Tonight though, as Pete held the belt high above his head in the room that had been reserved for Kre, was no holiday and thus wasn’t the usual appointed date for the contest. No one cared though, not really. There had always been unofficial side-bouts and exhibition matches since the belt had first been offered as a prize. Usually it was to practice some new moves, or to stay in shape, or just to keep the body conditions for the physical abuse it would undergo. Despite the fact that it was a mock fight where real hits were banned, there were sometimes accidents.
Mostly, the majority of the aches and pains were the result of contact with the ground while taking a dive. If your opponent won the odds and evens game when you matched up, you had to play along with whatever they had in mind, even if it meant throwing yourself to the ground in apparent agony. If you lost the odds and evens game three times in a row, you were out and had to fake a grievous injury or unconsciousness. Since a second prize was generally given to the person to faked the most amusing or realistic injury. It had been introduced some years back as a joke prize that eventually became a highly sought after honor. Kre had won the belt a few times, but had never managed to win the Golden Crutches.
Much as he longed to etch his name into the crutches, Kre was focused on the belt as tonight’s prize. Part of him thought that if he could win it, he could strut into the Citadel wearing it and be seen as an equal. The more sensible part of his mind kept telling him that the belt was nothing more than a showman’s prop. Still, Kre was a dreamer and his mind filled with the image of the Citadel’s Chief Instructor accepting the belt back humbly and then taking the time to tell Kre that the belt, and the position of Chief Instructor, had once belonged to a Ser Terync Sandiscoot.
“Kre,” Pete called out again, obviously agitated. “Are you coming? We’re doing this for you, you know.”
Pete was the only one still upstairs with Kre and the daydreaming boy could hear the others stomping down the stairs. “Yeah, sorry. I’m coming!”
Outside, the group of six wound their way to the grassy area behind the market. It was fairly secluded there, so any noise they made wouldn’t disturb anyone else. As they neared the chosen spot, Kre caught sight of Syonette standing next to a crate with some long poles sticking out of it.
“Yes,” smiled Pete. “You brought them!”
Sy just shook her head. “Yeah, though I have no idea why you need this stuff.”
Pete grinned and responded with a single word, “Showmanship.”
After a few minutes, the others caught on. Pete took strips of cloth from the crate and wrapped them around one end of each pole. He then dunked the swabbed end of the pole in a pot of thick black mass before stabbing the pole into the ground. He formed a roughly circular shape with the newly made torches and then lit them one by one. The effect was spectacular.
“I think we’ll need to do this during the next official fight,” Landar laughed. “Though I won’t be there to see it. I’ll be just starting my journeyman period, traveling from town to town, documenting the history and validating official records. In a way, I’m glad that we have the chance to do this tonight! It’s almost like you guys planned this for when I would be back in town.”
Rubbing at her temples, Sy took in a few calming breaths. “It’s not for you dodo-head. No one knew you would be around. We’re doing this for Kre.”
“Well, of course I know that.” Landar grinned lopsidedly to Syonette. “But still, you have to admit that my timing was pretty perfect.”
“That’s it,” she muttered, “I’ve got Landar first!”