On the morning of the tournament, I sat at the breakfast table. Steve was sitting next to me. He also hadn’t been doing too badly during training, though his style was very different. Lynn, however, wasn’t keen on the tournament at all. Unlike for the rest of the students, participation was obligatory to all first years. I was suppose they wanted everyone to get a taste of it before they made their decision.
Lynn had been acting strange the last few weeks leading up to the tournament. I had been so busy training for it that we hadn’t spent much time together. But it was more than that, somehow. When I came to our shared room late in the evening or in the night, exhausted from sparring with Doctor Yurasov or another one of my fellow students, Lynn would just lay on her bed brooding.
I tried to find out what was the matter, to help her somehow. But she’d just shake her head and say it was nothing. Then, she’d turn around and pretend to be sleeping.
At first, I thought it was the tournament. I offered to practice with her. We did once, but it became quite clear that she wasn’t afraid of the tournament at all. She wasn’t looking forward to it particularly, that was clear. But she simply wanted it over with.
***
With so many participants, the tournament was to stretch over three days, starting on Friday and ending with the grand final on Sunday. In the first round, I was going to face only first years. I had trained hard and was determined.
The masses of students and participants gathered outside in the courtyard. Spectators and judges lined the walls overlooking it. Colourful banners hung from the battlements and flags were raised on the towers. It reminded me a little of some sort of medieval festival.
But there was a very competitive air about it. All over the place, students were practicing their moves and stances, checking their gear one last time. Older students had their own swords, whereas we used some from school supplies, which was quite a disadvantage. I was looking forward to the following year when I could get my own.
It was customary for the winner of last year’s tournament to initiate proceedings. Since the King was still ill, apparently, several members of the staff made some speeches on his behalf. I was rather restless and couldn’t wait until they had finished. By the looks of it, most of my fellow contestants felt the same way. Lynn, however, was nowhere to be seen.
At last, the first round began. I was paired Steve, who had become friendly with Jayden.
“Ready to lose, Beccs?” he said, grinning.
“Hope you are,” I said, returning the good humour.
We were allowed a quick warm-up session. Feeling the blade in my hand and being able to do something eased my nerves a little bit.
“Man, you’re good.”
“You’re not bad yourself,” I said, aiming a strike at his chest that he elegantly deflected.
The friendly warm-up slowly became more competitive in nature.
“Where did you learn to fight like this?” a flustered-looking Steve asked after a few minutes. I had been able to penetrate his defences more and more.
“Yurasov’s been giving me private lessons,” I said.
“Wow, the Second Warden? I didn’t know he could fight. Looks more like a bookish guy to me,” Steve said, just as he lunged wildly for me. I dodged it, landing a friendly tap on his shoulder pad.
“Yeah, I didn’t know either. He used to fight a lot in tournaments when he was younger,” I said.
In fact, Dr. Yurasov was extremely proud of his tournament prizes and trophies, which decorated the walls of his office. He said they reminded him of the ‘good old days’.
“He must think you’ve really got a chance. I’ve never heard of anyone training a first year in private lessons before. Some of the guys have been training for years, even before they came here.”
***
At last, we heard the drums that heralded the first round. Immediately, the sounds of playful banter died away, replaced by an almost reverent silence. This was it, the big moment everyone had been waiting for.
The rules were quite simple. Every duel had its own referee. For the first couple of rounds of the tournament, this was done by one of the older students usually. The first to score four hits (all body parts were game except the head for security reasons) was the winner and qualified for the next bracket. The loser had one more chance in a special loser’s bracket, though if you lost twice in the tournament, you were definitely out.
Despite his nonchalant attempts at concealing it, Steve had been unnerved by the warm-up. As Dr. Yurasov had taught me, I tried to observe my opponent as closely as possible. Steve had a tendency to lash out. The attacks were wild but fast, though they also left him wide open. A tendency that got worse when he was losing. The best strategy, I decided, was to play for counter-attacks.
The drums fell silent – the sign to begin. The referee, a dark-haired guy several years older than us, nodded. Steve and I bowed, in the traditional manner, and slowly edged toward each other.
“Prepare yourself, Beccs. I’ve gone easy on you so far.” Steve was trying to play mind games. Fine. Two people could do that.
“’Cause I’m a girl, no doubt?” I said. “What are you going to tell your pals when you’ve lost against one?”
He laughed defiantly but I could see that the thought disturbed him. He aimed a strike at my arm, but I parried it just in time. He was getting flustered already.
After two more unsuccessful blows, I got him right on the elbow.
“Lucky shot, Beccs,” he said.
But from then on, it was like he was jinxed. He landed one blow on me with a wild attack I had foolishly not seen coming, but I scored a clean three hits in succession after that. I had won.
Steve, red in the face though determined to a sportsman, stretched out his hand. I shook it.
“You’ve got me. Well done,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said.
Despite the bitter defeat, I could see that he really meant it.
“Good luck for the next round,” I said.
“Same. Hey, give that Vanessa a thrashing will you? She’s been badmouthing you everywhere ever since you beat her in class. She deserves it.” He grinned.
“Will do,” I said.
He really wasn’t such a bad guy, Steve.
***
I had about an hour’s break. I felt much better now after my first victory. This was really important to me. After all those hours of practice, I don’t think I could have stomached the prospect of immediately entering the loser’s bracket, perhaps even leaving the tournament without a single win. I was determined to go all the way, but at least I hadn’t embarrassed myself. I felt a lot more cheerful now and wanted to share it with Lynn, but she was nowhere to be found.
After walking around for a bit, I saw Jayden fighting another burly first year in an absolutely vicious and exhausting match that had been going on for almost half an hour. He was a powerful and skilled fighter, I could see that. Unlike Steve, his hits were both fast and calculated, his defensive stances excellent.
As I came closer, I saw that he looked even more tired and haggard than ever. His powerful body stood at odds with the deep shadows beneath his eyes and rugged skin. Strangely enough, Lynn wasn’t watching his first match.
I was beginning to worry. Looking around, I recognised a girl from our alchemy class and asked her. Her name was Linda.
“Lynn? Yeah, she was here before the match,” she said.
“What happened?”
Linda lowered her voice in a conspiratorial manner, though the noise around us made our conversation very hard to overhear in the first place.
“They had a fight. Jayden and her.”
“Do you know where she is now?”
“Sorry, Beccs, I don’t know.”
“Ok, thanks Linda.”
I had about half an hour before the next round. I’d first check in our room.
I quickly walked up the stone steps to the dorms on the second floor. I knocked on our door so I wouldn’t surprise her, but there was no answer. I slowly opened the door. The room was empty.
Disappointed, I was just about to go down again when I heard a faint whimpering sound from the bathroom on the corridor.
“Lynn, are you in there?”
There was more sobbing, though she was trying to repress it as best she could.
“Lynn, can I come in?” I asked.
“Y-yes.”
I entered the bathroom.
Standing at the sink, Lynn was facing away from me, though I could see in the mirror that her face was red and blotched from crying. I entered the bathroom and carefully closed the door behind me.
“Lynn…”
“It’s… it’s nothing, Beccs. The tournament, you should…”
“Lynn, what’s up? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Beccs. I – It’s just…”
“Jayden?” I asked her, my expression darkening. I suddenly felt very protective.
“No, not him.”
Lynn answered just a little too quickly for me to believe her. I waited a moment to see whether she’d say anything. But she simply stared at the mirror and quickly wiped away the tears that had passed her cheeks.
“Lynn, if something’s wrong with Jayden, you can tell me.”
Suddenly, she turned around to me. Her mood had changed completely. Her voice still shaky but oddly hostile.
“I tell you nothing’s wrong,” she said, staring me in the eye.
“Something’s seriously wrong. You don’t have to lie to me. We tell each other everything, remember?”
“Oh yeah? Maybe it’s time we changed that!”
Now it was my turn to get angry.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded.
“Maybe not everything’s your business, Beccs, you don’t have to play protector all the time.”
And with that, she stormed past me into the hallway. I was left speechless, angry and hurt at the same time.
***
Still mad from the argument with Lynn, I was late to the next match. I hurried to the Great Hall where the lists of matches and locations were put up. What had Lynn been thinking? I felt hurt by being kept in the dark. Was I really overprotective? Perhaps. Yet my motives had been innocent enough, I thought, making my way through the crowds of laughing students. If someone was causing my best friend pain, I wanted to know. Wasn’t that normal? And yes, if necessary, protect her against that person. If it was Jayden, whom I usually got on very well with, so be it. But of course, as long as Lynn was shutting me out, I couldn’t do anything.
For a moment, I thought about asking Jayden. Not that I expected to get any real information from him, but at least to glean from his reaction whether he was feeling guilty or stubborn. That might have given me some sort of inkling what was going on.
I quickly shook off the idea, however. For one, I couldn’t deny that part of me was simply nosy. And also, it was Lynn’s business. She’d have to make the decision to share it with me on her own.
I tried to free myself emotionally, to focus on the task at hand. I was up against a third year girl who was observing me with a haughty coldness. She had dyed her hair grey, a passing trend I had always thought was weird since you’d probably be spending many years of your life wearing grey when you aged anyway. But I suppose it suited her in a strange way. I could tell by her equipment that she was a pro – or at least seemed like one. Fancy white shoulder pads, custom grip, fine blade – the lot. I hoped she was one of those people who was mediocre but owned the best gear, but I doubted it somehow.
Finally, the referee – a rather bored looking junior member of the staff – gave us the signal, we bowed, and the duel began.
There was no question about it. She really was good. Arrogance well-founded it seemed. Unlike my first opponent, Steve, she played an extremely defensive style – a natural counter-attacker like me. Her footwork was excellent even under pressure, no doubt the result of many hours of hard training.
I was testing her defences constantly, though every time her lightning reactions. Our blades touched in a state of almost harmonious tension as we waited for the other to make a move.
I could feel the impatience rising within me, working desperately against showing it. Wearing your emotions on your sleeve, after all, was a fact that would be ruthlessly exploited, I was sure. But I was having trouble concentrating properly. The thought of Lynn kept popping into my head, crying in the bathroom. My inability to do anything. And my anger at her being stupid.
The grey-haired girl immediately stepped in as she sensed the lack of concentration on my part. I parried the first blow, though I was caught off-balance, and she neatly brought down a follow-up strike that caught me right on my left side just below the ribs. She had scored first.
I managed a bit of a comeback, but my concentration was shot to pieces. I lost 4 to 3 in the end. I was furious with myself. I knew I could have done much better, even won perhaps. The girl with the grey-hair seemed impressed, however. She shook my hand and smiled.
“You almost had me. My name’s Sarah by the way.”
“Well fought,” I said stiffly, trying not to sound like a sore loser. “I’m Beccs.”
“There’s been a lot of talk among the Knights about you, you know,” Sarah went on. “I’ll be honest, I thought it all exaggerated, but I can see why Yurasov started training you. I’ve never seen a first year fight like that before.”
“Thanks. So, you’re a Scarlet Knight?” I asked, impressed.
“Yep, joined last year. It’s a tough routine, but you get a lot out of it. They recruit every year. In fact, they’re watching right now. The ones in black – up there.”
She pointed up at the battlements right above us and waved. Amongst the various spectators was a group dressed in all black robes, some of whom returned Sarah’s wave. I could see Doctor Yurasov. He hadn’t seen us but was deeply immersed in conversation with Raphael. My heart gave an involuntary leap as if I skipped a step.
“Prince Raphael has been particularly keen on watching this year,” she said, with a rather peculiar smile on her face. “He’s usually quite disinterested.”
“How come?” I said, trying to sound as though I didn’t really care – in spite of the fact that I was burning to know.
“Oh, he has his reasons,” she said mysteriously. “Well, got to prepare for the next fight. I’ll see you around, Beccs.”
“Yeah, thanks. I’ll see you around,” I said. My voice sounded oddly distant. I looked up at the battlements again.
Half-way across the lawn, she turned around and called in my direction.
“Hey Beccs, why don’t you join us for drinks after the tournament’s through? Friday, East Tower, midnight.”
I turned around and gave her the thumbs up.