The Supreme Warrior *2014 ABNA Contest 2nd Round*

CHAPTER 3: A Lesson on the Fairground

THREE: A Lesson on the Fairground

The Knight who lacks Self-Knowledge stands upon the Brink of Disaster, even if he does nothing but Cower in his own Keep.

—Conradin 3:14 The Art of Knighthood

The rising sun assaulted Cal’s eyes as it hit his face through the narrow east window of his room. He woke. His arms and legs did not want to move from the bed.

He forced himself to sit up. Blearily, he realized he had drunk too much mead at the banquet the night before. He had needed to do something to avoid thinking about Alynde.

That isn’t a good excuse.

His ears swelled with pain. Lying on his bed was bad enough, but sitting upright forced him to exist in three dimensions. His overloaded brain had trouble handling them.

Merchants. Traders. Noble Daughters.

What's the difference?

Muffled knocking came from the door, originating from waist height. Cal ignored it. The knocking came again, this time even harder. He wondered whether it was worse to sit there and absorb the pounding on his skull or to risk a voyage across the room.

The only way I am going to get revenge on the idiot at the door is to answer it.

He got out of bed.

Halfway across the room, he tangled his foot in the clothes that he had thrown onto the floor the night before. Cal sprawled face-forward on the thick bearskin rug residing on the stone floor of his chamber. Still suffering from last night’s binge, he let his body settle into the deep brown fur for a few delicious moments. He wanted to go back to sleep.

The moron at the door started beating on it.

Despite his dizziness, Cal crawled a short distance, then struggled onto his feet and staggered to the door. He leaned on the frame for a few moments. With the last of his strength, he pulled it open.

Coriss stood in the doorway, his small eight-year-old face turned up and grinning with childish pleasure. He giggled. Somehow, his little brother managed to look disheveled despite wearing clothes that the tailor had made just before the Fair.

I’m going to murder him.

Cal stood in the door, blocking the way in, but Coriss wiggled past his brother’s bulky body and skipped into the room. Coriss stopped next to the iron perch for Cal’s goshawk and began to toy with the heavy leather glove used to handle the bird.

Cal yelled, “What do you want?”

Coriss answered in a righteous little voice, “Immel told me to wake you up, big brother. He wants all of us to go to the fair with him.”

Cal groaned. After last night, the last thing he wanted was to clutter his brain with academic crap. Curse that old man, why doesn’t he shove a gold piece up his...

His little brother shook the hawk’s jesses, making the tiny bells tinkle. The sound felt like he had rammed a spike in Cal’s ear. He wished the bird had been in the room. The goshawk would have snapped off the brat’s offending finger with his predatory beak.

“We better get going,” continued Coriss in a contrite voice, “Earwin is already in the bath.”

Cal threatened, “Get out or I’ll throw you in the bath.

“I’m scared...” taunted Coriss, as he scurried out the door, giggling at his older brother’s futile threat.

Smart of the old man, sending Coriss after me. I would have told a chamberlain I wasn’t going, but that brat loves to annoy me. He doesn’t care if I yell at him.