Chapter: The tournament 2

Fadime almost strangled her boy for joy when Raffael brought him back to the women.
He kept his strange encounter with the Ucuriaten to himself for the time being. Jugglers were seldom good at talking to praios servants, as they usually met them with arrogance and rejection that bordered on hatred. As servants of the god of truth and decency, they stood in concrete contradiction to the servants of the Phex. In addition, they despised all forms of magic and witches in particular.
Raffael had no desire to end up at the stake and even less desire to worry with Fadime whether he could not have said a wrong word to the man who made him take a closer look at the troops under the magnifying glass .

After another two hours of crush and queuing at the gate of the arena, above which a mighty Rondra statue was emblazoned, the mighty broadsword in one hand and the large round shield in the other, they were finally allowed into the tournament grounds.The extensive area in front of the old residence, which also dominated Gareth's large tournament yard, had become a gigantic tent camp. Colorful coats of arms and pennants adorned the tent poles and entrances to the individual tents. Dozens of blacksmiths and squires, whose hammers and works echoed across the square, supplied weapons and horses that were housed apart in large stables.
The smell of molten metal, wood burned to ashes and the ubiquitous smell of the horses in their boxes mingled with the fine scent of exquisite perfumes, which were attached to the nobility, together with the seductive smells, freshly roasted meat and good wine, from the gigantic marquee in the middle of the site. Together they formed a fragrant mish-mash of strange and familiar.
However, the preparations did not seem to have been completed, as there was building and paving, hammering and wedging everywhere.
The seats in the large grandstand on the Tjosten area were covered with velvet cushions.From here, the imperial regent and court, as well as the most important representatives of the empire would watch the spectacle.
"Impressive," said Marie spellbound. She didn't seem to know where to look first and in what order so as not to miss anything. She took Raphael's hand and clung to it like a small child standing for the first time in the middle of a vast forest, overwhelmed by the size of the trees and their majestic grace.
The witcher grinned at the young woman and squeezed her hand.
"Don't worry, you won't get lost!"
Marie stared at the many new pictures for a short moment until the hidden subtleties reached her. She let go of Raphael's hand and glared at him.
"I'm not a lost child!" she snapped indignantly.
Raffael burst out laughing. Even if Marie was expecting a child by now, she wasn’t quite grown up. In some ways she had always remained sixteen."Don't be angry," Fadime intervened, "that's just his way. He likes to annoy you!"
She grinned at them a little crooked and added: "Come on, I've got us seats."
Raffael followed his sister to three seats. He wondered how she had organized it, because she hadn't had any money with her and he didn't really believe that she had bought it with kindness. But he could rack his brains about that later.
They were good seats. They allowed a view of the entire tournament area. The spectators around them went wild as the participants set up their coats of arms on the shield gallery. One next to the other in intimate peace and friendship. How false it was. After this tournament they would go back to their intrigues, their intrigues and plans.
Marie and Fadime, however, screeched enthusiastically. Fadime threw up her arms and waved to the various fighters and in her euphoria she apparently forgot everything around her.Raffael, however, took his nephew on his lap - just as a precaution - and tried to ignore the crowd as best he could. This wasn't his world. He watched, bored, as the fighters, including the Amazon, took up position in front of the large grandstand. To Raphael's amazement, a goblin also took part in the tournament. He too was dressed in the colors of Rondra, which did not exactly encourage the enthusiasm of the people. On the contrary. In addition to laughter and soft insults, many booed the roughly dwarf-sized creature with its overly long tusks, one of which had broken off.
Another curious participant, and with him the only one of his guild, was a tall Magus, with blond Thorwaler braids and a handsome, red-blond beard that reached almost to his chest. He stood with his arms on his sides in front of the stands and, quite inelegantly, bored his teeth with his fingernail.
In addition to these two tiny glimpses of light, Raffael watched the spectators running bored and yawned widely.Raphael's interest was only aroused when fanfare blasts rang across the grounds and the imperial family moved in with enthusiastic cheers. Emer was accompanied by their children Rohaja and Selindian Hal from Gareth. The fair-haired children of Guardian Brin smiled amiably at the crowd, just as etiquette dictated, but Raffael knew that at least Rohaja's heart beat for the fight and that she despised the corset of the aristocracy on death. The young woman with long, blond hair and heir to the throne of the empire was a strange mixture of Rondra and Rahja. Her name alone was made up of these two contradicting goddesses, and so was her character. It was rumored among the people that she was quarreling with her mother because she disapproved of her choice of spouse.
Raffael sighed deeply and for a moment his eyes closed. Then he was suddenly brought back from his twilight state by a strange feeling.He watched the crowd. And there he was. The dark-skinned man, the Ucuriat, whose presence had struck him as overwhelming. The rest of the audience seemed to fare no differently, for the shouts and screams ceased within a moment as he entered the courtyard behind the regent. Amid further fanfare blasts that specifically announced the presence of the Herald of the Empire, the black-eyed consecrated man climbed onto a small pedestal that was hurriedly carried over.
Some spectators muttered, frozen: "This is the Herald Griffin!"
Raphael's eyes widened as the people's words sagged. The griffin. The Herald of the Middle Kingdom and next to the Messenger of Light the highest praios servant there was! Nothing was known about this man, neither where he came from nor the place where he had received his ordination. But the miracles he performed were beyond the magnitude of the miracles the Messenger of Light could perform.
The witcher did not even dare to breathe when the little man on his dais lifted to speak and just stared forward.The griffin smiled at the crowd with his brilliant white teeth and turned to the participants:
“You are welcome, you fighters of steed, armor and glory, who have come to take part in the great spring tournament of the imperial city of Gareth!” The griffin looked into the crowd for a brief moment and smiled again. Raffael could see the glow in his night-black eyes and he believed that his gaze was aimed exclusively at him. For a moment he forgot the crowd, Fadime and Marie. He looked spellbound into this infinite black, in which he threatened to drown, but still felt more secure than it has been in a long time.
The man smiled again and turned his head back to the fighters.
"Bow down to the mistress of Turnei: Her Imperial Highness, Emer ni Bennain von Gareth!"
Raffael clung to the Ucuriat's lips as if enchanted, unable to move even the tiniest instep. His heart was beating up to his neck and nothing on Dere would have been able to tear him away from him at that moment.It was only the clapping and screaming of the audience that brought him back to reality as the little man of less than sixty feet stepped off his raised platform.
A majestic middle-aged woman with waist-length blonde hair wearing a high crown had stepped before the crowd. The purple cloak of the throne waved slightly in the wind around her shoulders. The ornate red dress made of velvet fabric enveloped the well-trained stature and hugged her body completely. Besides her daughter, she had also been a great warrior herself, not least her fight for the corpse of her husband against the undead dragon of Warunk.
Razzazor, servant of the master of the Yak Khai and creator of the endless army worm, had come through the troll gate less than a year ago to get the body of Brin to lead his army of the undead. Emer had come to meet him, drove him away with Rondrasil Löwenbrand and some consecrated people, and hunted him as far as the troll gate.There she had thrown a challenge to the undead skull, that she would burst his carbuncle if he only flew over her land once more.
Now the regent looked proudly at the row of fighters and her clear voice carried through the arena:
"The essence of a quarrel is the fight!"
Raffael believed she was looking directly at each and every one of those present.
"You are all great fighters. Fighters who fought for the fame, honor and dignity of the empire. Soon you will fight again, in a barony, a fortress, a temple or on a rough mountain pass." She raised her hand and clenched it to a fist. "But today we don't think about the past or the future. Today you are only fighting for one thing, my knights ..." She paused, smiled and gave her voice an even stronger and louder tone. "Today you fight for victory!"
The fighters and the spectators began to cheer.
Under the roar, the regent's voice reached Raphael."Today is a good day to fight! The tournament is on!"
Raffael watched the ensuing confusion. He had to grin against his will as the individual fighters stood up in front of the grandstand of the nobility and the men and women vied for the hearts of the ladies and gentlemen. Small fights were already beginning. Before the actual competition. Some of the fighters, who were not given a scented handkerchief or a