Verne ran up the stairs of the fort, around the servants scuttling to and fro with armfuls of linen, platters of food and baskets filled with the oddities that noblemen and women could not live without. The fort was abuzz with activity, bursting at the seams with guests who had streamed in from the other southern forts. Verne slid to the side and avoided two servants carrying a large pot of steaming water between them then had to wait for a troop of guards to come jogging past, talking animatedly.

  Finally Verne made it to the corridor where Judd’s room was at the end and sprinted for the servant’s chambers door. He flung it open and saw Judd inside looking harassed and nervous, attempting to buckle his pauldrons over his shoulders.

  “Judd, the soldier’s mess just scattered like ants in a rainstorm. Is it true?”

  Judd nodded, his hands shaking. “Sir Donimede sent word. A minotaur has been sighted in the south, heading towards the Arena.”

  Verne took the straps from Judd and buckled them firmly. “What else?”

  “Vambraces, rerebraces and couters.” Judd pointed to the bed where they were laid out. “All the things I can’t tie on with one hand.”

  “I got this.” Verne insisted and began to fit the armour onto Judd’s arms. “You’re shaking.”

  “Yeah, I know…” Judd shuddered. “Verne, I’m terrified…everyone keeps telling me how bad minotaur are…I’m not as brave as what everyone thinks I am!”

  “For starters, no one’s actually killed a minotaur for several generations except Sir Rylan and he was mad enough to go over the wall to do so.” Verne said calmly, almost rigid in his lack of emotion. “So when they talk about how hard minotaur are, they’re just making stuff up. Two, you are brave, especially when it comes to defending people you care about. Three…”

  “Wait, there’s a third point?”

  “Oh yeah,” Verne moved around to Judd’s left and fixed the straps holding his breastplate to his backplate, “three, you can do this. Not just because people might be in danger and that minotaur are pushovers. You can do this. You’ve faced down goblins and ogres…”

  “One ogre…”

  “Unicorns, a werewolf, a hydra for Terra’s sake! You can do this!”

  “You should listen to your archer.” Giordi added, panting at the threshold. “He speaks the truth…even if it means running off and leaving me behind!”

  “Who do you think needs more help in this moment?” Verne demanded. “Handholding you up the stairs or buckling armour on Judd so that he’s protected?”

  Giordi pulled a face then stepped back from Judd. “You look the part, I must say.”

  “I wish I felt it too.” Judd sat down and tugged on his boots, pulling the straps tight.

  “You’ll cut off the circulation to your foot if you’re not careful.”

  “It’s funny,” Judd’s fingers would not stop shaking, “when I’m in sturdy, tightly strapped boots, I feel like I can take on the world.”

  Verne and Giordi glanced at each other. “Oh, well…in that case, tie them as tight as you like.”

  “You’re both coming, aren’t you?” Judd looked up.

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” Verne said without hesitation.

  “As long as we can get seats.” Giordi glanced at Verne. “Maybe I should follow the stream of lords and ladies to the Arena and make sure we do.”

  “The way you’re walking you might get there just as the brawl ends.” Verne mocked.

  “If you didn’t share a bed with Aalis, I’d short sheet it to teach you a lesson.” Giordi retorted and left the room.

  Verne turned and watched as Judd picked up his heavy weight sword, buckling it around his waist. He slid his beautiful, ancient Terra hilted sword into its custom sheath. His hands were trembling.

  “Verne,” Judd swallowed, “listen…if something should go wrong in the Arena…”

  “Judd…”

  “No, really, hear me out.” Judd licked his lips. “Make sure Aalis gets out of here and safely back to the nomad camp. Suvau too.”

  “Oh for goodness sake…” Verne’s words were cut off as Judd grabbed his scruff and pulled him close.

  “Listen to me! I’m supposed to protect them and that’s going to be very difficult if I’m dead so promise me!”

  Verne faltered. He closed his eyes and sighed. “Judd…listen, before you go out there…there’s something you need to know about Aalis and me.”

  But before he could continue, there was a knock on the door. Arsch and Kipre were waiting, nearly bursting with excitement. “Judd LaMogre,” Arsch announced, “we are here to escort you to the Arena.”

  “Really? The two of you?”

  “We volunteered.” Kipre beamed. Judd glanced at Verne who shrugged. “Are you ready?”

  “I just need my shield…”

  “I’ll carry it,” Verne offered, “unofficial shield bearer.”

  “Couldn’t ask for a better gent in my corner.” Judd smiled then breathed out. “Right…lead on.”

  If Judd had hoped that the walk from his chambers to the Arena would allow him the space to calm his nerves, he was sorely mistaken. Every servant they passed, guest of the fort, soldier and guard all stopped what they were doing, stepped aside and watched him walk by. It would have been deeply humbling and honouring if it wasn’t so nerve racking. He was grateful when their journey took to some stairs going sharply downwards and entered a chamber where there was a reinforced metal gate over a door.

  Waiting in the room which Judd suspected was the holding space before he was allowed into the Arena, was Willower. She was dressed in woodland green with light green inserts. Her cheeks were flushed and her hazel eyes were glassy.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Willower,” Judd swallowed, very aware of the others in his company, “what are you doing here?”

  “You have been summoned to the Arena.” She said softly, her voice quivering. “Soon you will face the minotaur…”

  “Are you really sure you want to be there?” Judd urged. “It’s not going to be a pretty sight, certainly not one I thought you should…”

  “I must be there…for you.” Willower insisted, fiddling with her hands. “Would you bear my favour as you enter the Arena?”

  Judd mouthed the word favour to himself, baffled. Willower held out a satin handkerchief in dark red, the same hue as her hair. Judd recalled the tradition of the knights, carrying the physical favour or token of ladies with whom there was an understanding or, at least, the hope of an understanding.

  “Willower,” Judd hesitated, “I’m not sure…”

  Willower grasped his arm and leaned so close her breath touched his cheeks and the scent of lilies and fear filled his nostrils.

  “Please, Judd…”

  He could hardly refuse the eldest daughter of his host, especially in present company. He accepted the handkerchief she pressed into his hand and to his relief, Willower turned and hastened to the door he’d just entered by, Arsch and Kipre stepping aside then giving Judd cheeky grins before leaving themselves.

  “When the doors open, you will enter.” Arsch explained. “Good luck!”

  The door closed behind them and Judd looked down at the handkerchief.

  “What was all that about?” Verne asked.

  “Willower’s favour.” Judd held it up and they both watched a piece of paper flutter out of its confines. Judd caught it in mid-air and unfolded the tiny missive. It only took a second to read it after which he held it out to Verne who read it aloud.

  “My father is overcome with jealousy towards you. Take care in the Arena. I doubt he intends for it to be a fair fight.” Verne looked at Judd. “Donimede is going to try to kill you in the Arena?”

  “That’s what it sounds like.”

  “What’s his problem with you?”

  “Apparently my reputation vastly eclipses his.” Judd shook his head. “Death or just a humiliating defeat in the Arena would be enough to re-establish his own.”

  “As a petty, vindictive rival but not a hero or warrior.” Verne snapped. “What are you going to do?”

  Judd shrugged with a smile that left Verne baffled. “I am going to kill that minotaur and survive the Arena.” He unsheathed his sword and felt its perfectly balanced weight in his hand.

  “To shame Donimede?”

  “It’s got nothing to do with him. It never has.” Judd held out his hand for his shield. Verne passed it to him, stunned at the serenity that had suddenly overcome Judd. “This is my knighthood. Not his.” Verne frowned then headed for the door. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going back for my bow and quiver.” Verne said grimly.

  “Why?”

  “Making sure you have backup.”

  “This isn’t your fight, Verne.” Judd protested as the archer slipped out of the door.

  Verne looked back through the narrow opening. “If Donimede isn’t going to fight fair, I’m not going to let you die just to salvage his worthless reputation.”

  The Arena was crowded with the illustrious guests invited to Fort Mavour by Lady Jocasa taking the prime locations in the central balcony. The seating was staggered so that the elevated chairs at the back would afford an excellent view of the Arena, the gate and the chasm that slunk away into the depths of Maul, but they were recessed from the fighting so that, should a monster manage to climb and make it past the guards who were stationed at every pillar on the balcony, the Maul beast would fall on those seated closest, giving the others a chance to flee. On either side of the central balcony were three smaller viewing stations, forming a generous semi circle of seven balconies around the expansive Arena.

  Soldiers not on duty sat in the outer balconies. The ones that were shirking their duties stood up the back, hoping that Captain Chael who sat at the front of the balcony to the right of Donimede, would not see them. Guards were also part of the crowd, any grievances and competition between them forgotten in the united anticipation of a never to be forgotten battle.

  Giordi managed to find seating in the balcony to the left of the central balcony. It wasn’t at the front but it was only two pews back and afforded a decent view of the Arena. Because the balconies protruded over the Arena, there were portions of it that could not be seen but the main battlefield was almost entirely unobstructed. Banners had been unfurled, decorating the walls and there were servants ushering wine and morsels to the noblemen and women who reclined upon their seats.

  “Couldn’t go one hour without stuffing their face with something.” Giordi shook his head. “Anyone would think the fight would be exciting enough without drinking it away.”

  “Get up, Giordi.” Verne barked softly and Giordi did so, surprised that Verne was wearing a cape.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Escorting Judd then went back for my bow and quiver.” Verne drew his cape aside, revealing Aalis. “Found our nomadic healer on her way here.”

  “Aalis,” Giordi hissed, shifting aside so that she could sit, “are you out of your mind? This is not a safe place for you.”

  “I will not hide in my room and wait to hear of Judd’s fate.” Aalis said, unable to disguise the tremor in her voice. “He might need me.”

  “She’s got a point,” Verne leaned down, “Donimede has it in for Judd. We think he’s going to try to kill him in the Arena.”

  “How very knightly of him.” Giordi muttered. “I could only securely two seats.”

  “I’ll stand,” Verne tucked his bow and quiver at Aalis’ feet, “where’s Caste?”

  “He’s near where Donimede sits.”

  “Good. Once the minotaur is down, Caste will need to verify it.” Verne paused, going up onto tiptoe to peer into the Arena. “Where is it?”

  “Outside the gate. I’ve caught glimpses of it now and then.” Giordi caught sight of Aalis’ expression. “What’s wrong?”

  “This place,” Aalis breathed, tasting fear on her lips as if they were the morsels the noblemen were devouring and iron and salt in her throat as if the wine being served was blood, “so many have died here.”

  Giordi looked at Verne with a raised eyebrow. “Sure…lots of monsters, maybe…”

  “No…” Aalis leaned forward, her stomach churning. “Humans…people…this is where they died…”

  Verne and Giordi didn’t know what to say to that but in both of their minds, they prayed that Judd would not become one of the casualties of the Arena.

  Caste sat on his rickety chair and tried not to fidget. Rodel was next to him. Deacon Alast was on the other side. Because they were in the central balcony, as befitted their status as officers of the Grail, servants offered them food. Caste grasped a goblet of wine and tipped it down his throat.

  “Another?” The servant asked, barely containing his surprise.

  Caste took a second and held tight to the stem.

  “I must say, you’re not inspiring confidence in LaMogre.” Rodel remarked.

  “I have confidence.” Caste’s voice ended in a squeak and he gulped at his wine. “I have every confidence…confidence abounds…” He caught sight of Rodel glancing behind himself to where Willower Donimede sat next to her mother. She was in a rich, deep green gown and her dark red tresses were loose and winsome over her shoulder. Caste rolled his eyes and turned forward, refusing to indulge or engage with Rodel about his infatuation with the eldest daughter. While Caste never had aspirations to becoming the cleric of a knight in a fort, Rodel’s average track record as a cleric should have meant a life of vague anonymity for him. Instead he was in Mavour, second grandest fort of all Terra, a wall fort nonetheless and by the side of one of Sir Rylan’s favoured knights. If life had thrown Caste such a generous bone, he would not risk losing it with ridiculous notions of romance.

  Caste looked around, reminding himself not to drain his second goblet or else he might wind up so inebriated he wouldn’t be able to witness Judd’s kill, and caught sight of Giordi and Verne sitting to his left in the closest balcony to him. Verne was standing tall, arms folded, expression serious and Giordi was speaking with a hooded attendee. Caste only needed to see the tip of a dreadlock to know that Aalis had thrown aside common sense and her own terror of being discovered to be there today.

  If she was exposed as a witch, Judd’s credibility would be shattered and Caste knew his own would be destroyed along with it.

  “Sir Donimede, Lady Jocasa…lords, ladies and revered officers of the Grail,” Sir Donimede’s herald announced and the excited chatter in the room dulled to a throb, “loyal soldiers and guards of Fort Mavour and all those here today…welcome to a defining moment in Terra’s history!” By now the sweet tenor of the speaker resonated throughout the Arena, filling every gap and pore with his cultured and cultivated tone. “We all know of Sir Rylan’s extraordinary and generous offer to the first born sons of middle class Terras…yet it seemed that none would take advantage of it. However, waiting in a room down below, is a young man who has travelled the length and breadth of our beautiful country, slaying monsters and defying the odds that his quest would end in failure. He is here today to kill the final monster on his quest for knighthood…and so we welcome Judd LaMogre to the Fort Mavour Arena!”