'According to the writings of Vinas Solamnus, as every battle must have a winner, so too must every friendly.'
This was true, but the knights had long ago learned that open interpretation of the writings of Vinas Solamnus was far more practical than any literal adherence to their words. They were guidelines rather than laws carved in stone. For true honor lies in the heart of each knight, not in a set of old and dusty tomes. However, if the laws were cited verbatim in situations such as this, their authority could not be questioned.
'Very well,' said Brightblade, no doubt as familiar with the thirty-seven volumes as Caradoc was. He cleared his throat and announced the winner. 'Since Meyer Seril was unable to complete the friendly, Caradoc is declared winner by forfeit.'
Caradoc raised his sword to acknowledge his victory.
Few cheered.
In fact, following Seril's wounding, many of the knights had gone inside the keep to partake of some of the evening's more sedate celebrations or to the north end where another group of knights had gathered beneath the cool shade of a vallenwood tree. On the side of the broad trunk that faced west, a large circular patch of wood had been cut flat with an axe and its pale-colored surface had been painted with three dark red rings, each larger than the one inside it.
'Who's next?' barked Olthar Uth Wistan, High Warrior presiding over the contest.
'I believe I shall give it a try,' said High Justice Lord Adam Caladen.
'It's been years since I've thrown a sword, but perhaps I'll get lucky, eh?' 'Hear that, men?' said Lord Wistan jovially 'Stand back, give him lots of room, and remember to keep your eyes on the sword.'
A good-natured laugh coursed through the assembled knights, footmen and onlookers as Lord Caladen selected a sword from those standing upright in the rack to his left.
After finding one with a length and weight to his liking, he hefted it in his hand and practiced the movement that would soon send it hurtling through the air toward its target.
Like friendlies, swordthrowing was an amiable sort of sporting event contested by the Knights of Solamnia whenever they were gathered in sufficient numbers and had the free time to spend in good-natured competition.
But unlike the friendly, which pitted knight against knight, swordthrowing tested individual knights against the strength, skill and marksmanship of the legendary Huma Dragonbane, Hero of the Lance and the greatest knight the Knights of Solamnia had ever known.
The origin of the contest came from a little known story about the fabled knight's battle with a particularly ferocious red dragon.
According to the tale, Huma's initial attack against the dragon had knocked his dragonlance from its mount and completely out of his hands.
Despite being weaponless, he brought his beloved silver dragon around for another pass. But before the dragons came into range of each other's breath weapons, Huma drew his broadsword and flung it through the air in the direction of the red. Although not designed to be used as a throwing weapon, the sword flew true, slicing the air like an arrow and piercing the vulnerable soft spot of the red dragon's underbelly. The wound so startled the red that it was sent into a long downward spiral from which it never recovered.
And today, the Knights of Solamnia celebrated the nearmiraculous feat by throwing swords, not at a dragon, but at the symbolic red rings painted into the trunk of a sturdy vallenwood tree.
Satisfied with his weapon, Lord Caladen walked off the twenty paces from the tree then turned back around to face it. 'Ready!' he said, lifting the sword to his shoulder.
The assembled knights and others in the crowd fell silent.
Lord Caladen took three steps forward and let go of the sword. Its flight was straight and unwavering, but it was slightly off the mark, clipping the right edge of the tree trunk and sending a sliver of bark spinning through the air before landing heavily on the grass behind the tree.
Even though he'd missed, the throw had been a respectable one for such a senior knight.
'Well done, Caladen!'
'A good effort.'
The knights applauded, forcing Lord Caladen to accept their cheers with a broad smile and prideful wave, gestures that would have been more than enough acknowledgement even if he had hit the target dead center.
'You're too kind,' he said. 'A lucky throw, no more.'
Just then, Lord Soth came upon the pitch. He'd been circling the keep, greeting his guests one last time before retiring for the night-his wedding night.
Seeing Soth approach, Lord Wistan put his hands to his mouth and shouted, 'Perhaps the bridegroom would care to test his mettle?'
The knights turned around and, seeing Soth, beckoned him to try a throw.
'Yes, give a try.'
'Come on, Soth!' Soth hesitated, then said, 'All right, perhaps just a single throw.'
The words were followed by a rousing cheer.
A footman quickly helped Soth with his cloak, then stood back as the knight selected a sword. To no one's surprise he lifted one of the heavier weapons into the air.
Then, after finding its center of balance, he hefted it in his hand to check its weight.
'Make room!' cried Lord Wistan.
The knights surrounding Lord Soth fanned out, clearing a path toward the tree. Soth then walked over to the tree, marched off twenty paces, and turned on his heel.
'Ready,' he said.
Lord Wistan nodded.
The crowd of knights and numerous other onlookers that had suddenly gathered around the tree were never more silent.
Soth took three long strides, then threw the sword.
The blade whistled as it sliced through the air… And an instant later it struck the tree with a hard thwok!
Soth looked up, and saw that the sword had hit the exact middle of the center ring, its haft wavering like the stiffened tail of a hungry cat.
For a moment, all were silent as they looked with awe upon the sword as it jutted out from the tree like a new branch.
'Huma could have done no better!' someone shouted.
'A sword never flew more true!' yelled another.
The cheers continued to ring out until they combined together in a single loud wash of exultant voices.
Soth acknowledged the cheers with a slight nod of his head, then raised his hands to restore quiet once more. 'If you'll excuse me, I hate to keep a lady waiting, especially when that lady is my wife.'
The words were followed by good-natured and knowing laughter.
Soth turned and headed for the keep.
At the vallenwood tree, several footmen tried to pull the sword from the trunk, but with half the length of the blade embedded in the wood, it would not budge.
Finally, three of them combined their efforts and the heavy broadsword slowly came free.
Soth came around to the entrance of the keep.
Standing on the drawbridge was Lady Korinne talking to a young knight draped in a blue cloak. They stood close together, barely inches apart-a distance which could be considered almost intimate.
Soth moved into the shadows cast by a large oak, and watched.
They talked for a minute, maybe longer, then kissed.
Moments later they parted, Korinne entering the keep, the young knight mounting his horse and riding away.
Soth waited until the knight was gone, then followed Korinne.
Once inside, he paused to stand at the open window of the master bedchamber overlooking the grounds outside the entrance to the keep. The fires that had been lit as the sun began its descent were themselves dying out, spotting the land with points of flickering orange-yellow light.
