Edward rose early. The morning winter sunlight was watery as he exited the pavilion, wrapped tightly in his best wool cloak. A strip of wolf fur edged the colour and protected his ears from the worst of the winter chill. A quick glance at the sky proved that the snow had returned, and it lay in a thick carpet about the camp.

The previous night’s celebrations played on the young squire’s mind as the painful spikes of his hangover drove themselves deeper into his brain.

“I’m never drinking again.” He groaned as he took a seat beside the fire where Tall Boy was already preparing their breakfast. The gap-toothed archer grinned at his friend.

“Don’t worry young master, you’ll be right as rain once you get a bit of food in y’.” He informed him, eliciting another groan from Edward.

“I don’t think I can manage that, the thought of food makes me want to be sick.” He bemoaned to his friend. Sir Clement chose that moment to exit the tent and join the conversation.

“Eat, you’ll feel better, and besides that, with a challenge today you need to eat a big meal now and a light meal just before to keep your energy up.” He informed his squire with a tone that brooked no debate. “Tall Boy, you’re in charge of seeing that he eats.” The knight turned to face his page next. “John, I want you to go saddle Edward and I’s horses, not Bohemund, we’ll make sure he’s fresh for the contest but get Edward’s stallion, and have our harness transported to the tiltyard.” He gave orders like a seasoned professional and Edward smiled internally as he remembered Clem had been a renowned tournament knight in Arturia before he’d made a career as a hired sword. “Edward eat up then meet me at the Tiltyard, no sense sending you into a challenge if you’ve never tilted against a live target before.” He grinned and strode out of camp with a hot turnover in his hand filled with beef and cheese, strolling in the general direction of Sir Felix’s pavilion.

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Edward arrived at the tiltyard feeling refreshed, after a few bites of his breakfast his stomach had begun to quell its outrage and the walk in the brisk morning air to the yard had done wonders for his aching head. A few sips of mulled wine on the way hadn’t hurt either. He arrived in time to see Sir Clement and Sir Felix arming up, their horses were saddled and waiting at the fence. John quickly ran to Edward and dragged him to where his harness had been laid out on an oiled sheepskin. The most unexpected face in the crowd was Konrad, the journeyman of Master Piotr, he held another stained wooden box like the one that had held the coronels. He smiled when he saw Edward and rushed over opening the box to reveal several sharpened lance heads. “Master Edward, I was glad you sent for me, and Master Piotr allowed me to stay in the shop last night to get these finished for you.” Edward gripped the man’s shoulders warmly.

“You didn’t have to work through the night Konrad,” He said apologetically, seeing the dark circles under his friend’s eyes. “You could have refused such a last minute request.” Konrad waved the words away.

“Always available to help you sir, I hope these will serve you well.” He grinned and began fitting the heads to a selection of lances that were leaning against the fence. Sir Clement approached now, his harness complete with helm securely under his right arm. He grinned as he watched the weaponsmith move away.

“You’ve made a valuable friend there Edward, treasure him.” He told his young charge before gesturing to their horses. “You have three opponents this morning to warm you up,” He informed Edward. “Myself, Sir Felix and the Lady Eva, his betrothed and one of the finest lances you’ll meet on this side of the great sea.” It was only then that Edward noticed the woman in harness beside Sir Felix, her dark hair tied down by the nape of her neck to ensure it stayed out of the way and didn’t foul her helmet. “We’re only going to be aiming for shields to avoid injury today, we don’t want you getting hurt before the challenge, but we need you to understand what you are in for out there.” Edward nodded in understanding as John laced his arm harness on and offered him his helm.

“I’ll need all the help and instruction you can give me, thank you all for your time.” He said, pitching his voice so that Felix and Eva would hear as well. They both saluted and pages brought their horses forward, Edward grinned as he mounted his horse. I never thought to give you a name, he thought suddenly, perhaps I shall call you Toren, after the Wayfarer himself, after all you brought me here. He smiled behind his visor at the thought as he rode the horse now named Toren to his designated end of the lists. He could hear cheers echoing from the Tournament grounds where the events of the day had already begun. Konrad arrived at Edward’s end and passed him a lance with a coronel on the end, then he helped strap a simple practice shield of unpainted hardwood on Edward’s arm. “Thank you Konrad.” He murmured down to his friend.

“You’re welcome Edward, now remember, just aim for the shield, the more square you hit it the better it looks to the judges.” The weaponsmith asserted. “Also dig your heels in, you don’t want to come off.” Without another word he ran back to where the pages had gathered to observe. Sir Felix strode to the centre of the list and looked to each of them for their signal. Following Clem’s example Edward pumped his lance once in the air to signal his readiness. Felix chopped down with his arm and ran for the fence. While his armour was well made and allowed him to run quite well, the ponderous gait was still comical on the captain and had he been paying it any attention Edward would undoubtedly have had to stifle a chuckle, but his world narrowed to the shield approaching.

At once Edward saw the difference in jousting with an opponent and tilting at the quintain. With a quintain you had to only compensate for your own movements, with an opponent their shield surged up and down just like his lance. Within the few moments before impact Edward fancied he could feel everything. Every sense was heightened in that moment. He could feel the wind whistling through his visor, the leather of his reins through his glove, the weight of his lance in his hand. Then all at once, Clem was only a few feet away, and their lances came down as one. Edward felt the long handle of the lance find its place in the lance rest attached to his cuirass with a faint click, as it extended over Toren’s withers and took aim on Clem’s shield.

He felt the collision, the thud as his lance crashed into Sir Clement’s shield. It wasn’t on centre but more to the outside. He knew it struck well because Clement was forced back into the crupper of his saddle. All these thoughts were pushed out by the explosion of force that crashed into Edward’s shield side. It felt as though he’d been hit by a battering ram or one of the Empire’s new cannon. Edward felt himself ride back up over his crupper, only his spurs and a supreme effort of will, sawing on the reins kept him from flying to the sand. Toren protested this harsh treatment with a loud whinny before rearing in place. Edward dropped his lance and re-gathered his reins, hauling himself back into his correct seat as Toren came down on all fours. A quick stroke of the hand and soothing words were required to quieten the distressed horse.

Clement rode over to check on his squire.

“Are you alright Edward? I forget how hard I hit sometimes.” He asked in a paternal tone.

“Fine, I’m fine, he’s just not trained for this.” Edward grimaced as he continued to stroke Toren’s neck. “We’re good to go again.” He assured Clem.

“Oh good, back to your end then.” Clem ordered and returned to his own.

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The morning passed in a tattoo of bruises for Edward. He ran five more passes with Sir Clement and each was as brutal as the first. Edward did acclimate to the new skill quickly though, watching his Knight-Master’s movements as he did in a sword fight. Soon he learned to tuck his knees behind the cantle of his saddle and sit back heavily at the moment of impact to drive himself downwards into the high crupper rather than over it. At the same time he learned how to turn his shoulder to deliver his own lance strike with more power and with more accuracy as he demonstrated in the last pass by striking dead centre and forcing Clem to shake out his arms after the pass. The knight favoured his squire with a loud,

“Well struck!” That could be heard across the tiltyard.

Next he faced Sir Felix who, if it was possible, hit even harder than Sir Clement. Every blow rattled Edward to the point that he finally fell off in their fourth pass. The short flight as his feet left the stirrups was a curiously pain free experience Edward thought, before the bone jarring slam of impact as he hit the earth. Even so he shook himself off and rose to the final pass with the Captain. As before his final pass was a well placed strike coupled with a painful return. Sir Felix raised his hand as he rode up.

“You ride and strike well Edward, and you’re facing much stiffer competition here than you will against von Reichenbach, just be careful and watch his lance, a lance of war is a terrible weapon.” He slapped Edward on the pauldron and rode back to watch as Lady Eva took up position as the final opponent.

Edward saluted as he rounded back into place and Konrad provided him with another fresh lance. Edward marveled at how quickly the man could strip down and reattach a coronel to a new lance. Sweat was building in his arming clothes and he was already breathing like a bellows. It was perhaps the hardest training he’d ever done.

The first pass with Lady Eva was a lesson in force. She lacked the size of Sir Felix and Sir Clement but her horse and arm were of the best quality and she drove Edward over his crupper and into the sand once more. Perhaps the best advice came from her as she met him in the middle and offered hints on where to best place his weight. By the time they ran their final pass it was perhaps the most perfect pass of the day as each struck beautifully on their opponent’s shield, shattering the light training shields and lances in a shower of splinters as they rode by.

Their appreciative audience cheered loudly for them both as they rode back to the fence. Sir Felix looked to his lady as they arrived.

“What do you think, does he have a chance?” He asked her. Lady Eva looked to Edward with a nod of approval.

“If he rides like that he may kill von Reichenbach.” She said with a note of grim finality. Edward gulped, he’d forgotten that killing was entirely possible and even allowed in a challenge, and now they had no choice but to face the day as Sir Clement looked to the sky.

“Almost time, we’d better get him to the Tournament pavilion. Edward, remember what I said, when we get there eat something light, like an apple.” He nodded and Sir Felix led them towards the Tournament grounds where Edward’s fate awaited them. “John go grab Bohemund, Edward will need him for this.” Clement shouted over his shoulder.

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Bohemund was saddled and waiting for Edward when he arrived at the tall red pavilion that had been erected for the company’s use. The morning had been occupied with several contests of archery and mounted skill at arms. Both were designed to allow the unbelted Men-at-Arms to demonstrate their ability along with the common born archers. The festive air was rife through the stands once again and Edward had to smile, it was a beautiful example of happier times in the middle of a war zone.

“GOOD GENTLES PAY HEED, FOR HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY HAS ALLOWED A CONTEST, A CHALLENGE, OF HONOUR TO TAKE PLACE UPON THIS HALLOWED FIELD.” The herald’s voice shattered Edward’s illusion of calm as it rang out across the entire Tournament Ground. Edward turned and placed his forehead against that of his horse. Bohemund snorted at the scent of oil and steel that pressed against him. “HIS LORDSHIP, LORD VICTOR VON REICHENBACH DEMANDS SATISFACTION FROM EDWARD DE MARCHE ESQUIRE, WHO HAS AGREED TO FACE HIM UPON THE FIELD WITH LANCES OF WAR.” The crowd fell silent in a hush. Felix grinned at the silence, he knew what it meant. Reichenbach’s overwhelming need for petty revenge had led him to overreach and everyone knew it was poor form to challenge a squire.

Edward exhaled loudly and vaulted into his saddle, ignoring the protesting of his tortured muscles and the height of Bohemund’s back. Once he was comfortable in his seat, he accepted his helm from Sir Clement and settled it in place with one hand, reaching for his personal shield next. It was a simple black shield with an argent fleur de lys on its face. As a squire Edward had no arms of his own but he had settled on the simple device for the course of the contest. Clem helped strap it to his left arm nodding to the spare two shields waiting beside their point of the Lists. Edward did not speak as he reached for his lance that Konrad had prepared for him, noting carefully the extra weight at the tip that the war-head created.

“It’s only three passes lad, you went through more with us today. Watch his lance and make sure he doesn’t try to run you through, and whatever you do, don’t forget the shield isn’t your only target.” Sir Felix offered his last words of advice before moving to the side with Lady Eva. Clem slapped his thigh plate in encouragement before moving to join them. With a last deep breath and a loud exhale, Edward pressed his heels gently to Bohemund’s flanks and walked out into view of the crowd.

The tension was palpable, and Edward swore that he could have cut the air with a knife. The usual cheers were silent and Edward could see his opponent at the other end of the Lists. Reichenbach looked the same as he had in the melee. He sat astride a large charger who was clearly agitated, it constantly snorted and pawed at the ground, kicking up dust. Edward knew the behaviour, it was a horse that had seen perhaps too much of the spur, and even from a distance he could see the ragged red patches on the horse’s flanks. The thought angered him greatly, a good horse was a warrior’s greatest ally, it was cruel and unnecessary to treat one so roughly. Spurs served their purpose but they were not meant to be a tool of punishment.

“Alright Bohemund, I’m going for his head.” He whispered to his own steed conspiratorially. The Lord rode to his marker and signalled with his lance that he was ready for the first pass, and Edward mirrored the motion, pumping his lance straight in the air.

The flag of the Field Monitor dropped with a flourish and the man ran for the stands. For the first time Edward put his spurs to Bohemund’s flanks and the great stallion launched himself forward. The speed was incredible for a horse so large, Edward had never felt so powerful as he did now. They travelled down the lists like an avalanche of horseflesh and steel. Edward rose in his saddle, aiming the lance across Bohemund’s withers, bringing the lance comfortably into his rest before turning just so. He knew from his opponent’s posture that once again the fool had taken him for an untrained boy. Edward’s lance struck high on the inside corner of Reichenbach’s shield, the sharpened head driving through wood, to crash into his armoured shoulder. The spike carried on through steel, leather and padded arming cote to drive deep into the meat of his shoulder, rocking the man back over his crupper. The lance snapped at the halfway point allowing Edward to ride on by. Reichenbach’s own lance glanced off Edward’s shield leaving a long scratch on the surface but no real damage.

Edward turned to see his opponent howling in pain and rage as he dropped his shield and allowed his attendants to remove the piece of lance that stuck out of him like some broken branch. He allowed himself a grin, the trick would undoubtedly not work twice, but his blow had been true and would hurt for days to come. He tossed the broken lance away and patted Bohemund with a firm hand on his neck.

“You were brilliant my friend.” He crooned to the proud steed.

The first pass was clearly Edward’s and the crowd cheered now. A thunderous gale of exploding tension and enthusiasm as the people called for the underdog to claim victory. Edward did his best to ignore the noise but it was hard to block out such a crescendo. Konrad handed him up a fresh lance as soon as he made it back to his place, and Clement came to his side.

“That was well done, you’ll be a mighty jouster yet, proud of you my nephew.” He grinned and gripped Edward’s shoulder before moving back to his place as Edward trotted back to his own.

Edward re-settled his reins in his left hand, feeling the leather through his glove. Once more he steadied his breathing, he’d done well but he still had to survive the next two passes. Two passes and he could lay down, or I’ll die and not have to worry, he thought bitterly as he signalled that he was ready for the second pass. The Field Monitor dropped the flag and Bohemund thundered down the list a second time. Clods of dirt flew under the big stallion’s hooves as he bore down on von Reichenbach. Edward set his lance and leaned into the blow, this time he wanted to damage the arm.

All thoughts of his own strike evaporated as he felt the sharp impact on his left shoulder, his shield shattered as Reichenbach’s lance exploded into a thousand thousand pieces. The lance head drove into his pauldron with amazing force that laid him back over the crupper. Breath exploded from his chest and Edward felt his vision darken. Bohemund spun in a broad circle as Edward fell sideways, only a knee under the corner of his saddle cantle kept him in his seat as his body lay flat out to his horse’s side.

Clement was at Bohemund’s side in what felt like an instant to Edward but was actually nearly thirty seconds. The squire eventually came to enough to realise where he was and allowed his knight to push him back up into his proper seat.

“Are you okay?” Clement asked hurriedly, looking him over for injuries.

“I’ll be fine.” Edward said through his ragged gasps for air. He slid his hand over his shoulder and to his relief found the steel of his pauldron and cuirass bearing only a slight blemish, having not lost its shape. “Just winded me, he hits like a hammer.” Clement sighed deeply with relief as his squire spoke.

“Shall I forfeit the match now?” He asked, “You’ve rode two fine passes, nothing more to prove and no loss of honour.” Clem assured him in a hurried tone. Edward looked down at his knight and popped his visor so that they could meet eye to eye.

“And what kind of knight would I make, if I couldn’t handle just one more pass?” He asked with tears in his eyes, he felt them slide down his cheeks and the biting winter wind stung them to rosy redness. “I want to be a knight like you my lord, like my father, don’t rob me of this chance.” Clem opened his mouth to speak and closed it almost as quickly. He nodded finally after several moments and led Bohemund back to Edward’s starting point.

Once there, Konrad helped strap a fresh shield onto Edward’s arm, along with a quick inspection of where the armour took the blow. While he did not doubt that Edward would be bruised, he shone with pride in his Master’s work, a lesser armourer and the lance would have impaled his young friend he was sure. Without a word he handed up the final lance to Edward. Clem came to stand by Edward for the final pass.

“Aim for his head, you can hit it I promise you, he doesn’t deserve to come out of this with any dignity.” Clem spoke with a certain anger, but there was also pride in his tone, he knew his squire could do this. Edward nodded and slapped his visor back down with the grand guard of his lance. At his signal, the monitor dropped the flag one last time.

Edward’s lance was a feather in his hand. He felt the wind rushing through his visor slit and he knew, he wasn’t sure how he knew, but he knew he had the man cold. There was a hesitance in von Reichenbach’s position, perhaps it was in the way he lowered his lance, but it was there all the same. Edward brought the point of his lance on target and felt it drive home. Steel punctured steel, sliding through skin, and bone and brain before punching through the other side. Head and helm came clear as the lance did not break.

Reichenbach’s headless corpse rode for several more strides before his horse seemingly realised his reins were slack. As the horse stopped, the body slid off and into the dust. There was a thunderous roar from the crowd as they rose to their feet and cheered. Edward looked at the bloody thing attached to his lance, watching with curious detachment as the red fluid and grey matter leaked from the helm, and slid down towards his hand.

The squire slid off his horse and let the lance drop, before he fell to his knees trembling. All at once Sir Clement and Sir Felix were with him. Clem helped him to his feet but Sir Felix pushed him down to his knees before them. Felix drew his sword and held it above his head.

“By my right as a Knight-!” He began but was immediately cut off by the roar of the Herald.

“HALT AND KNEEL BEFORE THE EMPEROR!” Felix spun and fell to his knees, as did everyone in the stands. The previously cacophonously loud crowd fell silent as the man in his purple finery, with gold buttons and a thick golden crown walked across the sands, flanked by his son and several of his personal guards. The Commander with the black plume was right with him Edward noted oddly.

When the Emperor reached them, a graceful smile split his leonine features.

“Good knights please stand.” He told them in a voice as light as air. “Truly we witnessed greatness today, young squire that was a fine joust, I am proud to have seen it.” His smile encompassed them with its warmth and Edward felt a calm fall over him that he had not felt since he’d first woke up that morning. His hands still shook for he had taken a life, and the enormity of what he had done struck him like a blow. His mouth opened before he could stop it.

“Forgive me your Majesty, I did not mean to kill him.” He blubbered through his barely restrained sobs. “I didn’t want to kill him, it was an accident.” Clem’s arms went around the boy as he knelt beside him, a rather paternal display in front of the Emperor but one he couldn’t resist. The Emperor looked on with hazel eyes that were kind and could only be considered dreamy.

“It is a terrible thing to take a life, and he was one of my nobles, so I must request that you arrange to pay compensation to his widow. Lord von Reichenbach was a schemer and not meant for great things but he was still under my protection.” The Emperor began and Edward’s head fell as he waited for the monarch to pass judgement. “Even so, the tournament field and especially a challenge like this is beyond the reach of such oathes, and that is the risk he took when he slapped you, young Edward.” Edward’s eyes came up in time to see the Emperor take Sir Felix’s sword. “You fought beautifully today young squire, you are a credit to your knight and your captain, for such a fine display of arms it is only fitting that I award you the title of Landgraf, I will find a good piece of land for you on the western coast somewhere I should think, near Bludden.” He raised the sword then. “More so, by my right as Emperor of Kallamagne, Grand Duke von Bludden and Knight of the Order of the Spear, I name thee knight.” He struck Edward’s shoulder with the flat of the sword and passed it back to Sir Felix. “Let this be the last blow you receive unanswered.” The slap of the back of his hand struck Edward hard, even so he felt how soft the chamois of the glove was. “Arise, Sir Edward de Marche, Ritter Landgraf of Kallamagne.” Edward stood, with Clement and Felix assisting him.

The crowd roared.