The Supreme Warrior *2014 ABNA Contest 2nd Round*

CHAPTER 3.1: A Lesson on the Fairground

Calidon quickly turned around when he heard Coriss scream with frustration. His little brother’s nanny had grabbed his eight-year-old brother by the back of his tunic with one meaty arm. She had stopped him after catching sight of his muddy clothing as he quietly followed his brothers through the booths on the fairground. Now, she demanded that he return to the castle to change clothes.

“Why can’t I see the fair?” demanded Coriss, with his sprite-like voice.

She answered in a loud, indignant whine, “Who’s a sayyin’ ya can’t go?”

The solid matron attempted to drag the eight-year-old toward the castle, her small potbelly bouncing in tandem with her sagging breasts. Coriss twisted in her grasp and resisted with all his strength.

“You’s soaked!” cried the Nanny with obvious distress. “If you git sick, your mamma will blame me fer letting you wander around when you’re all wet!”

As Cal and Earwin escaped into the crowd, Coriss screamed his protests to his nanny. Ignoring his cries, she finally managed to drag him away.

Cal’s tight shoulders sagged and he gave Earwin a relieved smile, glad to be free of their tag-along. Liberated from the need to watch after an eight-year-old, Cal and Earwin felt entitled to seek out rougher entertainment. Since the knight’s tourney would not start for three days, the best action to be found on the fairground was with the village wrestlers.

As the boys pushed their way through the marketplace, they ignored the shouts of merchants arising from almost every booth in the fair. The traders’ battlefield intensity puzzled Cal. How can anyone be captivated by scrolls covered with nothing but numbers?

Rather than concern himself with irrational behavior, he turned his full attention toward finding some wrestlers. Village strongmen flocked to fairs, challenging all comers to grapple with them. There was no organized tournament; wrestling was too crude a sport for the nobility to sanction. What he was seeking was a crowd of riled-up peasants shouting out bets.

More interesting things happen in one wrestling match than in my father’s court in an entire year.

Earwin soon spotted a knot of plainly-dressed farmers crowded around two struggling brutes. Cal plowed his broad frame into the mass, followed by his narrow younger brother. Soon, they began screaming at the wrestlers like everyone else. The two engaged combatants kicked up a thick cloud of dust as they rolled around on the ground, isolating the group from outside vision. Though the marketplace traded only a short distance away, it was now a dim, distant world.

In a short time, the village champion of Eldrich grunted and slammed the challenger to the earth followed by a thrashing pin. The crowd shouted and money furiously changed hands. A fight broke out between two stout farmers, one screaming something about welshing on a bet.

A thick-necked bystander pulled them apart, and shouted, “Stop it! You’ll bring the guardsmen!”

The gathered crowd murmured their agreement. A few of the peasants eyed Cal and Earwin, but said nothing. Everyone knew that Baron Grelig did not allow betting on wrestling (a non-taxable event) during his fair, but he typically ignored the rule as long as there was no trouble.

The victorious wrestler collected a purse full of coppers and counted the coins. Satisfied that he had been paid the promised amount, he again challenged the crowd, “Is there anyone man enough to fight me? What about you...”

The wrestler pointed his big arm at the brawny farmer who had broken up the fight. “You’re man-sized. But are you brave enough to prove your manhood?”