The Tournament

The knights’ stench and rudeness overwhelmed the parade of armors, horses and brawn on display before her.

The midday heat sent her back into the canvas tent. The blue convertible wagon would be her home during the tournament. The tent conveniently attached to the wagon, and it allowed her to train out if the prying eye.

Tomorrow, in single combat, she was to meet Miklos, the son of the neighboring lord and her father's archenemy. Miklos and his father long coveted their lands. Their many tries to kill her would have been humorous if they weren’t nearly successful.

Miklos had known Ioannis' son was a woman, ever since he discovered her bathing in the lake of the hidden glen. The swimming hole, Miklos had called it as she had to suffer through his declaration of undying love and marriage proposal.

Dochia mentally praised her father's insight to hire the expensive Scottish mercenary. He had been part of Charles VII of France's standing army, and she wondered what made him seek employment from an obscure Valachian lord. He was so funny when he wore the swathe of checkered wool over his shirt only, baring his calves. It drew quite a few chuckles from the women in the village. However, he favored the freedom of movement to the shield of the heavy armor.

She had eaten earlier, and she was ready now to begin her training. There was no telling of what scheme Miklos would devise next. A tournament was the perfect setting to get rid of an enemy. Oh, the sausage and bread she had eaten were excellent. The cook called them dachshund. A smile crept up her face as she remembered the mercenary's tongue-in-cheek "hot dogs" at the sight of the delicious creation.  The memory of the apple pie that followed made her forget Miklos' threat, and she picked up her gloves and sword.

Dochia clutched the sword's pommel. Tight. She then relaxed her grip and assumed the stance. She flexed her thumb and reveled in its soreness.
'Try a vertical cut then aim at the right shoulder. Parry and defend your left while going again for the leg on the opposite side.' her sword master's words resonated in her year.

Dochia focused on the moves and smiled. The training dummy was swirling with every precise strike, and she allowed herself to dream.

Her fellow knights mostly laughed at her because of her slight build, and she barely received the permission to fight in the tournament. With every hit on the dummy, her confidence was growing, and she could see herself winning. Her smile turned into a grin, and she let herself slide in the strike-duck-parry dance. Invincible! That's how the knights must feel when victory is within their grasp.

She could almost see the fireworks celebrating her victory on the night to come.

The whitewashed walls dimmed, and the weapon racks became invisible. Excitement grew, and she felt transported on the wings of...

Shreeeek! The most unwelcome sound of metal on metal and her sword met an unmovable obstacle. So sudden and hard that her sword dropped, and she clutched her arm.

Dochia narrowed her eyes and her eyebrows almost met in a frown. She eyed warily the sharp sword at her chest, while calculating what it would take to recover hers.

The chances didn't look bright; her eyes traveled down on the strong, tattooed arm, to the wide chest clad in a white linen shirt and... By Jesus, the skirt guy!

Her mouth curved up, and the tip of the sword pressed harder on her chest.

'Mistake number two: antagonizing your enemy.' he hissed.

Dochia looked up and this time the copper-red curls were tied neatly on the back of his neck. She must have shown astonishment, because the sword dropped from her chest and pointed down towards hers.

Dochia didn't wait for another invitation, gripped her sword and assumed a defensive position.

He circled her and lounged. This time she was prepared. Nothing but a barely perceptible frown showed his surprise. Dochia knew her main weakness: strength. Although she was tall, her slight build will never match the size and power of a trained knight. She learned to dodge the strong hits, duck under the direct attack and skillfully parry the rest.

The red-haired knight's skirt favored him and although not tall, he was muscular with an impressive display of strength.

The time flew and when the sun set, their breaths were labored. The knight lounged, and Dochia was too tired to duck. He hit her sword, and the vibrations made her drop it. Again.

He saluted her with two fingers to his temple. That's when she saw the jagged scar below his hairline.

''tis a good thing then I'll be gone tomorrow. You might have a chance to prove you're not the goose everyone thinks you are.' he grinned.

'Try watching Miklos closely! He is weak on his left side, just barely.' he added.

He turned and headed to the door, leaving Dochia astonished and gasping for breath. Who did he think he was to...?

'Duncan' he told her, over his shoulder, without turning.