Deathsworn (Wattys 2018 Winner)

5 - Your Life is Your List

'Not once in my entire life have I been asked to kill someone my size,' Taaj complained.

The flap to their pavilion was fastened shut. Bard could hear the last of the folk shuffling by outside, leaving the lists after the Invocation and Orl Ejjar's address.

'Why is it all the bad ones have to be like that?'

'I don't know, Taaj,' Bard found himself saying, lying back on his mat and glad to be out of the armour. Things were simpler in his jerkin and breeches. He could almost pretend he was just Bard.

'I don't care when they're ugly, I don't care when they smell. I don't even care so much when they're particularly nasty. When they're that big, though, things get difficult.'

'He's on the list,' Bard murmured. Taaj was perfectly accurate, even so. Big and thick like the Mountainmen of the tales. Robust, jutting jaw, wild red beard and enough youth on his side to swing his axe for hours without tiring. Mortus reborn, they probably say.

'He's not as big as Toyne,' Weasel offered.

No one is. He's probably near as strong though, and that's more strength than I care to reason with.

'Can't we just have Bodkin shoot him from afar?' Taaj sat up purposefully. 'Dead is dead is dead. One arrow and we'll be on our way.'

'No. Before we do anything, he must be judged. We need to discover his guilt or innocence. Besides, if that is the way of things we need the body for the Burned Priests. And unmarked this time. We can't go back with another ruined corpse.'

Silence rode in on a familiar steed, the Gallowmen each lost to their own troubled thoughts. Bard replayed Orl Ejjar's Invocation in his head and struggled to find a path that cut through the damning mist of uncertainty and didn't end in waters of blood.

Eventually, it was Taaj who stirred once more. 'So, what now?'

'Now we watch, now we wait. We listen, we talk, we get to Erikk Orlson. Orl Ejjar said the tournament will last for five days, including today, so we've got time. The joust doesn't start until the third day. Toyne, when's the melee begin?'

'S'afternoon,' Toyne replied.

'Good. We'll start there, then. Weasel, my dear squire, I have a job for you.'

#

It was a fine day for fighting, Bard had to admit. With the melee being the opening event, the three raised galleries were full with all manner of people enjoying the wan sun. The Gallowmen, minus Weasel, had got there at midday and so Bard held a prime position on the first row back from the sand. The others were dotted around the arena so their collective ears would miss nothing. Tall Toyne was clearly visible the other side of the courtyard, a full head taller than anyone else there.

Before long, another herald in rich blue and white strode enthusiastically into the centre of the sand, two trumpeters flanking him. When they came to a halt they blew three times and the gurgle and confusion of the masses dwindled to a low hum of excitable whispers.

The herald opened a scroll, cleared his throat and began. 'Here marks the beginning of the melee for the honour of Orl Ejjar. The rules are as follows: The use of lethal weapons is strictly forbidden. Combatants will be scored primarily on points. A blow to the head is worth two points, a significant blow elsewhere amounts to one. The first to score ten points wins the round, there are three rounds total. If a combatant is unable to continue or otherwise wishes to withdraw, their opponent will be named victor and advance.'

Bard scanned the galleries for signs of Taaj and Bodkin but found nothing. Taaj was easily lost among hefty men, Bodkin just had a way of making himself hard to find.