They both rode to opposite ends of the field, and dismounted to await the outcome of the next match.
To great cheers, Roel unhorsed Laurent on the very first run.
Once again coinage changed hands.
Now came the concluding match-Prince Luc versus Sieur Roel-the same final pairing as at last year’s faire.
Lance after lance they shattered against one another, and each was nearly unhorsed several times. Yet finally there were no more lances left, but for the one Roel held, and it was cracked.
With a fanfare of trumpets, King Valeray stood, and when the onlookers quieted, the king called it a draw.
The crowd groaned, and this time no coins changed hands.
But as the two chevaliers rode about the field, a great cheer rose up in tribute.
In spite of the draw at tilting, Luc was named Champion of Champions, for with a win at epees and a tie at jousting, he had more victory points than any of the other three knights.
Laughing, they all rode for Luc’s tent, where, slapping one another on the back, they hoisted mugs of ale in salute to one another. Smiling, Laurent protested that, with his win in the melee, he should have been crowned champion, but Roel countered that Laurent’s ignominious showing in the joust completely nullified any win he might have “accidentally” gained.
Blaise sighed and said that he had been entirely shut out this time, though he could have sworn that Luc had magical help to remain on his horse in the very first tilt.
Liaze and Celeste entered this male domain, and they embraced each and kissed each on the cheek, and added another kiss to their husbands’ lips.
“You must excuse us, cheri,” said Liaze, looking up into Luc’s eyes. “We go to change our clothes into gowns a bit less demure, less modest, than these high-collar fashions, and then hie to the grand ballroom. The echecs tournament has begun, and we each have a match to win.”
“Why change clothes, my love?” asked Roel.
Celeste grinned. “Our first opponents are men, and a femme must take every advantage.”
The men burst into laughter, but finally Luc, yet smiling, looked down at Liaze and said, “As soon as I sluice some of this sweat and salt from me and change garb, I’ll be there to cheer you on, a more revealing gown or no.”
“As will I cheer you,” said Roel, embracing Celeste.
With one last peck, Liaze and Celeste withdrew.
Blaise turned to Roel and Luc and said, “Oh, were Laurent and I as fortunate as you twain.”
. .
In the second round of echecs matches, by the luck of the draw Borel was pitted against Regar, the Wyldwood stranger. Swift did they make move after move, seeming somewhat reckless, yet they were both anything but. Still, spearmen were slain, chevaliers fought valiantly, and hierophants and towers slid this way and that, while queens reigned in violence, and kings fled a square at a time.
“Your play is somewhat like that of another opponent I once faced,” said Borel, slipping his lone hierophant diagonally along two white squares.
“Oh?” responded Regar, countering with a move of his remaining black chevalier. “And who was that?”
“The Fairy King under the Hill,” said Borel. “He nearly defeated me.” Regar sat back, his eyes wide in wonder. “You won?”
“Oui.”
Regar shook his head and then leaned forward and studied the board. “I did not think any could best my grand-pere in echecs, for his reputation is formidable, and in fact is why I wanted to learn the game.”
Now it was Borel who leaned back in wonder. “The Fairy King is your grandsire?”
Regar grinned. “So it is said. It seems he came upon my grand-maman, a beautiful woman, gathering herbs in the wood, and they found each other irresistible, and their dalliance produced my maman, and she in turn, me.”
“Your grand-pere is indeed a mighty master of echecs,” said Borel, advancing a spearman forward one square. “When did you play him last?”
“I have never seen him, and only know him through the tales I have heard,” said Regar. “It seems his queen is most jealous, and after that dalliance with my grand-maman, to keep her safe, he left her.”
“Oo, how cold.”
“I think it was not done with a cold heart, for grand-maman said he wept bitterly.” Regar countered with a move of one of his own spearmen. “He did leave her very well off, yet I have always wished to meet him.”
“Perhaps some day you will,” said Borel, “yet beware, for he is quite sly, quite tricky.”
“Think you that he would attempt to deceive his own blood?” asked Regar.
Borel turned up both hands. “That I cannot say. I think if he knew of your kinship, he would welcome you, though perhaps in secret.” Borel then moved a spearman and said, “Ward your queen.”
Regar smiled and said, “Ah, I thought my lady would be a too-tempting target for you.” Regar slid his tower next to a hierophant-protected spearman and said, “I believe that is mate.”
Borel looked at the board and burst into laughter and turned his king on its side. “Well played, Prince Regar. Very well played. I think should you ever duel your grand-pere in echecs, it will be quite a game.”
Regar cocked an eyebrow. “Prince? You name me prince?”
“Indeed, for your grandsire is the Fairy King.” Regar nodded and ruefully smiled. “Ah, oui. But at best I am merely a bastard prince.”
Borel grinned and stood. “Come, Regar, let us share a cup ere your next match.”
As prince and bastard prince made their way toward the wine table, Roel and Luc, freshly bathed and clothed, entered the grand ballroom. They paused at the entrance and surveyed the tables where opponent and opponent studied the boards.
“Ah, there is my Celeste,” said Roel.
“And I see Liaze,” said Luc.
“Let us not disturb them,” said Roel, gesturing at the table where a sommelier oversaw servants pouring wine, “but join my brothers for a drink.”
Even as they walked past windows, beyond which twilight graced the sky, Camille, uncharacteristically distracted and having lost her match, came alongside them. A yet-disgruntled Scruff sat on her shoulder, though the wee sparrow now grew sleepy as dusk drew down on the land.
“How fared you, sister?” asked Roel.
The corner of Camille’s mouth twitched upward. She ges shy;
tured toward a table where a corpulent man, looking somewhat stunned, sat and peered at the echiquier, most of the pieces thereon. “There is the victor.”
“You lost?”
“Oui. I simply couldn’t concentrate on the game.”
“Why so?”
“Scruff sensed danger, yet I could see nought. And then he flew at a crow, but it was too swift for him to overtake.”
“Perhaps a good thing,” said Luc. “Crows are quite savage, and Scruff so small.”
“Valeray thought it might be a Changeling,” said Camille.
Both Roel and Luc’s eyebrows raised, and Luc asked, “Think you it has ought to do with these sensings you and the others have?”
Camille sighed. “All I know is that Scruff was quite agitated. Still is, in fact.” As they reached the wine table, Roel asked, “Did you sense a malignancy?”
Camille shook her head. “Non.”
“Perhaps then it was nought but a crow,” said Luc.
Camille turned up a hand, but otherwise did not reply.
After receiving their goblets of wine, the trio joined Laurent and Blaise off to one side, and moments later Borel and Regar came to stand with the group.
