Chapter 6: The Swordmaster and The Iron Gate

13 September 1974, nearly noon, Minneapolis

WAYNE AWOKE SLOWLY, careful not to disturb his slumbering lover. He needn’t have worried. Judith was silently weeping against his chest. She had been out prowling the neighborhood until nearly five o’clock after checking to see that Serepte got home from her impromptu date. Lissa reassured her that everything was fine, but Judith could not shake the cold chill that told her they were exposed and Serepte was at risk.

Exhausted, she had fallen asleep on Wayne, letting her tears of frustration fall on his bare chest.

“Hey, baby,” he whispered as he stroked her short blonde hair. “Come tell me what has you upset. You crept into bed just before sunrise.”

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she sniffed.

“No such thing. You know I didn’t settle down until she was home safe. If Lissa hadn’t called from the restaurant, I’d have been out prowling around, too.”

“We’re quite the pair of surrogate parents, aren’t we?” Judith asked, her soft English accent spreading across him like a warm blanket.

Judith shook the tears from her eyes and crawled on top of her long-time boyfriend, planting kisses all over his face before finally landing on his lips. As their mouths opened and tongues sought the passion of each other, their naked bodies seemed to be of one mind. Neither ever wore bedclothes, nor did most of the women in the duplex. They were all intimately familiar and Judith could have chosen any of the other five to join in bed for comfort. But five years ago, as a foreign student at a small Indiana college, she had met and accidentally fallen in love with this unpredictable theater tech.

Their relationship had always been volatile, a strange mixture of passion and ritual, but when they came together like this, it was a crashing of the surf on the shore. One could not exist without the other. He soon found her entrance with his prick and slid easily home. The increasing heartrates of the two lovers presaged a violent climax.

“Protect us, Unbound,” Judith whispered. Wayne instantly called from within himself a warded circle that closed in a dome of sparkling light around them. Judith began the rising keen of her orgasm while he felt the earthshaking tremors of his own. The noise they made would have been enough to wake the entire house had he not enclosed them in this protective dome. It was one of his best skills as a practitioner of the craft. Other than that—and the making of tools—nearly all the ritual and power of the small circle lay in the hands of his four priestesses, guarding and protecting their charge.

With their climax, stars and sparkles seemed to bounce and reflect from the dome around them and Wayne watched the patterns they made, trying as he caught his breath to catch their significance.

He did not release the wards as Judith struggled to regain her breath and composure, his pulsing cock still buried deeply in her grasping pussy. She kissed him passionately again and pulled back far enough that their eyes could meet without crossing. Tears were still wet on her cheeks.

“What is it, Swordmaster?” he whispered. “What has my warrior so upset?”

“Something about last night,” she said through her shaky breath. “Something in her playing breached the veil and the demon escaped.”

“What? The one supposedly sealed up with her father?” Wayne asked in disbelief. Judith nodded.

“I think ... I’m afraid ... Unbound, I may have to kill my father.”

Judith carried her anger and her fear with her outside town where a small group met in a field near Shakopee. The festival had ended the previous weekend, and a few cast members were out to ‘walk the grounds’ and make sure everything was buttoned up for the winter. More importantly, though, it was an opportunity for some of the more devoted role players to test their mettle against each other in less structured combat than the carefully staged fights of the festival.

For Judith, it was time to hone and sharpen skills that might be needed in actual combat soon.

Her second bid at the Olympic title in fencing had died early. Renewed competition among younger fencers had pushed her out of the running. By that time, though, the rigid rules of Olympic fencing had already begun to grate on her nerves. She trained to fight as if she were a knight of the middle ages that this festival celebrated.

Of course, her real blade, the one Wayne had given to her for Christmas nearly six years ago, was peace-tied in its scabbard. Unknown to the other actors, however, a wrist sheath concealed beneath her long sleeves could release a razor-sharp blade she could use to sever the peace-ties in seconds. But in this battle, she would be using a practice sword like the others. She smiled to think that her own Props Master had supplied the order for most of the decorative blades used at the festival.

Judith wore her favorite costume, that of the infamous Highwayman of Noyes’s poem, though she had no intent of being shot down on the highway by the king’s men. In this elaborate game of capture the flag, opposing armies could not be simply ‘tagged out’ but had to be defeated in combat. And no one paid attention to the fop with a long rapier as they held their broadswords and staves.

At her right hip hung a stage dagger, officially checked by the Sergeant at Arms and approved for use in the competition. The teams were selected and she was relegated a low post, intended for sacrifice early in the game. Most of the others wore some form of armor and thought little about her cape and rakish hat.

The teams were gathered at their opposing field positions where their flags were raised. The objective was to lower the opponent’s flag, preferably with as few injuries to one’s own side as possible. A trumpet sounded—in a reenactment like this, one could not simply blow a whistle—and the armies moved toward each other, ten to a side.

“Highwayman, flank left with the Musketeers. The rest, engage at the head and drive them toward the light swords,” commanded the actor who had taken charge of their team. It was obvious that he knew little of strategy. This was simply an exercise to play swordsman. The ‘musketeers’ on Judith’s right rolled their eyes and left her standing as they collapsed toward the center of the fray with swords swinging.

Judith’s first opposition was a man with a stave who swung in wild arcs. It was a stage prop that didn’t weigh enough to knock her out, but getting hit by it would still hurt and put her out of the competition. She slipped beneath his second wild swing and placed her dagger beneath his ribs. “Die!” she said. He dropped his staff.

“Dammit. This was supposed to be easy,” her opponent complained. He sat where he was, a dead body to be avoided by other combatants, and watched in disgust as Judith moved toward the next opponent. And so it went. Both sides had ‘casualties’ and no one really noticed when Judith lowered the flag. She had left a string of ‘bodies’ where only three other members of her team still stood with two other enemy fighters. When the trumpet blew, the five stopped swinging to look up.

“Where did she come from?” one of the guys asked. There was a string of ‘bodies’ sitting on the grass, including their last line defender.

“She’s a sneaky one. Probably followed behind someone better and stabbed him in the back at the last minute,” her supposed captain sneered.

“Now I’m going to take the other flag. The five of you can choose two more to resurrect and help you defend. That should even the odds.” There were a lot of catcalls and hollering to be chosen as the five remaining huddled and chose two others to join them.

“Really?” the Sergeant at Arms asked as he and the trumpeter came to the middle of the field. “She must be getting tired if she’s only allowing you seven to oppose her. Last time I saw her do this it was ten to one.”

“Wait! She’s done this before?” the captain said.

“She’s slumming to play with you guys,” the Sergeant laughed. The team stood about fifty feet down the field from Judith who had the high ground on the platform with the flagpole. “On the trumpet blast!” he yelled, and he and the trumpeter stepped back off the playing field. The trumpet played its charge and the battle was on.

Judith’s disadvantage this time was that they all knew she was the one and only enemy. There had been many distractions in the initial foray and she’d taken most of her opponents by surprise, except the one near the flag who had seen her coming as she cut a swath through his team. Seeing her coming hadn’t done him any good as he was way outmatched. Unfortunately, seven focused on her could simply overwhelm her by all rushing in together. Of course, none of them wanted to be the one or two sacrificed to bring her down, so their charge lacked the berserker mentality that would have been needed. She waited for them on the platform, using its height to rain down blows as they approached.

Her break came when the man on her left jumped up onto the platform. This was the opening she wanted, and she made short work of parrying his broadsword strokes. As light as the weapon was, he still had trouble controlling its arc and descent. With her rapier under his chin, she shouted out, “Die!” and in a surprise to the others climbing onto the platform, she pushed the defeated player with her foot and he stumbled back into his mates, knocking two over and bringing confusion to the others. Judith leapt off the stage, taking only enough time to ‘kill’ the flanking soldier as she raced by him, headed for the flag at the other end. The remaining five turned to run after her, and one stumbled onto her sword as she surprised them by reversing and passing through their ranks back to the stage. And then there were four.