The Tournament [A Non-Traditional Fantasy]

"That'll be twelve coppers." The stall attendant near-shouted, voice barely audible over the drum of the overbearing crowd. Picayune grimaced at the extortionate price for salted potato wedges but handed over his coins all the same. When he turned from the counter he was pushed aside by a wave of impatient customers. He bounced on his toe tips to scan the crowd but couldn't make out Belabor within the throng; the place he remembered her being now taken by a stranger.

Picayune waded through the mass of people in front of the arena vomitorium. Even so early in the morning, it was an endless surge of eager attendees; those chasing early seat registrations, last minute ticket purchases, or gathering lines for slightly less overpriced foods than found inside the arena. Picayune swam more than walked as he scanned the sea of flocking spectators for his companion.

At last, he eventually spotted her caught in the eddy of a human torrent surrounded by an engrossed knot of nobles. Belabor was safely ensconced within the center of the impromptu court, her audience captured with rapt attention as she animatedly declaimed her narrative. "He's always got his nose buried in some book or another—usually something so strange I can't even pronounce the title. One day it's ancient runes, the next it's alternative agricultural treatises… and somehow, it all ends up useful. I think that's why it just seems that he can do literally anything with magic. I swear, I've never met anyone who can take the most disparate scraps of knowledge and stitch them together into something brand new that no one's ever seen before. It's infuriating sometimes… but mostly, it's amazing."

Belabor lit upon him as he emerged from between two captivated listeners. "Oh, and speak of the devil. If it isn't my lovely Picay!" She slid over, wrapping him in a grand hug and gave him a peck on the cheek.

Still unsure what he had walked into, Picayune glanced back at the gathering. Every face was turned toward him, enthralled by his presence as if gazing upon a deity. The attention brought a disconcerting sensation. He had often been subject to praise, awe, and even bafflement by his knowledge or skill, but it had never been confounded into such hypnotized reverence before.

The crowd's stunned awe then shattered into a chaotic tide of voices. Pens were thrown into his rapidly ink-staining hands for autographs, academics quizzed him on his methodology, while questions about his confidence were shouted overtop a dozen other clamoring curiosities. A particularly brave child clambered over what Picayune hoped was their parent to ask how he got his 'superpowers'. A few far too old women draped off his side, his panicked eyes searching for Belabor but she was lost once more in the crowd. If this was what the Hero had to deal with all his life, Picayune was not jealous.

Strange gifts were thrown into his box of potato wedges, he was getting tugged in every direction, he barely made out what half the people were shouting, and then a hand shot out from the crowd, took him by the nape and dragged him under.

Belabor threw her shawl over his head and the two made their escape on hands and knees. Once they'd fully broken off from the fandom, Picayune went to hand back the shawl but Belabor stopped him, tightening it further around his head. "You should keep it. Any more recognition and we'll never make it to the arena."

The two shuffled into queue at the bottom of the vomitorium stairwell and Belabor released an exasperated snort, "That was utterly insane! I was just standing there waiting for you to get our food and passing the time by talking with some other people when I idly mentioned being here with you, and then, BAM! A swarm just blew up out of nowhere."

She laughed with disbelief. "Like Picay, you're legit famous now. And, like, not in the 'niche smart guy that all the professors like at the university' kind of way. You are legit full-on Hero of New Heirisson Conquest, Murugan Squad, legend of history type famous!"

Picayune couldn't help but share Belabor's wonder. Throughout the past month he had received the occasional eager guests that had discovered his involvement as a Tournament contestant, but it had never manifested with such fervor. This was a new experience for Picayune and he had a sneaking suspicion that he might need to accept that this would become his new normal. For better or worse, he was one of the big boys now.

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The line into the arena was ridiculous, and if walking up those precarious stairwells gave him anxiety when he was on his own, then climbing them with another hundred or so people was downright horrifying. The crowd was so dense they looked like a hovering mass getting raptured into the seemingly floating dome.

Belabor entwined her fingers around his, their shoulders pressed together in a feeble attempt to keep from separating and shy away from the unguarded edge of that precarious stairway. They moved what felt like one step a minute, baby-stepping their way into the winding arena hall. Once inside, the sea of people didn't relent, the traffic flow splitting into even more food stalls and more merchants; he thought he might have even seen a souvenir doll of himself for a second.

A sudden yank ripped him away "50/50 Lotto! Last chance. Only twen—" Belabor yanked him back.

"No thank you!" she clenched even tighter, both arms around his.

"Best Ice-Cream this side of Rain!"

" 2-for-1 Murugan crests!"

"Interested in last second eastbound seats?"

"No, Thank you!"

"Extra large popcorn!"

"No, Thank you!"

"Do you know where aisle J-42 is?"

"Liederkranz hats! Represent the Entente!"

"Charms guaranteed for your favourite win!" "No, thank you!" " Go! Go! Poetaster banners!"

"Someone stepped on my foot!"

"No Cutting! I was here first!"

"Whose fighting again?"

"Confetti bombs, one Copper!"

"You call that a banner? My grandmother could stitch better with her eyes closed!"

"No, Thank you!"

"Anyone have directions to the washroom?"

"No, ma'am"

anyoneseemywife?Howdidyouevenaffordthosetickets?Icantevenwait!theselinesarehuge!Wehavetohurryorwe'llmissthepreshow!Excusemecomingthrough!Anyonehavealight?Belabor!Mislay,Mislay,whereareyou?!Anyonewanttotradetickets?IthinkthatsourexitholdtightBela!Poetasterisgoingtowinthisfight,haveyouseentheirlastI.F.show?Howdoyouthinkpeopleevengetthatskilled?buyPoetasterbadgesnow!EggVotaryeggsforsale!IthinkIjustsawTHEPicayunepass!

NO, THANK YOU!!!

"Belabor here!"

The two practically leapt through a side archway, arena staff slamming the private doors shut behind them, blessing the two with silence. The overwhelming hum still reverberated across the soft wood, a stampede horde shaking the whole building.

The two teens clasped hands to knees, Picayune panting, Belabor barking frenzied laughter. "And you thought Professor Ream's lectures were bad!" That made Picayune chuff.

Belabor then gave her boyfriend a lookover. "Where'd the potatoes go?"

Picayune looked down to his empty hands. "...Damn it!"

Belabor giggled, Picayune then joined and the two's laughter encouraged the other until they broke into hysterics. "This is wild! We're supposed to be city kids. I feel like a first-year bumpkin entering Ersatz for the first time!"

Belabor jokingly tumbled on top of Picayune for support and the two walked deeper into the private quarters. As a contestant, Picayune and a plus one got access to segregated reserved seating. Given the crowds in the main hall, they were both very grateful.

Pushing open the doors into the arena proper, the two were introduced to a large belvedere. The elevated floor was boxed with a thick railing and ornate roof, the platform deep enough that from their entrance they couldn't see the battlegrounds. Their reserved area was covered in velvet, the carpet so immaculate Picayune felt wrong for wearing shoes, their seats so large they may as well have been couches. To the side a line of attentive staff awaited.

One was already approaching the duo. "Mr. Distingue and Ms. Impel, allow me to guide you to your seats."