Free Forest For The Trees (Book 3) by Damien Lake

the
man added, seeing Marik’s start of surprise, “it is that old.  Very old.  He
had it crafted to test the minds of those who would serve the Cerellas in his
stead.”
    The man reminisced for a moment longer before
continuing to the door.  In the hallway, he led Marik deeper still into the
heart of the Galemaran palace.  With every step, Marik felt his mind churning.
    There was no reason for the knight-marshal to have
told him that last, other than hoping to foster in the mercenary a deeper
appreciation for the history of the extraordinary model.  Yet the simple fact
of its origins unlocked connected knowledge in his mind, facts that had been
collected nearly at random as he’d parted his way through the tall-grown wheat
fields of life.
    The tri-annual tournament for the Arm of Galemar, both
a title declaring the bearer to be the strongest warrior in the kingdom and an
exquisite master sword, a weapon whose quality Marik had never seen before or
since.  In recent decades the tournament was little better than a lark.  A
pleasant diversion such as Summerdawn Festival or Wintereve.  The fact that it
renewed the position of the king’s most trusted servant was only the means by
which the winner was chosen.  Indeed, the Arm had not served in any of his
supposed roles since before the oldest man’s grandfather’s days of youth.
    It had not always been so.  Many times in the past,
the new Arms had needed to be as canny as Faustus Hueart had ever been,
protecting the Cerella family’s rule against rebellion and outside influence. 
Such victories against all odds had spawned any number of heroic ballads
familiar to Marik from his days spent in Puarri’s Tavern, listening to every
wandering minstrel who passed through Tattersfield.
    Last summer, when he had been charged with protecting
Hilliard Garroway during the largest tournament in known history, he had
learned a fair amount regarding the Arm and the process by which the new men in
that elite knighthood were chosen.  His instructors had been Landon, with his
interest in historical bits, Hilliard too, mostly from the youth’s fiery
passion to be the ultimate instrument of justice, as well as the endless
retellings of previous Arms to be found in every corner of Tourney Town. 
Landon had provided the most salient points currently whirling through his
mind.
    Since its inception, the tournament had undergone
changes.  In the beginning the participants were required to undergo trials
that challenged their minds as much as their bodies.  The trials that required
keener mental faculties had been dropped, which was one of the reasons Marik
considered the last several Arms a joke.  They were fair fighters and stunning
when resplendent in their polished armor, but as tacticians they would be hard
pressed to defeat a herd of goats in order to seize their grazing pastures.  He
knew with every fiber in his being that the current Arm would neverhave
managed to run the assault against the invaders without an officer whispering
instructions worked out previously into his ear.
    Faustus had been the one to create the tournament in
the first place.  He wanted to ensure that there would always be at least one
man the future Cerellan kings could rely upon if the available options looked
black.  Having forged the kingdom, he had a rooted interest in seeing that it
stayed in one piece.  This model of Thrae Valley, recreating a battle in which
he had faced forces three times greater in number than the swords under his
command, would make an adequate test.  The first Arm of Galemar had already
known that victory could be attained under those exact circumstances.  All that
remained was to see that the future candidates for his title were capable of
the same feat.
    Then…the long years of peace perverted his system into
a display of flash and showmanship rather than one of accomplishment and cold
calculation.
    Obviously the model, no longer used in the tournament,
still