book. The snipping tool is amazing!

Chapter 3

Chapter 3 is finally out! Enjoy!

Chapter 3: 

The Tournament

   Vill woke early the next morning, because he wanted to get ready for the tournament. He did not milk the cows today, nor tie them up in the field; for he knew that, if he won the tournament, there would be no cows involved.

   Vill had decided to take to the tournament grounds early, so that he could hear the rules and know what to do, and what ‘not’ to do. Vill’s mother would most likely come, but Vill would need to say goodbye sooner than when (if) he was taken away.

   “Vill?” said his mother. “What are you doin’ up?”

   “For what reason do you suppose?” replied Vill. “I am getting an early start to go to the tournament.”

   “You were planning to attend the tournament?”

   “Yes, I made my decision last night.”

   “But your fever…”

   “…has gone completely. Even if it wasn’t, I would still go.”

   “But, what about the cows Vill, what about the cheese; what about, me?”

   “I’ve arranged for that. You know the soldier who gave us the message? Well, while I was in town yesterday, I saw him. I asked how he was, and all the niceties of the day; then I asked him if he would be willing to guard the cottage that I lived in, as I will no longer live there.

   “He agreed, and I was able to sell him some cheese. Also: he is to be a guard at the tournament; if I am taken to the Warriors’ Guild, then he will find you in the seats, and escort you to here; that is, if you attend the tournament. What say you?” Vill’s mother was speechless; she couldn’t believe that Vill had arranged for all of this in one meeting.

   “Well,” she started, “I do not want you to leave. But all the same, this is your dream, and you must make it come true. Yes, I will come with you, and will handle the outcome however needed.

   This was a large surprise for Vill; not just because she said she would come, but because she was not planning for either of them to attend. Vill embraced his mother, towering a head taller than her. He then said, “I must leave now, and quickly; are you ready?”

   “Well, I suppose it matters not, if we must leave this instant,” she replied.

   Quickly, Vill grabbed his petition, and was out the back door that was the only door between the barn and the cottage. He quickly walked through the barn doors, and hitched up the donkey. Vill carefully and quickly placed and tied the yolk; then he helped his mother onto the bench where the driver sat. Vill took up the reins, gave them a good whip, and held them firm as the donkey trotted off to the next hill.

   The cart could be seen coming over the west horizon; it was coming quicker by the minute, the donkey now trotting as fast as possible. Vill and his mother seemed to be bouncing up and down on the bench as the cart moved down the stone path.

   “We should be there soon!” announced Vill, trying to make his voice louder than the rolling wheels and pounding hooves. They indeed were close; the wagon was climbing the final hill that was part of the Old Hills, and soon, they would see the tournament grounds. Vill had been there a few times, mainly for inter-kingdom events. Most were melee battles, using plaster swords and wooden shields, but some, were archery contests, where the rules were obvious. On rare occasions though, there were all- around tournaments, where you had to prove your skills on an obstacle course with diverse challenges. This was something Vill hoped he didn’t have to compete in.

    They were now coming over the tip of the hill, and could see two things: the stone towers and walls of Cath-Lenor, and the open stands and flags of the Cath-Lenor tournament grounds. They had both been made with great skill, and were now some of the greatest places known in the world.

   The path came to a fork, so Vill turned right, just ever so slightly north-east; this way led to the tournament grounds just north of Cath-Lenor.

   The sun was beginning to sneak out from behind Mt. Azleworth as Vill quickly looked back. He was not sure if they would get there on time, or if they would just have to spectate. Vill tried not to think of any of these things, and erased them from his memory. He then wondered why he had thought these things, because they were now just outside the grounds. A huge square stuck out of the ground like giant bowl. Vill saw hundreds of wagons, carts, horses and donkeys on the field just outside the entrance, and saw people gathered everywhere. They were waiting for permission to enter, since they were only spectators; but Vill needed to get to the front. He tied up the donkey, and was greeted by his old friends and neighbors. He then looked to his mother, who was in tears, and embraced her.

   “I will always be with you mother,” he said over the deafening noise. He then waved goodbye, and left her there, looking so frail and hopeless.

   Vill made his way through the crowd as quickly as he could; it was difficult; one because it was a packed crowd, and two because all his mother’s friends came to him with open arms and a smile with bad breath. Vill though, despite all the difficulties, managed to get to the other side of the crowd. There were still a couple people there, but over half were guards, who only talked when needed and stayed at their post. Vill recognized a certain guard with a yellow beard; of course, Vill didn’t greet him, since he was on duty. He approached him, and gave him his scroll; the man looked at it, and gave it back saying, “You may pass in to the arena, where you will find two guards standing; they will guide you to the training room, where the rules will be explained.” Vill thanked him with a hint of a smile, and entered the open gate; behind was a large field covered in sand. It was around seventy-five yards long, and forty yards wide. On its sides were huge wooden stands, at least thirty rows up, and at the ends, were large wooden walls with large and small targets.

   And in the middle of the field were two guards were standing, just like the yellow bearded guard had said. His heart pumped furiously as he walked up to them.

   “I am here to be escorted to the training room,” said Vill.

   “And what be your name?” questioned the guard on the right.

   “Vill Rosen.”

   “And your age?”

   “Nineteen; twenty in two days.” At this the guard pulled out an old scroll and examined it carefully. He then nodded as he tapped the paper twice.

   “Vill Rosen,” he said, “nearly twenty; invited to the “Warriors’ Tournament. Follow me.”    The guard led him across the field and into a door that was in the wall in front of the stands. He opened it, and let Vill enter alone.

   Inside were many men of his age, and the number of men there around was fifteen. Some he knew, some he’d seen, and some he’d never heard of or seen. The ones’ he knew greeted him vigorously, and the ones’ who didn’t shyly introduced themselves or one another. They were all dressed in peasant’s clothes, save a few, who lived in Cath-Lenor, and whose parents’ were nobles. These young men though, were not arrogant or rude, (like many of the other nobles.) Instead they were kind and warm, and very energetic.

   Many of the men talked and predicted who the winner would be. Some boasted of the moves that they would execute during the matches, while others were so confident that they would win, that they said of the great deeds that they would do while they were a warrior.
   Vill shared no opinion in these conversations, though some of the others urged him to. Vill was shy, and was not interested in conversation; he was readying his mind for the tournament matches. It would be time soon, and he would need to be ready.

   He was beginning to hear some chatter; not from the room, but right above him, in the stands. The chatter slowly turned into a roar, as more people seemed to join by the thousands. The spectators must be finding their seats. Just then, a guard entered; he was holding a large sack. As soon as he entered he said, “I hope you all are faring well, so it may trouble you that I am here to explain the rules and invite the first two contenders.” The chatter ceased as the guard addressed them all. “The rules are simple,” continued the guard. “Each of you will be given this equipment before you enter.” He then pulled out from his bag two pairs of thick leather shirts and leggings, two pairs of leather gloves, and two good helmets. Some of the men snorted at the sight of them, while others stayed silent, with maybe hint of a grin. The guard continued, and pulled out two wooden swords, and from his arm, he pulled off two wooden shields. He then explained the rules: “Two of you will go out to start the first match; you will then wait for my command. Once my command is given, you must fight each other. You will fight until one of you gives up; you may do so by saying the word, “respite”. After that, you are out of the tournament. You may return here until the tournament ends. If you win, then you may return here until your name is called. We will narrow the number of you men down to two, and those two will fight.

   “Joseph Becker and Harold Marcus? Would you two please put on the equipment? When done, follow me.” The two did exactly as addressed, and followed the guard out to the arena.

Everyone in the room was excited. Some started predicting who would win this first match. Some were quiet and did not babble about the whole thing. All hopped up onto the stone bench where they could spectate by looking out the windows. The room they were in was beneath the stands; there was a small wall between two of the seating rows. In this wall were windows, where the tournament contenders could watch the matches while they awaited their own.

   The first match went well: Harold Marcus was down on the ground, and Joseph Becker was about to jump on him. Harold then rolled away at the last minute, and pounced on Joseph. Joseph finally gave up, after a few seconds, making Harold the victor.

   Just then the door opened and two more names were called: “Elarkin Stroner and Irana Maski!” The two men with those titles exchanged glances and hopped down from the bench. They then slowly put on the equipment that was thrown into the room while the guard announced their names. Just then the door opened, and two men came in: Harold Marcus and Joseph Becker. They were good friends, and they came in with their arms around each other’s shoulders. They both had a faint smile on their faces, even though only one of them had emerged victorious.

   The other two, (Elarkin and Irana) had entered the sand arena. Everyone stood on the ledge and watched: Elarkin had the lower hand, since he was slightly taller and his legs were not very strong. Irana though, did have a good chance, because he was short and stout, and could stay upright much easier. Irana’s first move was a roll at Elarkin’s feet. Elarkin jumped and avoided it, and tried to jump on Irana; this failed however, because Irana had jumped up, once he had realized that his own move had failed. The two now standing showed remarkable sword fighting skills, making it hard for the other contenders to see out the window because the spectators were standing in their excitement; it was impossible to figure out who had won the match.

   Just then, the door opened; everyone looked over to see Elarkin and Irana walking in to together. Both of them were breathless, but even so, they were they laughing.

   “Who won?!” was the question that was asked; they all crowded around the two and waited for their answer.

   “Well,” began Elarkin, “I did! But it was an even battle, for Irana had me down on my back twice!” The others cheered so loudly, that they hardly heard the guard throw in the equipment and shout: “Hugo Maine and Vill Rosen!” Vill’s heart stopped in its tracks; everyone’s voices dropped slightly, but to Vill, all noise went away. He and Hugo exchanged glances, and then slowly made their way to the pile of equipment. Vill put it on piece by piece, and took up the sword and shield; he was ready, and so was Hugo. The guard led them out onto the sand arena; straight ahead, sat the three Warriors on large wooden chairs. Their names were: “Sir Loylen”, the lead warrior, “Sir Maron”, the second in command, and “Sir Stolar”, the third in command.

   The guard suddenly stopped near the middle and said: “Here we have two contenders: Hugo Maine, from the Old Hills…” he stopped as the crowd cheered, “And Vill Rosen, also from the Old Hills.” The crowd cheered some more. Just then, while Vill was scanning the crowd, he saw a familiar face: his mother’s. He was reminded of his choice, (which did not make him feel better.) He gave her a faint smile, and then readied himself for the match until the guard said, (addressing Vill and Hugo,) “Let the match, begin!” The guard then moved aside to the outer wall, as to not get in the way.

   Vill and Hugo rounded each other slowly; neither of them made any move. Suddenly, Hugo came at Vill with a swing of his sword; Vill blocked it just on time with his shield. Many well placed swings came at Vill. Vill though, did not take the offensive side. Many more blows came at him, one knocking him to the ground. Hugo swung his sword down, and Vill, deflected it with his shield. Another blow came, and this time Vill rolled to the side at the last minute. He got up while rolling, and stood a few yards away from Hugo; his memory brought him back to the night before the last. He remembered splitting the wood in two, after trying two times before. The mechanics came back to his arms, (though he could only use his right, since his shield was in his left,) and he aimed a precise blow to the Hugo’s helm as Hugo charged him; Hugo blocked with the top of his shield, just barely in time. This stopped Hugo completely, nearly making him fall down. Before he could recover, Vill dealt another blow, this time, to Hugo’s left side; he blocked with his sword, and then dealt a blow dangerously close to Vill’s chest. Vill deflects it with his shield; Vill then had an interesting idea: after blocking two more blows, he swung his sword at Hugo’s helmet; and just like Vill had planned, Hugo used his shield to block. At the moment Hugo put up his shield, Vill charges him with his shield and aimed for Hugo’s exposed chest; his plan worked, and Hugo was on the ground, struggling to stand up. He had dropped his sword and shield during Vill’s move, and had no chance to get them. He tried getting up using brute strength: he tried to push Vill off. That didn’t work, so he tried to roll to one side, and then suddenly change direction; this did not succeed either. Finally, after some more struggling, he uttered the word, “Respite!” Vill immediately rose, and helped Hugo up. Hugo accepted this kind act, and he and Vill returned to the training room.

   Everyone was clapping, and the arm that was clenching Vill’s heart, had now retreated. They took off the equipment and handed it to the guard before entering the room. Vill then opened the door and was greeted by the other men. They said things like “Good match!” and “Great job.” Vill was sweaty and tired, and hoped for a good long rest.

   He then saw two doors side by side in the back of the room that he had not seen before; it said ‘Potion Room’. Vill’s curiosity was raised.

   He then heard the guard yell, “Jeffery Goalen and Horace Strow!” Vill ran over to the guard and quietly asked, “What is behind those doors?”

   “Well,” began the guard, “If anyone is wounded during any kind of tournament, then they’ll be taken into there, where they will be treated to some potions. During this warrior tournament though, we use it as a room to lay down in when one group of contenders is done fighting during the first round. I’m going to send you there after this match; I need to go!” The guard ran out to join the two men in the match. Vill retreated to the stone bench to watch the match; the guard was announcing the names. He then heard: “Let the match begin!”

   Vill thoughts though were not on the match; his mind was wandering through what was going to happen during the third round, when he would have his second match. Who his opponent would be would be unsure until the winner emerged from this current match. The winner would be Vill’s opponent.

   Just then a shout went up from the crowd, and cheering started. The door opened, and the guard said, “Those who’ve haven’t been in a match yet say ‘I’.”

   “I,” said the ones who had been addressed.

   “Then you stay here,” said the guard. “Those who have won their matches, follow me. Those who lost theirs, I’ll be back for you once I settle these ones down.” He then gestured to the ones that were to follow him, and took them through the doors that were labeled ‘Potion Room’. Once entering, they saw about fifteen beds lined up against the wall. The left wall was covered from left to right with dressers, and on the dressers, potions.

   “Take what you need from the potions and clothing, and when done, lie in bed,” ordered the guard. “I’ll be back for you after the second round.”

   Vill chose a dresser that was near the middle of the wall; on it were about twenty flasks of numerous potions. Behind each potion was a label. Vill looked at all of them: some were sleep and energy potions; others were potions that allowed you to see the matches in your head, and some were potions that healed your wounds. Vill took a flask filled with blue liquid that was labeled ‘Sleep Tonic’. He drunk it with one gulp and put the flask away. He suddenly felt drowsy and exhausted. He lay down on his bed that was just across from the dresser. Once he touched the bed, he fell asleep.