Enderal I Lords and Mages
Chapter 4 Tournament
8th Era, 479, 8th of Weeping Widow
Ice Islands Region, Island of Wyk, Town of Pikewall
Aleron Pyke Point of View
Down at the harbor I had come to oversee the final loading of the Bloodied Nymph before we left tomorrow night. While I did so Marius told me the a good number of men had flocked to me and the local shipwright at Pikewall had constructed three Longboats, bringing my fleet up to twenty Longboats. Balyzard had never been a man to lead raids, he had dealt with administrative tasks and that meant that our people preferred me. Rumors of my deeds traveled far within our lands. I had over a thousand Iceborn at my back.
This day my trip to the harbor drew awe from everyone insight as I had Vaerkyrion in tow. She was climbing on my left arm and shoulder.
“Lord Captain, you…ah…” Marius tried, and failed, to form a sentence.
“Yes? Speak up,” I told him.
“Erh, right.” He scratched the back of his rough oak hair. “Do, do you know what…type it is?”
First a frowned deeply.
“It’s a she, idiot,” I berated.
He raised his hands defensively.
“Sorry, sorry. She.”
“Aegeus didn’t exactly ask when he stole the egg,” I said and looked at her. “Pretty sure she’s a Black Dragon. Trust me, I know my dragons.”
Marius titled his head in contemplation.
“Is it…she, called that because her scales?” He asked.
I affectionately scratched Vaerkyrion under her chin and she hissed in approval.
“That’s usually how the scholars named them. Apart from Elder Dragons and Serpent Drakes.” I smiled at her as I scratched her under the chin. “In about a year she’s gonna be big enough for me to fly on, aren’t you girl, aren’t you, huh.”
My men passed us with barrels of supplies and all five barrels of gunpowder. I definitely wanted those with me.
I put a firm hand on Marius shoulder.
“Keep it up okay, we’re leaving tonight.” He nodded, that trademark nod that told me I could put my trust in this man. “My girl in hungry, I gotta go find some meat for her.”
“How can you tell?” He inquired with an puzzled look.
I opened my mouth but paused. I wasn’t sure actually. Somehow, I just felt it. I simply knew that she was hungry, couldn’t explain it.
8th Era, 479, 10th of Weeping Widow
Continent of Mordurel, Easterlands Region, Summer Hall Estate
Jhaenera Silverstag Point of View
As I sat in the seats on the side of the jousting ground I remembered how much I loved tournaments as a child. My mother the Red Queen had staged them for me and my sisters every birthday, so that meant three a year. This wasn’t either of their birthday, though. Today they celebrated my eldest son Rhaemon turning thirteen, although, technically he had turned thirteen a week ago, but the tournament was delayed. No matter, we were all here now. Noble Houses from across the Easterlands celebrated my son.
In our wooden stand I sat with my youngest on my left, my daughter Daenys. The little white haired wonder clapped her hands and almost jumped in her seat as she watched the knights excitedly. And they hadn’t even started the joust yet. My four year old daughter would probably have her mind blown when they started running at each other on horseback with lances. On my right I had my husband Laengos, though he was technically a Silverstag but he was born a Carstein, and my three sons in order with their age with Rhaemon to the furthest right. The boys watched the impending joust eagerly.
I heard them discuss who would win.
“B-but last year, than Lord Roman Jagon beat six competitors,” my seven year old Vaeylon stated with a pout as the other boys didn’t agree.
“No!” My six year old Daelin declared, without much action in support. He remained silent afterwards. Apparently he didn’t an argument. I thought that maybe he had just heard me and Laengos mention my dislike for Roman Jagon recently.
“Mama says Aegon is a good jouster,” Rhaemon told the doubtful Vaeylon. All my four children had inherited my white hair, where mine came from, who knew. my family was known to have blonde hair, with our mother being the exception with crimson. I had been honestly surprised by my mother’s decision to have a tournament given we were at war with the Kyroshi Empire, far away in the colonies, at least. Her mood had been darker than usual. I felt so sorry for her. so many unlucky coincidences in her reign. War with the empire, Reikland Rebellion, and war with the Undead lords across the Narrow Sea in Vorostmark.
“Aegon nice,” little Daenys added her opinion.
My mind, and eyes, went to Sir Aegon, a young lord of House Blackling, knighted by me personally at the end of the Reikland Rebellion. He was one of the ten confidants making up my closest friends and companions.
“Bu-but-” Vaeylon started, and I heard on his voice that he was getting quite agitated.
“Now, now boys. Enough on this,” my husband told them in his gentle voice. And thus the arguing stopped.
There was people from across the Easterlands present, all to watch the tournament and celebrate my beautiful Rhaemon. The noble Houses, local peasantry and the rich merchants. Even a number of foreigners was invited. A few mages from the ruling Council in the Theda State, a Middenland delegation of lords from Houses Karling, Northinger and Slaitshire.
What was the most impressive was a trio from the Easterlands, in their heavy silvery black armor, and I spotted them in the crowd seated across from us. A trio of Warlocks from Blackspire. Recognized by the silvery black armor, their long black cloaks and the pauldrons that looked large and heavy enough to crush a peasant under their weight alone. The long cloaks was attached beneath the heavy pauldrons. The visor in their helmets was a mixed between a U shape and a V shape bent downward and sideways plates stretching out towards the pauldrons. On top all three had crests, one had proper deer antlers, one with rave wings made of steel and the last with dragon wings.
As the jousting was about to start Aegon got up on his horse and reached for his squire to hand him his helmet. The twenty-eight year old looked to us, specifically me, and offered a black toothed grin of confidence and locked his black eyes with my red ones. I offered my good friend a smile with my pale lips. He then accepted his helmet and placed it upon his head.
My husband leaned towards me.
“That’s why Lord Jagon dislikes you,” Laengos whispered.
“I eyed him with furrowed eyebrows.
“Is it so hard to think a little politically?”
I rolled my eyes.
“Is this the time for this?” In asked him, whispering back and hiding my annoyance.
The two men prepared to race towards each other with the lances leveled forward.
“You can just put the frustration behind you and give his House the one honor.”
I knew exactly what he was talking about I and wouldn’t have any of it. I couldn’t understand Laengos always positive outlook on House Jagon.
“I’m not letting Lord Jagon’s son into my inner circle,” I whispered sternly. “I count my companions as my friends, and no Jagon will ever be part of that.” I realized he also referred to that House Jagon and Blackling did not like each other and I had four Blacklings in my inner circle of ten companions, all knighted.
Aegon and Lord Jagon set off towards each other with lance and shield. When they reached each other Aegon’s lance danced off Lord Jagon harmlessly and in return he striked a hit on Aegon’s helmet. I heard a squeak from Daenys and saw her cover her eyes with her hands.
“It’s okay baby,” I soothed her as the two men rounded the barrier between them and had another go. When I chose my armor as attire for this event I chose not to have my gauntlets, and so I took Daenys little hand gently. “It’s okay baby.” I felt a little sorry, yet amused, that she had been so excited until they started the joust.
Lances clashed with steel as Lord Jagon slammed the tip of his lance against Aegon’s head. Thankfully his helmet protected him and though he almost fell backwards he remained on his horse. My sons Vaeylon and Daelin gawked in awe and I caught Rhaemon glancing at me. Maybe he worried that I was concerned for Aegon, but I knew he could handle it. the continued around and galloped at each other again. Aegon jabbed his lance forward and struck Lord Jagon square in his a steel plated chest and knocked him off his horse. The onlookers applauded and a few went ‘Oh’ as Lord Jagon fell to the dirt. I formed a smile of approval and enjoyment as he yielded and I applauded lightly as well. I saw his two brothers and sister cheer from the side by the tents. My mother said a few words, congratulating him for winning, as Lord Jagon got up and threw his helmet into the dirt and basically stormed off with his squire following.
“What did you think of that honey?” I asked my daughter softly, a sweet smile formed on my pale lips.
She looked up at me with red eyes she had inherited from me.
“It little scary,” she said, holding my hand gently.
“Don’t worry. Nobody can hurt you when I’m here.”
She smiled a little. Her eyes shifted to her feet and she looked down as she kicked in the air, for whatever reason. Ahead, two men prepared for the next joust. I recognized the Whitecloak banner with green and light blue divided with a blue man with a white cloak in the center. The other banner was that of the the Chafferlys, a pale blue field with a trio of horses.
“Lord Laengos,” I heard my mother’s voice.
Me and my husband turned to look up at my mother. She sat raised higher to our left. my elder sister Serene, often called the Obsidian Knight. Like me she preferred to carry herself in her knightly armor, as was the ancient Easterlands tradition of a warrior princess, an old tradition within the monarchy. The thought of a noble lady picking up a sword outside our castle was an outrageous thought.
“Yes your Highness,” my husband answered her.
As I looked at my mother a breeze swept through her crimson hair, slightly gripping her crimson dress for a mere moment.
“When this tournament is over there is a task I have for you,” my mother said with a stern voice. “I am sending you with a levy to add Sand Isle and the Moon Isles to my empire.”
I frowned in confusion. Why? Why would we invade some barbaric islands that had nothing to do with either of our wars? Was it about resources, granted I had no idea what resources the small islands had. Though, as Hand of the Queen it fell to my husband to carry out this campaign of her, if she so willed it.
“Very well,” my husband vowed. “I shall conquer the native tribes in your glorious name.”
I rolled my eyes as he kissed my mother’s ass.
The next few hours went by as knights tried to outdo themselves, certainly many a lords son here today desired the hand of my youngest sister Myna in marriage. Unlike me, she and my elder sister Serene both inherited the blonde hair our family was famous for. To me it seemed that Lord Aryghastus Ward caught my sister’s eye more than anyone. One of the shining stars in this tournament was Aegon, my companion won every time he took to the field and the peasants cheered loudly, as they so often did in these tournaments. As he won he chose to take his opponents armor or horse or his opponent could pay a sum to keep both horse and armor.
I walked through the pavilions of the tournament grounds with two Knights from the Royal Guard a few paces behind me, but I also had my companion Sir Ormond Oakenshield on my left side, a pace behind me. Sir Ormond was a man of short stature with a strongly built form, a fashionable goatee and broad shoulders. Though being short, he had an imposing presence. Over all the pavilions sat banners of all the participating noble Houses. I recognized all of them, such as Whitecloak, Thorne, Tinian, Ward, Lowriver, Daven, Mede and many more, such as the yellow field with a Silvery stag in the center. It was off course the Heraldry of my House. The Silverstags. Then I saw the one I was heading towards. A white field with a human skull pierced by two spears, one from above and one from the left. The Blackling Heraldry. The Royal Guards pacing behind me wore shiny silvery armor and a red cloak and red feathers on their helmets that went from the top and down to the bottom of the helmet. The Royal Guard had worn purple before, but my mother liked the color red.
I waved for the Royal Guards to wait outside. Inside I found all four of my Blackling companions, those I considered my friends. It was the main requirement for being a part of my little inner circle. Aegon’s squire was helping him off with his armor as his siblings conversed with him. all their eyes turned to me as I entered. The squire was the first-and only-to bow.
“Congratulations Aegon,” I told the black haired man.
He returned my smile and titled his head forward and putting his right fist across his chest.
“Thank you milady,” he said curtly. “If you don’t mind, I can beat any of those old lords.”
His brothers Haegor and Destrian chuckled.
I smirked, adding, “Apparently so. Guess you’re lucky you didn’t fight your father or Lord Aryghastus Ward, or-” I nodded to Ormond at my side. “-Lord Beowulf Oakenshield.”
“I dare say I could be any of them,” Aegon proclaimed, to which Ormond just laughed.
“You’re good, but not that good,” Ormond told him, very amused by the thought.
It was then that the Blackling sister spoke up, a young girl of fifteen. The only woman knighted in our lifetime, the only woman to are the title of Sir. She shared her brothers raven black hair and black eyes.
“Milady, are you going to compete in the tourney?” Clair inquired, her voice inquisitive, yet distant.
“I am not,” I answered. “Don’t get me wrong,” I added when she arched her eyebrows. “I’d love to, but I am a Princess and no one would dare to harm me and they would let me win.”
“Well, you are the princess and the potential heir,” Ormond supposed.
“My sister Serene in the heir,” I stated plainly, though I knew where he came from with this. All nobles had heard the rumors of my sister’s infertility. I had always done my best to shut them down, though it had been impossible.
“I’m sure her Highness the Red Queen wants her heir to be able to produce their own heir,” Aegon stated, a smirk on his lips, as if he thought I’d find it amusing too.
A chuckle form Haegor set me off. “My sister is the heir and I will hear nothing else, do you understand?” I glared at them in fury. “These rumors of my lovely sister’s infertility will not be mentioned by you in my presence. Do you understand?”
The two men quickly fell in line and bowed their heads and placed their fists on their chests.
“Yes my lady, apologize,” Aegon said sincerely. Though he was my friend his constant failure to keep some thoughts to himself infuriated my at times.
I turned around and marched out of the pavilion. When Ormond followed I waved for him to leave me be.
I heard Claire’s voice just as I left, “Nice work big brother. You always know what to say to the ladies, huh.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. I marched away too quick to hear anyone answer. I was pretty happy I hadn’t picked Aegon as my champion this day. I had picked my companion Sir Anton Mayflower, also called Sir Anton the Good. He had a well-deserved reputation as one of the best jousters in the Easterlands.
Daemon Drakefyre Point of View
When I entered the field outside Summer Hall Palace I wore my full armor. A raven black colored Obsidian plated thing. My Great Helm had a crest of dragon wings attached to the right and left side, one on each. At the top of the front was a small dragon head, just two decimeters outward. At the moment my helmed was tucked away and I only wore the rest of my armor as I rode through the mass of people and merchant tents.
My horse was a lovely girl with a chestnut color to her and a white spot on her head. Lightning, as I had named her years ago, was a Reikland Warmblood. A proper horse for a Wandering Knight like myself because of its famous strength and endurance. My mare was a trusted beast I had ridden on ever since I became a Wandering Knight. She was my most trusted companion and the only Warhorse I could ever trust to ride into battle on.
To my left rode my Stouter, named Oldman. As any Stouter he was good for little but plowing fields of farmers. It lacked the endurance of a Warmblood like Lightning. On top of Oldman rode my Squire, a girl of ten named Sarah.
“Where do we set up the tents milord?” Sarah asked me.
I looked around, “There,” I pointed towards the eastern edge of the field.
“Good spot I suppose Milord,” the brunette complied. I had picked her up from an orphanage a year ago as I found that I could use a Squire, and she needed a better life. “Do you think you will defeat many knights, milord?”
“Some, at least,” I answered her.
Her eyes was caught by a puppeteer. It seemed a standard tale with a puppet of a knight and one of a Troll from the Northern Wastelands. At our rear rode the third and final horse, a stallion by the name Coldrick. He was a Keke Halfling, a worthless and utterly inferior breed. It had been used by a friend of mine, a dwarf named Dolin Firebreath. But since we had done our separate ways he gave me the old stallion. I was hoping to find a horse merchant from a nearby village here so I could sell Coldrick. He wasn’t worth the food he consumed. I was sure that Dolin knew that when he gave me the pitiful stallion.
“Throw me the waterskin,” I said.
Sarah fiddled with the waterskin before throwing it over to me.
I opened it and poured water into my mouth. When I was done I threw it back to her. She sipped slightly from it and made a face as she did.
“You’ll get used to the taste,” I told her. water from a waterskin didn’t taste even close to proper water.
“You always say that milord,” Sarah complied as she closed it and put it back in the bag on the side of Oldman.
We set up two tents on the outer edge of the tournament. There was a few others scattered there as well. Other Wandering Knight I assumed. All here for the same purpose, to join in the tourney. Sarah and I unpacked the tent.
“Now, set that up while I go to sign up with Summer Hall’s Steward,” I said firmly.
“When you are done, stay here. If you’re gone when I return I will give you a beating.” A warning was never wrong, neither was a reminded of what could happen.
“Of course milord.”
I made my way to the gate of Summer Hall, more of a palace then a castle. It was clearly not built to resist any sort of attack. It was simply an estate for the royal family to go to for relaxation. At the large gatehouse I approached the guards. Four men dressed in yellow Gambeson with Half Helms with a Nasal protection and a Halberd in hand. On their chest was a stag colored with silver, the sigil of House Silverstag. One of the four had a sword in a scabbard on his waist. I assumed him in charge, the guard captain probably.
“Sir,” I said as I approached.
“Sir Knight,” he responded. He was a short man with a newly shaved face. “What can I do for ye?”
“I am here to sign up for the reminder of the tournament,” I explained. “I request to meet the Steward so I can sign up. He’s here?”
“Aye, Sir. He is,” the Captain confirmed. “Follow me.” As we walked he glanced over his shoulder at me. “Ye hear the Red Queen forbade worship of the Dragons?”
I arched an inquisitive eyebrow.
“I have not.”
“It’s funny ye know, I don’t understand why anyone would worship those flying monsters,” he said, shrugging.
“Can I offer advice?”
“Certainly Sir Knight.”
“Never travel to Kyrosh. They probably won’t appreciate your sentiment,” I advised.
He chuckled and led me into the grounds of the estate and made way to a small stone building constructed on the side of the estate. He opened the door, exchanged a greeting with the Steward and nodded goodbye to me. I stepped inside a room with a desk, a bookshelf and some parchments on the desk. Behind the desk sat a man in his forties or early fifties with brown plain hair, a mustache and a patch of facial hair covering part of his chin. He wore rather fancy clothes, only attainable for the wealthy.
“Are you here to sign up, Sir?” he inquired, using the common designation of a Knight.
“I am. I am a Wandering Knight.” A Wandering Knight was a knight selling his services to different lords who sought it for food, shelter and a temporary place at the lords table. It had a lot of similarities with a mercenary, but also big differences.
The Steward grabbed a Quill and dipped it in ink, his grey eyes looking up at me.
“You got a name boy?”
I pushed a few strains of my brown long hair out of my face.
“Sir Daemon Drakefyre.”
His eyes widened and he stared at me.
“That one, yes,” I confirmed.
He regained his sense said cleared his throat.
“This…this is an interesting choice of tourney for you Sir.”
“I assume I can still sign up.”
He nodded and started writing my name on a long list of names.
“Of all the tourneys, you pick the one held for Prince Rhaemon with the whole royal family present, huh. Coincidence or a fool’s choice?”
I snorted amused.
“Guess we’ll find out.”
He nodded and put down the quill.
“Well, you’re signed up now. Good day Sir.”
I returned to my camp and was pleased that Sarah was working on getting some dinner prepared.
“Did it go well milord?” She inquired.
“Aye. What are you preparing?”
“Food,” came the simple answer.
“No. What kind of food?”
“Oh…the salted beef,” she answered, realizing what I meant.
“Hmm.” I turned to Coldrick and sighed. I grabbed his reins and started heading for the little market camp set up. “I will be back once I’ve sold the old goat.”
Sarah turned around as she squatted around a little campfire.
“But, he’s not a goat, he’s a horse milord.” Her voice was confused.
I sighed, “I know. That’s not what it meant.”
“Oh…sorry milord.” She turned back to the campfire and the pot she had set up over it.
I walked into he filled market camp set up and searched for a horse merchant. I passed the puppeteer again and decided to throw over a copper coin. The elderly man bent down and took it as he finished his little show and the children watching applauded.
“Thank you milord,” he said sincerely.
“Do you know of a horse merchant present my good man?” I asked.
“Aye milord.” He said and pointed. “Ridley has a stall that way. He’s got a horse business in the village too.”
“Thank you.” I gave him an extra copper coin as thanks.
I led Coldrick on until I saw a stall with seven horses tied to poles behind it. the man, Ridley, or I assumed it was him, was a tall and thin man with a long blond beard and long dirty hair with a big bald spot on top his head. He exchanged two bags of coin with a Wandering Knight in plain steel plated armor. The Knight took one of the horses, a Warmblood, and left. I came over to the man at the stall with Coldrick in tow.
“Hello my good man,” I greeted him.
The man smiled through his beard and turned to me.
“Hello my good Knight, are you here to sell or buy an horse?” He had a pleasant and strong voice.
“I wish to sell this horse,” I explained in short.
The man stepped over to look at Coldrick carefully. He spent four minutes going over all the flaws. He went on and on until he offered to finally buy him for one hundred copper coins. I adamantly disagreed and argued up to one thousand coppers. After two minutes or so of arguing back and forth we settled on three hundred fifty coppers. I knew I wasn’t gonna get much more for a Keke Halfling. He handed me a coin pouch with two gold coins, seven silver coins and the rest copper. I felt satisfied enough and returned through the market to my little camp. On my way back I saw a Sorcerer juggling fire balls as men, woman and children stared on in awe. Several guards in yellow Gambeson and Knights was as involved in watching as the rest.
I stopped spiced Boar ribs, which made my mouth water. It was a nice reminder of his homeland. I could certainly afford it but Sarah had been preparing food for me at the best of her abilities and it might hurt her if I returned full.
Jhaenera Silverstag Point of View
I was sitting in my stall as the next joust was preparing. Two Wandering Knights was going to duel each other, rushing at each other on horseback with a wood barrier separating them. The first man onto the field was a knight with a Hauberk and a Half Helm with a Nasal piece and a mail cloth attached on the sides and back of the helmet. He rose onto his horse, a Warmblood. The coat was a light brown complexion. I was prepared not to be impressed given his poor Kite shield of wood with a steel frame. He was far from impressive.
“I put a copper he’ll lose,” I heard my son Daelin whisper.
“You’re on,” Rhaemon whispered back.
The other Wandering Knight stepped out onto the field, his horse a Warmblood of a Chestnut complexion led by a young girl. By her looks she appeared ten or eleven. A girl being a Squire caused me to frown. Then my eyes wandered across the Knight. The black plated armor caught her attention, especially the crest on top of the round-topped Great Helm. With two dragon wings and a small dragon head. It was clearly the armor of House Drakefyre, a Reikland House. With that in mind I thought it could only be one person. First the announcement was for the poorly armored Knight, Sir Poe the Witty, and the second announcement proved I fears accurate. Sir Daemon Drakefyre.
I clenched my fists as my fury rose and my eyes narrowed on the bastard. I wondered how he dared show himself here, then Laengos grabbed my gauntlet covered fist gently.
“Jhaenera,” he whispered.
I glanced at him and could tell in his eyes he worried for me.
“I’m fine,” I whispered through gritted teeth.
With lance in hand both knights begun their onrush. Sir Daemon’s lance touched Sir Poe’s shoulder, shoving him, but yet allowing him to keep seating in his saddle, though, Sir Poe’s lance impacted his shield and cracked. As both stopped at the end of the barrier between them and turned again Sir Poe was given his second lance. A moment later they were off again and this time he almost struck Sir Daemon’s head, yet the steel Kite shield prevented a knockout blow. Sir Daemon thrusted his lance against Sir Poe’s shoulder, just barely missing the shield. The thrust was enough to knock his opponent off his Warmblood.
There was an applause from the commoners, a light applause from the nobles and nothing but a glare from me. I listened to my mother give the little pointless speech she gave to all the knights victorious. The bastard bowed and then went to speak with Sir Poe about his price. As always, it was a question of Sir Poe either giving up his horse, armor or enough copper in compensation. A dozen´, almost two dozen knights fought, lords and Wandering Knights of proper renown alike. My mood greatly improved as I saw Lord Jagon joust my little sister Myna’s champion, young Lord Mont Montelyn. He was known as the most handsome man in the western kingdoms, that being the Easterlands, Reikland, Middenland and the Riverlands. The young Sir Mont won, though, it had not been an easy fight.
Eventually it came down to the filthy excuse of a man and my champion.
I excused myself, kissed my daughter’s head and left the raised stand. I made my way to the pavilion where Anton of House Mayflower prepared himself. His Squire handed him his helmet as I entered.
“My lady,” Anton said, bowed. “Well met. Coming to wish me luck?”
His expression changed quickly, I assumed he noticed my hardened expression. My eyes glossed over Ormond and Destrian, who were both in the pavilion.
“Is everything alright my lady?” Ormond asked concerned.
“What do you know of your opponent?” I asked Anton.
“Ah, a Wandering Knight. Nothing I can’t handle,” he assured me with well-earned confidence.
My furious eyes kept on him, locking our eyes.
“You, will win,” I growled. My anger was boiled to the surface with every word. “I will not stand my champion lose to Daemon ploughing Drakefyre.”
I easily read surprised on all their faces. Ormond was the first to recover.
“Anton’s the best jouster in the Easterlands,” he tried to remind me. “He won’t lose.”
Anton nodded with assurance and bowed his head.
“It has been years since I lost. I do not intend for a bastard like that to break my winning streak.”
There was a fifteen minute wait between the next joust and the one the bastard he won. As it started I had returned to the stall in anticipation. I couldn’t handle him coming to my son’s birthday and by pure luck beating my champion. My eyes wandered to Anton as he gripped his tourney lance. He wore his shining plated armor with his flat top Great Helm with a golden flower over the holes for his eyes and his armor was stylized with golden details. It was a stark contrast of the black armor of Daemon. The announcer started the joust and both men set their horses moving swiftly. As I had hoped Anton let Daemon’s lance lightly dance off his shield and thrusted with his lance and struck the top of Daemon’s head with as much force he could muster, and to my overjoy shoved him off his horse. I smiled widely as Daemon fell to the dirt. His helmet landed in the dirt a meter away from him.
Daemon got to his feet as Anton dismounted his horse and drew his Arming sword and readied his shield. I worried slightly, though Anton was one of the best jousters in the Easterlands his skill with a sword was good, though less than his skill with a lance. Yet he approached Daemon quick as Daemon steadied his own shield and drew his sword. It was a common Arming sword, though it was of Obsidian rather than still. Anton struck first, three blows against Daemon’s shield. He staggered back. Then he pushed Anton’s sword aside for a second with intent to strike, though he missed when he jumped back out of his reach. Seizing the advantage Daemon advanced on him and surely intended to finish him. Though Anton did the unexpected and charged him and slammed into him with his shield, forcing him to the ground. When Daemon tried to get up he placed a foot on his breastplate and leveled his sword against his throat.
“I yield,” I heard Daemon submit.
As the crowd of people applauded and cheered I applauded as joy filled me. Seeing the bastard in the dirt pleased me greatly, less so than Anton acted the prideful knight and helped him to his feet.