Chapter Five:
Unexpected Competitions

 

 

 

 

 

 

Vilmos awoke. He looked around the room, not surprised to find he was alone. A cold breakfast was on the table next to the window.

 

He brushed sleep from his eyes, finding no cheer in the new day or the bright sunshine. As he scooped tasteless spoonfuls of thick, pasty gruel into his mouth, allowing it to slide across his tongue and down his throat without chewing, he stared out the window. A blank expression was on his face, and for a long while, as he thought about the shaman, the city below cried out to him. It was his to explore if he dared—the whole of the largest city in all the lands, the whole of the Free City of Solntse, was his.

 

The early-day sun shining through the window brought out sudden bravery. It seemed as if the sun was inviting him to come outdoors. Suddenly he was no longer content to sit indoors and wait idly, and so he hurriedly gulped down the last of the cold gruel.

 

After stepping out onto the dusty street, Vilmos veered left, ambling around several long blocks before deciding which direction to proceed in. Passing some of the dingier establishments he recalled from the previous day, he quickened his pace, content to continue straight for a time. At the next intersection he paused, unsure whether to turn left, right or proceed.

 

“Lost, boy?” called out a gruff voice.

 

Vilmos rolled his eyes upward, taking in the tall figure in a single, gradual panning glance. “N-no, not really.”

 

“That’s not much of a response,” said the man, laughing.

 

Vilmos backed away warily. His eyes never straying from the long blade sheathed at the other’s side. “I have to go now.”

 

“Wait! Perhaps, I can help you find the place you’re looking for.”

 

“There is a square near here. I must have passed it. Good day to you, sir.”

 

“Perhaps we’re going to the same place. Describe the market you’re looking for and maybe I can help.”

 

Vilmos wanted to run but didn’t. “It’s not a market. I’ll find it. No need to worry.” Vilmos ran from the outstretched hand.

 

“You wouldn’t be looking for the competitions, would you?”

 

Vilmos’ eyes lit up as if the man had just offered him a piece of candy. “Maybe. Maybe I am; maybe I’m not.”

 

“Not too sure of anything are you? Do you have a name, boy?”

 

Vilmos thought about the question; he didn’t see any harm in answering it—or did he? “V-Vil… Vil… Vil-am. My name is Vilam, and yours?”

 

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” said the man, grinning as he tugged at the stubble on his chin. “I’m not supposed to be here either. Maybe we can both do the thing we’re not supposed to be doing together. This is no place for a boy such as yourself to be about—and if you plan to go to the competitions, you had best take my hand.”

 

Vilmos stepped into the street.

 

“If you’re going to the competitions that is the wrong way. I’ll guide you—for a price.”

 

“For a price?” asked Vilmos, confident he had finally discovered the man’s ploy.

 

“For you, my friend, a one-time fee: good for all time. All I would ask is—” Vilmos took another step away. He had no money and didn’t know what the man would do if he refused the offer. “All I ask is a simple thing. You needn’t be afraid of me. For, you see, when I said I’m not supposed to be here either, I was referring to…” The man switched to a low, whispering tone. “…viewing the competitions.”

 

The man switched back to a fuller speech. “Allow me to introduce myself. Bladesman S’tryil, a ridesman by trade, a bladesman by necessity. But please don’t call me by my name, as I said, I am not supposed to be here either. So, I will call you… Vilam… Is that correct?” Vilmos nodded. “You can call me, Greer. Do we have a deal?”

 

Vilmos nodded agreement again.

 

“You drive a hard bargain, Vilam. Come this way and you’d better walk beside me. As I said before, this is no place for a boy to be alone—” Vilmos glared at the man. “—If I were going to rob you. I’d’ve done that a long time ago. I wouldn’t’ve even bothered talking to a boy. I’d’ve just grabbed you by the ankles. Just like this…”

 

The bladesman made a lunging motion with his right hand, reaching low and then flipping his gripped hand up. Vilmos flinched, imagining himself dangling upside down, both ankles gripped firmly by one burly hand.

 

“I’d’ve held you upside down until all the coinage dropped from your pockets. But you don’t have anything in your pockets do you, Vilam?”

 

“Vilmos. My name is Vilmos.”

 

“Vilmos is it?” S’tryil offered Vilmos his hand to seal their pact. “Well I shall stick with Vilam. Is that all right?”

 

Vilmos nodded. The two continued down the block, across the next, then turned right.

 

“Is this your first time at the competition?” asked S’tryil, not waiting for a response before continuing. “You see that long, high building there with the balcony? That’s City Garrison Central Post. That’s where the competitions take place every year. Now, if you can find that one building, for no other looks like it, you’re there. And look, here we are.”

 

Surprised, Vilmos looked away from his companion’s face. The first bouts of the morning were already under way and a fair-sized crowd was gathered. Vilmos pushed his way into the circle beside the man he would call Greer. He reminded himself of this fact.

 

“Here stand in front of me, but don’t take a step forward. You see that circle there? Good, don’t break it, and if someone comes lunging at you out of the circle, in the name of the Great Father, jump out of the way!”

 

“Who’s going to attack me?”

 

“No one, as long as you stick close. I was talking about the combatants. If they start to get too close, back away or you’re liable to get a sharp blade stuck right where you don’t want it.” S’tryil motioned graphically with his hands. “They’ve taken people away every day so far. They just don’t want to move out of the way. So mind my warning… Move, and be quick about it!”

 

“How many days does this go on?” asked Vilmos excitedly, swaying his small body to the reactions of the warrior to his right, the one he favored. The two men struggled with great battle swords, the kind Vilmos had seen yesterday.

 

“Weeks, until the final competitors are chosen,” said S’tryil. Vilmos jumped back as the competitors battling in the circle came close. “And then those chosen will go on to train for many more weeks. There is a special grudge this year… Do you see the man seated up on the high balcony? He is Lord Geoffrey.”