Rand gave her a friendly wink. "All I'll ask is a little help around my place."
Kit found it hard to put on a convincing expression of joy. Working on a farm, even for one or two days, held no attraction for her. On the other hand, food and fresh clothing sure sounded good.
"Vocalion's only a half day's ride," Rand continued, unimpeded. "It's smaller than Eastport, but it has good shops and facilities, and you should be able to find a job to tide you over. You could probably walk there in a day, if you don't want to wait for me. On the other hand, I'm not such bad company for a few days.
Rand kept up such a steady stream of talk that Kit didn't have to say much in response. His virtual monologue gave the young woman a chance to think about what she would do next. Eastport was out of the question; she knew that the Silver Gar had been planning to put in there. That meant she may as well give this place-Vocalion, did he call it?-a try.
It turned out that Rand lived by himself-a widower-on an isolated farm. "My castle," he had proclaimed as they pulled up in front of a low-slung farmhouse built into the side of a hill. After three days there, Kit would have said it was anything but.
Sod covered the roof, which meant that dust sifted inside constantly, especially when Rand's goats climbed up there to do some grazing. The interior was dark, but Kit came to regard that as a half-blessing, for Rand wasn't too tidy a housekeeper.
Still, Rand kept a well-stocked larder. He was also generous with its contents, which included not only goat's milk and cheese, but all variety of meat and fruit in season. In addition to raising goats, Rand brewed a tasty mead in a shed near the barn. Its local popularity meant he could always barter for something he didn't care to raise on his own.
"I tell you what," he had said that first day, after watching her wolf down bread, cheese, an apple, and two helpings of cold mutton. "If you'll stay to help me get this latest batch of mead barreled, I'll send you on your way with a few coins. It'll only take three days. You don't want to go to Vocalion as a beggar."
Kit suspected what Rand really wanted was a listener for his chatter, but she had already made up her mind to stay there for a couple of days before heading on to Vocalion, so she agreed. She had learned to be a good listener, or at least how to appear to be a good listener, at Otik's.
In truth, the three days passed swiftly. Not only did Kitiara feel rested when it was time to leave, but Rand was more than generous with the handful of coins he counted over to her.
As soon as his newest batch of mead was barreled, the farmer prepared to take it-and Kitiara-to Vocalion.
"You're lucky," Rand told her over supper the night before they were to leave. "Tomorrow's the last day of the famous Vocalion Wooden Weapons Annual. Famous in these parts anyway," he chuckled. "Folks come from miles around to watch it and make bets."
"Wooden Weapons Annual?" Kit asked, amused.
"Only wooden weapons," said Rand, slurping some mead. "That way nobody dies. Well, hardly ever. Best man wins."
Kit was only half listening. What fun was a tournament without weapons? Sounded just like something dullards would think of.
"The tournament goes on for seven days. If you win the first day, you fight two matches the second, and so on for the other six days. One defeat and you're eliminated." He shook his head. "By the seventh day only the best fighter is left-usually this chap by the name of Camium. On the seventh day he has to fight six more fresh challengers, one at a time, before winning the prize. But he always does. Camium's been champion for eleven years straight."
"What's his secret?" Kit asked.
"No secret," said Rand. "Just a ruthless cuss. Best man going on twelve years."
"Why do you keep saying 'best man'?" Kit asked with an edge of irritation.
"Just a figure of speech," answered Rand, oblivious to her annoyance. "Although females are barred from the competition, of course. Fortunate for them too," he slurped some mead, "because Camium is no gentleman."
Kit's interest was piqued. "What's the prize?"
"Oh, didn't I mention," added Rand, "a bag of gold, guaranteed, plus one coin out of ten from the bets."
"And tomorrow's the seventh day, you say?" she asked, her eyebrows drawing together.
"Yep. You should go. Women ain't barred from betting."
It had taken them a lot longer to load the wagon than Kit had expected, for Rand was painstaking in his preparations. It was midmorning before they had departed the farm, and late afternoon before they caught sight of the town. Rand's massive chestnut farm horse strained against the harness, pulling the wagon to the top of a crest overlooking a turquoise bay. Kit caught her breath. She knew little of this part of Krynn, but she was surprised to discover such a scenic outpost.
Most of Vocalion's buildings appeared to be made out a uniform white stone that reflected light. On the landward side, a wall interrupted by guard towers and gates protected the town. Several ships bobbed in the pretty harbor.
As they drew closer, their wagon entered a line of carts and foot traffic headed toward Vocalion. Kit's fingers drummed impatiently against the wagon seat. "Here, I'll just jump out," Kitiara said suddenly, gathering up a sack that held her sword, a few extra clothes Rand had given her, and some food she had packed.
"Thanks for everything, Rand," Kit added.
Rand barely had time to register his surprise before she had fled down the road ahead of him. "Luck, Kitiara," the farmer called out.
After walking for several minutes, Kitiara entered the town proper and fell in behind two broad-shouldered fellows whom she judged to be members of the local guard because of the common insignia on their helmets and breastplates. The crowd parted somewhat for these two, and Kit was able to move swiftly in their wake.
Snippets of their conversation floated back to her.
"Have you heard? How's Camium doing today?" the stockier one asked. "The tournament must be nearly over."
"What's the suspense?" replied his companion. "Camium hasn't lost a match in years."
"What a fighter! Did you see the contest against the minotaur? Camium had the brute on his knees after thirty minutes, but the minotaur still wouldn't concede-you know what a proud race they are-so Camium had to club him senseless. After the beast was unconscious, there was no question as to the winner!"
The guards turned onto a side street, leaving Kit on her own. She was all the more determined to get to the tournament before it was over, if for nothing else than to have a glimpse of this Camium, whose reputation intrigued her. Posters for the Wooden Weapons Annual dotted the streets, pointing to the north end of town. Dodging around people, she raced in that direction.
The Vocalion coliseum was small but impressive, a circular, arcaded building that stood above the low-slung houses and drinking establishments that surrounded it. The outside was thronged with scores of people, all talking and laughing. But from inside, Kitiara could hear the roar of hundreds, shouting and cheering and swearing.
Kit pushed her way up to a betting stall.