Chapter 3

Falca landed on Bartz’s shoulder, “Nice going. You managed to win the match, humiliate Red, and yet still wind up coming in behind him.”

“I do have skill, don’t I?”

“True. But you could probably be better if you put a little more effort into it.”

“I know that,” Bartz said.

Bartz walked over to his downed mount, where a white-jumpsuit-clad tech was looking at the slit and damage. He was an older, dark-skinned man, but age had not dampened the twinkle in his eyes.

Bartz looked at the slit in his horse. He could see the chips that gave the mount life. This wasn’t a particularly good sign.

“I don’t suppose this is covered by the warranty, right, Tomas?” Bartz asked.

“I have got bad news, good news, and fair news.”

“What’s the bad news?” Bartz asked.

“It is bad,” Tomas said.

“What’s the good news?” Bartz asked.

“I can fix it,” Tomas said.

“What’s the fair news?” Bartz asked, though he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.

“It is going to cost you. Almost as much as you won today and almost as much as I lost betting on you,” Tomas answered.

“To win or to lose?”

“I thought you were due. Against the Gold Knight I wish you zigged when you zagged,” Tomas said, with a sly smile.

“Not half as much as I do,” Bartz said, letting himself crack a small smile.

“You know, I really think you’d be better if…”

Bartz pulled a card from a pocket in his armor and stuck it in Tomas’s face. “You do take zinc cards, correct?” he interrupted.

“Sure, as long as you have two forms of ID,” Tomas said.

“Have you ever thought of changing careers to become a jester?” Bartz asked Tomas, handing him the payment card.

“Have you?” Tomas asked as he ran the card through the charge machine he carried in one of his many pockets.

“More than you can imagine, old friend,” Bartz said. “How long till he’s up and running again?”

“The mount will be good as new in 30 tocks.”

“Fine. That will give me time to pay my respects to the king,” Bartz said as he walked away.

“You do realize that you’re probably the only knight in history a tech would even consider talking back to,” Falca told Bartz.

“Lighten up, Falca,” Bartz said. “I’ve known Tomas since we were nippers.”

“So? It’s not like he’s the only tech who would talk back to you!” Falca said.

“I’ll take that as a compliment that I’m easily accessible to the everyday man,” Bartz smiled. His battle with Red had at least put him in a slightly better mood.

“You are incredible!” Falca said with a shake of her head.

“Thank you.”

As Bartz walked toward the royal box, the ever-smiling Gold Knight intercepted him.

“Nice match, Blue. You improve each time we meet!” Gold told him. To emphasize this, he gave Bartz a firm pat on the back.

“Thanks,” Bartz said half-heartedly without breaking stride.

“Any time, my friend.”

Gold didn’t seem to be offended that Bartz didn’t want to stop and chat. Gold knew Bartz was on his way to pay his respects to the king. After all, Gold was just a knight, the best of knights, the greatest knight, but still just a knight and did not deserve the respect paid to a king.

King Lary, a small wisp of a man, was dressed in his finest velvet robes as he sat on his throne in the regal royal box. The royal box was perfectly placed just a little above ground level, off to one side near the center of the jousting pit. You knew the view had to be exquisite there because it was the spot where the main Magic Box cameras were positioned, recording the match to be broadcast to the masses who weren’t lucky enough to be there live.

At one time, King Lary was, if not a wise, then at least a fairly intelligent king. He had much to be proud of on his scroll of accomplishments. He had banned genetic testing and the creation of mutants in all but the rarest cases. He had greatly cut taxes, giving the commoners a cut almost as big as the nobles. He had increased the joust from three days a week to four, and he was legendary for making dress-down Fridays standard over all TechnoLot.

He had also seen better days. There were times when it appeared he was paddling the wrong way upstream without an oar in the water, but he was still king and deserved respect, at least in public.

The king’s son, Prince Baris, sat on his left side. Baris was dressed in battle armor that looked hardly, if at all, used. Baris was the type of guy that, if there was hard work to be done, would let his aides do it while he sat there grooming his cheesy goatee then hog the credit and glory.

All of the populace was just glad that Baris wasn’t heir to the throne. In fact, he wasn’t even the king’s blood son. He was just adopted when King Lary’s approval ratings needed a boost. It was an attempt by the royal advisors to show what a noble man the king was, adopting a poor lad off the streets. They did an entire Magic Box special on the king’s quest for a son. In retrospect, the people would probably have responded more favorably to another tax cut. Still, the move was a good one for cheesy-looking Baris, though he never seemed to appreciate it.

The chair on the king’s right, the chair always reserved for Princess Opal, was empty as always. Opal was the heiress to the throne and, being so, had no time for games like the joust. Though she wouldn’t often admit it, she knew that her father was slipping and that soon she would have the awesome responsibility of leading TechnoLot, the largest, most powerful territory in all of Aqua.

Behind the good king stood the noble and venerable Rapha, the sole mega-mage in all of Aqua. Rapha was the last of the throwbacks from the very old days before the First Great War. She was older than a human should ever live to be, and while she may have been a bit wind-blown, the many years had been kind to her. She was still a strong, appealing woman.