The Tourney Field outside of Seageld was a far grander and far larger affair than what the Emperor had built for his tournament at Siegesstand. Unlike the Imperials, in Arturia the majesty and romance of the tournament was almost a second religion. The fenced off list field was large enough that two teams of over a hundred horsemen could face off at either end, and were surrounded by grandstands that could house almost the entire population of Seageld. It was perhaps a commentary on the view the Arturians took that martial prowess could ennoble the soul, and through this their lower social echelons saw more upward momentum than in the more rigid class structures of the Empire.

While the main events were by invitation only and could only be participated in by the greatest knights in the kingdom, a true Grand Tourney hosted hundreds of smaller events that were open to all comers, and through this lesser men of arms could hope to win acclaim and gain the notice of the great lords if they were seen to fight well. This is what created the second grand spectacle of the tourney; the tent city. Spreading as far as the eye could see beyond the lists were thousands of tents from great pavilions of silk to little hovels of sod and mud. This was where the multitudes came when the King decreed a grand tourney, for no lord of the kingdom could put on an event of such magnitude nor splendour.

Deep within the winding lanes and alleys of the tent city, Sir Edward and his men had made their camp, walled off from the rest by the simple expedient of circling their wagons and draping walls of tarp between them. Guards in full harness kept watch ensuring none would threaten the anonymity of the Black Knight. Two hooded and cloaked figures were escorted through the make-shift “gate” to meet with the young captain as he rested on his war saddle, his arming doublet was in his hands along with a fine steel needle and some black silk twist as he showed William how to efficiently sew an eyelet into the thick layered garment so that it would comfortably hold up his leg harness in the coming contest.

Both young men looked up as the visitors were brought to their fire and Edward rose in turn to greet the men. Now safe within the confines of the camp they removed their hoods and William saw men who resembled his lord. The elder of the two stood only an inch taller than Edward but with thicker shoulders and darker hair that turned almost red in his well groomed beard. He smiled broadly, the easy smile of a man who never struggled with the social graces of the world, and he pulled his younger brother into an embrace.

The second man was more reserved and beneath his cloak he wore the white robes of a member of the Order of Roland, though beneath the robe his feet were booted and spurred marking him as a member of the fighting ordo. He still in turn embraced his younger brother when his turn came. Edward smiled to see them before turning to William and gesturing the boy forward.

“William, these are my elder brothers,” he gestured to the eldest, “this is Sir Richard, my father’s heir and the best horseman I’ve ever seen,” Richard bowed to the squire and smiled rolling his eyes at his brother’s praise, “and this is Sir Eric, my father’s second son, and as I understand it now a brother of Roland’s Order?” The last was framed as a question as Edward met Eric’s eyes.

“Yes, I took my vows last spring, officially I am Fra Eric now,” Edward smiled at his taciturn brother.

“This is my squire William,” Edward’s face darkened as he added, “the surviving one anyway.” Richard placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“Father mentioned you’d taken losses, he also told me that it wasn’t your fault little brother, unfortunately losses happen and no one is immune to this, I’ll pray to Roland that young William here is able to win his spurs for the both of them.” William blushed at that and bowed deeply.

Edward’s mood rose slightly as he looked at the young squire, “well, I hadn’t told him yet, but that’s a good enough reason, William, you may ride in arms during the tourney, I’ll have you serve me for the first day during my stint as the Black Knight, but you are free to compete after.”

William was lost for words at the pronouncement his eyes darting to the whicker panniers that held his harness as worry lines began to etch themselves onto his features.

“Oh go check your harness then,” Edward said with an easy smile, “leave my brothers to me.”

The boy ran to check his armour and ensure everything was in working order as the three men moved into the confines of Edward’s pavilion, each finding a seat on a camp stool while Edward himself served out wine with his own hands. Once the older men were seen to Edward lowered himself to his own chair and looked at them.

“So what brings you to my camp the night before the tourney my brothers?” He asked with a cynical smile, his feet stretched out towards the brazier that gave them light and warmth. Richard quirked his lips into a half smile.

“Our grandfather and uncle were nice enough to inform us of what they’ve asked you to do and what’s expected of you, we just wanted to offer our support, from what we’ve heard though you don’t really need it.” Richard chuckled as he looked Edward up and down, the shock evident on his face as he tried to reconcile the powerful young man before him with his memories of his little brother.

“And we’re here to tell you of what the King hasn’t.” Eric was as laconic as Edward remembered and his voice held censure though whether it was for himself or for their esteemed elders Edward was unsure. Richard grimaced at his brother but nodded in turn.

“His majesty and the Duke are so focused on the McCulloughs that they’re missing other threats, I doubt you will have heard of them, but a new cult has gotten its hooks into a few southern counties,” Richard explained, “They claim to follow some prophet from across the sea who was killed and resurrected and yada yada, you know the usual rhetoric, they’re gaining sway amongst the common folk of those regions and the Count of Trebond converted and granted lands to their “church”, now generally speaking we don’t care what a handful of commoners believe, but they’ve started throwing the Orders of the Worthies out of the counties and more than that, outright attacking roving brothers.” Richard saw the skepticism and disbelief in his brother’s eyes, “they burned a brother-knight at the stake three weeks ago as a heretic,” Eric shook his head and made the sign of Roland over his chest, “the perpetrators were rounded up and executed for the murder but now some priest of the cult has come to the capital seeking reparations for their deaths.”

Eric made himself known as he sipped his wine, “it gets worse, the Count has officially decreed he will be taking orders with this Cult and granting their Bishop the rule of his land, all of Trebond will be theirs, and these cults are never happy with just a little, but the King is so desperate for allies that he may approve the transfer, if he does the Grandmaster will remove any and all support from the Order to the throne, the kingdom will fracture and we won’t just have civil war, it’ll be holy war…”

“And what am I supposed to do about it?” Edward asked, “Forgive me Eric, you know I venerate Roland but if the king grants them the county I’m not going to be able to stop them.”

“We just want you aware before tomorrow,” Richard spoke again, “The Count is here and has decreed that he shall show the power of his Lord by overcoming you as a symbol of the false god Roland, obviously he has no idea who you are but you know as well as I that the Black Knight tradition dates back to when Roland united Arturia.”

“Alright so I just beat the Count and you think it’ll go away?”

“No of course not, they’re far too entrenched now for that to be it, but I want you to put a lance through him regardless.” Richard said grimly, earning a nod of approval from Eric, “send a message to them that they will not have Arturia, also they will have a few knights in the lists this week, they all wear red crosses, make sure none of them see any success,” Richard met his brother’s eye.

“I’m sick of sending messages,” Edward spat in frustration, “but fine I’ll put them in the dust, but I already promised his majesty that I would be the champion of this tourney, so I would have had to anyway,” he sighed, the whole affair leaving a sour taste in his mouth, “this isn’t what knighthood was supposed to be like,” he muttered.

Richard winced, “I’m sorry Ed,” he apologized, Edward smiled in spite of himself, no one had called him Ed in years, “I know it feels like just one thing after another being dumped on your shoulders, but we will be here to support you through it all, and besides, the Duke told me you needed a great cause to fight for, how does the preservation of the Arturian throne and the way of life for Arturia’s people sound as a worthy cause?”

Edward nodded, “sounds like people might think slightly better of me when I put other knights down rather than unarmed peasants.” Maybe he still had some more bitterness in him he realized.

Edward sighed deeply and rose to his feet, “thank you for coming, but I need some rest, tomorrow will be a big day.” Richard pulled him into an embrace while Eric merely bowed, though his face had softened considerably as he had seen his little brother’s conflicted spirit.

“We’ll be cheering tomorrow.” Eric offered before the two men raised their hoods once more and left the camp, leaving Edward to try and sleep as his mind continued to roil with fear and doubt.

**********************************

The wolf’s tail of the false dawn lit the list field in an unrelieved grey. Edward was already mostly armed in the small shade cloth that came off the temporary wooden tower that stood at one end of the list field. It was a squat structure that consisted of one room and a balcony over a solid little staircase. It rose ten feet into the air and looked much like the wall towers that lined the curtain wall of Seageld, just much smaller. It would serve as the Black Knight’s tower, the “prison” in which he held the Queen of Love and Beauty who ruled over the tourney. She would hold her Court of Love during the nights of feasting and the way young men of arms and knights behaved around her court would be reported to the king and the great lords. To disgrace oneself in the Court of Love was a surefire way to have titles and privileges removed, Edward had even heard tell of sons being disinherited for acting the boor.

Said Queen was already ensconced in her tower, her word was law for the duration of the tourney and so it was only fitting that she be a well educated woman of noble blood and of marriageable age, after all what better way to attract the attention of the great lords with sons to marry off than through a display of power? Edward had caught sight of her already and he had to admit she was breath taking. Her hair was a similar sandy blonde to his own and she had the well-muscled frame of a practiced horsewoman. She wore a long gown that laced up the sides in parti-colour blue and yellow, her father’s colours, and his lions were embroidered in opposing colours on the breast, while her hair was tied in a high style with a white veil wrapped around that made her look somewhat exotic to Edward’s untrained eye.

Even she could not know his identity however, per the rules of the event, and so Edward had rushed William to help him arm and once his visor was shut he had had the shade that separated the tower from his impromptu pavilion lowered signaling to her that she may approach if she wished.

She approached him hesitantly as her soft shoes made little noise bar the creaking of the wooden stairs. She clearly did not know what to make of the young giant who stood steel clad and watching the tourney list as people had begun to trickle into the stands even as the sun’s first rays cleared the horizon heralding the break of day. The squire bowed her in so that she knew he was aware of her presence at the very least.

Her hand strayed inadvertently to the gold hilted rondel dagger at her hip as the knight turned and bowed deeply to her, his knee brushing the ground in a full reverentia, “Lady de Bourbon, it is my absolute honour to fight for you today.” He spoke, his voice only partially muffled by the visor that he kept in place.

She curtsied herself almost automatically as her eyebrow quirked upwards in confusion, Edward had to admit that he found even her skeptical look quite fetching, “my father informed me that my guardian would be someone I should take note of, by that I assume he meant you are a potential suitor?” She asked.

“I have been informed the same my lady,” Edward responded from his knees, “however my lady, might I suggest we rise and make use of my camp chairs, apologies but kneeling in full harness is quite wearing and I hope to do you no dishonour in my performance today.” Maria, as if only just noticing that he was still on his knee before her, jumped at the notion and quickly raised him with her own hands.

“I’m so sorry sir knight, the youth in your voice took me by such surprise that I forget myself, please do not kneel, let us sit and talk.” She took a seat on one of the camp chairs and William brought her a cup of warm hippocras from their small brazier, Edward contented himself with sips from a water skin he could position beneath his visor.

“I hope you will not take offence when I say, I did not expect you to sound so young,” Lady Maria said once it became clear she would need to start the conversation.

“I’ll admit I didn’t expect the subject to be broached until I was older, but as I understand it politics require expedience at times.” This brought a frown to the Lady’s face.

“My father promised me a love match when I was a girl, I guess things must be dire for him to break his word.” She was clearly not impressed and Edward had to rush to reassure her.

“My lady I promise you your father’s word is iron, I can’t reveal much until this evening when I am allowed to show my face, but no man may tell his King no, even with the King’s insistence he has managed to allow you choice in the matter.” Edward shook his head, he admired the fire he saw in her, “more so I will swear it here and now with the Worthies as my witnesses, whatever you decide I will see it upheld, I will never press you to agree to the marriage.”

“So you do not wish to marry me then sir knight?” She asked archly, her brow rising in disapproval.

Edward raised his hands in a gesture of peace, “no, no that’s not what I meant, I just, umm…” His voice trailed off as he saw the smile spreading across the lady’s face, “I see my lady has a wicked sense of humour, you had me there.”

“Well you score points there sir, most do not take kindly to being made fun by me,” She sighed as she placed her chin in her palm and looked him up and down, “not seeing your face makes conversing hard, do you truly believe you will not be unmasked until this evening?” Her voice was skeptical once more, “I mean no disrespect but there are some truly formidable knights here for the tourney and you sound very young, no matter how tall you are.”

Edward smiled at the question before realizing she could not see his face, “I am confident in my ability to hold this field, I have already sworn to after all.” The lady smiled, like all the young nobility of Arturia, she was in love with the romance of the tournament and great vows were born of spontaneity.

“Very well sir knight, you will carry my honour on the field this day, but to remind you, have this.” She unlaced her sleeve and presented the cloth of gold piece of her garment to him with her head lowered shyly.

Edward took it with gentle hands and bowed to her once more, “I shall wear it and defend it with every ounce of my prowess my lady.” She curtsied again and returned to her tower, leaving William to affix the sleeve to the peak of Edward’s new helm.

**********************************

The sun had been up for only an hour when the first of the knights made their way onto the list field. Edward stood beside Bohemund, doing his best to save his steed’s spirit for when they would be truly tested. It was the prerogative of the Knights who challenged him to determine how they would fight, and so sitting on Bohemund’s back and wasting his precious strength was a terrible idea.

The stands were full now and the King had taken his place to the applause of many, weak as he may have become in his illness, the man was well loved by the populace. Cheers and jeers in equal measure washed over the large lists and Edward could only wait as the line of knights who had the right to challenge the Black Knight rode onto the sand covered field. Each was a knight of great repute and powerful station, the cream of Arturia’s nobility. Heraldry in every colour and featuring every charge was blazoned over them in a riot of colour and sartorial skill. Except for one, one who wore only a simple white surcoat emblazoned with a cross, the Count of Trebond, Edward had to surmise. Another who stood out was clad in a green and black tartan pattern and wore a great kilt over his harness, he was another Edward had to mark; the Laird McCullough.

Lady Maria already stood on her balcony to oversee the contest and the first knight to approach them was an old man in his forties, his hair was grey but his shoulders were still strong, he kept his helm in one hand pressed to his side and rode up to just below the balcony.

“Lady Maria, your beauty shines like the sun before us all here, I have always counted your father as a friend and I fear my wife would never forgive me were I to compete for your hand in this evening’s feast,” that bit of wit earned the man a smile from the lady, “however I would be honoured if this great knight would break a lance with me here that we may demonstrate our love for you, your father and this mighty list through our prowess?”

“My lord Count, I thank you, you do this field much honour, with my leave the Black Knight may break a lance with you.” The Lady answered in turn.

Edward vaulted into Bohemund’s saddle in an ostentatious display of his strength and saluted the Count with his lance. As the Count in turn saluted and rode back some paces to give them room the lady whispered down to Edward.

“He’s the Count of Foix, a great Lord and a good knight, if you can break a lance on his shield, I’ll believe you have what it takes to hold this list field.” Edward smirked in his helm.

“A worthy opponent, nothing for it except to show you what I can do I suppose.” He answered nonchalantly.

Once they had reached their places and the Count had laced his helm in place and lowered his visor, the world around the field began to fade away from Edward. He in turn adjusted his seat and checked the straps of his shield. He had not tilted without a barrier since he had dueled the Shroud in the Wald, but Edward was a very different fighter than he had been all those years ago. He was confident, he could feel the energy that buzzed within him just below the surface, it connected him to Ritter, and he could feel the sleeping dragon somewhere off to the west, the beast was dreaming of hunting rabbits of all things.

The herald in charge raised a flag of the King’s arms and looked to each of them for confirmation that they were ready. Edward raised his lance once to signal and the Count matched him. As the flag dipped, each knight put spur to steed and charged towards the other. At once there were differences, the count’s bay stallion reared and leapt forward on its hind legs for three steps before coming down onto all four hooves and hitting a gallop, whereas Bohemund hit his stride in two steps and kept his head. Each knight kept their lance raised upright as they charged, neither giving anything away in the angle of their shoulders or hips, and Edward knew he had a wily opponent on his hands.

At the last possible instant the lances came down like stooping hawks, they crossed and both knights seemed to wriggle around the other until both lance heads crashed into their shields and detonated in a wave of splinters and wooden shrapnel. Both lances were shattered and the crowd roared their appreciation of the feat of arms, only the truly expert jousters had seen what had happened. To most viewers it merely looked like a normal pass where both men had broken their lances, but each had tried a difficult maneuver, each had tried to parry the opponent’s lance, and each had failed. It was a dangerous move that only truly worked if the opponent did not try to counter in the same fashion. What made it dangerous was the risk of being knocked too low and fouling the blow on your opponent’s steed, something that would see you banned from the lists and the forfeiture of your horse and arms as recompense.

The Count rode forward and extended his hand, “that was well rode sir, I do hope that you will allow me a chance at a proper contest later in the tourney.” Edward accepted the proffered hand and shook once, the man’s grip was firm but he did not attempt to test Edward’s strength in the way many older knights did, he smiled within his helm at the notion that he had finally been able to have a contest with a true knight who viewed the rules the way he did.

“It was an honour to cross lances with you my lord Count, I would very much enjoy the opportunity to test myself against you again.” With one last firm shake and a nod the count spun his steed and rode for the exit of the lists, raising his hand to wave at the cheering crowd, after all this was what they wanted to see, knights behaving like knights, no anger or venomous words, merely fellowship forged in the fires of contest.

**********************************

The challenges came thick and heavy after the Count’s display. The day wore on and men came forward one at a time to challenge the Black Knight. The first two were unhorsed in a single pass each, their horses collected by William and hobbled by Edward’s tent. Bohemund was a powerful horse, but after five opponents he was flagging. The black stallion’s great heart could only last so long, and when they had defeated their seventh opponent, a knight in all blue with a white swan on his shield, a series of three passes that had to be decided by points as they had not been able to unhorse each other, Bohemund’s legs were trembling and Edward was forced to dismount and send him to be rubbed down by a dutiful William, murmuring reassurances to the stallion that he was the best of his kind.

Edward himself had begun to feel the strain and he was sure his left side would be bruised for a month from the repeated blows of the lances, but he cycled a small amount of his energy through himself and felt refreshed almost instantly. Neither of the knights he had expected an immediate challenge from had approached yet. Both stood at the far end with their reins over their arms allowing their horses to crop the small shoots that pushed through the sandy field and drinking water as they observed the contests. It was a favoured tactic of those who sought to win the Black Knight’s tower, if they waited the Black Knight would exhaust himself on lesser opponents while they conserved their strength, while frowned upon it was not against the rules and so each man waited, and watched.

Out of respect for the heroic efforts of his steed the next opponent, the eldest son of the Count of Foix no less, challenged Edward to a contest on foot. Seeing no reason not to acknowledge the courtesy Edward bowed to the young knight.

“Thank you my lord, I’m afraid my steed has seen too much action today, your kindness does you much credit, what weapon would you like to use?” Edward asked.

“I am best with a poleaxe, but given your need to conserve your strength and that you don’t want to be hampered for later events, let us make do with longswords.” The young knight answered. Edward grinned at the well spoken answer, it honoured both of them and was an excellent show of courtesy, damn it he liked this young man.

“Poleaxes it is, let us not ever wonder if you could have performed better.” Edward answered in turn and received his own weapon from William who collected it from the waiting rack and ran it to his master. It was clearly well received as the other young man smiled in turn and took the proffered weapon from his own squire.

“I am Sir Gareth, I hope we might be better acquainted once this is all over.” They both bowed to one another and saluted with their weapons before taking a ready position. Edward was no slouch with a poleaxe but he’d be kidding himself if he thought it was at all close to being his best weapon, still he had some ideas on how to proceed.

Edward was bigger than Gareth by a few inches and certainly had more mass, that would stand him in good stead with a weapon like the poleaxe, and without wasting a breath his shot the head forward in a low thrust between his opponent’s legs, the hook on the back of the head went around Gareth’s ankle and Edward pulled in turn to flip his opponent. It was a tried and true tactic, an opponent on their back was far easier to finish than one standing, unfortunately Gareth was no novice and the pull was met with matched force as he pushed his hooked foot backwards, maintaining his balance and staying upright.

In a heartbeat Edward was on the defensive as his opponent’s weapon swept in a straight cut from shoulder to shoulder. With no option and his own axe trapped on Gareth’s ankle, Edward stepped in. Betting his speed and his armour’s ability to hold against a strike from the shaft against Gareth’s ability to strike Edward crashed into his opponent chest plate to chest plate. Axe haft smashed into his shoulder, taking the blow on two layers of maille and his spaulder, the best place to be struck, and yet it still hurt like crazy. Pain sunk deep into the muscles of his shoulder. Gareth was a canny and experienced opponent, but he did not like being up close with Edward who outweighed him.

As Gareth tried to create distance his own tactic of trapping Edward’s axe with his ankle now played against him, Edward rotated his own haft over Gareth’s knee, letting go with one hand to grip the man around the shoulders and throw him over his own hip. Gareth hit the dirt hard, and by the time he had regathered himself Edward had his butt spike aimed at his faceplate. Gareth raised his hands in surrender and let out a good natured laugh.

“Well struck sir, that’ll teach me to get arrogant.” Edward offered a hand and lifted his erstwhile opponent back to his feet, each embraced the other and Gareth raised Edward’s hand in celebration for the crowd, “I hope we meet again sir knight!”

“You also Sir Gareth.” Edward said.

**********************************

The sun was low and the day was almost over when the expected challenges finally came. Edward had only to last one more hour and he would be victorious as the Black Knight, sweat had soaked his arming wear all the way through, and twice now his squire had refilled his waterskins, as he had drained all three over and over. The energy that flowed through him was working its way over his skin and through his organs, his breathing was still steady and he was still alert, but there was only so much he could do to block the pain. Even in victory a knight would take small wounds, bruises and abrasions were prevalent across his body and there was an unmistakable red stain on his braes and hose that dripped from a small gore in his side where some lucky knight’s butt spike had pierced his mail.

The first of his true challengers was the knight in the white surcoat, he rode forward with a lance and Edward hoped that Bohemund would be ready for the contest, though a glance at William disabused him of the notion, Bohemund was done for the day and anything further would only unnecessarily harm the brave stallion. Edward sighed as William brought him one of the spare horses he had won throughout the day, he just had to hope the beast would not be a hindrance.

It was a foolish display and a waste of energy, but once more he vaulted into the saddle to show he wasn’t just unbeaten, but he was ready. The Herald for the day began his announcement of the challenger again, “The Count of Tre-“ unfortunately he could not complete his announcement as a white clad squire tugged on his sleeve and whispered in his ear.

“Apologies, I have been informed the challenger will be addressed as, The Grandmaster of the Most Holy Templars!” The herald finished, bowed to the crowd and ran to his position at the edge of the lists. The white knight guided his steed forward until he was within hailing distance of Edward.

“I no longer hold such temporal and worthless titles as Count of Trebond, I serve a far higher power than any king, and it will be quite fitting that I demonstrate this power against one clad as a servant of the great Enemy.” The man’s voice was flecked with spittle and his eyes were quite mad, burning with the kind of fanaticism that Edward had rarely seen on the battlefield. Still he couldn’t resist a small sally at the man.

“If he’s so powerful why did you wait so long to challenge me?” Edward laughed darkly, and he made sure the man knew he laughed at him, “just another coward pretending to serve, come messier, let’s see if that lance is just for show.”

“Filthy heretic, when I unmask you, you will burn for your heresies.” Edward didn’t respond, and only pumped his lance once to signal his readiness. There was no point trying to understand madness, so he lowered his lance and charged.

The new destrier could not hold a candle to Bohemund, but he was up to the task and together they bore down on the oncoming Grand Master of the Templars. As expected of a nobleman, the former Count was a well-trained jouster, but he was no expert lance. Edward changed his target at the last moment, his lance point moving slightly further left and past the shield edge of his opponent and driving into the man’s breastplate. There were no rules against killing an opponent in a joust, after all accidents happened all the time, so Edward in turn felt no compunctions about driving his lance into the man’s gut.

The armour held but Edward could see a fist sized divot in the steel, the damage would be fairly painful and the armour itself would be uncomfortable in the extreme to wear. If he’d had a lance of war, the fight would have been over, as it stood the blunted coronal on the lance tip still hit with an incredible amount of force.

The herald ran to Edward before he was around for the second pass, a look of terror on his face, “The Grandmaster intends to ride with a Lance of War for the remaining passes my lord, you would do well to do the same.” Now Edward knew the man was truly mad, typically to switch to such lances would require the consent of both knights, to simply do so was a display of gross lese majestie against the Tournament Host, the King himself.

Edward sighed, but he did not switch himself, if my brothers and the king want to send a message, let it be a simple one, anger will not overcome chivalry today. He thought to himself before facing his opponent again. The crowd’s cheers had turned to boos and their unhappiness with the challenger’s choice was plain to see, there were cries of shock and recriminations from around the King’s seat as the great lords looked disgusted, except for one man in a white robe who looked content and poisonous all in one.

Edward did his best to drown it all out as he put spurs to his steed and charged his opponent once more. They came together like all the pots and pans in the world, the crashing sound of steel on steel and the cracking of lances as the sharpened point of the Grandmaster’s lance buried itself in Edward’s shield, breaking off and extending through the wooden face by a good six inches. His own lance had tracked its target well, he’d planted the coronal against the faceplate of the Grandmaster’s helm and driven him back over the crupper, the force burst the man’s saddle girth and he went down behind his steed in a tangle of armoured limbs and saddle leather.

Unable to contain himself Edward galloped along the fence line before the crowd and rose in his stirrups to pump his lance in the air, it was perhaps the most masterful joust of his young life and he knew it. The crowd roared their approval and it was as rejuvenating as his energy cycles could ever be.

As he returned to his place before the wooden tower, Lady maria leaned over the balcony, “that was beautiful my champion,” her words sent a thrill through him and he could only smile.

“I feel like a knight.” He told her, not elaborating, but practically glowing as he bathed in the adulation of the screaming crowd, commoner and noble alike were ecstatic at the result. Still one opponent remained. The tartan clad Laird McCullough rode forward with a raised hand and no weapon in sight.

“Well rode sir Knight, I dare say I have not seen a fighter of your calibre in a long time, maybe when you reveal yourself we can discuss you coming to serve me, I assure you the clans would pay handsomely to have your services, still I do not think we need to cross lances to know I could not match you today.” He bowed in his saddle and rode away to much applause and approval from the crowd. Edward could only frown, he had misread his opponent, the Laird would not be goaded into rash action like this new church could be, he was a wily and intelligent politician, and he would need to be watched.

“Good people of Arturia, his Majesty has declared the day’s event to be at an end, with no more willing opponents, The Black Knight has triumphed and he will be allowed the honour of escorting the Lady Maria to this evening’s feast.” The herald’s voice blasted forth, “now that he has proven himself the truest flower of Arturian Chivalry with prowess, endurance and courtesy for all, please sir knight, approach his majesty to receive your laurel and be presented to the people.”

Edward rode back to the fence line and approached the seats where the King reclined with his closest advisors including Edward’s own father and grandfather, all were smiling broadly. Edward raised his helm over his head and handed it along with his arming cap to his squire as he bowed in his saddle to his King.

“My people,” the king’s voice was strong and magically enhanced to carry over the whole list, “it gives me great pride and pleasure to introduce you to my nephew, the son of my very own champion Sir Richard de Marche,” he laid a wreath of laurel leaves on Edward’s head like a crown, “I give you Sir Edward de Marche, the newest Marshal of Arturia, Count of Bouclier!” For the second time in his life, Edward was overwhelmed by the shouts of the crowd, this time though, he knew he had earned every bit of it, he revelled in the feeling as he knew without a shadow of a doubt that on this day, he was a knight.