Normality? No, I don't think I'm familiar with the concept

Tournament

It was the first time all three finalists in Jenvar's Tournament were all women. The first few rounds of the Tournament had been the usual mix of male and female warriors, but the Tournament's unique rules had caused more than the usual number of men to be eliminated this year. It didn't matter what your preferred weapon was, nor did it matter if you could ride or not. Each and every entrant was handed a new blunted weapon at the start of each round, and you had to ride while fighting. This was probably just as well, as Jenvar's position high in the mountains of Yalkat meant there was almost always snow covering the arena floor. This was a particularly cold winter, though, and the snow had hardly stopped falling, blanketing the arena in a several inches-deep carpet.

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A bit of ancient history here, just five weeks from when I'll be making a start on the next book.

Ancient History

The Syllikuns had made their stand at the top of a low ridge, just a few miles from their capital, and now only, city. They numbered only one full legion and its supporting cavalry and slingers, plus the remnants of the other legions that the Northern Alliance had defeated over the past two years, and several thousand conscripted refugees, peasants and farmers caught up in the wake of the Imperial retreat. Unfortunately, the surviving troops were now very good at fighting, and the Legio I Sylliku was the best the Empire had. However, after their year-long fighting advance, the Northern Alliance’s own troops were also very experienced.

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Something I thought up on the way back from rehearsal tonight

Midsummer

It was nearing midnight on midsummer’s night. In the great hall of the castle of the King of Langand, the traditional banquet was well under way. The air was smoky from the torches that burned at every pillar, and the great fire in the massive hearth behind the high table. A pair of guards flanked each door, sweating under the weight of their armour and livery in the heat of the hall. The page boys that served the food, cleared the empty platters, and kept the goblets and tankards filled were doing little better – they carried less weight, but they never stopped moving all night. The team of jesters, taking it in turns to tumble, juggle, dance and gurn in the middle of the floor, were suffering just as much. The guests, the ladies in their fine and heavy dresses, the men in their best brigandines, were raucous and sweating at the tables, drinking hugely, tearing great mouthfuls of food from whatever came to hand, talking loudly; the only ones who seemed at all at home in the heat were the serving wenches, a dozen young women recruited from the housekeeping staff, and another dozen hastily conscripted from the city and given basic training – mind you, they were wearing light low-cut blouses, that were doing their job so well that there wasn’t one of them that hadn’t had to retire for a few minutes to correct an impromptu state of dishabille. Even the minstrels in the gallery in the corner were inaudibly flagging, the noise was so great. Although, suddenly, there was one strident voice cutting through the din.

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Mis-match

The two swordsmen ducked behind another pillar as another fireball swooshed past them and splashed against a further pillar. There were a lot of stone pillars in this hall, and quite a lot of them had scorch marks on them.

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So - can anyone spot the rather obvious reference?

Another short story, a bit longer than the last one, and completely unrelated.

On the Origin of Half-Orcs

It was dusk, and the storm which had been threatening to break all day was just beginning to do so. The young woman was the only person heading out of the city - she was the only one on the road out of town, apart from the cluster of sentries at the gate. She hurried up to it, drawing her cloak up tight around her against the gusts of wind, before it was closed for the night.

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