Even though the parting shot was largely nonsensical and no one else had heard it, somehow it was still humiliating, and Steven couldn't help but feel as if he'd lost a fight. A ridiculous fight, but a fight nonetheless.
As he crossed the bridge, he wondered how he might have handled the situation better. But how were you supposed to react when someone tried to Curse you? It was generally considered extremely rude when someone Cursed you. Having been Cursed before, but by someone much more powerful than the kingdom's new wizard seemed to be, Steven felt he had a personal grievance against anyone trying to put that spell on him.
Irritated and less sure than ever as to how he was supposed to win a kingball match with no knowledge of the sport, Steven all but blundered into someone coming up the path from town.
"You there!" cried the man, "Are you the knight of Freedonia?"
"Who are you?" Steven asked, trying not to show his annoyance.
"I am Sir Stabsalot. I've come on a journey from a far off land to prove that I am the greatest fighter of all time. The Knight of Freedonia, one..." he appeared to be checking a note he had on his person, "Captain Steven Westmoreland... is my next opponent."
"I am he, but-" before Steven could explain that he had better things to do than fight random strangers, Sir Stabsalot had drawn his sword and taken his first swing at Steven's head.
Realizing it was to be one of those days, Steven quickly stepped back out of the sword's range, and drew his own blade. Sir Stabsalot had put a lot of heft into that first strike, which caused him to really bury his sword in the ground when he missed Steven.
Grunting, Sir Stabsalot said, "Hang on a moment. I just need to... get... unstuck..."
More out of bemusement than anything, Steven acquiesced to the request, though truly neither the knight's code nor his own personal code of chivalry forbade taking out an assailant at the first opportunity. If someone was dumb enough to stick their sword into the ground, that was their own business. Steven usually had better things to do than waste his time granting second chances to fools in a duel. But it so happened that he wanted to blow off a little steam after that encounter with the wizard, and Sir Stabsalot had basically volunteered.
"Ah, here we go," Sir Stabsalot announced triumphantly, yanking his sword free of the ground, "Have at you!" and he charged with outrageous clumsiness towards Steven, as if he were mounted on a horse and carrying a lance, instead of on the ground with a sword.
Deftly, Steven stepped aside, taking the opportunity to clout Sir Stabsalot on the head with the hilt of his sword as his opponent trundled past him. Sir Stabsalot crumpled to the ground. Steven pivoted, and stood waiting to see if his opponent to be foolish enough to get up, as he had no wish to be literally stabbed in the back as he was walking away.
Sure enough, Sir Stabsalot was exactly that foolish. He got up, slowly and dizzily, and shuffled around until he faced Steven once more. Wildly, he raised his sword above his head and ran at Steven again, though he sort of zig-zagged on the way over. Stepping aside yet again, Steven caught the fellow by the arm as he flailed past, and threw him to the ground.
"You could always just surrender," Sir Stabsalot suggested, his voice slightly muffled because he was face down in the grass alongside the path.
"Sorry," Steven replied, "It's not in my nature."
"Oh. Well. It was worth a try," Sir Stabsalot said, slowly rolling over and getting to his feet.
Immediately, he threw himself at Steven again, but this time there was no need to dodge at all, for his aim was off and he went sailing through the air to Steven's right, tripped on the ground's incline, and knocked himself down while Steven looked on.
Variants of this theme played themselves out over the next several minutes, much longer than Steven had anticipated the fight going for. But finally Sir Stabsalot surrendered, and headed down to the docks, presumably to return home in shame.
After the fight, Steven pulled out the flat, gray whistle that Lord Spaulding had given him, and blew a simple tune into it. Within moments, from where Steven knew not, Firefly the Falcon came sailing in, screaming to announce his arrival and demand an arm perch to land on.
The huge gyrfalcon was mostly white, with a few black speckles on his tail and wings. Originally, Firefly had belonged to Lord Spaulding. Even now so fine a bird would be out of Steven's price range. But he had been given Firefly to care for, because Lord Spaulding asserted he had neither the time nor the will to manage two birds, and that he himself preferred his parrot, Birbsy, to Firefly.
Steven held up his arm and Firefly landed with surprising lightness for something so large. Steven opened the pouch on his belt where he kept bits of meat for Firefly, and gave the falcon a snack as reward for coming when called. He then gently stroked the great bird's soft feathers, whispering the command to go hunting as he did so. With a loud flapping of mighty wings, the creature took off and disappeared over the tops of the trees. Only after finding something to bring back would Firefly return.
There was no reason for Steven to wait for Firefly. It could be hours before Firefly came back, or he might not even come back until morning.
Thus, feeling much better about things, Steven continued on towards the Kingball Court.
The Kingball Court was built on a low mesa with several paths carved into its sides, onto which had been hammered a carefully constructed piece of flat, triangular stone. Each corner of the stone had odd markings and large, smooth rocks, and a lighted lamp post behind it. In the center was some sort of mysterious Icovellavna engraved on an otherwise perfectly smooth piece of circular stone laid atop the court itself. It looked like it was meant for sacrificing a goat on or something.
Steven could not even begin to guess what any of this was supposed to represent, or where players were supposed to stand or what they were to do. However, he found the court partially occupied. Guard Rupert, Steven's friend, had been trying to figure out the game with the help of Lord Spaulding's personal servant, Irving. They had apparently determined that a large ball and some enormous paddles were somehow involved, for each of them had one of the latter and they were trying to hit the former with them, without a great deal of success.
"Do you mind if I join you?" Steven inquired, though his status as knight gave him license to simply shove most people out of his way if he so desired.
"Captain Steven!" Irving exclaimed nervously.
They had not been formally introduced, but it seemed to Steven that Irving was perpetually a bundle of anxiety. He decided the best way to deal with this was to pretend not to notice.
"Sure," Rupert, much more relaxed with Steven, said, "Pick up a paddle from the pile over there and take a corner."
These instructions seemed simple enough, so Steven picked up a paddle which looked slightly less worn out than the rest, and went to a corner of the court.
"Okay, now what?" Steven asked.
"Now this!" Rupert replied, tossing the ball in the air and whacking it with a paddle.
Quick reflexes alone saved Steven, as he lifted his paddle like a shield to block the ball's trajectory. The ball bounced off the paddle and hit the ground with an incredibly loud thunk, as of a hunk of iron crashing against rock. It had felt a lot like a hunk of iron when Steven blocked it as well, heavy and unforgiving. He remembered Greta claiming to be involved in the sport's development, and decided that any game where you purposely fired potentially lethal projectiles at one another was a game which the Royal Adviser had to have been behind.
"Oh, too bad," Rupert said, not sounding a bit sympathetic, "That's a point for me."
"A point for you? For what? Trying to brain me?" Steven demanded.
"You chucked the ball into the ground. Bad luck, Steven. Now pick it up and hit it back," Rupert instructed.
Knowing himself to be much faster and stronger than Rupert, Steven could see no way for this to end well. Certainly it had not been his intention to come out here and murder his friend with a twenty pound ball of metal encased in a layer of canvas. Since the kingdom had no physician, any wound had the potential to be a mortal one, something Steven had found out the hard way after once nearly being beaten to death with potatoes.
"This seems... dangerous," Steven ventured.
"Oh, extremely!" Rupert answered excitedly, "Now hit it over here."
Shrugging, Steven obeyed. To his surprise, Rupert not only managed to block the ball, but to hit it back. This time Steven's reflexes did not save him, and he caught the ball full in the face. It knocked him flat, and for awhile he lay on the ground, staring at the black spots dancing in his vision and wondering why he wasn't unconscious. He was aware of Rupert and Irving unconcernedly continuing the game without him. Eventually, deciding he was inexplicably not dead, he got up.
Cautiously, Steven touched where the ball had hit him in the face. It definitely hurt.
"Ooh, that's going to leave a mark," said a slightly familiar voice.
Steven turned to find that the wizard was standing there, leaning a bit on her staff and evidently enjoying the show. He wondered how long she'd been there. Probably long enough to see him eat stone.
"What do you want?" he asked grumpily, not interested in being humiliated by her again.
"To apologize, first off," she replied.
Steven eyed her suspiciously, expecting her to laugh or try to Curse him again or something, but it seemed as if she were sincere.
"You see," she continued, "Cruelty is a trait of mine. I really don't like people, I find them insufferably annoying. And eventually all that anger just sort of... escapes. Since not many people visit The Tower, you were the first person I'd been able to vent on all day. I just couldn't help myself."
Steven wasn't sure he believed that trait business, as it sounded like a convenient excuse for being nasty to people. Besides, if it were really based in annoyance at people, why would the wizard need to vent if she hadn't seen anyone besides Steven that day? But it was beneath him to refuse a genuine apology.
"Yes, well... I can see how that would be a problem," he managed to say, "I'm Captain Steven."
"Oh, I already know who you are," she replied, "I did some scrying after you left and... well... your future doesn't look too bright without my help."
"I see," Steven said.
"So I came here to offer my aid in the upcoming tournament."
"Out of curiosity," Steven said, "Do you have a name?"
"Yes," she replied, "And, before you ask, no, I have no relation to the forest elves. Literally everyone I've met here has asked me that at least once. I'm from across the ocean."
"I... wasn't going to ask that," Steven said honestly, "You don't look like the forest elves."
"I wouldn't know," she said, "I haven't seen them."
"I have."
"So do you want my help or not?" she demanded.
"I prefer to know whose help I am receiving," Steven replied.
"My name is Amie. I am an Adept, if you know what that means, which I assume you do not."
"I don't," Steven admitted.
"Good," Amie said, "So do you want me to help or don't you?"
"Do you know how to play kingball?" Steven inquired.
"Heavens no!" Amie laughed, "But there is a spell for Endurance I could learn. Maybe with that you might stay on your feet long enough to learn how to win. But I don't want to waste my time learning a spell I'm not going to use, because time is a valuable thing."
"So I've heard," Steven sighed, then added, "Well, Lord Spaulding did command me to seek your aid in winning this tournament, and Freedonia's guardsmen could really use the fine armor and swords they make in Advorton."
"You want these idiots to be better armed?" Amie asked, waving her staff to indicate various nearby guards, "Because I shudder to think what they might do with the sharp objects they already have. I certainly don't want to see what will happen if they don't get tired after the first few strikes with a sword. Especially not before this backwards country gets a physician."
"Hey!" Rupert objected, but Steven held up a hand to stay him.
"I would appreciate it if you didn't insult my guards," Steven said in a low voice, "Or at least not to their faces."
"And I would appreciate it if you stopped ducking my spells," Amie retorted, "But as far as I can see the only thing you don't duck is a metal ball to the face."
Steven took a deep, calming breath, and tried to remind himself that he needed Adept Amie's help, and that she was cruel by nature, and that he would have to tolerate her as best he might.
He feared that might not be very well, all things considered.