Trial at the Faire by Laurel Wanrow

Author:Laurel Wanrow [Wanrow, Laurel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781943469260
Publisher: Sprouting Star Press
Published: 2021-06-30T22:00:00+00:00

6

Upended Plans

Why did I let myself get drawn into this? Raven struggled to buckle the costume belt and scabbard over his own belt. A plan hit him. He reached under the red tunic, unbuckled his belt and strung it through the shield’s arm bands. He had to wear the shield, but not on his arm. He looped it across his chest, letting the shield hang on his back. A minute later, he wore the scabbard and sheathed plastic sword at his side.

One small, foot-square rag had fallen out of Raven’s canvas bag when he’d upended it. He snatched it up and ran for the pile of weapons. Several others were there already, working one-handed and blocking others with their shielded arm as they wiped vigorously at weapon handles. He frowned. Eight pieces. Would they be all different?

Another kid ran up beside him, paused to scan the pile, then bungled his way into it, scattering the long pieces with kicking feet. “My jeans don’t have to stay clean!” the boy crowed as he reached—and slipped. He landed with a thud on his rear on the flour-and-water-slicked ground.

A real squire ran over to give him a telling off about safety, and Raven moved several yards around the pile, only to come face-to-face with Salm.

He held dirty weapons in each hand, the shield on his arm like the others. His face lit with recognition upon seeing Raven, but the quip Salm must have had ready froze as his gaze landed on Raven’s back and the shield there. “Ahoy, mate! Well done!”

Salm was complimenting him? “Thanks,” Raven said automatically as Salm rushed off.

He reached into the pile and picked out a realistic-looking but lightweight mace, a sword, a lance and a dagger. That was four. No one had said he had to clean them here. He held two of the hay-flecked and oozy white weapons in each hand, gingerly away from his tunic, and minced out of the mud.

“Hey, that’s mine!” A lass in a green tunic blocked his way, pointing to the mace.

Raven froze. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t get in an argument with a human. “I, uh, got it fairly,” he muttered as he edged sideways.

“That one’s green, you ken? It’s mine.” She slapped her belly—no, she meant the green tunic she wore.

Oh right, the mace handle was green. They were supposed to collect weapons only in their own color. He’d forgotten that among the other rules. Blast it. Were any of these red? He dropped the weapons between them. The lass grabbed her mace and swiped her flour-doughy fingers over others to expose their colors. An especially floured handle was red, so he grabbed it back.

She pivoted toward the pile, and he followed, carrying a dagger. No point in returning to his banner empty-handed. He searched among the weapons for the handles and swiped at the ones that weren’t already clear of goo.

“Raven!”

His head popped up at Gran’s shout filtering through the crowd’s cheers. He found her at the rope, waving with Willow and Oyster.

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