Volume One: The Forest Knight Chapter 75: Trial by Combat (Part Three)

Second, it would utterly disappoint Miss Jessis. Whether he feared betraying the sincerity of his beloved or offending this future Lady Baroness, in any case, if Berion withdrew now, all the goodwill Miss Jessis felt toward him would certainly turn into doubled resentment. Third, and most worrying for Berion, was that his withdrawal would tarnish the honor of the entire Tucker family. In this era, family honor determined many things; Berion could not, under any circumstances, allow his family to be shamed.

Beyond these three reasons, Berion’s sudden withdrawal would also undermine the confidence of his followers, who had only just gathered around him with newfound loyalty. Some might even abandon him, for a lord who disregards honor and commitment is unworthy of loyalty.

Thinking thus, Berion resolutely interrupted Gamgee’s desperate persuasion, smiling as he clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Gamgee, my good brother, whatever happens, since I have come, I must enter the lists. No knight would shrink from a contest this way.

You need not worry about me. If the Fire God does not stand with me, you should go to Frondo in Lower Holy Lake County and inform my parents. Tell them that Berion Tucker did not disgrace the Tucker family. As for Norland Castle, it will be theirs to manage.”

With that, Berion took up his great helm, donned it, mounted his horse, and rode to the starting line, drawing up beside Sir Sorg.

At this moment, Prilly, who had been arrested on suspicion of heresy and witchcraft, was also brought into the arena. This maiden, barely past girlhood, was covered in filth and wore an expression of utter despair.

The monks from Youngwickshaw Cathedral, tasked with handling heresy, dragged Prilly out of the cage in the carriage, her wrists and ankles weighed down with heavy shackles, and hauled her onto the execution platform erected in the arena.

Prilly was tightly bound to a triangular wooden frame, beneath which was heaped dry brushwood and several earthen jars of oil for kindling. Should the knight representing Prilly in the trial by combat lose, the pile at her feet would be set alight at once, for the outcome of the duel was believed to represent the Fire God’s will.

After Prilly had been secured, a monk approached Count Gree and Bishop Youngwickshaw, bent to whisper a few words into the ear of the high-ranking clergyman in blue robes. The bishop then instructed Count Gree that the trial by combat could now commence.

On the continent of Viren, the Fire God was the sole creator deity; all other faiths were deemed heresy. Because this was a universal belief, the clergy wielded immense power, often rivaling secular authorities in influence—a situation not unlike that of medieval Europe in Berion’s former life.

The clergy were divided into four ranks: at the national level, the highest was the Archbishop, robed in costly purple; at the provincial level, the Bishop in expensive blue; at the county level, the Red-Father; and below that, the Grey-Father.

Today, Berion saw Bishop Youngwickshaw, a blue-robed bishop, while the frequent visitor to Norland Castle, the so-called missionary but actual drinker, Father Dunshire, was a Grey-Father.

After receiving the bishop’s signal, Count Gree rose and stepped to the dais. Looking over the assembly, he declared, “Today, we gather here for a trial by combat, inviting the great Fire God to judge whether this young woman, Prilly, is indeed a witch. Now, our bishop will introduce the participants in this trial by combat.”

When the count had seated himself, the blue-robed bishop, his hair half turned to white, strode energetically to the platform. He called out loudly, “Let the accuser, Sister Myra of Valon Bray Cathedral, enter!”

Once Myra had taken her place, the bishop began the inquiry: “Sister Myra, when did you discover that this girl named Prilly was a witch?”

“It was a night half a month ago. I awoke and saw Prilly sneaking out of her room. Curious, I followed and found her kneeling to the moon, muttering strange incantations.

After finishing this mysterious ritual, she returned to her room and slept, but I lay awake all night. As a servant of the Fire God, how could I tolerate heresy manifesting under my own roof?”

The next morning, I went to Lady Gree and summoned two guards. We searched Prilly’s chamber and found this abomination.”

As she spoke, Myra produced an ugly doll woven from straw, painted entirely black, with red eyes and white fangs—a grotesque figure that startled the onlookers. The crowd, frightened, quickly grew furious and began clamoring for Prilly’s immediate execution, to burn the suspected witch at once.

Hearing the crowd’s angry shouts, Sister Myra’s lips curled in a contemptuous smile, clearly visible to Berion. He could not help but feel deep loathing for this venomous old woman.

Berion understood that Prilly’s fate was tied to Miss Jessis’s affection for him. Sister Myra, sent by the Duchess, was determined to clear all obstacles—potential or otherwise—to Sir Charlie’s marriage to Jessis.

Now, with Jessis showing defiance and affection for a worthy knight, Sister Myra threatened her through her maid’s life, warning her to obey and, in a few years, marry Sir Charlie meekly.

Such was Myra’s plan. Once she learned that Jessis had sought out Sir Berion and persuaded Count Gree to hold a trial by combat, she enlisted Sir Sorg, three-time champion of the Northern Knights’ Tournament.

Hating Berion to the core for representing the accused witch in the trial, Sir Sorg agreed at once, but demanded that Myra persuade Count Gree to sanction a mounted joust, knowing well his strengths contrasted with Berion’s.

After entering the lists, Sir Sorg was delighted to see Berion arrive. Today, he would reclaim his honor and avenge his cousin, Sir Sack, by killing Berion.

The bishop, unable to guess everyone’s motives, waited for the crowd to quiet before asking Prilly, “Prilly, do you have anything to say regarding Sister Myra’s accusation?”

Exhausted by her ordeal, Prilly summoned her remaining strength to shout angrily, “That old spinster is lying! I never snuck out to kneel before the moon, and I know nothing of that vile doll—it must have been planted in my room to frame me!

Bishop, please do not be deceived by Myra! She is a malicious old woman who cannot bear to see my mistress have her own will. She seeks to punish me to threaten my lady into submission. My lord and lady, please do not be fooled by her!”

Prilly tried to say more, but a monk standing beside her stuffed a rag into her mouth, silencing her.

Opposite her, Myra’s face flushed deep red with fury at being publicly denounced as a “vicious old woman.”

The bishop, displeased that Prilly had insulted a fellow servant of the Fire God, nevertheless continued calmly, “Very well, I will now announce the champions for both sides in this trial by combat.

Representing the accuser, Sister Myra, is our Northern hero, three-time champion of the Northern Knights’ Tournament, and Lord of Waterside, Sir Sorg!”

The crowd erupted in cheers at the mention of Sir Sorg, who, as reigning champion, was a local celebrity. His name alone was enough to stir their passions. Sir Sorg, basking in the applause, saluted his admirers with vigor.

“And representing the accused, Lady-in-waiting Prilly, is Court Knight, Deputy Sheriff of the County, and Lord of Norland Castle, Sir Berion.” The bishop’s introduction of Berion was markedly less enthusiastic.

Upon hearing Berion’s name, the crowd first fell silent, then began to whisper among themselves. Only some had heard ballads of Berion’s duel with Sir Yellen. Fewer still knew he had wiped out the three main gangs south of the Kal River and performed heroically in the recapture of Maple Leaf Manor. Many, however, recalled Sir Sorg’s defeat at Berion’s hands in a sword contest.

Thus, the people of Youngwickshaw felt conflicted upon hearing Berion’s name. On one hand, he was the only one known to have beaten Sorg, making the prospect of their duel intriguing. On the other, they felt little warmth for a knight defending a witch. Deceived by Myra and her grotesque doll, they were now convinced Prilly was a witch, and so viewed her champion with suspicion.

The crowd’s attitude greatly pleased Sir Sorg, who felt he had already won a round before the duel began.

He turned toward Berion, whose face was hidden beneath his helm, and sneered audibly, making sure Berion heard the mockery.

Berion, however, paid him no mind. He had already devised a risky but potentially decisive strategy to defeat Sir Sorg in the coming contest.

Meanwhile, Prilly, who had despaired of survival, felt a surge of hope on hearing that Berion would champion her in the trial. She knew it must have been her mistress who sought Berion’s help.

Confident in Berion’s martial prowess, she believed her chances of survival were high. With tears in her eyes, Prilly silently prayed to the Fire God, begging for Sir Berion’s victory.

Three lives now hung in the balance, but to the bishop, it was merely an entertaining spectacle. After announcing the champions’ names, he declared the trial by combat officially begun, then returned to his seat to await the clash.

At the bishop’s command, Berion and Sir Sorg each wheeled their mounts and prepared to enter the lists.

As they passed one another, Sir Sorg muttered under his breath, “Sir Berion, if you kneel and beg for mercy—call me ‘dear father’—I might spare your life.”

Berion snorted in derision and replied, “Understood, my boy. I’ll be merciful—otherwise, your mother might never share my bed again, and that would truly sadden me.”

“Hmph!” Sir Sorg grunted angrily inside his helm. “Save your sharp tongue for the underworld!” With that, he spurred his horse forward at a gallop.