The Supreme Warrior *2014 ABNA Contest 2nd Round*

CHAPTER 15: Inside the Purple Pony

FIFTEEN: Inside the Purple Pony

Strength is not needed to catch the Rain, nor are sharp eyes required to see the Lightning, or a refined ear to Hear the Thunder. But nothing more than a gentle Breeze is needed for the Supreme Warrior to know that War is upon him.

—Caraazor 4:9 The Alchemy of War

Riorlon, the armorer hired by House Mycelere, presented an amazing suit of armor for Cal’s approval. New in its metallurgy and styling, the armor still managed to give the appearance of great age. Somehow, Riorlon had forged new equipment that matched Byrgen’s Helm. Engraved in a style more typical of the imperial past, it was a perfect complement for the archaic helm.

As the armiger began to fit his beautiful handiwork to Cal’s body, the young man exclaimed, “You measured me only last week! How did you produce such artistry in seven days?”

“I forged it to earn my seat in the Master’s Guild. I’ve used it as a display in my shop in the City ever since. I modified it to fit you.”

“You have two locations?”

“Yes. Most of my heavy work is done out here, in the vil. You couldn’t pay for that much space in the City. I take orders in Selinger. Mallor runs it. He’s my oldest.”

Cal examined the stylized musculature of the breastplate, which featured clearly defined pectorals and abdominals. “Won’t this styling catch a point?”

Riorlon laughed. “Touch it, Squire. It’s smooth. The effect is created by darkening some segments of armor by introducing minerals on the surface layer and burnishing other sections to give the illusion of depth.”

“Surface layer?”

“The breastplate is three armored layers, with air trapped between each. It will stop a crossbow bolt at 50 paces. Of course you better hope it doan’ hit a joint.”

While the breastplate perfectly fitted Cal’s frame, the armiger struggled a bit with the articulated arms and legs. He heated the offending pieces in the castle smithy and pounded in new adjustments.

“You’re just lucky my oldest boy is a good match for your frame. I used him as my model.”

“What made you give it up?”

Riorlon chortled merrily. “You don’t want to know what Corel Mycelere paid to put that suit on you, lad. I can open a shop for each one of my three boys. Or expand my townhouse. Or maybe both.”

The powerful young squire looked like he had stepped out of a minstrel’s song when he donned Riorlon’s finished masterpiece. Examining himself in a full-length glass fetched by a servant, Cal slipped on Byrgen’s Helm to get the full effect.

The suit looks modern, yet somehow projects a unified visage with the ancient Helm.

A satisfied Riorlon urged, “Make me proud, Squire. You’re a walking advertisement for my shop!”

Along with the armor, House Mycelere had also purchased a young war-stallion for Cal, a muscular and proud destrier with a golden-brown coat and long white mane. Goldenrod he was named. High-strung and aggressive, the stallion had a fearful personality that could be channeled into a terrifying battlefield whirlwind in the hands of a firm master. Normal knightly equipment had an equivalent market value of forty-five cows in a manorial auction; this gear had to cost at least four times as much.

Cal realized his new armor was worth every penny after he saw its effect on Aginadus and Mearan.

In the days before the armor had arrived, the two Knights, both in their mid-thirties, had been courteous enough to him; but they hardly seemed to regard him as one destined to rule the Arena. To them, he was a squire to whom Lord Mycelere had taken a fancy. The tale of Cal’s deeds upon the road from Dannik had not impressed the two bluff men. Everything changed after they watched him run courses against the tilting dummy arrayed in full armor.