Chapter 2: The Saberwolf
The roaring crowd rose to their feet as thunderous drumbeats joined the fanfare that ringed the bowl-shaped arena. Emerald-green, black, and gold flags of the Santera Viceroyalty and Glen Lopez Great House entered the stadium floor, followed by mounted troopers dressed in full regalia. Static lances were raised high in salute as they crackled with stored energy. Green force-shields, emblazoned with a holographic saberwolf glittered off the horses’ hindquarters. The Sandalian Wolfguard had arrived.
They marched in with fanfare, pomp and circumstance. As the reigning galactic champion, tournament company was the last to compete, and excited the crowd with their pre-joust routine of dressage and jumping. At the end, the excited crowed hushed as the troopers lined either side of the entrance tunnel, anticipating the final arrival.
“Saf-Ah-Rooooo!” the crowd howled and stomped their feet as a knight in polished dark green and black armor, riding a large stallion galloped into the arena.
“Saf-Ah-Rooooo!” the call came again, rumbling and reverberating around the cavernous stadium.
Lord Valko Ochoa glen’Lopez, the heir to the Viceroyalty of Santera and the current grand champion grinned, urging his stallion to gallop hard around the arena, playing up to his supporters.
“Saf-Ah-Roooo!” the crowd responded, as Val stopped in the middle and raised a gauntleted fist high.
His visage appeared on the large viewscreens that ringed the area, showing a large toothy smile, dimpled cheeks and a trimmed goatee. He winked at an adoring fan as he passed by the box seats, giving credence to his nickname, The Wolf. Along with his opponents, no young woman of marriage age was safe around him.
Val loved the contest, the fight, and the battle. He loved the feeling of striking an opponent and sending them crashing to the stadium floor. Undefeated, Val has never been unhorsed and has scored the most knockouts ever. The pure brutality of the sport drove his passion to see his opponent crushed at his feet. As he approached his side of the list, his crew chief, another experienced jouster, Weaponsmaster Peter Marrok, his Household Master-at-Arms, lifted his lance up to him.
“Thank you, Marrok,” Val said, “A beautiful day for a joust, is it not?”
“Aye, my lord,” Marrok replied as he ran a systems check on Val’s combat suit. “But in case you haven’t notice, my lord, we’ve a joust to win.”
Val lowered his visor and activated the display and performed a counter inspection. All systems were green and he was ready for combat. His nostrils flared when his opponent moved to opposite end. It was Sir Gaston LeClair, a minor lord from a minor house, of a star system Val did not care to know. He scarcely counted as a glenlord. The LeClair clan, once retainers to a Great House, were recently elevated and given administration of their former masters’ domain.
LeClair’s tournament company, the Gannviere Janissaries were not known to produce formidable competitors. Even though they are honored as a founding member of the Galactic Tournament, the Janissaries have yet to produce a grand champion of any kind. In comparison, the Saberwolf Guard count seven grand champions among their number, including Val himself.
“Marrok, this upstart of a withered clan will be of no challenge to me,” Val said.
Marrok spoke soothing words to Val’s horse, Orion and gave the beast a pat on its hind quarters.
“Don’t get ahead yourself, milord. Any knight that makes it to this level of competition is a competent knight. Don’t let him influence your fight.”
Val dismissed the advice and surged towards the list. In the brief moment before the signal to joust was given, catch a glimpse of the row of boxed seats. In the midst of unfurled saberwolf banners, the booth that displayed the insignia of Glen Lopez remained dark. He fought the sinking feeling and instead, turned his eyes to his challenger.
They were the enemy, they all were. All who oppose him are his enemy and deserve no mercy. At this place and now, anyone whom have wronged Val was embodied in Sir Gaston, and Val was determined to make him pay.
Suddenly, each knight bucked and charged at one another. An experience jouster would know how to couch their lance and hold the reigns loose. But, Val saw that Sir Gaston was having trouble with his horse and his lance. In the two seconds before they met, Val grinned and lowered his lance for a punishing direct hit.
In the midst of showers of sparks and flying pieces of a broken lance, Sir Gaston lie in the sand as Val and Orion happily trots to their side. A jubilant Val tosses his broken lance to an attendant and roared. The crowd got to their feet and the stomping noise increase several decibels as they joined Val in a celebration.
“That’s just the first pass, my lord,” Marrok said as he handing the knight another lance while reviewing the recording of the recent pass. “Let’s not get carried away, now.”
“We’re unstoppable today,” Val said, still jubilant.
The second pass was a bit more uneventful. Brimming with confidence and lessening his control of his lance, Val missed his opponent all together. Conversely, Sir Gaston struggled to stay atop his horse and lacked the control to score a hit. Each knight scored zero points adding to the ten points already achieved by Val.
“Damn it!” Val swore as he tossed the unbroken lance away and received another, “I missed!”
“My lord,” Marrok said, “you must maintain control throughout the strike. Keep your focus on the target, not the rider, nor the horse.”
“I know what to do,” Val snapped as he picked up another lance, “I’ll take his head off this time.”
As both jousters moved to the list and prepared for a third pass. Val called up the combat situation report on his visor display and found the place he wanted to target. He chose the point on the shield closest to the knight’s chest. A four-thousand-pound strike to that point would send any man flying off his horse, no matter how skilled he was.
“Better get the medics ready, Marrok, that bastard is going to need it.”
“Yes, milord,” Marrok replied in an even tone. He was used to hearing Val’s boastful pronouncements before a pass. The fact that Val was usually right was the only reason why he’d not spoken up about it
“Strike hard, strike fast, my lord,” Marrok encouraged.
“And strike true,” Val said, completing the idiom that all jousters lived by.
True to his word, Val struck true to his target and sent his hapless opponent flying off his horse. Sir Gaston dropped his lance too low at the last minute and completely missed Val. Medics rushed to the fallen knight and Val used this opportunity to get his own medical evaluation. He didn’t need it, but in a violent sport of jousting where just a nick of a lance could cause trauma and shock, caution prevailed.
“The bastard deserved it,” Val hissed, spying the empty booth. He then watched an unsteady Sir Gaston get helped to his feet while being attended by a medic. “He won’t finish the match.”
Marrok looked up from a replay of the pass, evaluating Val’s strike and technique for teaching purposes later, and grunted.
“If you deliver another hit like that, he won’t.”
Marrok sent the replay of the pass with his notes to Val’s visor display. They watched in slow motion the strike, the connection, and the chaos it caused in the midst of sparks and flying wood to the opposing knight. The crowed also enjoyed the replay as they continued to cheer, howl, and stomp their feet in approval. It wasn’t exactly a home crowd, as they weren’t on Val’s home world of Terraverde, but all planets of the viceroyalty of Santera was loyal to the ruling Great House, including Blackburn, which had an independent streak that Val’s father sought to continually crush.
“Well, I’ll just have to give him another one, and maybe we can start the Grand Ball early, eh, Marrok? I think I saw a pretty little lass giving me the eye when I first entered.”
“Let’s finish the match, milord,” Marrok grunted, “Before you take another opportunity to soar your glenlord oats.”
“Quite right, Marrok,” Val said, smiling as he lined up for the fourth pass.
To their surprise, Sir Gaston scored a strike and Val earned a penalty with a strike to the head. The unusual error shocked the crowd to silence. Val did not have much to see and Marrok continued to operate as if nothing happened. There was nothing to say as Val moved back to his side of the list.
Ordinarily the match would have been stopped to allow the medics to evaluate and clear Sir Gaston to continue, but since it was the fourth pass and it was half-time, the medics took the knight to the LeClair pavilion and evaluated him there. Val, disgruntled with diminishing his lead by five points, stormed off to his own pavilion and tossed anything that was not tied down before he allowed his own medical staff to give him a full evaluation.
“It looks like he’ll get a pass to continue,” Marrok said as Val was getting a rub down and a massage. “I’ll say one thing, that bastard’s got a hard head.”
“Hard head or not, he’s going down and will stay down, the next time I unhorse him.”
Val pushed away the masseuse and got up off the table and began pulling on his protective skinsuit. Every part of his body was tingling and ready for action. He felt this way after every halftime massage. His muscles were limber and he felt strong. Sir Gaston had barely hit him and he only felt the tension and soreness of the collision that was normal in competition. He downed a muscle recovery solution and beckoned his attendants to help him in his armor.
“He got lucky to even score a point,” Val said.
Marrok carried Val’s helm over to the knight and re-calibrated it before putting it on the him.
“Be as that may, my lord, weak or strong, every knight that has the courage to enter the list deserves your respect and honor,” Marrok said.
Val responded with a discourteous grunt as they left the tent and moved to the horses. Orion, Val’s favorite stallion matched his rider in every way save one. Big and strong as he rider, the horse had a focused temperament that was only bred into the Echasian breed of Tournament horses. The steadiness of the horse contributed a lot of Val’s success and the knight loved him as he was the only gift he received from his father.
“Ready Master Orion,” Val said, addressing the horse with its true name, “If we finish this early, I’m sure Master Marrok will allow you into the pasture where I’m sure there’s many a mare looking for attention.”
The horse nodded its head and brayed, swishing its tail as Val climbed on. Both had an incentive to finish early, and both were looking forward to the spoils of victory that comes with being a tournament champion.
At the signal, Val kicked Orion who shot off, pounding the sand with heavy huff beats, seeming to run faster than he’d ever run. Meanwhile, Sir Gaston made good use of his recovery time and managed to keep his lance from bouncing up and down as his horse, Fencer seemed to match Orion’s speed with a thunderous gait of his own.
The bone shattering collision rattled Val’s teeth. In a blink of an eye, showers of sparks lit up the stadium as Val’s lance made contact and broke on Sir Gaston’s shield. Sir Gaston somersaulted into the air and landed face down in the sand. Not waiting to see the result, Val raised his hands in triumph and rode off to perform a victory lap with Orion. As he made is second lap, Val stopped and picked up a young woman from the stands and place her on his saddle. This delighted the crowd, who showed their approval with a roar that could be heard a mile away.
It took several of minutes for the medics to get Sir Gaston off the ground and stand him up. He lost his legs twice and once nearly crashing back down. His team’s medic called for a stretcher and then strapped the knight to it before carrying him off.
“I thought you killed him,” Marrok said to Val over the helmet comlink.
“It has happened before,” Val said unapologetically. “I’m sure before I’m done, it’ll happen again.”
Marrok gave a compliant grunt in response. Jousting was a violent, deadly sport. All who face and felt the charging lance knew of the dangers. There had been deaths, just as Val said, but as technology developed, safeguards were put into place. However, Val Ochoa glen’Lopez always found way around rules. To his own personal satisfaction and glory.