Chilled exorcist

Further down the underground corridor, three girls sat at a loom. I had to go down two more floors and through the dwarf halls to reach the central hallway with festively dressed merchants and similarly dressed craftsmen. Then it would be easy to get to the inner valley from those rooms.

…

The crowd was cheering! A rare spectacle for Theanotus was about to begin. A man in brightly colored festive clothes entered the arena to a standing ovation. The people in the stands stopped whispering when they saw Herold. With a smile, he held his hands up in the air, showing everyone his inflated and worn over his wrists cloth doughnuts – dumplings. It would not have been easy for him to shout over such an excited community, so he had to show his palms in three directions before everyone gathered paid attention to him.

"The Trial of Chivalry, to select the noble and elevate them to dignity, as well as the Tournament of Recognition for the best mercenaries of the County of Feanoth and other lands, cannot be opened without the traditional battle between two mounted knights!" proclaimed the Herold, and then, gaining air, continued, "Therefore, Count Feanoth has chosen two brave and noble men to fight for the honor of the Castle of the Stag's Crest, and thus open the tournament!"

Finally, the trumpets sounded and the knight Ulrich appeared on the arena. It is he, and Ser Wimal Yaneso, who should open the honorable tournament. They are honored for their exploits. Ser Wimal Janeso, a knight from the Fortress of Ruch, who left the Lands of the Last Light to fight evil, and it should be noted that he fought very successfully. No sooner than yesterday, he identified two sectarians from the Cult of Bones right here in the capital of the county, in the castle of Feanoth, right in front of the ring. For this feat, he was awarded a medal personally from the hands of the ruler of these lands and the honor of being the first to clash his lances in today's tournament. His horse, a rare color for our lands, was as white as snow. Clad in armor, it thumped its hooves and snorted in impatience, waiting to begin. The same whitened cloth that covered the armor of the knight who sat upon it bore the mark of a blue heraldic sprout unknown to me. Sir Wimal gripped his spear tighter when he saw his opponent.

Knight Ulrich, in bright green robes, made a small circle of honor, warming up the crowd and shaking his lance, and so, a little later, took his seat. His black horse snorted and bellowed almost every time he pulled on the reins. I knew nothing of him, but the Herold, who had before announced the exploits of Wimal, spoke of Ulrich, "This honorable knight named Ulrich Stormwind, on his way to Castle Feanoth, defended the village. After single-handedly slaying at least a dozen dangerous foes on his horse, he also helped the wagon reach the settlement and provide food for the starving inhabitants! Meet the knight Ulrich of the northern frontiers! And may the noblest man win!"

I looked around at the unusual colors, "Green robes, not at all peculiar to northerners, he must be from the lake dwellers in the very east." A golden swan glittered on the fabric, a small, barely noticeable detail.

Ulrich threw up the visor, and it closed. Wymmal began to accelerate, casting a light shield over himself. The green knight responded by activating the runes on his cloak. "How interesting," I thought, "where did a mere knight get the Order cape of a guardian of the foothills?" The hoofbeats intensified. The crowd held its breath. A peal of thunder! The two riders fell out of the saddle.

Ulrich rose at once and, throwing off his crumpled helmet, bared his sword, showing that he was ready to continue the fight. But Wimal rose slowly, a splinter from a spear that had been shattered to pieces embedded under his right shoulder. With a fierce determination he also drew his sword and stood in a defensive stance, more like a swordsman than a swordsman, holding the weapon with his left hand. His right hand he preferred to throw behind his back.

The crowd roared as the knights began to circle each other. Ulrich made a lunge, but Wimal did not react to it, and then abruptly went on the attack himself. A swing to the right, a swing to the left. The knight took advantage of the fact that his opponent was holding a sluggish sword rather than a swift rapier and was able to sidestep his opponent and kick him in the back, causing him to slip forward on his knees. However, such a dangerous maneuver almost cost him his helmetless head. The crowd gasped in horror again.

Wymmal rose, intercepted his sword, and lashed out with chopping blows at his opponent. Gracefully parrying the next lunge, Ulrich crouched down and tried to reach his opponent from below, poking him in the other knight's forehead. The one from Fortress Ruch was now helmetless as well. The Herold looked at the Count to see if he had the will to stop the fight, but Theanoth shook his head, willing them to continue. Oh, and could he really stop this fight even if he wanted to? I think so, but then the tournament would not have taken place, and would have been postponed for two weeks at the very least.

"It looks like Wimal has decided to use his main arm despite his injury!" Herold shouted, and the crowd roared again. Wrinkling his nose, Ser Janeso drew his weapon with his right hand. After a couple of swings, both knights froze, stopping their blades at their opponent's neck.

"An even match!" Herold announced. The crowd erupted in cheers and turned to shouting.

Wimmal Janeso extended his hand to the green knight, and the latter shook it firmly with his gauntlet.

Count Theanotus rose and, raising his hands, called for silence.

"I admire the skill and nobility of the brave knights of the first contest of the tournament! At this solemn conclusion of the duel, I consider the Tournament of Order Trials open!"

Chapter 5: "Laughing Sister"

My breath hitched as I stumbled over the roots. My side stung mercilessly. Through the forest, deeper and deeper into the thicket. I ran for my life. An owl bear was on my trail. Goosebumps of foreboding ran down my back, and I jumped back sharply. Just in time! The mythical beast tried to make a dash, to knock me off my feet, but blue-green lightning flew forward, breaking the shrubbery and low branches. Changing direction, I found myself on a natural stone bridge over the dried-up bed of a deep stream. I turned and plunged into a small ravine, nearly breaking both my legs on the small rocks. I couldn't confuse him; he was already here. His pecking sounded from above, "Click, click, click, click." He lagged behind only a little and ran after me along the steep bank, still hesitant to jump down.

I screamed because I had stepped on a sharp rock with my heel, but I didn't even think of slowing down. For some reason I remembered the Order's conspiracy. The belief was that it was supposed to help before a hard fight. I didn't want to fight an owl bear, but I had to cheer myself up somehow.

"Where darkness does not enter the heart,

Where the dwelling of the brave stands.

I am the blade that fights darkness,

The protector of men who adds to the days,

A new dawn will come – yes."

The creek bed ended in a full-flowing river. I stood on the bank, gathering my courage to step into the rapid. To the right and to the left there was a thicket of brush like nothing I had ever seen, except in this forgotten wilderness. A pecking sounded right behind me, and I turned around. The owl bear was slowly approaching. He saw that there was nowhere else to run-the river blocked my path. His beak snapped, his eyes burning with the fire of rage. I turned away, not wanting to look at him.

Securing my crossbow behind my back and stowing my lantern in my bag, I jumped into the river. The swift current swept over me. I was immediately swollen. My feet hit something. Miraculously avoiding the rocky rapids that made the water gush over them, I heard a growing noise.

"Shh, shh, shh, shh," the water murmured. Fish were jumping out of the water, spreading their wings.

"Oooooh, asshole righteous follower of Yodckeim," I bellowed, almost in tune with the raging water, getting hit in the face with a fish tail.