The Stolen Kingdom

Brianna stood in the kitchen preparing beef stew, Taylor’s favorite. She watched carefully as the fire lit the huge pot, stirring it slowly as she sprinkled in various herbs and spices. Surrounding her were numerous other favorites of Taylor’s: roast beef, clams, sweet potato with pineapples.

  She was rushing around like a madwoman. It was Taylor James’s sixteenth birthday, and in a half an hour all of the guests would begin to arrive, and so everything had to be perfect, from the wine to the cake, from the clams to the hams; Brianna wasn’t missing a note.

  “Tibbie!” she yelled.

  “Yeah?” came the answer from the back room.

  “Go find your son!”

  “I’m sure he’ll be home soon,” Tibbie pleaded. “And plus, I’m tired. I worked ten hours today.”

  “Oh, woe is you!” Brianna cracked.

  …………………………………………..

  Nearby, another pot boiled. It was the pot of Aunt Soothie, and both her and Taylor were staring down into it intensely.

  The old woman threw in some cinnamon and began to inhale the steam, her eyes shut tight as she collected her thoughts.

  “Ahh, just as I suspected,” she remarked.

  “What?” Taylor asked, careful not to take her too seriously. “What is it?”

  “I see things in your future,” Soothie told him.

  “Like what?”

  “You are meant for more,” she said.

  “Is that so?” he said, putting her on.

  “Yeeeeesssss,” she hissed, “it issss.” She opened her eyes. “Don’t underestimate me, Taylor…I speak the truth.”

  Taylor shrugged.

  “Come on, Aunt Soothie. We’re gonna be late.”

  “You go ahead,” she said. “I’m gonna stay here and say a blessing for you.”

  “Your choice.” He walked over to the door and pulled it open, then paused a moment and looked back. Soothie had closed her eyes again and was making funny noises with her nose. “I guess I’ll see you there, Aunt Soothie.” She said not a word. He shook his head and walked out.

  …………………………………………..

  Brianna peeked her head as the sound of horses’ hooves approached the Cooper house. She put down the pudding and walked curiously to the door. When she opened it, she was surprised to see her son riding up the hill on a large, brown horse, the finest she had ever seen. It was strong and dark, its skin pure and unblemished, with a long, muscular neck and firm protruding calves. Taylor hopped off and began tying him to the post.

  “Hello,” he said.

  Brianna folded her arms across her chest.

  “Taylor…Where did you get that?”

  “It’s a present,” he said, “from the Duke of Roth.” He patted his side. “He said he’s one of the finest horses in the kingdom.” Taylor’s eyes gleamed over with pride. “His name’s Courage.”

  “Hmf.”

  “Do ya like’m?”

  “Yeah,” Brianna lied, “he’s great.” Her eyes sauntered to the ground. “I hope you were polite and invited the duke to dinner.”

  “Him and Robert will be here later.”

  Brianna stared out at her son, smiling broadly.

  “Sixteen already,” she said. “And so beautiful. Come here so I can touch your face.”

  He obliged, leaning his head into her shoulder as she rubbed his forehead affectionately. Brianna took his face in her hands and kissed it. His features were just as bold and beautiful as they had always been, except by now they had become even more handsome, more mature. He smiled at her.

  “That’s my boy,” she said.

  “What’s this?” Tibbie asked, stepping out of the house in his usual brown pants and multi-stained shirt. His smile and demeanor was the same, but by now his hair had begun to gray and the bulge of his belly had increased. He approached the horse and patted its head.

  “It’s a horse,” Taylor joked.

  “Seems so,” Tibbie said. “Where’d ya get’m?”

  “Sir Roth gave him to me.”

  Tibbie nodded. “That was nice of him.” His voice trailed off. If only he had been born a duke.

  “Come on inside,” Brianna said. “Everyone should be here soon.”

  They left Courage to ponder his new surroundings and stepped back into the house.

  “Who’s coming?” Taylor asked his mother.

  “Just the Stockwells and Aunt Soothie,” she answered.

  “Is Rosemarie coming?” he asked.

  “You wouldn’t have a happy birthday without her,” she said.

  Tibbie walked into the back room laughing as Taylor followed his mother to the pot.

  “What does that mean?” he asked. “Are you implying that I actually would wanna be in the company of that…that…”

  She patted his arm. “Right. That. A smart one, you are.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “I think not.”

  “For your information, I find her immature and annoying.”

  “Well, then I can ask her not to come.”

  Taylor hesitated. His lips quivered.

  “Well…no. That’s not necessary.” Brianna looked over at him. “I mean, that would be rude to Mr. and Mrs. Stockwell, and you know I wouldn’t wanna do that to them.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said, bustling about. “Whatever.”

  “…Like her…” Taylor repeated to himself. “Hmf! I can’t even stand her.”

  “Oh, don’t say that. She does like you, ya know?”

  …………………………………………..

  “I hate him!” Rosemarie screamed. “I hate’m! I hate’m! I hate’m!…And I’m not going.”

  “Ohhh, don’t be so foolish,” Mrs. Stockwell said. “He’s a fine boy – and good-looking, too.” She glanced up from the cake that she was decorating and clicked her eyebrows. “I’d go for’m.”

  “He’s always mean to me!” Rosemarie cried.

  “Well,” Mrs. Stockwell said, “maybe that’s because of how you act toward him.”

  “I’ve never done anything t’him.” She crossed her arms and turned the other way.

  “Is that so?” Mrs. Stockwell asked. “What about the time you stepped on his foot and spit in his face.”

  Rosemarie spun round in dismay.

  “That was because he called me a witch!”

  “And doing what you did proved him wrong?”

  She huffed.

  “Why do I hafta go?”

  “Because,” her mother answered, “it would be rude not to.”

  “Well, I’m not going to be pleased about it.”

  “Rosemarie,” her mother said, “listen to me. You’re looking more and more like a woman each day. Now it’s time to start acting like one.”

  …………………………………………..

  “Look who’s here!” Brianna shouted, waving for the Stockwells to come in.

  One by one they embraced her as they entered, with Mrs. Stockwell handing Brianna the cake that she had been decorating. Taylor, meanwhile, sat immobile by the table, very much afraid to move.

  Brianna took the cake and brought it into the kitchen, giving the Stockwells a chance to address the nervous Taylor.

  “Hello, Taylor James,” Mrs. Stockwell said, leaning over to kiss his cheek, “happy birthday.”

  “Happy birthday, boy,” Mr. Stockwell said, firmly gripping his hand.

  James put his hands on Taylor’s shoulders. “Happy birthday,” he said. “Now you’re only seven years younger than me.”

  Taylor gazed at him. “Thank you,” he said after a moment.

  Poor Rosemarie, shy and afraid, remained motionless in the background. Both her and Taylor knew what had to happen next and both were greatly embarrassed. For a moment, neither moved, until finally Mrs. Stockwell stepped subtly over and gave her daughter a strong nudge in the back, sending her faltering in Taylor’s direction, and nearly causing her to fall flat on her face. Bu
t somehow she managed to recover herself, and lift herself up astutely in front of him. And when she did…something happened.

  It had been clear to both sets of parents why the two had constantly fought and played tricks on each other; now it became apparent to both children as well.

  When Taylor James looked up into Rosemarie’s eyes he saw in them something that he had never seen before – he saw in them something that at the very same moment she saw in his eyes; he saw love. And in that one instant, all and nothing seemed to make sense at the very same time. His head spun in a million different directions, and yet it was only one thing that captivated his mind. Suddenly he felt something for every little piece of her body; from her powerful, beautiful hazel eyes to her long, shiny blond hair. She was angelic.

  For a moment, everything was quiet, until finally, Rosemarie, mustering all of her strength, managed to mutter, “H-H-Happy…ah…happy birthday, T-T-Taylor.”

  “Th…Th…Thank you,” he replied.

  She stood there gazing at him, neither possessing the will to move, both locked into something which they somehow couldn’t control.

  “Why don’t we all sit down?” Brianna interrupted. The two looked off in separate directions. Each was hoping that nobody had noticed. “Tibbie!” Brianna called. “Get on out here!”

  “I’m comin’, I’m comin’!”

  Brianna looked around and saw everyone standing.

  “What’s’a matter?” she asked. “Something wrong?”

  “No,” Mrs. Stockwell answered. “Something’s right.”

  …………………………………………..

  Funny, but the next day Taylor was by the Stockwell house. His mother needed eggs, he claimed, and why should he make his poor mother make the long, arduous trip herself when he could easily make it for her? Of course, he made certain to go and say hello to Rosemarie while he was there – not for any particular reason, have you, but just to be polite was all. I mean, he wouldn’t want anyone to think that he was rude, now, would he?

  And then, of course, by yet another strange coincidence, the next day after that Rosemarie came early to the Cooper house, this time for bread. “Why make mother make the long trip herself when I can do it?” she claimed. And, “Coincidentally, is Taylor at home? - I was just going to say hello.”

  For days on end this continued. “Coincidentally,” Mrs. Stockwell and Brianna both seemed to run out of something each day that either Taylor or Rosemarie would have to go and retrieve for them. And, while they were there, they would of course make certain to be polite and say hello to one another. Of course.

  And then, of course, there were those times that they would stop by each other’s house just to say hello, or because they were just “passing through” or were “in the area.” And they didn’t want to be rude, of course. No; that wouldn’t be right.

  …………………………………………..

  When Sir Roth heard about these happenings one night at dinner from Robert, he felt himself compelled to get involved. Sir Roth admired Taylor; he looked at him like he would another son, second only to Robert, and he was proud to see that the boy was quickly becoming a man.

  “Do you believe it’s true love?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know, father.”

  Sir Roth sat shaking his head. There was a gleam in his eye that rarely appeared these days. He smiled.

  “It sounds just like me and your mother,” he said.

  For a moment his eyes fell to the table. He could see her; that beautiful face, those strong, comforting eyes; and his smile faded.

  Their marriage had been an oddity, an aberration so to speak. Rare was it that dignitaries such as himself were able to find wives that they loved and who loved them back. But theirs had been true love; unbreakable love, even in death. He ran his hand over his face.

  “Tell our Taylor James,” he began, “that I would very much like it if he would invite young Rosemarie to next week’s tournament.”

  “What tournament?” Robert asked.

  “The one I’m about to create,” Sir Roth said. “We will host it ourselves.”

  Robert looked up from his soup.

  “Are you serious, Father?”

  “Yes,” the duke nodded. “Quite serious. Tell him also, in fact, that there will be a fencing competition in which he will participate. Now that I’ve taught you both about all that I can teach you in the matter, he should be able to impress her thoroughly with that alone. But just to be safe, there will also be an archery competition.”

  “But Father,” Robert noted, “I am a better swordsman than him. What if he loses?”

  “Losing to you in the final match would be nothing to be ashamed of,” Sir Roth noted. “I’m sure Rosemarie will still be thoroughly impressed.”

  …………………………………………..

  “Taylor,” Robert said as they were walking along the next day, “I have good news.” His voice was somewhat coarse and rusty beyond his years, and yet his eyes retained their youthful exuberance. He had watched his father deal with many different kinds of people, and had taken on his comforting locution.

  “Good news?” Taylor questioned.

  “Good news,” Robert repeated.

  “You’re committing yourself to an asylum?”

  “Possibly,” Robert laughed, “but no. The good news is that my father is planning a tournament in our honor. He has claimed to all around that we are his prodigies, and that we can best any man in the village. There will be a fencing and an archery competition, and he expects us to win them both.”

  “One for me, one for you,” Taylor said; for he was most certainly better with a bow and arrow.

  Robert stopped walking.

  “There is one condition,” he said.

  Taylor turned to him.

  “And what’s that?”

  Robert smirked.

  “You must invite Rosemarie to come as your guest.”

  Taylor’s eyebrows lifted.

  “Pardon?” he said.

  “You heard me.”

  “Rosemarie?”

  Robert nodded.

  “Stockwell?”

  Again he nodded.

  “Is there a reason for this?”

  “Other than my father’s nosiness and concern for you?…No.”

  Taylor looked out over the hill. “So you can tell…”

  “I’d be blind otherwise.”

  “But how? How should I…”

  “How is up to you,” Robert said, “but if you do not invite her within the next two days, I’ll have a tournament dedicated solely to me.”

  …………………………………………..

  “So, did you see Taylor today?” Mrs. Stockwell asked.

  “No,” Rosemarie replied innocently. “Why? Should I have?”

  Mrs. Stockwell looked up from what she was knitting.

  “Well, you have been making a point of it lately.”

  “I have not!” Rosemarie retorted. “Why would I make a point of seeing him? – that, that…”

  “Oh, come on, dearie,” Mrs. Stockwell said. “You’re going to be sixteen years old soon…It’s time to start acting mature.”

  “What makes you think I’m not acting mature?” Rosemarie asked.

  Mrs. Stockwell smiled at her.

  “You fancy him and I know it,” she said. “You can fool a lot of people, but you can’t fool your mother.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Rosemarie said. “I have no interest in seeing him whatsoever.”

  There was a knock at the door. Rosemarie jumped from her seat.

  “Maybe it’s him!” she cried. Her mother eyed her suspiciously and once again Rosemarie composed herself. “Not that it matters,” she said. “It could be anyone for all I care.” Again the knock came and quickly Rosemarie lunged for the door.

  When she flung it open, there was Taylor, rosy-red in embarrassment. For a moment both stood startled.


  “Ro…Ro…Rosemarie…” Taylor stuttered, “…it’s…it’s…it’s nice to see you.”

  She smiled.

  “Nice to see you too,” she said.

  He took a deep breath.

  “Ah, I was…I was just…ah…Would…ah…I was just…” (his mouth went dry; he felt beads of perspiration developing on his forehead) “I was just…Would…ah…I was just…” (his tongue was lost in an abyss) “Would you…Would you like to go to the tournament with me?”

  (Yes!)

  Rosemarie’s eyes lit up. There was something in her that truly wanted to burst out, but for some reason she just couldn’t find the words. She turned to her mother, who was busy nodding ferociously, then turned back to Taylor James with a wide grin plastered over her face.

  “Yes!” she cried. “I mean, I guess,” she said coyly, staring down at the floor, “if you want to.”

  “So it’s ‘Yes’?” Taylor asked.

  “Yes,” Rosemarie confirmed.

  Taylor couldn’t help but smile.

  “Then I guess I’ll see you then,” he said.

  “Then?” Rosemarie said. “Then when?”

  But it was too late. Taylor had already jumped on Courage and taken off over the hill.

  …………………………………………..

  Sir Roth was truly a very good planner. By the day of the tournament the entire town had been transformed into one momentous ball of excitement. Warriors, not only from Roth, but from various other surrounding towns and villages, too, had come to perform, as did numerous showmen and puppeteers. Vendors sold their goods to eager buyers. Children ran with chickens down the paper-littered streets. A tournament was always a cause for celebration.

  Yet there was one thing that Sir Roth had not counted on. Robert, always the adventure seeker, had been climbing a tree (as he was still wont to do) some three days before the tournament when he took a terrible spill. He survived without too much injury, but it did result in his arm being temporarily incapacitated. He wore a sling around it and would be unable to participate in the day’s contests. Robert was disappointed, but was also, to some degree, glad that he would not have to best Taylor in the fencing competition in front of Rosemarie.

  Sir Roth spent the first half of the day introducing Robert and Taylor to the nobles, each of whom received them warmly. “They are my prodigies,” Sir Roth would say. “I trained them both personally.” A very good teacher, the nobles would agree, cordially nodding and shaking his hands.

  “That’s a shame,” King Peter said upon hearing about Robert’s injury. “I was looking forward to seeing your father’s training on display.”

  “Well, it will be,” Sir Roth replied. He put his hand on top of Taylor James’s shoulder. “Your Highness, allow me to introduce to you Taylor James Cooper, Robert’s best friend and my pupil.”

  “Very pleased,” the King replied, extending his hand.

  Often kings are arrogant and insist that others bow to them. King Peter was not like that. He preferred to greet people as equals.

  “And may I say,” the King continued, “that you are fortunate to have been taught by one of the great masters of our time.”

  The two shook.

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Taylor said. “I am grateful.”

  “Good,” the King said, resting his hand on Taylor’s arm. “Then good luck to you. I’m confident that you’ll prove more than able.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  The King nodded and returned to his seat on the dais.

  Taylor took a deep breath.

  …………………………………………………………

  “Watch for me today.”

  “I will,” Rosemarie said.

  Taylor took her hand in his.

  “Come,” he said. “I’ll treat you to an arugula sandwich.”

  The two walked off, hand in hand.

  From a distance, Mrs. Stockwell watched through an ocular.

  “What’s going on?” Brianna asked.

  “They’re holdin’ hands.”

  “They’re holdin’ hands?”

  “Yes!” Mrs. Stockwell snapped. “Now, quiet! If they see us it’s all ruined.”

  Brianna held her tongue.

  …………………………………………………………………

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” a voice called out. “May I have your attention please? The archery competition is about to commence in the main square. Please find a seat.”

  The rules of this competition were simple. There were thirty-two players to start, each with two shots from thirty yards out. After the first round, the sixteen highest scorers, half of the original, would move up to the next round, forty yards out. After which, the next highest scoring half, eight players in all, would move up to the third round, fifty yards out. This would continue until there were only two players left, at which point the remaining two would be required to hit their target from the tremendous distance of seventy yards, a truly remarkable feat.

  Taylor breezed right through the first round, hitting a bulls-eye on each shot. In the second round, he shot only one bulls-eye, and one in the green, but it was still plenty enough to make it to the third round.

  By the third round, only the serious, or “expert” archers remained. These men were either soldiers or sporting marksmen, known for their accuracy. One of them Taylor had seen before at an archery show that Sir Roth had taken him and Robert to a few years back. Some of the others he had heard stories about, but it was only now that he realized truly how good they were.

  Taylor placed third out of the eight, strong enough to make it to the next round. There was just him and three others left, one of which was Barnum Beachel, the most celebrated marksman in all of Monastero.

  Taylor hit only the green on the first shot, but finished strong with a bulls-eye on the second. For a while he thought he might be the top scorer in that round, but then Beachel followed with two straight bulls-eyes. Taylor couldn’t help but marvel at his opponent’s accuracy.

  It was now down to only those two, and all in the crowd were trembling with excitement. The last round was done a little differently than those before: this time the players altered, fire one arrow at a time. If it was still tied, however, after the first two shots, each player was forced to move back another ten yards and fire one more arrow. This process would continue until a winner was chosen.

  Beachel went first. From seventy yards out, without even so much as a twitch, he fired a perfect bulls-eye. Taylor, not to be outdone, immediately followed with a bulls-eye of his own. But Beachel wasn’t impressed. Slowly taking his time, he stepped up to the new line, ten yards further back, pulled his arrow string, and fired yet another perfect bulls-eye, bowing to the crowd graciously as they responded with a loud round of applause.

  The pressure was all on Taylor now. He had to hit a bulls-eye or the competition was over. He took a deep breath and looked over at Rosemarie. She was smiling at him, wringing her hands. His eyes wandered off to Sir Roth, who sat between Robert and the King, motionless.

  Taylor stepped up to the line. His hands were shaking and his stomach was aching, but with another deep breath he put all that behind him. He set the arrow in the bow, then pulled it back before his eye. The crowd went silent as he held it there for a moment. Finally, he let it fly, and it seemed like forever before he heard the familiar “thwumpf!” of it striking the target.

  Bulls-eye! The crowd went wild.

  Barnum Beachel huffed. He raised his hand so as to quiet the crowd, then calmly stepped ten yards back to the new starting line. Without a sound, he set his arrow in its bow, raised it, and took aim. “Thwumpf!”

  This time it was not a bulls-eye but a green. A green from ninety yards out! The crowd, once again impressed, showed its approval with a round of applause. Beachel, however, somewhat disappointed in himself, simply bowed and stepped off.

  Up stepped Taylor James. W
ith poise uncharacteristic of his young age he gracefully set his arrow, pulled and held the bow, and took aim. All went quiet. Taylor could feel his hands begin to quiver. He looked over at Rosemarie once again, her eyes hopeful and intense. He tried to read her thoughts.

  Again he took aim, this time his hands sure and steady. With a mighty twang the arrow took off, suspended in air like a fish in water. It struck the target with an incredibly loud “thwumpf!,” sending the crowd into a tremendous uproar. For it was about as perfect a bulls-eye as one could fire, be it from ninety yards or nine. Taylor was the victor!

  …………………………………………..

  Next was the fencing competition. The main square was cleared from the previous event and each player was teamed against another. The same system was used for this competition as for the archery competition, with only those players who were victorious moving up to the next round.

  Taylor took out his first opponent rather easily, claiming victory after little more than a minute.

  With his second opponent, Taylor took advantage of the little-known Metzger maneuver, and soon he too had fallen.

  His third opponent, a soldier by profession, proved somewhat more formidable, matching Taylor move for move, until, finally, Taylor was able to fool him with the Torez combination.

  Next there was a fencing expert from Milhandro, whom Taylor had heard about from Robert. His name was Rimbovski, and he was known to be as deadly as he was ugly. Fortunately, the blunted swords meant that death played no factor in this match; for had it, Taylor would have been even more nervous than he already was.

  Had Rimbovski been even a shadow of his old self, Taylor would’ve been hard-pressed to match him. But by now the older man’s glory days were far behind him. He was still an expert, but at least a step slower than he had once been. His hair was gray, his muscles stretched. He pleased the crowd with a mostly toothless grin.

  As soon as they stepped into the circle, the elder swordsman came right at him with the Cholmney maneuver, to which Taylor responded by exercising Vladi’s Defensive. It was only a test, though, for Rimbovski to see exactly who it was he was dealing with. Now he knew.

  He went back at Taylor with the Borstein maneuver, then quickly followed it up with a move of his own creation that nearly caught Taylor off guard. Fortunately, Taylor was able to recover in time to counter-attack with the Armand Offensive, which Sir Roth had spent days teaching him. Rimbovski handled this rather easily, but what he didn’t know was that Taylor was only setting him up for what Sir Roth called his “Offensive Switch.” It consisted of a double step followed by a spin and hand switch. It was meant to be executed when your opponent was already off-balance, as was Rimbovski after the Armand Offensive. Before Rimbovski had even realized what it was that had happened, the match was already over, with Taylor once again the victor.

  This brought him to the final match.

  His final opponent this time was a large, brutish type with long, powerful limbs and a sword as quick as the devil. His name was Parmani, and the villagers knew him as one of the deadliest swords in the land. Looking into his eyes, Taylor felt fortunate that the match was only in sport, for, if nothing else, the man was most certainly intimidating.

  The two met in the main circle, directly in front of the dais. Each was called to the center and made to shake hands and bow, the grizzly Parmani using it as an excuse to spit out a large wad of saliva. He smiled up at Taylor with blackened teeth. “You’re not winnin’ this one,” he said with a derisive chuckle. “If ya want, I’ll do ya a favor n’ letchya run home t’yer mommy now n’ save yaself some embarrassment.”

  “I’ll pass,” Taylor replied. “And may I in turn offer you a bar of soap?”

  Parmani spit at the ground again. He pointed his finger.

  “This is gonna be fun,” he said.

  He turned and went to his side.

  Taylor looked down at his epee.

  “Psst! Taylor…” a voice hissed. It was Robert. He was standing off to the side under a tree just ten feet away. “Move around a lot,” he said, emphasizing his words with a nod of confidence.

  Taylor took a gulp.

  “Move around a lot,” he told himself. “Right.”

  He stepped to his corner.

  The referee called for silence and, in a moment, the entire crowd fell to a hush. All eyes were on them. For a few seconds, they stood staring at each other, and to Taylor it felt like an eternity. Finally, the referee stepped between them, his hands extended into a “T.” Taylor felt his adrenaline rushing; his heart was pounding so hard it seemed like it might rip straight through his chest. The referee stepped back. “Commence!” he yelled.

  In a flash Parmani was on him, striking down with his sword. Taylor jumped quickly to his left, evading the blow by a mere fraction, but quickly Parmani was on him again, this time using the Perchuba maneuver. Taylor countered with Alisand, then went in for the kill with the Offensive Switch. But Parmani wasn’t fooled. He met Taylor with the Miger Defensive, whisking his sword in a semi-circle and nearly causing Taylor to lose his own. Taylor stumbled and recovered, jolting out of the way of Parmani’s stab in the process.

  For a moment the two stood circling each other, exchanging glances. Parmani was smiling at him tauntingly, almost daring him to make a move. But Taylor wasn’t taking. He was waiting. Biding his time, playing on Parmani’s anxiousness.

  The crowd was growing louder now, cheering uproariously. Some were rooting for the old favorite, Parmani, but most by now had rallied around the underdog, young Taylor James. “Go get’m, Taylor!” “He’s nothin’ but a big oaf, Taylor!” “You can do it, lad!” Taylor, though, saw and heard nothing but the man standing before him, their eyes set like stones.

  Suddenly Parmani charged at Taylor’s chest. With agility unknown to him, Taylor smacked down on the stronger man’s epee with his own, sending Parmani hurtling off to the side. Not a split second went by before Parmani was on him again, this time utilizing the Hanson maneuver. By instinct alone Taylor countered with Karmon’s Return, and soon the two were clashing back and forth, each attacking and defending in his own right.

  Parmani was becoming frustrated and Taylor could feel it. He was trying moves that even a novice could defend against, hoping to use his tremendous strength to overpower his weaker opponent. But Taylor was not deterred. He defended himself almost casually, following each of Parmani’s assaults with an attack of his own.

  All the crowd could sense that the end was coming, for Parmani was waving his sword furiously now, with little or no strategy. Taylor stepped in closer with the Tchaban maneuver, and would have ended it all there had it not been for Parmani’s last second double-grip. He forced Taylor back with the strength of both hands. Taylor, unfazed, was preparing to surprise him with the Croasdale Offensive, when suddenly Parmani struck with Olmina, catching him completely off-guard. Taylor tried desperately to recover, but before he even knew what had happened, Parmani was striking down yet again. Taylor brought up his sword in just enough time to be knocked to the ground by the force of the blow. He turned away from one blow, but quickly Parmani was over him once more, trying to press his sword down for the victory. But Taylor was not quite ready to lose. From the ground, he knocked Parmani’s sword away from his chest, then knocked at it again when it came and rolled. Parmani, frustrated and annoyed, jumped down on the boy with his body, pressing his weight hard against him. The two swords met over Taylor’s face, Parmani’s bearing gradually down. The entire crowd had become dead silent, hoping for this boy who just wouldn’t give in.

  Suddenly, the sound of a single voice, soft, yet pleading, broke the air.

  “Taylor!” Rosemarie cried. “Taylor, my love!”

  It was out before she even knew she had said it, piercing through to Taylor’s ears and straight down into his heart.

  He felt a tidal wave rush from beneath him, and suddenly he was the strongest man on earth.

  With an incr
edible jolt, he forced Parmani’s sword into reverse, causing the butt to knock into the large man’s chin. Parmani stuttered and balked, then finally fell, slumping onto his back. Quickly Taylor drew himself up. Parmani was grabbing at his bloody mouth, still in a state of utter disbelief, when he realized that the boy he had just had in the grips of defeat was now rushing at him. Hastily, he pulled up his sword, but with one mighty swing Taylor had knocked it from his hands. Parmani’s eyes followed it to the ground and a moment later he felt the tip of Taylor’s epee sticking at his chest.

  “Match!” the referee yelled.

  The crowd let-out a mighty cheer.

  Parmani shook his head with a smile. “I suppose it’s me who’ll be runnin’ home t’mommy this time, eh?”

  Taylor tossed down the saber and extended his hand. The rugged man took it and lifted himself up. He raised Taylor’s hand with his and again the crowd cried-out, “Hooray for the boy! Hooray for Taylor James!”

  …………………………………………..

  The rest of the day was spent playing games, watching performances, and eating various kinds of delectable delights, much of which Taylor and Rosemarie enjoyed together. For the remainder of the day they stayed by each other’s side, as if their parting might cause the earth itself to shake and crack.

  And they weren’t the only ones, either. Brianna and Tara Stockwell also stayed close by each other’s sides, watching Taylor and Rosemarie’s every move from afar, sharing the scope that they had borrowed from James. And how pleased they were! They had been watching since the very beginning, from Taylor’s victory at the archery competition to the present, and at no point were they more excited than when they saw the two young lovebirds take hands and walk casually off together. Quickly they moved, following them away from the tournament grounds and down the hill, all the way to the Stockwell house.

  “Thank you for taking me,” Rosemarie said, as the two stared deeply into one another’s eyes. “I had a good time.”

  “You’re welcome,” Taylor managed to mutter, almost too awestruck to speak.

  The two stood gazing at one another and, for a moment, it almost seemed as if neither of them was ever going to move. Then, all at once, they leaned toward one another.

  “Oh, my God!” Brianna cried. “They’re gonna kiss!”

  “Lemme see!” Mrs. Stockwell said, grabbing the scope from Brianna’s hand.

  “Gimme that back!” Brianna snapped.

  “Let go!”

  “Gimme that!”

  Meanwhile the lips of Taylor James Cooper and Rosemarie Stockwell were mashed together forever.

  Chapter 9

  A Gift for Adventure