Chapter 2

Bartz pulled into the starting area. There really wasn’t much to it: a start light, a few extra lances stored in a lance rack, and a lot of dirt that used to be grass. The joust was meant to be a simple game. That made it easy for people to identify with and cheap to produce. In fact, more zinc was spent on advertising than on the event itself.

Bartz sat on his mount and reached over to the rack to grab an electro-lance. Even though all the lances were always identical, he still swung it about just to make sure it felt right. Satisfied, he gave his matte-blue armor one last check. Flex-armor was made to look almost identical to the armor knights had been donning for ages upon ages but surpassed ancient armor in comfort and function. It was much more lightweight and flexible, provided more protection, and came in a wide array of colors. Like the jingle said, “Light as a feather, looks good in any weather. Stronger than steel, wear it, and you won’t feel like a heel.”

Bartz glared down the pit at the Red Knight, who also was readying for battle. Out of sheer convention, he bowed across the field to his adversary. The Red Knight snarled back.

“I don’t despise many beings, but I hate that guy,” Falca said, sticking her tongue out at Red.

“And now the battle for second place!” the announcer boomed.

The crowd buzzed with excitement.

“On the downside, Bartz the Blue Knight!”

The crowd roared as Bartz waved to them.

“On the upside, Agnaf the Red Knight!”

The crowd erupted with deafening boos challenged only faintly with the occasional “Yeah.”

“I see you are starting with the lance,” Falca said.

“Yes,” Bartz said, pulling the electro-lance up into the ready position.

“Good choice. Conventional and boring but good. It’s you.”

The announcer signaled the start of the match, “Let’s get ready to tumble! Gentlemen, start your horses!”

“That’s my cue to split,” Falca said as she flew off. “Remember, he’s sneaky.”

“Thanks,” Bartz said, flipping his visor down over his eyes and positioning his shield to cover his heart. He gave everything a quick once-over just to be certain it all checked out. It did.

“Boosters on,” Bartz said. The mount roared, the engines making its synthetic hide quiver.

Bartz watched the flashing red start-up light, revving his steed. The light suddenly flashed to green, and Bartz charged out of the starting pit towards his oncoming red foe.

The two armed and armored knights stormed at each other, closer and closer in a thunder of rattling steel, lowering their electro-lances to aim dexterously just inside the opponent’s shield.

As Bartz and the speeding Red Knight drew abreast, both electro-lances smashed into their adversary’s shields, shooting sparks and electricity and snapping them both. The lances fell in fragments to the packed dirt.

Bartz struggled to maintain his balance and slow his racing steed into the rapidly approaching start-up pit. As he swung his mount around he saw the Red Knight doing the same at the opposite end of the arena.

“Whoa! That was a close one! Round one is a draw,” the announcer shouted, barely able to contain himself.

Bartz grabbed a second lance and straightened his horse. He scowled down at his opponent. The Red Knight was holding his crossbow.

“Interesting choice, my friend,” Bartz said softly.

Falca came flying down with some advice, “Watch out for him in this round. He’s nasty. He’ll probably try to take you down by disabling your mount.”

“That’s not very sporting.”

“True,” Falca said. “He certainly won’t get extra judge’s points from it. They might even subtract some. The most he can score is a cheap five points for dismounting you. But you’ll have a hard time bettering him from the ground. You can only score three for any knockdown from there. Still, you could get judges’ bonus points for style. But it would be tough, especially the way you’ve been fighting lately.”

“Thanks for the warning, rules refresher, and pep talk,” Bartz said to Falca a bit cynically. “Sure, you don’t want to be the one fighting?”

“Prepare for round two!” the excited announcer spat.

“Hey, with your head in the clouds like it is, I figure you need all the help I can give you,” Falca said as she flew off to a safe distance.

Bartz fixed his eyes on the red start light. The light flashed green. The two knights charged at each other again, Bartz holding his lance in one hand and his shield in the other, positioned to protect his shoulder and most of his exposed body. The Red Knight was unable to use his shield since he needed both arms for his heavy crossbow. Still, if his aim were true, he would need no additional protection. It was a gamble, but Red didn’t get where he was by playing it safe. Or by playing it nice, for that matter.

The two drew closer. As Bartz lowered his lance, the Red Knight pulled the trigger on his crossbow. Bartz darted behind his shield in anticipation, but the arrow hit his electronic horse in the neck. Falca was right, which, when it came to these types of things, she usually was. The horse tumbled to the ground, its momentum sending Bartz flying over his fallen mount. Bartz barely had time to think about how much his landing was going to hurt before he crashed to the ground with a very undignified and painful thud.

“Ouch! That’s a cheap and painful five points for Red!” the announcer groaned. “Get ready for the exciting last pass!”

Since Bartz had fallen but hadn’t been driven down directly by Red’s weapon, the match continued. Of course, Bartz was now at a considerable disadvantage. Some of the crowd booed. A few spectators clapped.

“Red, you rock!” a fan cried out.

That fan was quickly booed into submission by much of the rest of the crowd.

Bartz quickly jumped to his feet to look down the field. The Red Knight was charging at him, closing in for the kill. Bartz’s initial instinct was to go for the auto-crossbow stored on his own saddle, but there wasn’t time before Red would be on top of him. This called for a change in strategy. Bartz drew and activated his laser sword as the Red Knight closed in. A beam of white-hot energy emanated from the handle.

As the Red Knight drew level with Bartz, he swung his lance to knock Bartz to the ground. Bartz instinctively jumped to the side, a split tic before the lance approached, countering it with his sword as it passed. The two weapons clashed and the lance shattered on contact with the glowing laser blade.

“Is that the best you can do? Lances are cheap!” the Red Knight laughed as he galloped past.

Before Red had a chance to do anything but laugh, Bartz hurled his sword at him. The sword spun through the air towards the unsuspecting Red Knight. The blade, without Bartz’s hand on the button, deactivated, but the handle remained right on course. It struck the Red Knight square in the neck, catching him totally off guard, the jarring blow knocking him to the ground.

“What a move!!! That’s a three-point knockdown!” the announcer shouted. “Looks like this one is going to be up to the judges for a final decision!”

The crowd roared their approval.

Bartz smirked at the dazed Red Knight, who was lifting his small but powerfully built frame off the ground. He removed his helmet, revealing his unshaven face, mangled red hair, and a bent nose that looked as if it had been broken two too many times.

“I suppose you think you’re so cute,” he spat at Bartz.

“That’s what your wife said last week,” Bartz said. It wasn’t very knightly or noble, but at the moment, Bartz was still smarting from the Red Knight’s dubious tactics.

The Red Knight charged at Bartz, swinging wildly as he closed in. Bartz ducked under the big roundhouse punch as many of the other knights rushed out onto the field.

The intervening knights held Bartz and Red off each other. Bartz wasn’t struggling to free himself from his Silver and Brown brethren. He had had his fun; he had no more interest in the fight.

The Red Knight was a different story. He was fired up to exploding point, and the Green, Orange, Yellow, and Purple Knights were having difficulty restraining him.

“Red, control yourself,” the Green Knight said as he fought to contain one of his comrade’s flailing arms.

“I warn you, Green, you and the others, let me go, or I will be adding you to my dung list!” Red spat as he struggled to free himself.

The Gold Knight positioned his huge, clean-cut, perfectly chiseled frame between the two combatants. Although Bartz and the other knights were big men, Gold towered over all of them in both height and mass. His press release had gotten it right: it was as if he had been sculpted from the strongest granite by Aqua’s finest craftsmen.

“Gentlemen! There is no need to fight. The match is over. You are knights of the joust, knights of the game. What happened has happened,” he said sternly, like a big brother scolding his younger siblings. “Now let us settle this. I need to call my mom as soon as possible.”

“I couldn’t have put it better myself,” Bartz said. “Our big golden-haired friend might be redundant, but he is correct.”

“True. The match is over, and I won!” the Red Knight said with a smirk.

The other knights released their brothers-in-arms.

“And the judges award two style points to the Blue Knight for his clever use of the sword. The judges also subtract 1 point from the Red Knight for unsportsmanlike actions. Final score: Blue Knight Five—Red Knight Four.” The smirk on Red’s face jumped to Bartz’s. The crowd also approved of the decision much more than Red.

“I know knights aren’t supposed to say so, ha-ha-ha,” Bartz said to his Red counterpart.

“So you win the match by one point. Big zeal. I still finish one point ahead of you in the tournament. What is it they say about he who laughs last?” Red said.

“Isn’t too bright and probably didn’t get the jest,” Bartz said slyly.

Red charged at Bartz again. All of the other knights caught him before he could get within striking distance while Bartz calmly walked away toward his busted horse.