Princess of Prophecy (Servants of the Lady), page 22
“Quick,” said Maryan. “Let's decline the challenge anyway.”
“I don't think we can, Your Majesty.” Ex-Bookkeeper Andi crossed her arms. “If we decline now, that's a forfeit, and we'd give up Bluntworth to the undead marauders.”
Sir Humphrey looked at all of them. “Why are you so worried?”
“Come on,” said Maryan, striding out of the tent. “Let's see what we can find out about this opposing champion.”
Outside, the bleachers around the contest square began to fill up. Skeletons stood around their side of the field, with many more in the stands, while the men and women of Bluntworth gathered on the other side. Flags from many nations past and present flew at the corners, and more food carts had come in from the city.
“Councilor Wilson!” Maryan spotted the man nearby. “I see the Mayor has opened the eastern gates. Has he decided to join in the defense of the city?”
“Good morning, Your Majesty. And no, the Mayor still refuses to believe the prophecy. He's asking people to simply ignore the massed ranks of the undead.” The councilor pointed to the food stalls and performers nearby. “But the people rose up as one and demanded to be able to see the fisticuffs contest. And the street merchants wanted to be where the party was.”
“Ah.” Maryan pointed at a group of richly-dressed men and women behind a counter with tallies of numbers on it. “Who is that?”
“Ma'am, those are the famous Merchant Houses of Bluntworth. They're here to run the betting.”
“Betting?”
“Hey, look!” Gunthar pointed at the table of numbers, then smacked Sir Humphrey on the shoulder. “You're getting even odds. Ha!”
“And who is the other champion?” wondered Maryan.
“There he is,” said Ex-Bookkeeper Andi, pointing over at the lines of the undead. A large, decaying man sat on the ground, surrounded by other undead who wrapped his knuckles in thick cloth.
“Wow, he's big,” said Wizard Yang.
“Methinks that is an illusion,” noted Sir Humphrey. “The skeletons around him are short in stature.”
“No, he's definitely big.” Yang held up her hand. “He's way taller than any person, and he's sitting down.”
“Their champion isn't human,” gasped Cornelius. “He's an undead giant.”
Murmurs of surprise rippled through the gathered Bluntworth citizens as they beheld the Lich King's champion.
“Of course he's undead,” said Sir Humphrey. “That goes without saying.”
“Hmm, the odds seem to have gone down.” Gunthar stared at the betting board. “You're a bit of an underdog now, Sir Humphrey.”
“Aren't you worried about a contest of fisticuffs with a giant?” asked Ex-Bookkeeper Andi.
“Nay, lady. Giants are big, but move slow and think even slower. He'll get a taste of my knuckles before he even knows I'm there!”
“Is it King Grom, I wonder?” Healer Nyala squinted over at the undead champion. “He's been dead for over three hundred years.”
“King Grom?” Gunthar looked at her.
“Yes, that's him, I'm sure of it. Grom, the king of the frost giants. He was big and fast and utterly ruthless. Grom the Slaughterer, they used to call him. Under him, the frost giants conquered most of the northeast. They would have taken the whole continent, I shouldn't wonder, but then Grom choked and died on an oxen bone at a feast, at the young age of sixty-three.” Healer Nyala whistled. “He's well-preserved, given that he's been buried so long, but maybe that's an advantage of always being frozen. Seeing King Grom in action will be an amazing sight!”
Across the plain the undead champion stood up, towering over everyone and everything else. He flexed his muscles and his tattered sleeves ripped further as biceps the size of bears moved around. His undead flesh had a slightly blue cast to it, with patches of ice glinting in the sun. Fog condensed around him and pooled at his feet.
“By the gods of extra-large clothing!” exclaimed Cornelius. “I don't think a more fearsome giant has ever strode the firmament.”
The town cooper fainted in fear, and had to be carried away on his Burn the Lemingras sign.
“Oh, my.” Gunthar shook his head, looking back at the merchants. “I've never seen odds that low.”
Maryan put her hands on her hips. “Sir Humphrey, you can't have a contest of fisticuffs with a twenty-foot-tall undead frost giant king. He'll smash you to pieces.”
“If he doesn't freeze you first,” said Wizard Yang.
“Methinks you could show more confidence in my skill,” huffed the knight.
“Well, sir, I'd have to agree with them,” said Gunthar. “Why don't we withdraw from the fight? The Lich King is going to attack afterward anyway.”
“Withdraw?” Sir Humphrey stood taller, his eyes searing holes in each of them. “A Happenhouse never turns away from a challenge.”
“Please, please.” Healer Nyala waved the others a few steps back. “This isn't what he needs to hear right now. Let me handle this.” She put a hand on Sir Humphrey's shoulder and spoke in her calm, healer's voice. “Do you have a will?”
“Milady, please!” The knight waved vaguely in the direction of the opposing champion. “I can assure you that I have this fight in hand.”
“We'd better get to the field, ma'am,” said Councilor Wilson. “The referee will specify the rules.”
“Referee?” Maryan looked around. “Who can be an impartial judge between mortals and a host of vicious undead?”
“I hope it's someone nice,” said Ex-Bookkeeper Andi.
“Let's get this over with.” Inga floated down, her butterfly wings shimmering in the sunlight. “I can't stand being out in the daytime.”
“Who is that?” asked Maryan.
“We didn't get a chance to introduce you in the Badlands, because you were unconscious,” said Andi. “That's Inga, the ghost fairy queen. She's always angry and bitter at everyone because she was jilted at the altar centuries ago, although I'm not supposed to gossip about that.”
“Keep calm,” said Maryan. “Jilted or not, I'm sure she cares about the town.”
“I need a representative from each army to join me by the field,” called Inga. “This fight will be run fair and square, even though nothing matters because we're all going to die alone, betrayed by those that claimed to love us.”
Chapter 26
Fisticuffs
A considerable number of fisticuff matches are won on a technicality.
— Considered Revelations, Book 43 “Ways In Which a Considerable Number of Fisticuff Matches are Won”, Chapter 68, Verse 2
Councilor Wilson stepped forward. “Your Highness, it would be best if you were the representative for Bluntworth.”
“Of course.” Maryan walked down to the field, the councilor following.
A short, wide skeleton approached from the Lich King's lines. He had a helmet with long, curved horns, and golden riding armor with a large mace swinging at his side.
Councilor Wilson whispered to the princess. “That's Grom's representative, ma'am. The Bandit Prince Tuguslar. He and his band of merciless riders terrorized the northern plains a century ago.”
“Hurry up, representatives.” Inga hovered near the field in the no-man's land, waving at them impatiently. “My goodness, it took you long enough. Please introduce yourselves.”
Maryan nodded to the skeletal bandit prince. “Your Highness. I hope we can conduct this contest of champions in a manner befitting the honor of both our houses.”
“I **** on your grave,” said Tuguslar.
“Right, that's over with.” Inga floated higher, and called out across the gathered armies. “I'll repeat the rules, since some of you have half-rotted brains, and the rest of you are undead. This is a contest of fisticuffs lasting three rounds. If a champion is knocked from the field, he forfeits the round. Best of three rounds wins the contest. Killing the other champion wins the contest. If you put a hand on a weapon, you lose the contest. Did you idiots get that?”
The field and its thousands of gathered spectators were deathly quiet.
“I'll take that as a yes. Are the champions ready?”
The undead frost giant had been sitting at the far end of the field, and now stood. He towered over the spectators in the highest bleachers, his gargantuan, icy muscles rippling and shining in the sun. “King Grom is ready!” His voice rolled over the Badlands like a peal of cold fisticuffs thunder.
“Grom! Grom! Grom!” The undead warriors across the field began chanting, pounding the ground and bleachers with skeletal feet, shaking the earth.
“Objection!” cried Maryan. “King Grom emits a cold aura, freezing everything within five paces. That's not fair to his opponent.”
“Well, I can't turn it off,” said Grom. “And I have to suffer that human's stinky breath.”
Inga shook her head at Maryan. “Objection overruled. A deadly cold aura isn't technically a weapon.”
The skeletal bandit prince smiled a toothy grin, showing several gaps.
“Grom! Grom! Grom!” The chanting and shaking continued.
The knight stood only a few paces away, and waved at them. “I say! It's hard to hear myself over all the noise, but Sir Humphrey Happenhouse is ready!”
“Happenhouse! Happenhouse!” cried Ex-Bookkeeper Andi, but no one else took up the chant.
“Oh, my.” Councilor Wilson paled as Grom rolled his shoulders, sending chunks of ice falling to the ground with loud thunks. “Ma'am, I've never seen a more fearsome opponent. What can Sir Humphrey do against that?”
“He has several tactics.” Maryan considered the field. “His best approach is to stay mobile, far away from Grom so he doesn't freeze. With luck, he can stay warm and tire Grom out. Maybe then Grom will make a mistake.”
“Mistake? Like what?”
An undead troll in an iron helmet threw a boulder across the field at Sir Humphrey, but from the side, where the knight couldn't see it in time to dodge. The humongous rock hit his left shoulder with a crunch, bowling him over.
“Ouch!” Sir Humphrey staggered to his feet again, his left arm dangling and bleeding.
“Objection!” cried Maryan. “The undead armies sucker-bouldered our champion!”
“Sorry, dear,” said Inga. “I didn't see it.”
“Sir Humphrey!” Ex-Bookkeeper Andi screamed, but the knight couldn't hear her over the chanting of the undead armies.
“Champions!” Inga raised her hand, then brought it down. “Begin!”
“Right,” said Maryan, “we'll see—”
There was a metallic crunch, and Sir Humphrey's ragged body flew over them, smashing into a fruit stand.
“By the gods of the subcommittee, that's one fast frost giant,” noted Councilor Wilson.
“Round one to Grom, by field infraction,” called Inga. “The Bluntworth champion was thrown from the marked area.”
“Hurry!” Maryan ran towards the mangled knight, but Healer Nyala sprinted ahead of her and reached the man first. The healer tilted up Sir Humphrey's unconscious head and poured in some red Elixir of Sakura.
The knight coughed, then yelped. “Ouch! That hurt worse than being punched.”
“The Elixir is designed to remind you of the pain,” scolded Nyala. “You're not supposed to get yourself hurt in the first place.”
“'Twasn't that bad,” said Sir Humphrey, sitting up.
“Your rib cage had collapsed and punctured both lungs, your spine was broken in three places, and your pelvis was crushed.”
“It could have been worse.”
Maryan surveyed the knight's armor. The metal plates had buckled inwards in places, and thick frost encased every piece. “Gunthar, can you pop the worst of the dents out of Sir Humphrey's armor?”
“Aye, ma'am.” The barbarian went to work, fixing and re-attaching the imploded metal panels.
“Oh, thank you.” Sir Humphrey took a deep breath. “'Twas difficult to move with the dents pressing into me.”
Inga hovered above the field. “Are you ready over there? If you take much longer, you'll forfeit the match.”
“We're coming!” Maryan waved at her, and helped Sir Humphrey to his feet. The knight stumbled over to his corner of the field again.
Cornelius wrung his hands together, seeing Grom standing three times taller than the knight. “I don't see any way that Sir Humphrey can win.”
“Indeed, Chronicler, I think many citizens share your sentiment.” Councilor Wilson gestured at the gathered townspeople, who watched the combatants with quiet dread. Only the undead made any noise, pounding the bleachers and chanting Grom's name over and over.
“Champions, are you ready for round two?” called Inga.
Grom waved, the air filled with undead chants of his name. Sir Humphrey waved as well, though no one took much notice.
Again, the undead troll threw a boulder at Sir Humphrey from the side, and again, it shattered his left shoulder and sent him crashing to the ground. “Ouch!” he repeated as he stood.
“Objection!” cried Maryan. “They—”
“Sorry, dear,” said Inga. “I didn't see it.”
“I can't look.” Ex-Bookkeeper Andi turned away, sobbing.
“Grom! Grom! Grom!”
“Champions!” Inga raised her hand, then brought it down. “Begin!”
Maryan leaned in. “Now this time—”
There was a great metallic crash, and once again Sir Humphrey flew overhead, smashing to the ground amongst the food carts.
“Round two to Grom,” called Inga, “by field infraction.”
The adventurers dashed over, and Nyala administered the Elixir. Sir Humphrey coughed and wheezed as he opened his eyes again.
“He's doomed!” wailed a merchant. “We're all doomed!”
“What can we do against a horde of invincible undead?” asked a cobbler. “Maybe the Mayor's right. Maybe we should stick our heads in the sand and pretend the undead don't exist.”
“I worry about the effect of this fight on the town's morale, Your Highness.” Councilor Wilson shook his head. “Perhaps that was the impact the Lich King intended. I fear our militia will abandon the field without a fight, should it come to that.”
“Let's do what we can for Sir Humphrey right now,” said Maryan.
They rejoined the knight, who sat in the midst of their companions. Wizard Yang affixed armor plates again as Gunthar popped the dents out.
“I almost had him that time,” said Sir Humphrey, pulling chunks of ice out of his mustache.
“Can't we do something?” Ex-Bookkeeper Andi wrung her hands. “It's not fair! And they keep cheating!”
“We can't interfere.” Maryan's face was grim. “If we do anything, the match will be forfeit.”
“I don't know if you're keeping score, but we're about to lose the match anyway.” Wizard Yang frowned. “Why don't I channel some of the frost giant's aura into a shield, or something?”
“No cheating!” Sir Humphrey's eyes lit up. “We will never stoop to their level. A Happenhouse always fights fair!”
“But it's not right that you get beaten just because you play fair and they don't!” Ex-Bookkeeper Andi had tears in her eyes.
“I'm sorry, good Bookkeeper. Honor is paramount. Even if it costs me everything.” He took a deep breath. “I guess that's kind of the point.”
“Oh…” She looked away.
“Are you ready yet?” Inga's angry voice rose over the constant Grom, Grom, Grom chants of the undead.
Meanwhile, the townspeople waited sullenly in the bleachers for the contest to continue. No one waved Bluntworth flags anymore. A soldier in a green vest near Maryan hung his head in his hands.
“Coming!” Maryan walked with the knight back to the field. “Sir Humphrey, we can still call off the fight.” Maryan said it quietly so the others wouldn't hear. “The fight doesn't mean anything, since the Lich King will assault the city no matter what happens.”
How could she get the knight out of the suicidal third round of the contest? They had lost the first two rounds of fisticuffs, meaning they could only win if the knight knocked out the undead frost giant king in this final round, which would take a miracle. And in some sense, the damage was already done. The town's morale was shot.
“I appreciate your concern, ma'am, but the fight means something to me.” The knight looked up at the undead frost giant king, towering above the other end of the field. “I thought maybe I had a chance. But perhaps this is just as well.” Sir Humphrey spoke in low tones as he took his corner. “This way I can go out with some note, ma'am. The Merchant Houses will foreclose on my family estates in a few hours. And I'm not in the prophecy anyway.”
“The prophecy doesn't—”
“Sir Humphrey, please accept this as a token from me.” Ex-Bookkeeper Andi approached and held out a mug that said I'm billing you for this. “It's not much of a token, and I'm not an accountant for the city anymore, but it's all I have now.” She looked down at the ground and kicked at a small pebble. “You're very brave for doing this. I know you're supposed to only get favors from nobility. And I'm sure knights usually get something nice, like a silk handkerchief or—”
“Lady.” Sir Humphrey stood a good inch taller, the mug held reverently in both hands. “I can assure you, no knight has ever received a gift that meant more to them than this.” He brought the mug in and held it close, so Maryan could only see billing. “I will treasure it.”
“Right.” Ex-Bookkeeper Andi stood on her tiptoes and kissed Sir Humphrey on the cheek. “Good luck.” She dashed off, wiping at her eyes.
Maryan peered at the knight. “Sir Humphrey?”
He stood at the corner of the field, staring at the mug in his hands. The Badlands echoed with continuous chants of Grom, Grom, Grom, the sky loomed with ominous clouds, and his once-bright armor showed many scratches and dents, but for a moment the knight's entire world appeared to be a single, slightly chipped accountant's mug. Color returned to Sir Humphrey's face as something more powerful than the Elixir restored his strength.
“Sir Humphrey?” she repeated.
