Common Clay

The day of the festival dawned with clouds overhead.

Clay watched those clouds with a jaded eye. His regular instruction had been canceled for the day, and the entire Academy seemed to be headed for the festival grounds, but he still nursed the half-formed fear that rain would cancel the whole event. He’d planned for weeks now; would it all be ruined by an errant rumble of thunder?

He needn’t have worried, though, because it seemed like nothing could have stopped half of Crownsguard from turning out at the tournament grounds east of the city. The streets were crowded with people flowing out past the eastern walls, filling the temporary stages that the [Guards] had set up earlier in the day.

The number of people dwarfed any festival that Clay had ever seen. It seemed like there were people everywhere, talking, laughing, and arguing. Sellers were hawking their wares in all directions, even as adventurers and [Nobles] moved around the field, preparing for the various contests that were planned for later in the day.

Some of the [Nobles] had started up things in the jousting lists. He was halfway tempted to watch the nobility clashing with their armored horses and brightly painted lances, but the joust had never been the main event that people looked forward to in the Crown festival.

No, that honor had been given to the Melees.

There were three of them, separated by the quality and level of the adventurers involved. The first was called the Common Melee, and was made up of the [Guards] and other [Commoners]. Technically, anyone could participate, but only a fool entered without some form of armor or battle experience. Two grand teams formed on opposite sides of the field, and at a signal, they charged at each other, blunted weapons held high. The team whose banner-bearer was captured and defeated lost, and the victors took home the tokens of their conquest. Healers stood by to address the injured, many looking overworked and irritated at the sport.

The second Melee, the Lesser Melee, was where Clay and the Rogue’s Gallery were going to participate. It was full of cadets and journeymen, with initiates technically allowed, but practically never seen. Just as with the Common Melee, two grand teams would be formed with a single banner-bearer. Unlike the Common Melee, the grand armies would be subdivided into smaller teams, in imitation of adventurers being sent out on missions. Also, unlike the Common Melee, magic was allowed, though lethal blows were penalized. Victory remained the same, however, and the spoils were much larger, especially for the team that took the other army’s banner.

Later in the day would be the High Melee, the one reserved for skilled journeymen, peers, and masters of the Guild. Though fewer in number, the power on display would be enough to overawe anyone who might have been impressed by the brute numbers of the Common, or the enthusiasm of the Lesser. Stories of the High Melee had even reached Clay’s ears in Pellsglade. He only hoped that he would not be beaten up too badly to enjoy it now; it was easy to imagine Charles and Enessa grimacing with envy over it.

He caught sight of Jack and the others, already in their armor. Each contestant in the Melee was given a simple set of padded armor. It was mostly just a cloth gambeson with a chestplate, along with a few bits of plate along the arms and legs, and a simple helmet that lacked a faceplate. Orn likely rated the stuff one step above wearing nothing at all, but it would give the adventurers a bit more protection against the brutal blows they were about to exchange. Even with blades blunted and arrows padded, injuries were common. A green scarf was tied around each of their right arms.

Clay smiled as he joined them, his own blunted spear in his hand, and a blunted Pell knife strapped to his side. “Everyone ready?”

Jack nodded with a smile of his own. The [Knave] wore a pair of blunt Pell knives; he’d fallen in love with the style of blade almost at first sight, and Orn had been delighted to make another set for him. “We’re ready.”

Xavien sighed. He was toying with his padded mace, with his shield strapped to his arm. “You’re sure this will work, Sir Clay?”

“As sure as I can be.” Clay tried not to sound nervous, his conversation with Syr Katherine echoing in his mind. “Does anyone know where we are going to be on the field?”

Anne shook her head. Her longsword was still in its sheath, and she was fidgeting with her hands. “No, but I think the team leaders are getting together over there. You might want to join them.”

Clay nodded, seeing a small group of armored adventurers in close conversation. He started in that direction, but Natalie stopped him, her clubs held in one hand and a scarf in her other. “Wait, wait, you need your colors.”

He paused, and she tied the green scarf around his upper right arm. She tugged on it to be sure it was secure and then stepped back. “There. Welcome to the Greens.”

“Thanks.” Clay paused for another moment, looking around at them. There were signs of nervousness in all of them, from the way they were fiddling with their weapons to the way Xavien was sitting. He took a deep breath. “We can do this. We will do this. I’ll be right back.”

Lawrence called out after him. “Just make sure we get our shot!” Clay grinned and waved back at the [Occultist], and then headed over to where the other leaders were meeting.

They looked over as he approached, shifting slightly to make a space for him. Some of them gave him sour looks, as if they weren’t especially pleased to have his team on their side. The adventurer they’d picked to be the banner-bearer, a [Dark Knight] named Andrew, grimaced for a moment. “Sir Clay. So glad you could join us.”

The words were delivered in an especially flat tone, utterly bereft of enthusiasm. Clay struggled to take them at face value. “Glad to be here. Where can we help out?”

His question prompted a handful of grumbles from some of the other leaders, but Andrew just gave him a false smile. “We’re going to put you out on our right flank. Syr Emily and Sir Daniel should be able to support you there, and it should be hard for you to get into too much trouble.”

Clay raised his eyebrows and nodded. From what Master Taylor had said, the flanks could be pivotal to the battle—but they were also just as likely to be sparsely populated compared to the clash in the center. Perhaps Andrew just expected his team of initiates to be overrun instantly, and the other two teams on the flank were there to cover for them. Either way, it was a chance to not get crushed into the mass of teams at the center, so he thought it would be a good opportunity.

A series of trumpets blared out over the field, and he looked out to see the Common Melee about to begin. There were dozens of people lined up on both sides of the field; it looked like twice the population of Pellsglade was down there, all armed and armored for battle. Each army stood between two tall poles that formed the boundaries; retreating outside of those boundaries counted a person as out of the battle, as if they had surrendered. Shouts and jeers ran across the distance as the two armies formed up.

Then the trumpets blared again, and the two armies charged. They met with a colossal clash at about the center, and the air filled with shouts, screams, and the clanging of steel. For a moment, the Reds seemed like they were pushing forward, about to break the line of the Blues in two places. Then a group of Blues that had held back from the initial charge threw themselves into the center, driving the Reds back again. Their banner forged its way forward, and the Red banner fell back.

Sir Andrew glanced in that direction and snorted. “Every time I see that I wonder how [Guards] even manage to keep going in that mess. How do they even move?”

It was a good question, and it seemed like there were at least a few of the [Commoners] that were trapped in the crush, unable to do much more than lash out in all directions. The shouting from the stands as the spectators yelled encouragement to either side competed with the battle cries and orders below, and for a moment it looked like the Reds’ center was about to give way completely.

Then the Blues’ line fractured on the left, letting groups of Reds through. They shoved their way into the gap, circling around the Blue banner in the middle, hitting them from behind. The Blues’ momentum began to fall apart as the ones in the back started to turn around to defend themselves, and the Reds rallied. Soon enough, the entire Blue line had come apart, with half of them running for safety at the other side of the field while the rest gathered for a desperate last stand around their banner. Another handful of minutes later, the banner fell, and the crowd roared in both disappointment and victory.

Clay glanced towards the King’s stand, where the monarch himself was watching the games. He saw the distant figure raise a red flag to honor the victors, and the Reds still on the field roared in celebration. They filtered back towards the stands to receive the rewards, though some of them were limping or reaching down to help half-trampled competitors to their feet. The hostility between the two sides seemed to be utterly abandoned now as they cleared the field.

Andrew shook his head. “Let’s try to do better than that, shall we? To your teams, Sirs.” The leaders nodded to him, and Clay went back to the Rogue’s Gallery. They’d been watching the first Melee just as he had, and he could sense their anxiety.

“We’re on the far right. Remember, hit them hard from the start. Don’t hold back. The quicker it’s over, the less time they have to react.” They all nodded, their eyes serious. Lawrence had his quarterstaff in a death grip, and Natalie was spinning her clubs in a determined fashion. “All right, let’s get to the field.”

In what seemed like a vanishingly short time later, Clay lined up with the others on the far right side of the field.

They were facing the White army across that same half-frozen field. The ground felt firm, despite the grass and leaves, which he supposed would help. His attempt today would look a little ridiculous if it ended because he faceplanted after slipping on some mud.

The armies were evenly matched, with each side fielding a little over seventy adventurers and low ranked [Nobles] that weren’t members of the Guild, all in teams of six. His team was standing about as far right as they could go, practically up against the boundary pole. Two other teams were on the flank with them, but they had formed up a little further to the left, as if putting some distance between the Rogue’s Gallery and their own teams.

Across the field, he could see the Whites milling around, settling into their own positions. He tried to see how many of them his team would face, but they kept shifting around. His breath misted on the late autumn air, and his fingers tightened on the haft of the spear. Around him, the initiates were shifting on their feet. Far out to the left, he caught sight of the Green banner waving in the breeze. Ahead and to the left, the White banner opposed it; he had a brief imagined picture of himself capturing it, but it was nothing more than a dream. He’d leave the attempts at glory to others today. Right now, all he needed was for his friends to prove their worth.

A horn blew, and around him, all the adventurers tensed. Clay dropped into a crouch, ready to start running. Those around and ahead of him braced in the same way. Speed would be life. The tactics Master Taylor had outlined for them had emphasized that fact again and again; staying still would only invite the magic users on the other side to take careful aim. Archers would be firing too; under his breath, he started the Ballad of Air, hoping to use it to deflect incoming attacks.

Then the second horn blew, and the armies charged.

Clay sprinted at the front of his team, careful not to get out ahead of them. They needed his leadership in more ways than one. While others roared and shouted, they stayed silent. Ahead, he watched the enemy shift positions. Unless he was seeing things wrong, they were lining up at least two different teams to face his group of initiates. It was a risky move, gambling that the initiates would crumble fast enough that the two cadet teams beside them wouldn’t be able to punch through the single team ahead of them.

It wasn’t going to pay off. Not if Clay had any say in the matter.

The distance between the armies seemed to vanish in mere moments. Lightning began to strike from the sky; the ground split beneath others’ feet. Fire and ice streamed across the distance as adventurers unleashed their magic, while others sent arrows, javelins, or stones hurtling towards their targets.

Someone had apparently picked him out as a target. An arrow nearly struck him in the chest, but he managed to dodge at the last moment. A few steps later, a blast of fire fountained out of the ground, forcing him to change course again. Another three projectiles came in at him, but the Ballad had finally completed. He sent streamers of wind out in a rush, swatting the incoming arrows and spears aside. He still had to dodge as a crackle of energy warned him about a lightning bolt, but then he was rushing straight at the enemies in front of them.

He focused on their team leader. The adventurer had her sword raised high, charging at him with a battlecry on her lips. No magic crackled around her; he thought he recognized her as a [Fighter] that had made a few pointed comments about Jack at one point.

Clay waited until she was nearly to him and then threw the blunted spear directly at her chest.

It hit her right in the breastplate, and the impact knocked her right off her feet. He saw an expression of baffled surprise as she went down. Before she could stand back up, he drew his blunted knife, began the [Chant] of the Cycle of Return, and sprinted forward. Clay caught her still struggling to rise and finished her off with a pair of quick strikes to her helmet. There was a muffled oath as the cadet was knocked back down into the cold dirt, but he didn’t bother with anything else. She was already down, and there were plenty more opponents to fight.

Except as he straightened up, it looked like the adventurers in front of him were all turned the wrong direction. The second team that had been running towards him had all turned towards the left, as if they were going to try to attack the teams there. Clay paused in confusion and glanced around.

His team had already more or less finished their opponents off. Xavien was still smashing away at one hapless cadet on the ground, and Natalie was still looking to deliver her third strike on another, but Anne had her sword at one cadet’s throat, Jack’s opponent was already down with three scratches on his chestplate, and Lawrence had already knocked a third unconscious.

Clay waved to them, and then charged forward, again aiming for the other side’s team leader. It was a [Mage] that he’d seen a handful of times, mostly practicing throwing out ice and fire at target dummies. The adventurer caught sight of Clay and froze, as if shocked. As the cadet turned, Clay hurled his knife at them. It hit hard enough to knock their head back, and they staggered.

Then he completed the Cycle of Return, and his spear shot back into his hands. He grabbed it and delivered two quick, punishing stabs to the [Mage], knocking them back and out. Jack and Lawrence slammed into cadets on either side of him, followed quickly by Natalie and Anne. The last of that team pointed at Clay, lightning wreathing their hands, only to crumple as Xavien hit them from the side.

That quickly, the field in front of them was mostly clear. Clay looked around for a moment, getting reassuring nods from the others. Then he shrugged and gestured for them to follow him, completing the Cycle of Return again to recover his knife. The single remaining team of Whites on the left flank was already being overwhelmed by the two teams they faced. Since it didn’t look like they needed much help at all, Clay led his team of initiates around the back of the Whites’ line, hoping to hit the opposing side from the rear.

Unfortunately, it looked as if the Whites had anticipated the move. A team in the center had been held back, waiting in reserve. As Clay and the initiates came around the flank, he saw them start in his direction.

Then he recognized the figure leading them, and groaned. “That’s Sir Leonard’s team. Stay fast, hit hard. Give them everything you’ve got!”

He knew, from the grapevine, that his initiates were going to be facing a full group of [Nobles], all level four and well trained. Sir Leonard had been tasked with giving the cadets experience, and he’d accomplished that role. Rumor also said that Sir Leonard himself had gained a couple of levels in the process, meaning he was now facing a level ten [Outrider] with a serious grudge.

Clay started the Canticle of Ice. He had a grim feeling he’d need it.

At first, he expected [Charms]. [Nobles] had access to them; he’d seen Baron Pellsglade use lightning, and the field gave them a clear shot. The other team didn’t unleash their magic, however. Perhaps they thought it wasn’t needed, or perhaps Leonard had told them to hold back. Either way, they were waving their swords and closing with his friends, eager to finish them quickly.

Leonard didn’t have such hesitation. Clay saw the first spear of stone coming straight for him and just barely managed to dodge it. A second [Charm], this one a blade of ice, nearly caught him, but he smashed it aside with his spear. He dodged another two stone spears, running hard and out to the right, before ducking beneath a second ice blade and sprinting at the [Outrider] head on.

His spear met Leonard’s knife and was turned aside. Only his advantage in speed saved him as Leonard lashed out with his second knife, nearly carving a chunk from his breastplate. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist fighting me, Rogue!”

Clay danced back out of range, still striking at him with his spear. The dull spearpoint struck sparks as Leonard swatted it aside, still pushing his way forward. Leonard was smiling, each blow seeming to invigorate him further. “Did you really believe that you were going to have the advantage in close combat, you would be Rogue? A single cheap shot does not determine a real battle.”

He risked a glance at the others and saw that Leonard’s team might not have agreed. Lawrence had used his own [Charm] to blind one of the [Nobles] and then caught them a vicious blow on the shoulder that had grounded them. The cadet facing Anne had tried an axeblow, but the [Burglar] had evaded it and lashed out at the axe haft, snapping it and disarming them immediately. The other three were falling back in a panic as Xavien, Natalie, and Jack pursued them.

He looked back at Leonard just in time to dodge to the side as another spear of stone shot past him. This time, it clipped his helmet and sent a ringing sound through his skull. As he staggered, Leonard darted in, his smile ghoulish and his knives ready to strike.

Clay reversed his grip on the spear and swung hard at him with the opposite end. Leonard was forced to dodge to the side and block with a knife. The [Outrider] still pushed further in, obviously expecting to negate the spear’s reach.

Orn’s training took over for a moment. Clay stepped in to the charge, closing the distance faster than Leonard had expected. The adventurer’s eyes widened slightly as Clay let the spear slide through his fingers, turning into a broad dagger with a very long handle. Spear blade met knife as Leonard was forced to block yet another, closer ranged, strike.

Then Clay used an incredibly dirty street fighting move he’d learned from a [Guard] with a long history and a laugh like grinding rocks. Leonard grunted as Clay stepped on one foot, and then his eyes bulged as Clay looped an arm around his neck, pulled him forward, and brought his knee up with the kind of force that could crack boulders.

The impact did the [Outrider] no good. Clay shoved him back and to the side, and Leonard nearly fell. When Clay stabbed at him, however, the [Outrider] still managed to block the strike. The sparks from the clash lit an expression of pure hatred on Leonard’s face. If he hadn’t hated Clay before, he certainly did now.

Then the Canticle of Ice finished, and Clay gave him a smile of his own as the spears formed above him.

He didn’t go for the obvious strike; it might very well have been lethal if Leonard wasn’t prepared for it, especially with all of his boosts. So instead Clay shot the spears straight down into the dirt in front of him, smashing them into the already-cold earth like a pile of stakes. The [Outrider] shouted and dodged backwards, giving Clay a precious moment to breathe. He started the Flame-tongued Song, and circled around the hedge of ice, searching for his target.

“You’ll pay for that, [Commoner]. Your tricks won’t save you.” A stone spike dove at him from above, and he barely dodged to the side. Ice crackled as a blade chopped at the hedge between them. “You’re only buying yourself a few moments before the end. Soon enough, you’ll be all alone.”

Clay glanced at where Jack was landing hit after hit on a staggering [Noble]. Just beyond him, Natalie booted another one in the face, while Xavien battered another back with his shield. He looked back as another stone spike dove at him. This time, he knocked it aside, feeling the sting of the blow in his fingers as the spear shook.

Another blade of ice carved through the hedge, and then Leonard darted around the hedge from the opposite direction. Clay was ready for him and struck out with his spear immediately. Spear met knives in a blinding exchange of blows. In the space of three breaths, he brought the [Outrider] to a stalemate.

Leonard backed away slightly, his face contorted in rage. “You should be in a cell somewhere, not here where men and women are honored. I promise you, if it is the last thing I do, I’ll…”

He paused, a moment of confusion on his face. The [Outrider] glanced around, as if just realizing how quiet things had become. Clay lunged at him, nearly reaching his face, and Leonard’s attention was back on him again. “Will you stop that accursed nonsense!”

The Song finished, and Clay breathed flame. Leonard ducked away, using the ice as cover, but Clay was fine with that. He let the fire wash over the hedge, converting it from ice to steam in a single, brilliant step. A cloud of newborn mist flooded out in all directions, swallowing the field around him.

As soon as the Song ended, Clay turned to his next [Chant]. It was one he’d learned before, in Pellsglade, but had not had much chance to use. Distant Whispers was a [Chant] that allowed him to speak to someone a fair distance away. The reversed form, however, let him hear someone with excruciating accuracy. No matter where they were, as long as they were close, he’d know what they were saying or doing.

He thought of Leonard as the Distant Ear finished, and listened.

The [Outrider] was muttering to himself. Clearly things had not gone well, and the stream of curses from Leonard’s mouth were proof. Clay backed away, leaving the mist behind as he retreated. He hadn’t wanted to face Leonard, really, and he especially didn’t want to give the picture of having hunted the man down.

When he left the fog, he found the rest of his team. They seemed a bit battered and scorched, but they were still standing and grinning at him. Clay glanced towards the larger battle, and found the Whites’ left flank collapsing, pushing their center off balance and their banner-bearer to retreat. The Greens were chasing, and the Whites had no reserve to call on. Not anymore.

Then he looked back to the mist, and motioned for his initiates to take up positions around it. The fog faded, and left Leonard revealed again.

Leonard snarled. “There you are. No more hiding. It’s time to—”

The adventurer stopped, suddenly aware of the fact that he was surrounded. The Rogue’s Gallery hefted their weapons and grinned. They glanced at Clay, who nodded.

He heard Leonard scream in rage, but he’d already turned away, looking for where it would be best to throw their team in next. If they circled around to the other flank, maybe they could help that side collapse next. Then the Whites would be surrounded! Master Taylor had said something about giving the enemy a way to retreat, but he didn’t think that applied here. When he looked back, Leonard was down, and Jack was helping an abashed looking Lawrence off his back. A slash mark across the [Occultist]’s chestplate told him that the [Outrider] had at least gotten one [Charm] off.

Clay grinned. “All right, guys, let’s finish this thing off. Who’s up for one more charge?” They laughed, and he motioned for them to follow. They started off together towards the other flank, leaving Leonard and his team in the dirt.

It had been a wonderful Melee.

The fight came to a close in a complete victory for the Greens, a fact that had his fellow initiates cheering. They hadn’t done much after bringing down Leonard’s team—most of their contributions had been tripping up opponents and sniping them from behind. It had been enough, though, combined with the collapse of the other flank, to trigger a general rout. Clay had cheered along with the rest of the Greens as the White banner fell, a good distance from the safety promised by the other side of the field.

Then they had collected their cheers and jeers from the crowd, watched the green flag rise over the King’s stand, and gone to collect their tokens of victory. None of the Rogues had been able to stop smiling, and Clay laughed along with them.

Syr Katherine and Sir Evan had been moving among the victors, congratulating each team on their efforts. They also paused here and there to console the adventurers who had been injured or who had been on the losing side as well. Clay caught the Guildmaster glancing at him and grimaced. The head of the Guild in Crownsguard did not seem pleased.

He braced himself, and in time the two senior adventurers came to where he and the rest of the Rogue’s Gallery were relaxing. Clay and the others started to stand, but the Guildmaster motioned for them to stay seated. “No, no. Don’t get up. I just wanted to congratulate you on your victory. All of you performed incredibly well, especially considering your level.”

Lawrence spoke up. “We owe it all to Sir Clay. We couldn’t have done it without him, Sir.”

Evan’s eyes flicked over to Clay and then went back to the initiates. “I’m happy to hear his example has inspired you, Sir Lawrence.” He looked back at Clay again, and a false smile brightened his expression. “Sir Clay, can I speak with you?”

Clay nodded, but before he could follow, Jack spoke up. “Guildmaster, can we advance to cadets now?”

The question seemed to stun the man into immobility for a moment. Then Sir Evan seemed to try to keep his voice conciliatory. “Young hero, the rank of cadet is reserved for those who are ready to venture out into the world. To give it to an adventurer who has not yet reached level two would be… negligent. That is the reason we have the trials.”

Xavien looked up from where he had been studying his mace. “The trials are when an initiate beats three out of five other initiates. We each beat at least three cadets out in the Melee.”

“And one journeyman, though we did that together.” Anne laughed to herself, though the sound carried an edge of nervousness. The Guildmaster examined her for a moment and then smiled.

“I suppose I will have to… consider that as a potential trial, yes.” He looked back at Clay, and his eyes narrowed slightly. “Sir Clay?”

Clay looked back at him and then glanced at the others. The light of victory was starting to dim in their eyes, but he gave them a quick smile. “I’m coming, Sir Evan. I’ll be right back.”

They walked a few steps from the others, and then Sir Evan spoke. “Sir Clay, I believe I gave Syr Katherine strict instructions that you were not to seek out Sir Leonard on the field today. Did I not, Syr Katherine?”

The [Calculator] nodded. “You did, Sir Evan.”

“Yet here I find Sir Leonard has been beaten quite badly. In the Melee. By your hand. Can you explain the situation?”

Clay came to a stop. He turned to face the Guildmaster, and though he kept his voice low, he didn’t bother with politeness. “Sir Leonard’s team came to mine, Sir Evan. As I’m sure you saw during the Melee. As for the injuries he may have suffered… I’m sure you can find witnesses to say that it was my team of initiates that inflicted them. Not me.”

Sir Evan’s face hardened. “You expect me to believe five initiates beat a journeyman in direct combat?”

He met that stare and smiled. “I don’t know what to expect of you, Sir Evan. I only know what happened, and that those initiates over there have worked harder and come further than any cadet here. They deserve their chance.”

Evan glanced at Syr Katherine, his expression still angry. “Syr Katherine, your advice on how to handle this… request?”

There was a pause as she looked at Clay with an impassive expression. Then she looked at Sir Evan. “There is precedent, Sir Evan. It would not be an unreasonable a reward, especially given their… participation against Sir Leonard’s team. Raising them to cadet would prevent some inconvenient questions, at the very least.”

The Guildmaster turned to look at her in surprise. “You are in favor of this move, Syr Katherine? To have them as representatives of the Guild—”

“Would do less harm than having Crownsguard watch them beat our representatives and then wonder why they were held back.” Syr Katherine met the Guildmaster’s gaze and raised an eyebrow. “I would rather our Guild be known as a place where any hero of any class can be welcome and nurtured, rather than one where there are those who are forced to look… elsewhere for advancement.”

Sir Evan snorted. “I see. You speak good sense, Syr Katherine.” He glanced at Clay and sighed. “Well, I suppose it can’t do all that much harm, as long as they are watched. You really didn’t mean to go after Sir Leonard?”

Clay shook his head. “No, Sir. It was an accident.”

“And one I’m sure you regret.” Evan snorted again at Clay’s expression and held up a hand. “Well, I hope you are happy with your promised rewards, Sir Clay. Feel free to inform the rest of your team. I’m sure they will appreciate your…”

The Guildmaster’s words trailed off as he looked past Clay. When he turned around, he saw a messenger dressed in the royal colors, waiting politely off to the side. Evan raised his voice slightly. “Yes?”

With a deep breath, the messenger stepped forward. “The King wishes to congratulate Sir Clay on his victory in the Lesser Melee.”

A messenger from the King, for him? Clay blinked in surprise, and felt a burst of panic as Sir Evan and Syr Katherine looked at him. “Ah, thank you. Please express my thanks to the King.”

The messenger nodded. “He also wishes to inquire which army he will be joining for the High Melee.”

There was a moment of silence, and Clay felt his eyes grow wide. Sir Evan glanced at him, and then added. “I regret to inform the King that Sir Clay was not planning on participating in the High Melee.”

The response should have sent the messenger running, but instead the man smiled. “The King has then asked that he change his plans. It would be… a personal favor if he would compete alongside the other accomplished heroes today.”

Syr Katherine stepped forward, her expression curiously hard. “It is not customary for a cadet to participate in the High Melee. They are considered too inexperienced for the level of combat. Cadet Clay might be able to participate at a later—”

“Your pardon, Syr Katherine.” The messenger bowed a little lower. “The King then also requests that it be Journeyman Clay that participates in the High Melee.”

Another, deeper silence filled the air. Sir Evan turned to look back at Clay, his expression saying plenty about his suspicions. Clay took a half step back and shook his head, and the Guildmaster’s look became a little sour when he looked back at the messenger. “The ranks of adventurers within the Guild are at our discretion. The King knows this well.”

The messenger nodded. “Indeed. He hopes that his previous trust in your judgment continues to be well founded, Sir Evan.”

Clay felt like it would have been very convenient to melt into the ground, but that wasn’t exactly an option. Instead, he tried to crunch himself down as low as he could. The last thing that he needed right now was to be in the middle of a power struggle between the King and the Guild. Neither the Guildmaster nor the messenger seemed willing to back down, however, and the tension only increased as the silence stretched on.

Then Syr Katherine stepped forward, her voice even and unaffected by the obvious displeasure on Sir Evan’s face. “Perhaps a… probationary appointment might allow Sir Clay to participate. In order to see if he qualifies for the rank—and to learn humility, should he not.”

Sir Evan’s gaze went to her for a moment, and then back to the messenger. “Very well. Sir Clay will be on the side of Gold.”

“Excellent. I will inform His Majesty immediately.” The messenger bowed again, making an entirely unnecessary flourish with his hand. “Good fortune to all of you.”

As the messenger turned and jogged away past the tents, Clay was left with the two senior adventurers. He wondered for a moment if Sir Evan was preparing to unleash his frustration on him, but to his surprise, the Guildmaster turned to Syr Katherine instead. “We will speak later about this… incident.”

Syr Katherine nodded. “I understand.”

Sir Evan looked back at Clay, and his expression grew resigned. “Sir Clay, inform your team of their reward and then prepare to take to the field again. I suspect the rest of your afternoon may be far more interesting than you planned.”

Then he paused and sighed. “Do your best not to get crippled.”