"Come with me." The guard rode off, shoulders back and head raised, obviously preferring the duty of escorting players to herding disgruntled spectators. He led Prince Edward and Nightfall directly to the gates. "Just one moment please, Prince Edward." He dismounted, shouldering through a press of guards at the gateway. True to his word, he returned almost immediately. "Come with me, please." The guards stepped aside to leave a pathway into the city. With their guide at the lead, Edward and Nightfall rode between them.
Though Nightfall once knew the city by heart, it looked nothing like he remembered. Every open area had merged, now covered with the retinues of knights, nobles, and highborn men of every description. Massive horses, groomed to a sheen, grazed while servants and slaves scurried to tend animals and masters. Some of the buildings and dwellings he remembered had disappeared to make room for the competition. In the middle, wooden fences marked off several rings where the combats would take place, each with its own portable wooden jousting wall inside the confines. Merchants thronged the periphery, offering everything from fresh cooked meals to "strength potions" that likely contained nothing more exotic than the local food. Though rare on the green, women abounded among the fringe elements, seeking husbands or quick money for a night of pleasure before the following day’s events.
The guard found a relatively open space amid the jumble of participants. “You’re one of the last to arrive, Prince Edward. I’m sorry about the cramped quarters." Edward cheerily dismissed the need for apology. “I’ll let the officials know you’re here and see if I can find out who you’ll be fighting."
"Thank you," Edward said.
"Why don’t I go with you?" Nightfall added quickly. "I can bring the news back to my master and save you the time and trouble of returning."
Edward nodded his agreement, obviously buying that Nightfall volunteered to assist an overburdened underling. In truth, Nightfall wanted a glimpse of the competitor list as well as some guidance as to how the system worked in order to calculate every opponent Edward might face. The knowledge would make cheating far simpler.
"Thank you,” the guard said, though with far less enthusiasm than an offer to help should have elicited. Obviously, he preferred carrying information to nobles, a far more pleasant aspect of his job than the outside sorting he would have to return to that much sooner. Nevertheless, he accepted Nightfall’s presence without complaint. Together, they rode toward the central rings and a group of highborn elders conferring there.
The guard pulled up before them. "This is the squire of Prince Edward Nargol."
The men nodded, exchanging muttered comments and rummaging through lists. The guard threw Nightfall a good-bye gesture, then wove his way cautiously through the participants and back toward the gates. Nightfall dismounted and approached, unobtrusively reading one of the lists upside down. "Excuse me, sirs. The guard said you could tell me who my master would be fighting.”
A heavyset, grizzled man with a short beard fielded the question. “Certainly. Just a moment." They conferred briefly, giving Nightfall a long look at the list while they used a stylus to cross out and shift names. From their exchange, Nightfall discovered they arranged the participants by anticipated ability then paired them, one from the bottom and one from the top of the list. That meant that the man most likely to win the entire competition fought the weakest opponent, the second fought the next weakest and so on. The strategy had sense to it not obvious on initial inspection. Though the first round of fighting would have little challenge or merit, the least competent fighters would become eliminated in the starting round, and each subsequent match should become more evenly matched and exciting. Once the pattern became established, it only remained to see where they ranked Prince Edward.
Nightfall did not wait long. They sketched in Edward’s name far closer to the bottom than he liked, then counted down from the top. He glanced at the list more obviously, as if for the first time. "About half a hundred participants?” he guessed aloud. He scanned more closely, surprised to find Prince Leyne Nargol of Alyndar at the very top of the list. Obviously, Edward’s awe of the elder prince’s abilities stemmed from more than just brotherly adulation.
"Forty-eight," the gizzled man replied. "You’re the last to arrive. All the other invitees are accounted for one way or another. Prince Edward’s opponent is Sir Takruysse sol-Chiminyo."
The "sol" indicated a bastard son, and the name seemed pure Mitanoan. Nightfall glanced over the camped nobility, selecting one at random from the crowd. "Takruysse? Isn’t he that gentleman there." He pointed. “The one with the green and copper standard?"
"Green and copper?" The grizzled man shook his head without bothering to follow Nightfall’s gesture. "That’s Ivral’s colors. Takruysse uses a background of brown and green swirled together, and his symbol’s a stalking cat. Brawny knight with hair so dark black it’s almost blue."
Nightfall did not recall having heard anything specific about the man on his travels. Likely, Mitanoan nobility would keep slaves, and he might find information or even disloyalty among them. At the worst, having an opponent who ruled in slave country might fire Edward’s spirit. "What kind of fighting will they do?" Nightfall rephrased the question in a form suiting a dutiful squire. "What weapon should l ready for my master?"
“The first round, everyone jousts lance to lance. The winner only has to unhorse his opponent. The loser is eliminated from the contests. The winners get paired, and a flag toss determines who chooses the weapons. The decision is posted tonight, so there’ll be no surprises or unfair advantage tomorrow. By the last match, we should have only the best three fighters remaining.”
Nightfall repeated the math for himself. By tomorrow, the numbers would whittle to twenty-four, then twelve, then six, then three.
"Those three will all face one another, so that each will fight twice." He rattled off the rules next. "All participants should fully armor for their own safety. Deliberate attacks directed against horses will result in disqualification. Standard rules apply for weapons: no sharp edges or tips. Jousting is done from opposite sides of the wall. We don’t want any serious accidents. Each man is responsible for his own equipment and his own horses and slaves or servants. We do have some sparring weapons available, but we don’t guarantee quality."
Nightfall knew Prince Edward had no practice weapons, but he suspected a man who could wield a spade against enemies probably had little prejudice when it came to balance or construction.
The man finished, "Any rule not covered here will be assumed to be as routine for tourney. All disputes about decisions must be brought to the judges immediately after the match. Personal grudges should be handled outside of the city. King Jolund reserves final authority in all decisions of any type." He smiled at Nightfall. "Any questions?”
“Just one." Nightfall smiled back. "When my master wins, who will he fight next?"
The judge allowed for Nightfall’s loyalty. "When your master wins, he’ll compete against the winner of…" He scanned the list quickly for proper pairing. "… this contest." He touched a finger to the names just above Edward’s. "Either Baron-heir Astin of Ivral or Sir Fedrin of Trillium.” He winked. "If judges could place wagers, I’d bet on Astin. Then again, I’d also put my money down on Sir Takruysse. He’s won his share of contests."
Nightfall shrugged, seeing no reason to overplay his loyalty. He glanced at the sheet for a reasonable idea of who might become future competition. Each contest doubled the number of possibilities, but it gave Nightfall some direction for his research. Edward would start with a difficult opponent. With each consecutive win, the competition would get more fierce; and Nightfall hoped his cheating could carry the prince all the way to final victory. Despite his experience with devious underhandedness, he had never gotten involved in the luxury games played by the highborn. Still, he supposed, nobility needed some way to weed out the chaff, and contests of skill seemed better than comparisons of lineage. Edward, Nightfall guessed, was considered Alyndar’s roots and stems. "Thank you." Turning, he headed back into the crowd.