The King's Gauntlet

A Performance by Firelight

I ducked under the staff as it soared past, then whipped my own staff up high to parry the next blow. Across from me the caravan guard grinned as I mirrored his strikes. "You learn quickly," he observed, slashing forward only for me to block it with my borrowed staff.

"You move slowly," I replied, sticking my tongue out for a moment, only to turn and deflect a strike from the side. Several of those gathered around us burst out in laughter, drinking beside the campfire. As I weaved to the side I even caught a glimpse of the Lynx, amusement showing through her eyes as she drank from a flagon of ale. The guard I was sparring with flushed, cheeks showing pink over a salt-and-pepper beard, and then he laughed along with the others.

His eyes darted down.

It was all the warning I had, and yet it was enough. This time his staff came whipping down even as I jumped into the air, slashing where my shins had been just a moment ago. I slammed my own staff down, thwacking him on the left shoulder. The man bristled, taking a deep breath before heaving it out.

"Well then, you got me," he admitted as several around us burst into applause. "Ah, to be young again."

"How's that for an act?" the circus master called out. "Eh? A fight to draw in the looky-loos. Choreographed of course. Grace versus strength.

The caravan guard sniffed, grounding his staff and glancing away. "I am not entertainment, sir. I had better get back to it." I tossed my borrowed staff over to him and he snatched it away without acknowledgement before trotting off.

"What say you, girl?" Ferrand blinked at me. "What was your name? Ever thought of performing as a gymnast?"

"Elly, sir," I said with a quick nod. "Not at all, sir, I'm merely one of Baroness von Opfen's animal handlers. If I may," I added, scurrying away before he could ask me anything more. The circus master shrugged and turned away.

"A waste," he muttered.

I tried my best to fade away, joining the Lynx where she sat on an overturned log that was still speckled with moss.

"What did I say about maintaining a low profile?" the Lynx rumbled.

"I believe you also said I could stand to learn a few things from the guards here," I shot back. The corner of the Lynx's left mouth twitched upward as if in a sudden spasm, and the reflected firelight gleamed on her eyes. I'd been around the older woman long enough to know this passed for an expression of amusement.

"Yes, well... it's true. The King's soldiers are skilled fighters, but there's a certain... battlefield formality to their methods which you won't often find in... a potential future line of work." The Lynx breathed in, as a minstrel made his way closer to the campfire, plucking a few strings on his lyre. "Caravan guards usually earn their keep, fighting a dozen small encounters with bandits here and there for every real fight a knight might join. Short, brutal engagements. Simple tactics. Little mercy. Yes, you could learn well from them."

"I enjoyed practicing staff fighting," I admitted.

"You taunted Dorio. He's not the prickly sort to dwell on it," the Lynx said, "but it was ill-mannered."

I twisted my mouth, unable to argue her point. "Well, we were putting on a performance. I thought it might entertain..." I sighed. "No, you're right. I'll say something."

"That's good of you. You know, your real value will be in diplomacy." I blinked at the Lynx's sudden conversational shift. Before I could reply, she stepped away, empty flagon in one hand. "Need a refill," she said, over the minstrel's music.

The lyre music had picked up, and the circus performers ringed around the campfire clapped to the beat. Baroness von Opfen and Ferrand were discussing something amongst each other, their voices mingling with a dozen other conversations. The log rocked slightly, and I glanced over to see Harold taking the seat the Lynx had left behind. Ruddy-faced, there was a hint of ale upon him as he grinned at me.