Full Eyes, Empty Mind

“Cradle that lance, you thieving half-breed!”

The master-of-arms’ voice rang out over the thunder of hooves and the clamor of armor, so strident it permeated the heavy steel helm. Jake Narmolanya gritted his teeth and tucked his elbow, pinching his knees to urge the warhorse to greater speed. He eyed his opponent through the slit in his visor, angled his shield just so, and brought his soft-tipped lance up at the very-

Smash!

Wood splintered and steeds screamed as Jake’s opponent delivered a thunderous blow to the half-elf’s chest. The reins disappeared from between his fingers, and he flew off the horse backwards, landing with a heavy clang in the dirt. His armor weighed him down, preventing him from rolling and distributing the force of the fall. Instead he clambered heavily to his feet, gasping for breath.

A round score of men watched the contest from the shade of some tall, thick trees bordering the clearing. Scara Brae’s master-of-arms stood in front of them, facing the contestants. His arms were crossed sternly over his breastplate as he called advice to both fighters.

“Find your feet, Narmolanya! Edwards, strike him while he is winded! Press your advantage!”

The young squire Jake was facing off against leaped down from his horse and unslung a wooden practice sword from the straps on his back. Their horses whickered as they were led away by swift-footed squires.

Jake threw himself backwards to avoid Edwards’ opening thrust. The ordinarily nimble half-elf lost his balance because of the armor they’d insisted he wear, and he leaned on his liviol tonfa as he pulled it from its belt loop, throwing a sluggish sidekick at the approaching squire. Edwards countered with a downward swing of his sword, bringing the wooden blade back up swiftly to chop at Jake’s chin. The half-elf weaved his torso around the blow and crouched, leaping forward and tackling his opponent. At least the weight of his armor would be worth something if he was on top of the other youth.

“Enough!” Called the master-at-arms as Jake maneuvered his tonfa across his opponent’s throat in a painful choke. “This is meant to be an exercise in jousting and swordsmanship, not a wrestling match, Narmolanya!” A chorus of guffaws came from the surrounding men.

Somewhat grudgingly, Jake stood up and helped Edwards to his feet. The squire was gasping for breath.

Good. Being struck so easily by the squire’s lance had been humiliating, and Jake was glad he’d paid him back in kind.

“What’s the bloody point of practicing fighting if you don’t let us fight?” Jake demanded, stripping off his helm and breastplate and dumping them on the ground. “And what’s the point of all this armor? He wouldn’t have landed a single blow if I hadn’t been wearing it.”

“Cavalry charges and swordsmanship are the backbone of the Knights of Scara Brae.” The master-of-arms said proudly. “Every warrior who rides into battle can expect to use both weapons. Unarmed combat is only a last resort, and so it is practiced much less. And that armor kept you alive just now. Had you not been wearing it, that first blow would have killed you, no matter the type of lance.”

“Weren’t you listening?” Jake leaned idly on his tonfa. “Perhaps it’s a good thing we’re returning to the capital this evening. It seems you need to clean the wax out of your ears. That lance never would have touched me if I hadn’t had this armor dragging me down.” He added his gauntlets and greaves to the growing pile on the ground. Finally, he felt like he could breathe properly again.

“And are you going to evade every arrow the enemy archers send your way?” The wizened man asked, stroking his silver-stubbled chin. “Lance lines are perhaps the most powerful tool on the battlefield, but they do present large easy targets.”

“Then I won’t ride in a line,” Jake said. He flicked a bit of dirt from the shoulder of his leather jacket. “Seems rather foolish, anyhow.”

The older man’s face reddened slightly. “It was you who asked to be taught our ways, our tactics and our techniques. I granted you this favour only because of how fondly Princess Isabella looks upon you.

“She doesn’t look so fondly upon me.” Jake said blithely. Since receiving her invitation to spend time in the city, he had scarcely seen the princess. In fact, he hadn’t seen her - not once! “And earnestly, I thought a knight as experienced as yourself would have the good sense to learn as much as he teaches.”

That left the master-of-arms sputtering mad. Jake wore an impudent grin as he allowed the squires to gather up his armor like trash left outside an inn.