Ascendance (The DemonWars Saga #5) - Page 32

BY THE TIME River Palacetied up to Ursal's long dock, the preparations for the tournament were well under way – so much so that few in the city or at court even commented on the return of Queen Jilseponie.

Pony – and though she had returned, she still thought of herself as Pony again – was glad of that. The preparations would likely keep most courtiers busy throughout the winter of 845-846, offering her some time to settle in without the constant tension.

King Danube embraced the tournament wholeheartedly, with a rousing cheer for Duke Kalas and the others who were making the arrangements. "No finer gift could a king receive from his court!" he proclaimed.

Pony just smiled, glad of the distraction and happy that her husband was happy. She moved about quietly and said little, letting others carry the conversation at the nightly dinners and weekly balls. Often she left the castle, as she had promised she would, going out among the peasants to try to help them with their illnesses and with the general misery of their lives – particularly during this, the coldest of seasons.

When she was not out, the Queen kept mostly to herself, sometimes in prayer, sometimes just sitting at a window and trying to figure out where in this confusing life she truly fit in. There was no self-pity in her, though. Not at all. Pony had more memories – grand memories – than most could ever hope for, and now she understood that the situation was hers to control. She could either let the gossipers and troublemakers bother her, or she could ignore them and go on with her plans, pursuing her goals, shaping this newest Chapter of her life.

In the castle, she was Queen Jilseponie, but out in the streets among the peasants, she was Pony. Just Pony, a friend of those in need.

With Danube, she was a little of both. She had to be there to support him during the times of tension that inevitably accompanied his position. And so she did, but quietly, from behind the scenes. She would not normally be in attendance any more when Duke Kalas or some other nobleman came for an audience complaining about this problem or that, but she would be there beside King Danube later on, lending her ear that he could relieve his tension with animated outbursts.

And after, when he wanted, with lovemaking.

Pony didn't recoil from him at all. She would remain a good wife to this man, because she did indeed care for him deeply, did even love him.

For his part, King Danube kept his promises. He did not question his queen when she went out of Castle Ursal, and he did his very best to ignore the few rumors that had inevitably started circulating once more, now that she had returned to the city.

By the end of the third month of 845, the King's birthday was fast approaching, and so was the end of winter. Several knights from Palmaris had come in before the winter, fearing that the roads would be closed until long after the joust, but the winter that year was a mild one, and a short one.

Marcalo De'Unnero watched the preparations – the great tents and the combat yard, the gathering of minstrels and chefs and warriors from all over the kingdom – with anticipation and a bit of trepidation. He had been staying away from the court proper of late, for the last thing he wanted was to be seen by Queen Jilseponie. Kalas had not recognized him, and in many ways he looked very different from the man the Duke had accompanied all the way to the Barbacan in pursuit of Elbryan and the heretics those many years before, but he had no doubt that if Jilseponie looked into his eyes but once, she would know the truth.

He was confident of that, because he understood that if Jilseponie's appearance had greatly changed – and it had not, he saw on those few occasions when he had watched her from afar – he would still surely recognize her. She was his mortal enemy, as he was hers, and their mutual hatred went far beyond physical appearance.

So De'Unnero, in the guise of Bruce of Oredale, had stayed near the celebration grounds, watching it all, helping where he could. And now, this fine spring day, it was nearly complete, so close, in fact, that the Allheart Brigade, Kingsmen, and Coastpoint Guards were all out drilling for their respective marches across the field, the traditional King's Review.

Aydrian's day was fast approaching.

De'Unnero could hardly draw breath when he considered the trial coming fast before his protege. He was asking this young warrior to do battle -and not just battle, but formal battle, which was an entirely different thing – against the most seasoned knights in the kingdom, and with only a modicum of training in such jousting techniques. He had sent Aydrian off to the southeast, to Yorkey County, for he would enter the tournament as a representative of some minor landowner firmly loyal to Abbot Olin's pocketbook. That seemed the best cover, for Yorkey County, once a bitterly divided multitude of tiny kingdoms, was dotted by small castles -one on every hill, it seemed – and produced more Allheart knights and more of the tournament entrants than the rest of the kingdom combined.

Besides, Yorkey County was the supposed home, he had whispered into Duke Kalas' ear, of the Queen's lover.

"Squire Aydrian of Brigadonna," De'Unnero whispered under his breath, the alias he had instructed the boy to assume. The former monk smiled wickedly at the thought. Yes, he was asking much of young Aydrian, but he had seen the boy at battle and understood Aydrian's prowess with the gemstones. He knew the crowd would not soon forget this tournament.

Aydrian, dressed in normal peasant clothing and standing beside Sadye and De'Unnero, who were similarly outfitted, shook his head with disgust as yet another arrow sailed wide of the mark, flying down the long field set up for the archery contest, traditionally the first competition of a tournament. These were not the King's elite knights competing here, not even soldiers but only simple peasants and huntsmen.

"I would never miss so easy a target," Aydrian said quietly to his companions, his frustration at not being allowed to enter this contest bubbling over. "I could take the target dead center, then split my own arrow with the next shot!"

"You would not get a second shot," De'Unnero corrected. "For Queen Jilseponie, if no others, would surely recognize the feathers topping that bow of yours."

"Then I could have bought a simpler bow," said Aydrian. "It would hardly have mattered. The outcome would be the same."

De'Unnero turned and smiled at the cocky young warrior. "You think yourself better than any of them?" he asked.

"Easily," came the response.

"Good," said the former monk. "Good. And when you are King, you can hold tournaments at your whim and prove yourself – and then you will be able to use that elven bow of yours, as well. But for now, you stand here and you watch."

Aydrian started to protest, but he held back, for he and De'Unnero had been over this time and again that morning. Aydrian and Sadye had arrived quietly in the city, unannounced, but letting a few people see their entry and see that they were carrying armor and all the accoutrements of a tournament competitor in their small wagon.

But De'Unnero had decided not to announce Squire Aydrian of Brigadonna publicly that day, the second of the great feast, the first of the tournament knightly games. He had explained to Aydrian that he wanted to hold back for dramatic effect and so that he could continue to plant rumors among the nobles. Aydrian had complained, for indeed, he truly wanted to leap into the competition right away, but De'Unnero had summarily dismissed him, reminding him that he, and not Aydrian, was in charge.

Not wanting to start that fight again, Aydrian did not now press the issue. He turned his gaze away from the boring archery tournament, with its incredibly average marksmen, where a hit seemed more luck than skill, and focused instead on the royal pavilion, a raised stage and tent, wherein sat the King and Queen and several nobles, including Duke Kalas in splendid silver plate armor, his great plumed helm beside him. The whole pavilion was flanked by armored Allheart knights, insulating their beloved King from the rabble.

Aydrian's gaze fast focused on the woman sitting beside Danube: on Jilseponie, his mother.

His mother!

A host of questions assaulted him, concerning his own identity and the intentions of those around him. Why hadn't Lady Dasslerond told him who his mother was? Why had she and the other elves insisted that Aydrian's mother had died in childbirth? There could be no doubt that Lady Dasslerond, as well informed as any creature in the world, knew the truth, knew Jilseponie was not only alive and well but was also ruling as queen of the most important kingdom in the world.

And why had De'Unnero told him? He was grateful to the man, to be sure, but Aydrian wondered how much of their friendship was based upon complementary characteristics, and how much was De'Unnero's opportunism in using Aydrian as a means to attain his old prominence again.

Aydrian chuckled at the thought and dismissed it, for in truth why did it matter? Was he not using De'Unnero in the very same manner?

He looked at his companion and smirked. A relationship of mutual benefit, he realized, and he was quite content with that. He didn't love De'Unnero, hardly even liked him, to be honest. But together they would rise to greater glory than either of them could rightly expect on his own.

He let his glance drift over to Sadye, admiringly, thinking – not for the first time – that someday he might bring their relationship to a level of intimacy. His eyes roamed up and down her petite but well-toned body, her slender, strong legs, her small but alluring breasts.

Smiling all the wider, Aydrian turned his thoughts and his gaze back to the royal pavilion, and his grin fast drooped into a frown. For now his questions again centered on the Queen – this woman De'Unnero claimed was his mother; this woman, reputedly a great hero of the Demon War and of the plague, who had, for some reason he could not begin to understand or forgive, abandoned him at birth.

Or perhaps he could understand it.

Perhaps we are very much alike,Aydrian thought. Perhaps the Queen is concerned with personal glory and had little time to devote to an infant.

Aydrian, for so many years obsessed with the notion of attaining power and immortality, could easily comprehend such a selfish, consuming need.

But Aydrian, concerned only with Aydrian, could not begin to forgive Jilseponie.

Not at all.

The archery champion, a huntsman from Wester-Honce of no great skill – in Aydrian's estimation – was soon named and was given as his reward a fine bow of yew, presented by Queen Jilseponie herself.

Aydrian again wished that he had been allowed to enter that contest, wished that he could stand before Jilseponie, asking her those questions with his eyes if not his lips. Patience, he told himself.

The rest of the morning was full of music and feasting, of jesters and bawdy plays, of the colors of the noblewomen's fine silken gowns and the drab grays and greens of the peasant women's dirty clothes. De'Unnero and Sadye kept close to Aydrian as they worked through the throngs, a rather pleasant, if uneventful morning.

The early afternoon was much the same, until the blare of trumpets announced that the competition field had been rearranged and that the tournament would begin anew. Caught up in the wave of bodies flocking to the small hills surrounding the field, Aydrian felt his heart leap even more in longing to participate.

For this was the start of the knightly games, the first melee, a scene of utter chaos and ferocity that young Aydrian was well-suited to dominate.

But De'Unnero would not let him. Not yet.

The competitors, almost every one wearing a full suit of plate armor, most of them Allheart knights, but with a few civilian noblemen joining in, rode their armored mounts onto the oval field from several locations, accompanied by the cheers and rousing cries of the throng of onlookers. Duke Kalas was not hard to spot, his great plumed helmet shining in the afternoon sun. The competitors formed into three ranks of seven or eight before the royal pavilion, with Duke Kalas centering the front line.

On Kalas' signal, they all removed their helms and offered a salute of respect – a clenched fist thumped against the chest, then extended, fingers open – to King Danube and Queen Jilseponie.

"King Danube," Kalas began, shouting so that many could hear – and the crowd went as silent as possible at that solemn moment. "On this occasion of your fiftieth birthday, it does us great honor to offer our respect to you. We ask your blessing on this combat and pray that none shall die this day – though if any should die, then he will do so knowing that he was honoring his King!"

King Danube responded with the same salute. The trumpets blared and the crowd roared.

"Notice that he said nothing of honoring Queen Jilseponie," Marcalo De'Unnero remarked slyly.

"A slight?" Sadye asked.

"It is expected that the Queen will always be honored at such events," explained the former monk, who had studied the etiquette and traditions of Honce-the-Bear extensively during his years at St.-Mere-Abelle.

Aydrian didn't quite understand what the two were talking about, for he, unlike the others, wasn't aware of the tremendous problems faced by this Queen who was supposedly his mother. He did note that both De'Unnero and Sadye were smiling at the notion that Jilseponie had just been slighted.

He turned his attention back to the field, to see that all of the competitors had taken up positions along the single-rail fence. The trumpets continued for some time, then were joined by a rank of thundering drums.

The trumpets ended, the drums rolled on, increasing in tempo until . . . silence.

King Danube stood again and surveyed the hushed crowd; then, with a smile he could not contain, he threw the pennant of Castle Ursal to the ground before the royal pavilion.

The competitors kicked their mounts into action, thundering to the middle of the field, falling into a sudden and brutal combat. They all carried heavy, padded clubs – not lethal weapons but ones that could inflict some damage!

It took Aydrian a few minutes to sort out the scramble as the horses came together in a dusty crash. The padded clubs thumped repeatedly off armor – one brave and poor competitor, wearing a patchwork of inferior armor, got smacked repeatedly until he finally slumped and dropped off his mount. Immediately, squire attendants ran out, to corral his rearing, nervous horse and to drag him off the field.

And then another, the only other competitor not wearing a full suit of armor, was ganged up on by a host of knights and beaten into the dirt.

"The noblemen do not appreciate inferiors trying to join their game," Sadye remarked sourly.

"In the past, the tournament was a way in which the Allhearts, and all the King's guards, tried to find newcomers worthy of joining their ranks," De'Unnero explained. "It would seem that the times have changed. King Danube's select group of friends does not wish to allow admittance by any who are not noble born."

"What will they do, then, when I batter the best of their warriors into the dirt?" Aydrian asked with all confidence.

De'Unnero only laughed.

"You should have let me go down there," Aydrian remarked, as a civilian and then an Allheart knight went spinning down heavily into the dirt.

"Tomorrow is another day," the former monk said, and his tone left no room for debate.

The patterns of the fight began playing out on the field below, and Aydrian noted more than a few curiosities. Off to one side of the main melee, a pair of Allheart knights had squared off, but it seemed to Aydrian as if their swings were not especially vicious, and he noticed one or the other ignoring a perfect advantage, an obvious defensive hole.

The young warrior caught on quickly. These two were friends, and were playing for time as more and more of the others were eliminated.

Aydrian also noted that, while Duke Kalas was fighting furiously, taking down one after another, most avoided him – though whether out of deference to the Allheart leader or out of respect for Kalas' fighting prowess, he could not be sure.

The crowd howled and roared, cheers rising as one competitor fell into the dirt after another. Soon it was down to four: Duke Kalas, a civilian nobleman, and the Allheart pair who had been fighting halfheartedly.

Kalas immediately charged after one of the Allheart knights, and Aydrian smiled, catching on. Kalas knew that if he remained alone on the field against the obvious friends, they would likely team up against him.

He was too anxious, though, and the knight leaped his horse aside and chased to join his companion, who was fighting the civilian.

The nobleman fought well, getting his shield up repeatedly to fend off heavy blows, and even managing one counterstroke that banged off the knight's shoulder, nearly unseating him.

But then his friend came in from the other side, and the nobleman took a vicious smash to the back of his head. He staggered and managed to turn his horse somewhat, but that left an opening for the first of his opponents.

The To-gai mount of the Allheart knight leaped ahead, and the knight crashed his club on the nobleman's shoulder, once, then again. The man wavered in his saddle, and the other knight smashed him across the head.

Down he went.

Even as he fell, Kalas was there, pressing one of the knights with a series of short, sharp blows.

Then it was two against one, but Duke Kalas didn't pull away. He drove in his spurs, yanking his mount to the side, and the well-trained pony reared and kicked Kalas' opponent.

Suddenly, the odds were evened.

Kalas took a glancing hit by the other knight for his efforts, but he shrugged it off and pulled the pony around. On came the fierce Duke, smashing away with abandon.

The crowd went wild, anticipating that a champion would soon be named.

Aydrian could hardly believe that the remaining knight was backing defensively in the face of Kalas' wild offensive. Certainly the Duke was raining heavy blows, but just as certainly, the man was leaving wide openings.

Backing meant only that fewer of the blows would land, and perhaps not as hard, but the knight was offering no response at all.

Down came Kalas' weighted club, banging against an upraised shield. Down again, and the knight barely managed to get his shield in the way.

The Duke's To-gai pony pressed in hard, and the knight's pony staggered. Reflexively, the knight grabbed the reins in both hands.

Kalas wasted no time, smashing his club across the knight's visor. He pressed on even harder with his pony; and the knight, falling back and holding on instinctively, fell off, bringing his pony down with him.

The pony immediately scrambled up from the ground, leaving the knight writhing.

Duke Kalas wasn't paying him any heed. He galloped to the royal pavilion, bent low, and scooped up the pennant, then rode the perimeter of the combat field, victory pennant held high.

The crowd went wild with enthusiasm, cheering for their beloved Duke – who had all along been regarded as the heavy favorite to win the competition.

Marcalo De'Unnero motioned for Sadye and Aydrian to follow him as he led them away from the tumult. "Duke Kalas will sit in wait for a challenger tomorrow," he explained.

"I could have defeated him," Aydrian stubbornly insisted.

"Prove it tomorrow," said De'Unnero.

"By not entering today's bout, Aydrian will have to go through all the rounds of combat," Sadye remarked, looking at the former monk curiously.

De'Unnero smiled at her, showing clearly that she had guessed the plan. "All competitors who did not fight today will begin in the morning," he explained to Aydrian. "Three winners of that group will join into the three groups divided among today's losers, with the three who fell last before Duke Kalas to head each group. When a champion among the newcomers and losers is found in each group, he will fight the respective group leader, with the winners moving on.

"That will leave four, counting Duke Kalas," De'Unnero went on. "And those four will fight until one is standing."

"Open melee?" Aydrian asked.

De'Unnero shook his head. "One-to-one combat. Lance, and then weapon, if necessary." He smiled and stared hard at Aydrian as he finished. "Real weapons tomorrow, not these padded clubs."

Aydrian returned the smile, glad to hear it.

"One last thing," De'Unnero said as they made their way out of the fairgrounds toward the villa that they had taken outside Ursal. "Duke Kalas, as today's victor, will ride tomorrow as the King's champion."

"And Aydrian?" asked Sadye, but her grin told the young warrior that she already knew.

"Aydrian will not have to announce until the final round," said De'Unnero. "Then he will ride for the Queen."

"The Talon's sure to win the first, eh?" said a grubby man with bristling brown and gray stubble for a beard and hair that he kept picking at, trying to tear out some lice.

"Should'a been here yesterday," his equally grubby companion replied, running a dirty sleeve across his nose, then spitting on the ground to the side, the wad landing right at De'Unnero's feet.

The former monk regarded it for a moment, then closed his eyes and suppressed any feral urges bubbling within him. He didn't look back at the two particularly dirty and unpleasant peasants but considered their words as he looked at the field, where all the late entrants were gathering. It was easy enough for him to discern who "the Talon" might be; for among the dozen newcomers, only one wore the armor befitting a nobleman – or a rich nobleman's champion, at least. The rest of the group were far less impressive, young men out to prove something to some lady who had caught their fancy, perhaps, or who were deluded enough to believe that their skill in riding and with the lance would somehow overcome the huge disadvantage brought by lack of armor.

De'Unnero smiled at the thought – he could well imagine inexperienced Aydrian riding out on the field in similar fashion, thinking his skill would overcome the disadvantage. That only reinforced to De'Unnero the good fortune Aydrian had found in connecting with him out there in the wilds of Wester-Honce. De'Unnero, too, was a master of fighting, and he knew without doubt that he could destroy Duke Kalas in combat.

Not on a horse, though, and certainly not in the formal combat of a joust. Aydrian's fighting style, like De'Unnero's, was one of foot speed and balance, but that did little good when your feet were set into stirrups!

And a lance was not a weapon to be dodged and parried.

Thus the armor. De'Unnero smiled in anticipation, for he knew that Sadye and the young warrior were not far off, and he could hardly wait for the grand entrance.

The armor! Not a man down there, not Kalas himself, was more splendidly outfitted; and the truth of Aydrian's gemstone-enhanced armor was even more impressive than the show.

The gasps began to resonate across the field and to the left, and De'Unnero smiled all the wider. He saw the peasants parting like grain before the wind, and through the masses came Aydrian, tall upon Symphony. He wore the shining golden-trimmed armor, the helmet obscuring his features. Symphony, too, had been armored, lightly, and atop it, the horse wore a black and red fringed blanket, that hid the telltale turquoise set in his powerful chest. If she saw that gemstone, then Jilseponie would know the identity of the horse.

She would suspect anyway, De'Unnero figured, for few horses were as magnificent as Symphony, even though the horse was old. He didn't fear that recognition, though, for De'Unnero knew that he would enjoy watching Queen Jilseponie's face crinkling with confusion and trepidation.

He glanced at the royal pavilion then, and noted that Jilseponie and Danube were already looking Aydrian's way, the King even coming out of his seat to regard the unexpected and unknown newcomer. Sitting beside Danube, Duke Kalas, too, rose to regard the unknown knight. Kalas, wearing his regular clothing, for he would not be fighting before midafternoon, tried to appear calm; but even from this distance, De'Unnero could see the curiosity on his face.

Onto the field rode Aydrian, sitting with perfect posture upon the imposing stallion. He kept Symphony at a slow walk, as De'Unnero had instructed, and took a roundabout route, letting the crowd see him clearly, on his way to the line before the royal pavilion, where he had to announce his intent.

Finally, he arrived, moving Symphony into place right beside the one called the Talon.

"Well done," De'Unnero whispered under his breath, for while the other imposing knight looked over at Aydrian, the young warrior didn't even do him the honor of looking back.

It took a long while for the crowd noise to quiet, and King Danube let it go at its own flow, sitting back, studying Aydrian.

De'Unnero was more interested in Queen Jilseponie's expressions, for the myriad that crossed her face could be interpreted in a multitude of ways, he knew, and when he glanced at Duke Kalas, and saw the fiery nobleman looking at Jilseponie as often as he was at the newcomer, he could easily guess what sinister notions might be crossing Kalas' wary mind.

Finally it was quiet, and the King stood, staring at Aydrian. This was when Aydrian was supposed to remove his helmet, De'Unnero knew, and he had instructed the young warrior to do no such thing.

"My King," Aydrian said, and he drew out his sword in salute.

De'Unnero saw Jilseponie's eyes widen, briefly. Tempest had been disguised, its hilt wrapped with blue leather, but by its very design, the elven sword was narrower and more brilliantly silver in hue than the dull thick swords of the human craftsmen. Like Symphony, the presentation of Tempest would be a tease for the Queen, yet another clue that could only heighten her suspicions.

"Do you wish to take part in our games?" King Danube asked after a while, when it became apparent that Aydrian had no intention of removing his helmet.

That was the formal greeting, and De'Unnero breathed easier that the matter of remaining concealed had not been challenged.

"I do, my King," Aydrian said calmly.

"And what is your name and title?" the King formally asked.

"I am Tai'maqwilloq," Aydrian replied boldly, "of Honce-the-Bear."

De'Unnero started, surprised and angered that Aydrian had taken a name other than the one they had planned. After the initial shock, the former monk nearly laughed aloud, for it was obvious to him that Queen Jilseponie almost leaped out of her seat. She recognized the elven name, no doubt, and the simple fact of that told her that this was no ordinary nobleman! Furthermore, Jilseponie would understand the translation of the name, Nighthawk, so akin to her beloved Nightbird!

The significance seemed to be lost upon King Danube, though. He chuckled. "A strange name," he remarked. "Or is it a title? And Honce-the Bear is a large location, young Tai'maqwilloq. Could you be more specific?"

"It is my name, and hence my title, my King," said Aydrian. "And I claim no specific place within your realm as my home. On the road I heard of this tournament, and so I have come. To prove myself worthy."

"Worthy to the King?" asked Duke Kalas, breaking etiquette by speaking.

Danube turned a sour glance his way.

"Worthy to myself," Aydrian answered, and Danube turned quickly back to face him. "For until that is proven, I am not worthy to anyone else."

"Perfect," De'Unnero whispered admiringly.

King Danube chuckled, breaking the tension. "Well, young knight, you have ridden to the right place for such a test," he said, and he motioned to one of the squires, who ran out to hand Aydrian his padded club. Then Danube swept his hands to the side, to the trumpeters, who began their song announcing the beginning of the day's competition.

It started with a brawl like the one the day before, an open melee, where only the last three astride would advance to the formal joust.

De'Unnero watched the tumult with approval, for Aydrian was playing nothing safe here. As soon as the drumroll ended, signaling the beginning of the fight, the young warrior charged headlong into the middle of the fray. He came through the small group that blocked his way like a giant scattering skinny-limbed goblins, Symphony slamming one horse and rider to the ground and Aydrian taking out the one on the other side with a mighty smash across the chest. The fallen competitor lay flat on the rump of his galloping horse for a few strides, then bounced off to slam hard into the ground.

For the third opponent, directly before him, Aydrian used his elven techniques. As the horses came abreast, the man tried to chop down at Aydrian, but the young warrior, using his padded club like a sword, gave a subtle parry that made his opponent's weapon slide harmlessly to the side. Aydrian then hit his opponent squarely in the face, smashing his nose and blackening both his eyes beneath the brim of his armored hat.

The man went back – how could he not? – and the motion made him tug the reins, slowing his horse.

Aydrian hit him again, with a swipe to the back of the head as the horses passed, then he pulled Symphony into a tight turn and came up beside the dazed, possibly unconscious, competitor, who was still sitting astride the mount, though it seemed more out of simple inertia than stubbornness.

Aydrian could have reached out and gently pushed the man from his saddle, but the fire was in him now, the primal fury. He swatted the man with a brutal blow that sent him flying from his seat.

The crowd went wild with appreciation. De'Unnero's grin nearly took in his ears.

Aydrian pulled up Symphony and looked around. Only a few competitors remained, including the Talon, who seemed intent on staying as far away from Aydrian as possible. That was a common practice among the nobles, based on simple logic – why fight each other when there are peasants, easy victims, to be found?

Aydrian wasn't thinking that way, though, and Symphony thundered across the field to bring him to the Talon.

The man seemed genuinely surprised to see this other obviously rich knight coming after him, as was evidenced by his lack of preparation. He managed to fight his horse around into position, but he had to work hard to get his club up in li