We Promise This Isn't a Tournament Arc

Adventurers stopping at the Bees’ Knees tavern always liked to share stories of their exploits. Quests completed, people to avoid partying with. But sooner or later, the conversation turned to the party trying to teach a peasant how to be a spellsword.

It was all a big joke to them. Of course peasants can’t learn magic, they’d joke.

They’re farmboys and horsegirls!

Their ears are too full of dirt to listen.

They’re a lower class! They don’t have the brains!

Everyone knew you had to attend a magic academy to learn to cast magic. For years, if you wanted to be a full fledged spellcaster certified by the Mages’ Guild. And someone thought to make a mockery of their years of work and more years of debt? Who was dumb enough to think they could do better?

----

Lavender stood over Robert with her training sword pointed at his throat.

“You cheated.” Robert was lying on his back on a thick sheet of ice, his axe having slid out of reach.

“So do spellswords.” She reached out her hand and pulled Robert back to his feet. The projection magic she’d used to freeze the muddy field evaporated in an instant. “How did I win?”

“‘Cause you cheated.”

“I won,” Lavender laughed, “because you were so focused on me that you didn’t pay attention to what was around you. Now, I only could do that because the field’s soaked. Someone good with yearning could create a whole field of ice when it’s bone dry.” She retrieved Robert’s axe and gave it back to him. “I’d ask if you want to keep going, but Hazel’s coming.”

Robert looked around and saw Hazel holding her magic staff. She was walking a hand’s length above the ground to avoid getting mud on her new set of emerald robes, courtesy of magic. “How did you know?”

“I saw her during our fight.”

Hazel was holding a piece of paper in her hand with a smile. “I just found a way to solve our money problems for the foreseeable future.” She handed it over to Lavender and Robert for them to read. “A bunch of nobles are holding a tournament. Everyone’s going in under flags of neutrality, which means it’s all hands on deck for Guild members to escort nobles for gold.”

“Escortin’ nobles?” Robert squinted at the quest Hazel had brought. “Is that worth a lot of gold?”

“Not on its own.” Hazel grinned. She pulled out a second sheet, this one double the size of the first and announcing the tournament. “The real money’s at the tournament. The prize pools for the main events are huge. One-on-one tournaments, mystery magic, a whole bunch of carnival type games…”

Lavender looked at the sheet two or three times over. The road to reuniting the Empire would be a long one. Gold would go a long way towards making it easier. Especially if they could win that event at the bottom –

“Only thing we won’t be able to do is the Princess Knight Melee."

Lavender pointed at that part of the sheet. “But that’s the one with the biggest pool!”

“It’s also the hardest one to qualify for,” stressed Hazel. “An eligible noblewoman has to sponsor your entry by giving you their flower. It’s practically courting behavior, and…” Hazel looked to Robert and herself. “None of us are exactly a noblewoman’s type.”

“We’re not?” Lavender blinked.

Hazel sighed. “No noblewoman’s going to throw away her flower on a peasant, no matter how strapping a young man he is.”

“What’s ‘strappin’’ mean?”

That got a polite cough out of Hazel who immediately dodged the question. “And Lavender, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re both women.”

Lavender blinked again. “And?”

“…Good joke.” Hazel laughed. “Now come on. I’ve lined us up with some nobles for the escort.”

But while Lavender understood none of them were going to get a noblewoman’s flower, she didn’t understand why her sister thought she’d made a joke.

----

Lavender saw that everything around the Bee’s Knees was busier than usual.

A number of carriages and carts had been parked around the tavern. The horses drawing them had been placed in the fenced pasture, grazing away and resting their legs. Inside, every member of the staff was running around like their hair was on fire. They were checking and double-checking that every table’s mugs were filled to the brim with ale and their plates covered in food. And even the food seemed of higher quality than usual.

It was enough to make Lavender’s head spin.

Hazel led her and Robert through the organized chaos and towards a booth on a corner of the building. As they approached, Lavender could hear bits and pieces of an argument.

“…really not necessary, you don’t think I’m enough?”

“…dangerous, and you need to stay in one piece of the tournament.”

“…woman, dad, I can handle myself just fine!”

Hazel stopped them in front of that booth. Sitting there already were a trio of catfolk.

Lavender had seen a few of them before. Mostly in the medical textbooks. They were close to human in appearance. Same height and weight, skin tones, basic systems of organs. The differences lied in presence of their feline features. Cat ears resting atop the head and a tail extending from the lower back, just above the tailbone. Both were covered with fur matching the color of their natural quote unquote “human” hair. They also had slit pupils and retractable claws in both the fingers and the toes.

A silver-haired man wearing a bright sapphire doublet and a red-haired woman with a pale green surcoat over her soft beige undergown were looking displeased with the third at the table.

The young catgirl was about Lavender’s age, with flowing black hair cascading down her back in a braided ponytail and a matching black rose stuck in that hair. She was wearing a set of leather armor over her chest and shoulders that hugged her curves with a purple linen tunic underneath. Tight stockings ran down her legs and into a pair of fine leather boots.

A flicker of recognition sparked in that catgirl’s eyes and Lavender wanted to die. The two had met. Briefly. When Lavender had grabbed her leg as she was dragged to the Guild’s desk the first time she’d come here.

Lavender would give anything not to be here right now. Or dead. She’d take being dead.

----

Lady Dora Sophia Fournet would give anything not to be here right now. Or dead. She’d take being dead.

Anytime there was a tournament with a Princess Knight Melee, her parents came knocking at her door. ‘We’re not getting any younger,’ her mother would say. ‘You swore an Oath,’ her father would demand. ‘You’ll have to be a proper Lady someday,’ both would tell her.

Not if she could help it.

She normally had something lined up by this point. There were a lot of plates Dora had to spin to make this work and she’d been too caught up in questing to do her research. But she was confident it would work out. The ‘Black Rose’ always found a way out of sticky situations.

Dora looked up at the people who were sliding in to join them at the table. Oh gods, her parents chose the party trying to teach the peasant magic. They must’ve wanted to spend their money at the tournament and not before. If they were going to cheap out, why couldn’t they listen to her and just rely on her instead?

Two of the three had a big smile on their face, while the one with purple hair looked like she was ready to melt into a puddle.

A catlike grin spread across her face. This ought to be fun.