The Summer Harvest Festival was on the third week of September, and Holly absolutely adored it every year. It was like a mix of farmer's market, school science fair, petting zoo, renaissance fair, and highland games all rolled into one. Just inside the fairgrounds, a pair of street performers were juggling red, white, and green balls. Up on a stage a little ways back, local actors were performing some Shakespeare play. Booths along the crowded thoroughfares offered games, pottery, jewelry, clothing, and paintings. Almost everyone wore normal clothes, but a good handful walked around in kilts or pirate stuff, with fat pants and fat dresses with slashed sleeves. Quite a few of them had fake swords and shields strapped to their backs. One particularly rotund man with a huge handlebar mustache had painted his body green and wore tusks and plugs. Thousands of people came from all over the BC and the states, from Washington and Oregon and even a few from California or further. The Harvest Festival lasted for a week, with "medieval sports" on the first couple days, plays every night in the amphitheater, animal shows and cooking competitions halfway through the week, and it ended with some fireworks and a huge music festival.
Holly was everywhere at once, jabbering at Ben about how adorable the rabbits were one moment, squealing over a silver necklace the next, and demanding a piggy-back ride from Mark before she was done squealing. Although she was already 16, only a year younger than the boys, she felt it was her eternal privilege to be carried like the princess she was. A moment later, teetering on Mark's shoulders, she waved excitedly for them to head up one street, exclaiming, "They're doing jousting guys! Guys, jousting! Mark, Ben! With real horses and everything!"
Ben and Mark rolled their eyes and wandered over, pretending they didn't care, but as soon as they heard the crash of armor and saw the horses they forgot to be cool and ran up, Holly bouncing up and down.
Two "knights" faced each other in heavily padded armor, one in red and the other in white. The horses barding was also color coded, and the long boffer lances were wrapped with red or white streamers. There was the sound of a trumpet blast, and they wheeled around and charged each other full tilt. A tremendous crash later, and the white knight was on the ground, his horse prancing nervously next to him. A couple of paramedics rushed the field, but he was already getting up and limping to the sideline.
They watched a couple more rounds, until Ben noticed the time. "Mark, Holly, we need to get going. They'll be expecting us." Holly had signed herself and her brothers up to help with the livestock auctions. It got them out of classes before lunch Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, and people who were participating in the Festival got in for half price, but Ben wasn't exactly thrilled to be cleaning out cow crap and chicken turds. Still, it was only for a couple hours, and then they could go back to checking out the fair.
They were making their way towards the animal barns when Mark noticed one particular stall. An enormous sign pronounced Hand-Forged Arms and Armor, and inside the shadowed booth swords, halberds, shields, daggers, breastplates, chain mail, morning stars, gauntlets, and other things glinted. Despite the clear awesome radiating from the booth like a palpable aura, their didn't seem to be anyone inside, other than the proprietor, who sat smoking in one corner.
"Let's check this out real quick," he said, ducking inside before Ben could object, but he didn't really hear any complaints.
This shop was amazing. Instead of regular canvas, the walls and roof of the tent seemed to be made of dyed leather. In authentic leather scabbards, finely balanced daggers slid easily from their sheathes, the greased metal etched with runes. In the front a couple of the regular fan-boy pieces rested like always, Lord of the Rings duplicates and Klingon weapons, with a few blatantly unrealistic fantasy pieces, but farther back, the arms and armor looked deadly serious.
"See anything you like?" A gravelly, German-accented voice startled them. For a moment, Holly had forgotten that they weren't alone.
The stall owner was enormous, almost as tall as Ben or Mark. He was twice as wide as either of them, and a bristly black beard and swarthy complexion highlighted the deep lines cragging his face. His head was completely bald and shone in the darkness, and on one bared bicep a great apple tree with golden apples in it's branches seemed to shiver.
"Wulfric Idunslav at your service." He lumbered to his feet and stuck out his hand.
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