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When Tom walked out to the pavilions the next morning, a large group of fey were already mingling and chatting to each other, clearly excited at the coming day. Breakfast was set out on long trestle tables, and most of the food had already been eaten. Small bets were being wagered, and Tom could see the steady passing of cash into the hands of two satyrs. A stream of people were going in and out of the weapons pavilion.
It was going to be another hot day. Benches had been set up for spectators, who were saving seats with hats and flags. Tom tingled with anticipation – once his event was over he could really enjoy the tournament. He’d only entered the sword fighting competition, as he wasn’t confident about his archery skills – or his sword-fighting if he was honest. But at least he was in the beginners’ category.
All of his friends were entering several events. Arthur was of course competing in the expert category in sword fighting, and Tom couldn’t imagine anyone beating him. Arthur was also in horse showmanship, but Tom was pretty sure Finnlugh would win that.
The opening rounds were on at the same time, so the crowd would be moving around. As Tom strolled between the pavilions, he scanned the crowds for anyone who looked out of place or suspicious – but he knew trying to spot the intruder would be almost impossible. When Arthur had learned about the tented village that had sprung up outside, he’d opened up the castle grounds to the visitors and they had flooded in, many setting up small stores and cooking areas.
“You look miles away, Tom.”
Tom looked around, at first not recognising the voice, and then he grinned. “Bloodmoon! I didn’t know you were coming.”
Woodsmoke’s cousin was as blond as Woodsmoke was dark. Tom shook his hand, pleased to see him. “The last time I saw you, you beheaded the lamia and covered me in blood!”
Bloodmoon laughed. “But I saved your life! Don’t worry, no lamias on my agenda today, just healthy competition.”
“Does Woodsmoke know you’re here?”
“Not yet, I’ve just arrived.” He became serious. “So what were you looking for Tom? Or who?”
Tom filled him in on the intruder and the attack in Inglewood. Bloodmoon narrowed his eyes. “I saw many wolves coming through Inglewood, more than I’d normally expect. It made getting through there without losing blood a little more complicated than usual.” He thought for a moment. “I’m not sure if they all had yellow eyes, though. On the day you were attacked, did you think the mist was unnatural?”
“I don’t think so. You know Inglewood, it’s always murky and misty. I just happened to have got separated from the others.”
“Well it seems to me, Tom, that an attack in the woods and an intruder here is not a coincidence. I think you should be careful.” Bloodmoon was clearly concerned and seemed oblivious to the party atmosphere around him. “Are you using Galatine today?”
“No, I’m using my old sword. We’re not allowed to use magical weapons in the competition.”
Woodsmoke appeared out of the crowd with Brenna and Beansprout, their faces breaking into smiles when they spotted Bloodmoon. Woodsmoke looked relieved to see Tom. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. You shouldn’t wander around on your own, you might be in danger.”
Bloodmoon nodded. “I agree. Tom’s filled me in on the news.”
“I’ll be fine! Stop worrying.” Although Tom wasn’t convinced. He couldn’t shake off the feeling of being watched.
Woodsmoke just nodded. “The beginners’ sword fighting is the first event – shouldn’t you be getting ready?”
“I know, I know. I’ll head there now.”
Tom set off for the weapons tent, wishing he didn’t feel so nervous and annoyed. He couldn’t believe he was in danger – not here, not now. It was unlikely anything would happen, it was just a lot of worry over nothing.
The young fey and Cervini who had registered for the beginners’, headed out behind the tent for some last-minute practice. They were joined by those competing in the knife-throwing event, which was on at the same time. At least the crowd would be divided between the two, Tom thought, relieved. He collected his sword and shield and started loosening up. He missed Galatine; it was so well balanced that although it was heavy, he found it easy to handle. Consequently, going back to his old sword was difficult and he felt at a disadvantage. And he still found using a shield difficult. It covered a good third of his body, and was of plain design, made of a metal the fey called Arterium, that was light but very strong. And of course it had been made in Dragon’s Hollow, like most weapons.
Now it was nearly time, Tom started to feel nervous about all the people who would be watching him. His thoughts were interrupted by a loud bell reverberating through the grounds, summoning them to the draw that was to take place at the edge of the designated areas.
As they left the tent, the two groups separated. The raised benches were now full, and Orlas stood waiting, looking imposing. His tanned skin and deer markings glowed in the sun, and the gold torcs around the tops of his muscled arms reflected the light. Next to him was Duke Ironroot, a relative of Finnlugh and an expert swordsman, who’d been chosen to adjudicate. Ironroot was a huge dark-haired fey with thick eyebrows and eyes the colour of flint. His beard was flecked with purple and his expression was permanently grim. Few argued with him.
When the sixteen competitors were ready, Orlas dipped his hand into a silver helmet and randomly selected two names. There were to be eight fights, and those who lost would be eliminated, the fights progressing down to the final two.
The first two opponents stepped forward – a fey who had arrived with Finnlugh, and a Cervini. The other competitors watched, Tom wondering how good they would be. As the pair entered the ring, the crowd fell silent.
They started slowly, circling, weighing up each other’s strengths and weaknesses. The aim was to either cause their opponent to lose their sword, or break through their defences with a move that would cause injury – but stopping short, of course.
The first match didn’t last long. It started slowly, but within a couple of minutes both swordsmen lost their nervousness and forgot the watching crowd, advancing on each other, thrusting and parrying quickly. The crowd got behind them, and cheers and groans filled the air.
The fey was quick, but the Cervini was strong. Several times they rolled across the ground to avoid the other’s advance, shields rising quickly as they regained their feet.
Tom started to worry. They were really good. He couldn’t possibly hope to beat either of them.
And then it was over. The Cervini’s strength had prevailed and he had brought his sword up under the fey’s and, without Tom seeing how it happened, the fey was barehanded and the Cevini’s sword was at his throat.
They stepped apart, breathing heavily as they bowed to each other. The fey grimaced, barely polite, but the Cervini beamed and bowed to the crowd as he accepted their cheers.
As they left the ring, Orlas drew two more names from the helmet. Again Tom had to wait. The next fight was between a Cervini and a satyr, well matched in size and strength. This bout was longer, and by the time the satyr had won, both competitors were sweating and panting heavily. The crowd were on their feet, cheering and yelling.
As Orlas stepped forward again they fell quiet, then resumed cheering as the next two names were called. Tom’s was one of them. His opponent was Adil, Brenna’s Aerikeen cousin, who grinned at him with what Tom thought an overly confident swagger, her shyness from the other day gone. If she fought anywhere near as well as Brenna, he was in trouble, and his stomach churned as he entered the ring. He heard a shout of encouragement from a voice he vaguely recognised as Beansprout’s.
They started pacing around, testing each other’s speed. As Tom challenged her, Adil responded quickly, blocking him then attacking his left side, forcing him to bring up his shield before he struck back. He forgot the crowd, concentrating only on her next moves, trying to stay one step ahead. The sun was now high overhead and he blinked, trying to get the sweat from his eyes. Adil seemed to be coping better with the heat than he was, and she was really quick. At one point she almost got beyond Tom’s shield and he stepped and rolled, using his shield as a springboard. Surprised by his move she hesitated, giving him the upper hand, allowing him to get in close and finally flick her sword out her grasp.
Adil’s eyes hardened, but she managed to control her anger, nodding to Tom as he realised he had won. After bowing to her, he turned to the crowd, grinning. Adrenalin surged through him, and he almost ran out of the ring. Now he couldn’t wait to fight again. Buoyed by success, he started to relax.
Over the next half hour they watched three more fights, and Tom paid attention to the competitors’ fighting styles, weighing up his chance of future success. Adil stood next to him, looking him up and down. “You fought well, Tom. Who taught you?”
“Arthur mainly, but also my friends Woodsmoke, Rek, and Brenna of course.”
“She speaks highly of you and your friends, for what you did for us. And you saved Merlin. You’re quite the hero,” she said, with a cheeky grin.
He shook his head, embarrassed. “No I’m not. I just helped a little.”
She smiled. “If you say so.” She looked at their group of competitors, all watching the current fight. “Have you noticed the odd one out?”
“What?” Tom looked at her, wondering what she meant.
“The fey with the dark hair, over there, standing at the edge of the group. He watches you, very discreetly.”
Tom’s attention slid from the fight as he stared at the fey she had pointed out.
“Not so obvious, Tom, he’ll know you’re onto him.”
“How long has he been watching me?”
“Ever since our fight, but he’s careful not to be obvious.”
“Maybe he’s watching everyone. I have been too, you know, checking out the competition.”
“No,” she said. “He only watches you.”
“Who is he?” Tom felt a stir of discomfort as he wondered if this was the intruder. But surely this fey was too young to be one of the brothers?
“I have no idea. He doesn’t seem to mix with the other fey.”
They looked away from him as they talked, Tom occasionally risking a glance whilst pretending to scan the crowd.
The fight finished and Orlas called the last two competitors. “Elan and Gelas.”
The dark-haired fey glanced briefly at Tom as he passed.
He fought with a quiet intensity that was mesmerising to watch. His movements were precise and deft, and Tom had the feeling he was far more skilled than he was letting on. The fight was over in little more than a minute, the Cervini he fought startled by the speed of his defeat. The crowd seemed to feel cheated too, and gave a slow applause as the competitors left the field. Duke Ironroot turned to watch him pass, a slight frown on his face, as if he were trying to place him.
Orlas announced a short break before the second round, and the benches emptied rapidly as people left to find drinks.
“Well, that’s me finished,” Adil said. “I’m going to practise for the archery – let’s hope I do better in that. I’ll make some enquiries about Elan, but in the meantime, be careful.”
Tom looked around for Elan, but he had disappeared. He headed for the food pavilion where, glad to be out of the sun, he grabbed a long cold drink and large slab of cake and went in search of his friends. He spotted Woodsmoke, who was carrying a tray of glasses filled with ale.
“Good work, Tom!” he said, slapping him across the shoulders with remarkable dexterity, the drinks not wobbling at all. “I knew you’d rise to the occasion. Excellent footwork, and a very impressive roll. Just remember to keep your sword raised at all times. Follow me, we’re out here,” he said, before Tom could get a word in.
Woodsmoke led him to Brenna, Bloodmoon, Beansprout and Arthur.
“Excellent start, Tom,” said Arthur, beaming. “Just remember to keep your sword up.” He raised his glass to Tom before taking a healthy gulp.
“I’m almost hoarse with shouting,” Beansprout said, her shoulders shrugging up and down with excitement. “Brenna said you beat one of her best!”
“Yes, you did. But I’m secretly pleased you won, Tom.” Brenna held her finger to her lips and Tom laughed. “I’m in the knife-throwing event next, so I won’t see you fight – good luck!”
Tom had been about to tell them his suspicions of being watched, but in the light of all this excitement it seemed stupid, like he was imagining it. And he didn’t want to worry the others while they were having so much fun. “So you’re enjoying it, then?”
“Best idea I’ve had all year, Tom,” Arthur said. “I’ve already decided I’m doing it again next year. Maybe make it five days rather than three.”
He continued to describe his plan, but Tom switched off as he saw Elan out of the corner of his eye. It looked as if he was returning from the orchards. As he disappeared into the crowds, the bell sounded for the next round.
“Better go,” Tom said, and he headed back to the fighting area, good luck wishes ringing in his ears.
