The Kingdom of Liticea: The Sorcerer Prince

Chapter Seventeen: Arrangements are Made

The Two hundred and twenty-fifth Tournament of Steel was over. All a cheered to see Julius Cassius stand on the box and be given the prize, a gold wrist-chain for the knight to wear both on formal occasions and in battle. The bracelet was made by the smiths of the Yanton forge for him to carry each and everyday of his life until he dies. When that happens he will be buried with it. The tradition will continue until the tournaments have stopped or until the world has run out of gold. It is an honor that only two-hundred and twenty-five fighters have ever known. 

Julius' face was not pretty when he was given the band. The spear left a huge gash that ran from the end of his left jaw to the tip of his chin. The healers tried their best to stitch and clean it, but it still stood out on his face like a big, red boil.

He was given the bracelet by Lord Yorod himself in front of everyone who watched the tournament. Even Arhan Saud, though at a distance, was giving him praise along with several of his sellswords. Nakbar Nazeen was no where in sight. He shook hands with Lord Davey after he received it, and was commended by Prince Tauron. Though when Tauron came forward to offer his congratulations, the cheers were only half as loud as they were for Lord Yorod. Lord Desmond was there as well. He was given assurance that his son would live, and so the Lord of Toad Keep was also there to shake Julius Cassius hand. The people's cheers were more silent for Desmond than they were for Tauron.

Last to commend him was his own father and the Master of the School of Chivalry. When he approached Lord Ulysses Cassius he saw sparks of pride in his father's eyes that lit up the whole of Blackfield. Tears of pride were even visible on the rough skin beneath his fierce eyes. He glanced around at all the faces smiling at him. He saw his friends: Stanley, Kenneth, and Anthony.

The last face he looked at was Helg Velrock. Standing among the other knights, his face even broke a smile. Not the sardonic grins that Julius would usually find of his partner's face, but, like his father real happiness and pride.

For the Prince, it was not so festivious. As the excitement of the Tournament of Steel was beginning to pass, the threat of the Morcars once again began to creep back into Tauron's reality. A crawling blackness at the edge of his mind that was cleared out by a brief bright light, brought by the tournament and seeing his Uncle's family. But like a waterway after a storm, the blackness flowed back and wit it brought the sounds of drums and the clashing of swords and axes.

King Austin raised his son to have a wise mind. Tauron believed he was seeing the face of war. Growing up under the stares and scowls of his father's lords and the people of Liticea taught the Prince objectivity. He did not see glory on the horizon. The lords and people would not award Tauron any glory. He knew it from the moment he steppe out into that arena seven years ago. The historians may write and the bards may sing, but they will write and sing of the Sorcerer Prince. That is all that they who listen or read will see, and nothing more.

He was able to see war for what it was, not what the knights and ladies want it to be, pretend it to be.

"What did I tell you Locke?" Bart said to the annoyed young knight, "Julius Cassius is the Champion! And your man Baldrick is not!"

"Bart," Locke slammed his mug on the table. They go together for drinks at the local tavern. Ordinarily, Locke would be hooting and grabbing at the wenches taking their mugs and washing the floor. But, having Baldrick Gaule be defeated, by some Userian camel-fucker has left him sour. That man was to be his future Archbaron, ruler of the Swamplands, where Gaule and Horcaster have worked together for more than a hundred years. Now with Baldrick wounded, possibly dying there would be no heir to Toad Keep, save for Lord Desmond's daughters and the sky would turn purple and the oceans red before Locke took orders from a woman. What he feared more is the man she would marry. Every house in the Swamplands had some bad blood with the Horcasters.