Chương 120: Eastorkeld

When I arrived at the lists, the joust had almost begun. Lord Ceonwin rode through the gate on the opposite side, the crowd was buzzing, and his opponent was already geared up. I didn't recognize his opponent, but then again, why would I? The thegn wore a green cloak and scale mail with a broad shoulder pauldron overtop. His shield was slightly larger than most, and his helmet had a boasting plume made from peacock feathers rather than a horsetail.

I decided that I didn't like him very much—yes, yes, on nothing but appearance. But how else was I supposed to judge him? It certainly wasn't tasteful. I pushed to the front of the crown, then jumped over the fence. A pair of guards rushed to intercept, until I called, "Wait! I'm with Lord Ceonwin! I'm Levi! I'm his third squire!" The guards let me pass. I ran across the jousting course, feet scrambling through the loose dirt, then jumped over the central fence and ran to Lord Ceonwin.

"Sorry, sir," I said.

"I came as quickly as I could."

"Just get my lances, Levi," Lord Ceonwin said, trotting his horse in a circle.

"Willaf and Foal will handle my armour." As the other squires tightened his armour, I ran over to the rack of lances and hoisted one up. For a brief moment, I paused, mentally congratulating myself on how closely I'd replicated the lance's weight in the Labyrinth run, then I raced back to Lord Ceonwin and passed him the lance.

"Here, sir." He took it with a heavy leather glove, gave it a toss, then motioned to the messenger—who, as usual, was judging the tournament.

"Riders, to your marks!" the messenger shouted.

"Lord Ceonwin rides against Sir Eastorkeld!" I took the lead of his horse, guiding it back to the starting mark—I lined it up with a notch on the wall, then moved as far back as we could without violating regulations. The more room Lord Ceonwin had to build speed, the better. As soon as the Messenger dropped his flag, I let Lord Ceonwin's horse go. He snapped the reins, and the mount trotted forward. I wanted to look away, but I forced myself to keep my eyes on target.

Eastorkeld broke a lance on Ceonwin's chest, but Ceonwin broke a lance on the man's helmet. One point and two points respectively in the first course. The crowd cheered, but it didn't seem like they roared for anyone in particular. It wasn't like Ceonwin was an underdog. At the moment, the odds favoured him. But he had been hiding his aging from the crowd, and there was a chance he wasn't as close to victory as they may have made him out to be. But the crowd wasn't going wild for Eastorkeld, either.

They needed an actual hero to root for. As Lord Ceonwin and Eastorkeld reset, I rushed to grab another lance, then turned back to face the audience. My squad had arrived, though they didn't have the best view. But at the far side of the arena, holding onto a flagpole and balancing herself between the nobles' booths and a fence, was Alis. She watched with a kind of detached amusement, like balancing up there wasn't even a strain. No way was she just a worker.

But hey, the more people who saw that Lord Ceonwin was a capable Ealdorman, the better for us. The last thing we needed was for our strongest ally to disappear. I handed him the next lance, then reset his horse. He trotted a second course, lance aiming at his opponent's chest this time. He was up points, so it was best to play it safe. They both broke a lance on each other's chests, creating an explosion of splinters. On the third course, Ceonwin was the only rider to break a lance, putting him up two points.

He just had to stay on his horse, and he'd win. I tapped my foot in my boot with anticipation as the riders reset, then passed him the last lance.

"Play it safe," I said.

"That's bold, coming from you, Levi." I laughed, then said, "You've got this, sir."

"An odd turn of phrase, but I'll excuse it as a soulstealer-ism." When the flag dropped, the two riders charged. But Eastorkeld's lance kept drifting lower and lower. Was he injured? He was only a Silver, as best I could tell. Perhaps the last hit had been too much. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. No. Wait. He was aiming for Ceonwin's horse.

"Sir! Your horse!" I yelled. Before the riders collided, Ceonwin switched his lance hand. A ripple ran over his flesh as he triggered an Art, then he slammed an open palm into his opponent's lance, splintering it from tip to haft. It shattered, then exploded without touching Ceonwin. That was a relatively standard Wicca Art, as best I could tell. The crowd fell silent, and gasps rang out through the audience.

"Lord Ceonwin strikes Sir Eastorkeld's lance with an Art!" the Messenger announced.

"I strike in defense of my horse!" Ceonwin shouted.

"My opponent aims dishonourably!"

"Sir Eastorkeld?" the Messenger asked.

"What do you say?"

"We settle this business with a duel!" Eastorkeld yelled.

"Scum," I muttered. Eastorkeld knew he couldn't win on the lists, so he forced a regular honour duel to mess with the outcome. The messenger nodded, accepting his challenge.

"This will be quick," Willaf muttered behind me.

"You think so?"

"Just watch." The squires were right, of course. Lord Ceonwin dismounted, and so did Eastorkeld. As the Silver thegn ducked under the tilt fence, drawing a short sword from his hip, Lord Ceonwin settled into a fighting stance with just his hands. His gloves tightened, and the air continued rippling over his skin. It was over in a matter of seconds. Eastorkeld lunged, but Ceonwin sidestepped and slammed an open palm into the man's armoured shoulder.

The air compressed between Ceonwin's palm and the target, hardening, then fractured, as if Ceonwin had punched an invisible mirror. Thunder boomed, like a cannon had fired in the distance. Bone crunched, and Eastorkeld staggered, shouting in pain. A few more strikes, thrown with immense speed and blurring intensity, left Eastorkeld clutching his arm. His sword fell from his grip. Ceonwin grabbed him by the back of his gambeson and threw him down to the ground, then demanded, "Yield."

After a few seconds of debate, Eastorkeld deflated. Pulling off his helmet, the man pressed his hands flat against the ground and grunted, "I surrender."

"Lord Ceonwin is the victor!" the messenger shouted. As Lord Ceonwin marched back toward his squires and me, I asked, "Sir, why not just settle more jousts with a duel? If that would work…"

"It makes you a target," he explained.

"Most thegns will ride with more honour, and if they don't, someone else will target them, trying to remove them from the tournament. It is a move of desperation, usually from a lesser Path-walker. Duels rarely ever work." I nodded.

"A relief, then."

"Clear the lists," the messenger said, approaching them.

"We have many courses to run today, and you are in the way."

"Sorry," I said, then took the remains of Lord Ceonwin's lance and rushed out to the stables at the other end of the tournament field. We spent a few minutes brushing down his horse, helping stow his gear, and disposing of the broken lances. As we worked, I watched over my shoulder at the next match. A thegn whose name I didn't catch rode against a man in a yellow cloak and ornamental, feather-detailed scale mail.

It was Sir Hinfic, as the messenger announced—a powerful thegn, high up in the Silver tier, and the firstborn son of Lord Hinlaw. The thegn didn't look much older than me. Maybe five, six years older. He had a thin, blond beard and a long ponytail that ran down his back, beneath his winged helmet. I couldn't see much else of his face, not with his chainmail mouth covering. When he charged, he didn't angle his head up. He looked straight forward, eyes on target, and didn't flinch when the lance hit him.

This was the man in contest for Lord Ceonwin's lands. The preferred candidate to win. Maybe not the most likely, not yet, but he was who the Warlord wanted to win. I was sure of that. We had to prevent that from happening. Sir Hinfic took every hit. One of his opponent's lances broke on his body, another on his head. It didn't matter. By the end of the four courses, he'd broken three lances on his opponent's helmet, and finally, unhorsed the man, earning the highest tally I'd ever seen so far.

I glanced at Lord Ceonwin.

"He's good," Ceonwin said.

"But he's not perfect. Don't despair. With a little more study, we may still poke holes in his style."

"Yes, sir." After we stowed his horses, Lord Ceonwin dismissed us. He ran to the audience stands, and I left, rushing to meet up with my squadmates. As I circled the back side of the tournament grounds, navigating around the lattice of wooden beams that held up the nobles' observation booths, I stopped. Alis darted in front of me.

"Levi," she said.

"Are you going somewhere?"

"I was gonna meet back with my squad. Why?"

"Tonight, the company is performing. Are you up to anything?"

"After a Labyrinth run? Nah, not today."

"Would you like to meet, then?"

"Well, it's only fair, I suppose. I made you watch the joust. But I promise—that wasn't 'cause you owed a debt to me or anything." She grinned, then said, "I'll look forward to seeing you there. Sundown. Don't be late."

"Is there a reason you want me there?" I asked.

"Must everything be so…dull?"

"Most people are looking for something, I've noticed," I said.

"You thought I was."

"Well, I'm looking for friends," Alis said.

"And you seem like a good candidate. Will you come or not?"

"I'll be there."