Common Clay

Once again, Clay found himself waiting near the field, a colored scarf tied around his right arm. This time, it was a gold-colored cloth, and the adventurers around him were not initiates. Not at all.

“Are they serious? Why would they send a cadet here at the last minute? Are they asking for him to get injured?” A [Paladin] named Syr Annette was scowling with rage at the distant stand where a few members of the Council sat. Clay felt grateful that the distance was far enough that he couldn’t see expressions; he was fairly confident that he could see Sir Evan and Syr Marissa arguing.

“Well, he’s not going to be on my team. He’ll just slow us down.”

“Same here. Should we just throw him into the mix? Or maybe tuck him back with the reserves?”

“I’ll take him. My group’s short two people, anyway.”

Clay looked over at the man who’d spoken. It was Sir Bennett, a [Mystic] he’d seen in the library occasionally. He’d gotten the man a book or two during his time there. Perhaps he’d made a good impression without knowing it.

“Great, fine. You guys are out on the left flank. Try not to get crushed over there, and we’ll all hold together.” The leader of the Gold army, an [Artifactor] named Sir Ryan, grimaced as he looked across the field. The Black banner was already coming forward. “All right, let’s get into position. We don’t want to give them the chance to get ahead of us.”

The adventurers all nodded, and Clay trailed after Bennett as he led the way to the rest of his group, over on the left of the field. Luckily, the rest of Bennett’s team seemed to accept his joining them with relatively good humor. One of them, a [Dragoon] he didn’t recognize, actually started to laugh.

“So, why did they send you? I’d bet it was either very good behavior or very bad. Which was it? Punishment or reward?”

Clay immediately decided it was better not to tell the whole story. “I think Syr Katherine said something about humility, Syr.”

The [Dragoon] laughed again, throwing her head back and bracing with her gigantic axe. Sir Bennett shook his head. “Well, humble or not, you’re with us now. Stick close, try not to get in the way, and stay away from the heavy hitters. The armor should help a little, but if you get hit hard enough…”

He nodded, already worried about the possibility. A level eight would seem like an initiate on this field; there were adventurers three times higher than him on both sides. The last thing he wanted was to take a full on hit from someone on Orn’s level.

Across the field, the Black army was shifting its position a little. He caught sight of one team seeming to shoulder another two out of the way in front of their own position. They seemed odd, somehow, but before he could focus on it, the first horn sounded.

This time, he didn’t even bother to hesitate. He started the Ballad of Air, knowing he’d need the defense as he charged. Sir Bennett glanced at him, and then shrugged, going back to his own focus on the enemies ahead.

The second horn blew, and a roar from dozens of adventurers tore the air. Clay charged across the field, trying to seem inconspicuous among the others. Lightning bolts as thick as his head snapped between the armies; fireballs soared through the sky to explode against shields made of air. Spikes of stone and ice shot between the ranks, along with projectiles that could have punched holes in trees. When he finally completed the Ballad, he tried to shove some of them aside. It was like trying to move a branch with a straw.

Then the lines crashed into one another, and Clay found himself facing a giant man in armor, wearing the black scarf. He lunged at the warrior, trying to bring his spear to bear. His opponent blocked the thrust and then stepped past him. Clay pivoted, about to strike at the adventurer’s side. For some reason, the man was ignoring him; we he really that slow by comparison to them?

Just as he was about to strike, a bolt of lightning snapped between him and his target. Clay jumped back in alarm, and turned to find himself facing another man, one who carried a single sword. One that was staring at him without any intent of ignoring him.

Clay sprinted at him, hoping that the rest of the team would keep others off his back. If this man was a [Mage] or an [Oracle], he might be able to take them off guard at close range. As long as he stayed close and kept them from using their [Charms], he might have a chance. He charged, spear ready to strike.

His new opponent moved with a fluidity and assurance that instantly told him that this man was no unbalanced magic caster. When Clay stabbed, the man swatted the point aside with his sword. Clay tried again and again, trying to drive the man back, only for every thrust to be turned aside. Frustrated, Clay started the Flame-tongued Song, hoping to catch the man off guard.

Then, to his surprise, the other man raised a hand and began a brief [Chant] of his own. A sudden humming noise echoed through Clay’s skull, and he flinched back in shock as his [Chant] faltered and failed. What had just happened?

“Fear not, Sir Clay. I’m sorry for the subterfuge, but this was the best way that I could speak with you.” The man swatted aside one last stab, and stepped further away, disengaging. “I hope it does not place you in too awkward a situation with the rest of the Guild.”

Clay drew back, debating whether he should strike again. He had to keep the pressure on, or the other man would try to use another [Charm]. Either that, or another member of the Black would attack him from the side…

He slowly became aware of the fact that the area around him was relatively clear. A ring of five Black aligned adventurers had formed a small circle around him, keeping the rest of Clay’s own team and the rest of the battle away. Even their own allies were not immune; out of the corner of his eye, Clay caught sight of another Black team starting to rush towards him, only to be intercepted and sent away. What was happening?

The man in the circle with him began to pace, as if circling Clay. Clay matches his motion, prowling around the edges of the cleared area. His mind was racing. Who was this person? Why had they wanted to talk to him anyway?

He saw his opponent smile. “Again, my apologies. I know this must seem strange to you, but I had to keep up appearances.” Clay frowned, and then the man darted in to strike at him. The counterthrust came so easily that it felt instinctive. He watched as the man withdrew again, but he could tell it hadn’t been a serious attack. Was he being toyed with?

“You see, my father always said that you knew a man best in battle.” Another strike and withdrawal. Clay tried to pursue, but the man gestured, and a burst of wind nearly tossed him from his feet. A second charge forced him to back away, but the other man gave up the attempt almost as soon as he’d started. “He always loved the Melee, whether it was Common, Lesser, or High. He nearly always competed in them too, though he used disguises to make sure that he wasn’t recognized.”

The man straightened up. “Just as I do today, of course. It wouldn’t do to worry anyone.”

Clay’s eyes darted to the King’s stand. There was a figure there, sitting beside the Queen, but it occurred to him that the stand was placed in a way that it was hard to see into it. It also occurred to him he hadn’t seen any hint of affection between the King and Queen. Perhaps it was just royal dignity, or perhaps…

He turned back fully to the man, who was grinning at him. Shock made him almost miss a step. “You can’t be—”

The man—King John of Crownsguard—struck at him again, just enough to force Clay to focus again. His expression was both haughty and amused as he withdrew. “’Can’t’ is not a word I hear often, Sir Clay.” John tilted his head. “Now, as I was saying, my father always said you knew a person most when they fought. In battle, all the pretenses and illusions are stripped away. There are feints and deceptions—” With suitable timing, the King tried another strike, and Clay countered with a block and a stab that John evaded easily. “But they are never as easy or well-concealed as they would be in a court or a dining room. Things grow… simpler here, on a plain field, with steel in hand.”

Clay watched him closely, his mind whirling. He couldn’t fight the King, could he? If he surrendered, would the King be offended? Would he be mad if Clay managed to land a blow? It didn’t seem likely, given how things had been going so far, but if he did strike the King, would he be executed? Or would the Guild just lock him up somewhere dark for the rest of time?

He shook his head, trying to focus on the task ahead. “What do you want of me, Your Highness?”

John smirked. “Ah yes, they do say you are a plain-spoken man. They talk a lot about you, Sir Clay. Adventurers and [Commoners] both.”

Clay felt his face start to heat. “They do?”

“They do.” John’s smile faded. His expression grew serious. “You’re a [Commoner] who killed monsters. Who killed a Lair, all before he even reached the Guild. You became a cadet so quickly that some questioned why you were even an initiate. You broke up a gang of killers barely a week after arriving in Crownsguard, and patrol the streets alongside my own [Guards]. You rescued a kitten from a tree the other day.”

He had no idea how the King had heard about that one. The [Guards] he’d been with hadn’t been able to stop laughing. “It was stuck.”

The King gave him an exasperated look. “I know.” Then his expression darkened, and he struck again, probing Clay’s defenses. “At the same time, you worry the Council. You’re an outsider who may hold his own loyalties. You’re rebellious; you’ve been before the Council twice already, and I don’t doubt the third time will come soon. You know dangerous secrets and show little regard for the wisdom of others. You even associate with [Knaves], [Burglars], and other outcasts. You had to be threatened into swearing the Adventurer’s Oath.”

Clay shuffled slightly, feeling a spark of resentment burn to life. He struck out at the King on his own this time, pressing the attack for a handful of strikes. “I’ve never put anyone at risk. All I want to do is fight monsters and help people.”

“So I’ve heard.” The King blocked each strike and then spun away. A cocky smile flashed across his face. “But which of the things I’ve heard are true? Are you a rebel? A Rogue? Are you a sincere hero, or an ambitious threat? Who are you, Clay Evergreen, Commoner Hero?”

The question was impossible to answer. Clay shrugged. “I am who I am. How am I supposed to prove that?”

King John nodded. “You see my problem, then. Many people have told me who you are. Here is your chance to show me.” He stopped circling. “Come at me with everything you are. Everything you know, everything you can do. Show me.”

Clay weighed the problem in his head for a moment. The consequences of fighting a personal duel with the King were probably pretty severe. Sir Evan would probably prefer it if he just surrendered; Syr Katherine might have agreed, if Clay had the chance to ask her. None of the other adventurers would even blame him for it. Even setting the royal dignity aside, King John likely had years of training and several levels on him.

Then he set all of that aside and charged.

John gave a wild laugh as Clay closed with him, falling into a defensive stance. Clay didn’t laugh or roar. He just started the [Chant] for the Drums of the Earth, hoping to throw the King off balance. As he drew close, he unleashed stab after stab aimed for the [Noble]’s torso. All he would need was a handful of strikes, and he’d win.

His hopes for a quick victory were dashed a moment later as the King blurred into motion. [Nobles] had [Fortitude] and [Valor] as their main [Stats], which gave them the speed and endurance to fight for longer than most could expect. King John appeared to have developed that skill to the limit. His sword seemed to almost vanish from sight as he turned Clay’s thrusts aside, always keeping ahead of the spearpoint. Clay continued the attack. He knew he had the advantage in strength, thanks to his higher [Might]. If he could force the man into a struggle for leverage, he might be able to rely on brute force to win the day.

Unfortunately, John gave him no chance to reach that point. The [Noble] continued to dodge and deflect, giving ground for a while. Then he began to counterattack, the longsword flickering out to strike at Clay. Despite his advantage in reach, Clay had to pull back to avoid being hit. John followed him, forcing Clay back onto the defensive. A mocking grin was clear under his helmet, and Clay grunted as the dull blade passed by his face so close that he could feel the wind from it on his nose.

Then, Drums of the Earth finished, and he focused on the ground beneath the King’s feet. He saw the guards around them shift as the earth shook, and he grinned as he expected John to stumble.

Then he realized John had been whispering something too.

His jaw dropped as the King rose above the shaking ground, hovering above it without a care in the world. The fact that the King knew Floating Step exploded into Clay’s mind, just before he was forced to duck beneath an opportunistic slash. He retaliated almost without thinking, swinging his spear in a wide strike at John’s midsection. John caught it with his blade, and the relative lack of friction sent him skidding backwards with a wild laugh.

Clay frowned and started the Flame-tongued Song, hoping the close quarters would make it impossible to avoid. The Guild would just have to forgive him for roasting the monarch a little.

John tilted his head as the ground stopped shaking, and then he drifted back down to earth. He straightened up and made a gesture, and Clay was forced to throw himself to the side as lightning crackled out at him. There was no chance to stay at long range; Clay charged in again, even while the King backed up and fired bolt after bolt.

He caught the last bolt on his spear, ignoring the way the crackling blast seemed to shake the weapon, and then swung at the King again. John ducked and then lunged, the point of his sword nearly catching Clay in the stomach. Clay just barely twisted out of the way, and he choked up on the spear enough that he could deliver another three quick stabs to John’s chest. All of them were turned aside or dodged, the [Noble] still putting his superior speed to good use. Worse, he was muttering something as he fought, and a part of Clay thought he recognized the [Chant].

Clay completed the Flame-tongued Song anyway, breathing out a wave of flame. John winced and completed the [Chant] of the Vanishing Ember a heartbeat later. The reversed form of Spontaneous Spark activated immediately, and Clay’s grunted as it tried to extinguish the fire he’d summoned. A familiar strain pushed against him; Syr Katherine had forced him to oppose her in [Chants] time after time, and now the practice proved useful as he pushed back against John’s attempt to frustrate him again.

The flames of the Song flickered and sputtered, but John growled a curse and jumped backward as the pressure abruptly faded. Apparently, his [Will] didn’t match Clay’s after all. His fire chased the [Noble] around the circle for a moment, and then John’s fingers snapped out, and a wave of wind pushed the flames back in on Clay in a roiling cloud of fire.

Clay released the Song and dodged as his own flames nearly washed over him. He’d almost forgotten the [Noble] could use [Charms]; his use of [Chants] had blinded him. A poor excuse, and one that wouldn’t help him if John caught him again.

The King was grinning at him, and Clay shook his head and snorted. Then he charged again, this time drawing his knife. He threw it as they closed, sending the dull blade tumbling end over end.

John rolled his eyes and smacked the knife aside. Then his expression grew more serious as he once again focused on turning the spearpoint aside. Another rapid exchange of blows sent sparks flying as steel met steel, and then the King’s eyes hardened, and another gust of wind caught Clay directly in the face.

He stumbled back, lashing out with the spear to try to defend himself as John pressed the attack. The King used the [Charm] again and again, continuing to knock Clay off balance. Desperate, Clay began to run through the [Chant] for Firm Step, hoping he could finish it before the King managed to shove him off his feet completely.

As it was, the [Chant] completed just as the King’s sword slipped past his guard and rang off Clay’s breastplate. He heard John crow in victory, and Clay growled as he felt the strength of the [Chant] settle over him. The next time the King lashed out with his Air [Charm], Clay braced himself and felt Firm Step grounding him. John darted in, still expecting an off-balance foe. Clay saw his eyes widen in surprise and swung at him with every ounce of strength he could muster.

The King managed to get his sword up in time, but the blow still sent him rolling away. Clay released the [Chant] and sprinted after him, only to stop short as the King regained his feet and sent another burst of wind his way.

“A nice… hit… Sir Clay.” John smiled despite his lack of breath, and Clay grinned back at the man. He started the [Chant] for Pursuing Leap, his eye on his discarded knife, and began to circle. The King circled as well, unknowingly getting closer to the knife.

Around them, the rest of the Melee continued, though the battle on this part of the flank seemed to have faded away. The guards were still facing outward, but he sensed their close attention on the fight inside the circle. He hoped they didn’t accidentally let some attack through at an inopportune moment.

John seemed to grow impatient after a moment. His hand moved, and lightning flicked out to lash at Clay. He dodged, buying himself another few moments. A second burst sped past him, and John frowned as Clay simply dodged again.

Then he looked down in the grass and spotted the dulled Pell knife. He looked back up, and his eyes widened as Clay finished the [Chant]. Magic grabbed hold of Clay’s body and hurled him across the field towards the fallen knife, launching him at the King like a striking hawk.

He’d crossed half the distance before King John reached out with a foot and kicked the knife to the side, sending it flipping over the grass.

Clay’s smile died completely before he found his course abruptly changing, sending him careening over the field after the knife. He heard the King laugh and managed a wild swing at the [Noble] before he flew completely out of range. Disoriented and slightly nauseous, Clay still kept his feet. He even managed to recover quickly enough to fend off the King’s next charge, though not before the sword clipped the plates on his left shin.

Dancing back slightly, Clay settled himself back into the next exchange. He needed to change the momentum quickly, or he was going to be beaten without even having the chance to respond. The smug look on the King’s face did not encourage him to accept the defeat with grace.

So instead, he began the Cycle of Return, and pushed forward to close the distance with the King. He shortened his grip on the spear, fighting hard to keep the sword from hitting him again.

Then, just as the [Chant] neared completion, he dropped the spear and lunged at the King. John’s eyes widened again in surprise as Clay came in close, too close for the sword to reach him. Clay grabbed his sword arm and smashed it with his other hand, knocking the sword flying. Then he latched onto John’s armor and shoved him into place. The King shoved him back, but the [Noble]’s [Might] was less than it needed to be to break free.

“What are you—you can’t—”

Clay grinned at the King’s frustrated growls and focused on his [Chant]. It completed just as the King began his own [Chant], one he immediately recognized as the Pursuing Leap. The tactic was obvious; the [Chant] would probably have yanked both of them off their feet, and maybe ripped the King out of Clay’s grasp.

It didn’t keep Clay’s dulled dagger from smashing into the back of the King’s chestplate, however with an audible clang.

He saw the King stiffen, and his eyes went wide. John’s focus on the [Chant] faded, and he glanced back at the knife as Clay let the Cycle go. When John looked back, Clay grinned. “Not done yet, Your Majesty.”

John’s expression became a mixture of impressed and angry. “Why you little—”

The King snuck a foot behind Clay’s ankle before he shoved, forcing Clay to stumble a little. He still held onto the King’s armor with one hand, but John managed to free one hand enough to start punching away at him. Clay guarded his face with his left arm as the King punched at him once, twice, and again. A detached portion of his mind considered using the same dirty trick he’d used against Leonard, but in the end, he settled for a quick left jab that stung the King’s cheek. John’s outraged expression as his head rocked back told him he’d probably chosen the wiser course.

At least, he thought that until the King pulled him close and tried to use the same exact trick on him, which Clay only avoided by twisting barely out of the way. He growled without thinking. “You dirty—”

“Oh, you’re one to talk!”

They grappled for a few more moments, with the King proving frustratingly resilient despite his lower [Might]. Clay felt the irrational urge to laugh; his mind flashed back to wrestling and boxing with Charles and Enessa, among the fields and crops of Pellsglade. He doubted that Sam Evergreen had ever pictured his son trading blows with a King when he’d given his son a few pointers, but apparently nobody had taken the Trickster into consideration.

Trading punches and grips wouldn’t end things, though. The King, as a [Noble], had far higher [Fortitude]. If he let things go on, even Clay’s endurance would give way, and he’d lose from sheer exhaustion.

So after yet another right cross rang against his left arm, Clay gave the King a quick jab and then dropped his guard long enough to launch into a full tackle. The King kept his feet, though Clay drove him back for a moment. He felt two frustrated blows ring off the back of his armor as John elbowed him. Clay could only hope the sounds muffled the noise of him reciting the [Chant] for the Pursuing Leap. His knife was just a short reach away, frustratingly close.

The King tried to knee him again, and Clay used the opportunity to heave him aside. John yelped a little as he rolled off into the dust, but Clay ignored him for a moment as he scrabbled in the dirt for his knife. He turned and lunged for the King, who was headed for his sword, which lay halfway across the circle.

John saw him coming and caught Clay’s knife hand as it descended. Clay grinned, and switched hands, a trick that Jack had taught him. A quick move caught the King across the chestplate, with an audible scrape of steel on steel.

His grin lasted just until the King looked up at him and smirked. “Well fought, Sir Clay.”

Then the King brought up his other hand and nearly placed it, palm out, against his chest. A blast of flame roared out, throwing Clay across the ring in a wave of smoke and heat. He hit hard, smashing down on his back and rolling for a moment. Despite the surprise and the pain, Clay forced himself back to his feet, wavering in the cold autumn air as the smoke rose from his half-destroyed armor.

The King had recovered his sword and waved him back down with it. “That’s three. That’s three. I think we’re done.” He sounded gratifyingly out of breath. Clay slumped back down on his butt; he wasn’t exactly fresh anymore either. His chest felt a little too warm, and there was an ache in his shoulder, where the Guardian had bitten him back in the Tanglewood, that worried him a little. A sense of relief filtered through him. It was done.

John stumbled over to him and sat. His guards looked at him, and the King gestured for them to rejoin the rest of the Melee. As they charged off, John looked over at Clay with a smile. “So. Stubborn, resourceful, determined. Mostly honorable too, despite the occasional lapse.” Clay snorted, and the King grinned as he continued. “I think the people are mostly right about you, Sir Clay. Are you certain you don’t want to join my Royal Guard? They’re usually [Nobles], but I’m sure you could add some new perspective.”

The offer stunned Clay, but he shook his head. “No, Your Majesty. I’ve sworn to help the Guild, and the monsters are waiting out there. I want to find them and stop them.”

With a sigh, King John leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Then I suppose we’ll have to get you out there again, before you cause the poor Guild any more trouble. Unless you feel the kittens of Crownsguard need you?”

His heart suddenly pounding in his ears, Clay rolled his eyes. “I suppose they’ll be able to make it all right. At least until I get back.”

John reached over and clapped him on the shoulder, shaking him gently. “Good. Very good.” Then he pulled himself up off the ground. “Make sure you see to those burns. That last [Charm] is a potent one. I almost never use it in a duel.”

Clay snorted again. “Glad I could make the cut.”

“Oh, you did. You most certainly did.” King John idly tapped his sword against his hand, as if considering saying more, and then shook his head. “Good fortune, Sir Clay. I look forward to hearing more about our Commoner Hero.”

With that, the King turned and charged back towards the fray in the center. It looked as if things weren’t exactly going well for the Golds, but that was hardly Clay’s concern now. Weary and aching, he heaved himself back to his feet and headed for the medical tents. Hopefully, things wouldn’t hurt quite so badly by the time he made it back to bed today.

Then he glanced in the direction of the Council’s stand and groaned. Every single Councilor there was staring straight at him. The chance of a good meal and a nice bed seemed to get further and further away.