hastened through the gates and into the arena before my good sense could stop me. Riding into the light from the darkened stables, I was momentarily blinded, but I could hear the crowd erupt in a roar of admiration. For a moment, I basked in the glory and love of the townsfolk.
When my vision returned I beheld Sir Udo, waiting in the center of the arena. He was built like a war engine, solid as an obelisk. His armor was bright red with black trim, and it dazzled the eyes. Lights danced around him like shooting stars. Whether it was a trick of the light, my tired eyes, or magic I did not know.
He sat astride a coal-black horse. The stout beast's ebony hooves pawed at the dirt, and it impatiently dipped its head. The creature seemed barely able to restrain itself, so anxious it was for the crash of steel and the smell of dust and blood.
A stable hand passed me the banner of Kjeldor, and hefting it up, I rode around the arena three times, as was the custom. Ladies threw flowers onto the field, and children waved. I waved back, concentrating on not falling off the horse. I could not see very well, since the helmet did not fit properly and had become twisted a little to the left. Only one eye was lined up with the view slit.
The crowd's adoration was enjoyable, but the deception unnerved me, and I was anxious to be done with it. I guided the horse to the far end of a long, wooden fence and turned to face my opponent.
Sir Udo waited with a cool reserve, confident in his ability. I swallowed hard and dug my heels hard into my mount. In a flash I was off, the king's mighty steed rippling beneath me, gathering speed as it galloped toward the knight. My balance was precarious, having been jarred by the horse's quick start, and I held on with both hands, my lance tucked limply under my arm. The distance closed in a hurry, in fact far faster than I'd anticipated, and I wasn't able to lift my weapon very far before Udo's furious lance struck me square in the chest. The world receded as I flew back like a puppet on a string.
Everything seemed to suddenly get very quiet except for the screaming pain in my chest. I would have screamed, too, except I couldn't breathe. It was as though a wooly mammoth were standing on my lungs while a fire burned inside. When breath at last came, I was only able to pant in quick, shallow gulps. Each introduced me to a new world of pain.
I looked around to see knights and squires rushing to my aid. Gathering my wits, I staggered to my feet and waved them-off, lest they remove my helmet and reveal my deception to all assembled there. I wobbled toward the edge of the arena, desperately trying to look unwounded. I think some of the knights helped me along as Devareaux came forth to meet me, flanked by the royal guard. He dismissed the knights who'd been helping me, and I lost my tenuous grip on consciousness.
Angels swam in the aether, singing the most beautiful melodies I'd ever heard. Millions of blue and green bubbles, glowing with an inner light, washed across my body like fireflies in a sea of liquid diamond. The angels' songs faded slowly, and a dull, thumping pain ushered me back to consciousness.
I awoke under the ministrations of Ariel, the royal herbalist. A woman in her early thirties, she had dark, flowing hair and kind eyes. She wore a loose white blouse, and a featureless coin dangled from a gold chain around her neck. I stared at the coin and realized my eyes were still too blurred to discern any detail. A steady buzzing hummed in my ears.
Ariel noticed I was awake. 'How do you feel?' she asked.
'I don't know. I do seem to be in one piece.'
'So what happened to you?' she asked, as she applied a magic elixir to my wound.
'Um… a hunting accident,' I replied, still too groggy to make up a decent lie.
She smiled. 'A hunting accident?'
'I was, uh, kicked by a horse.'
She continued to smile. 'Have you heard about the terrible blow Lord Rothchild sustained while jousting?'
'Indeed,' I said. 'How does he fare?'
'He'll be fine,' she laughed.
Bit by bit, Ariel reconstructed me. As she wove spells and mixed potions, we talked. She told me the people of Jornstad were disappointed at Lord Rothchild's loss to Sir Udo but were already making up excuses for their champion's defeat. Sir Udo was more popular than ever, and citizens were crying for a rematch. I didn't want to think about it.
I got two lessons in white magic that day. Lord Rothchild's armor, it turned out, was enchanted with powerful magic. If the armor had been weaker I'd probably have been killed by the lance, although my broken rib might argue the point.
I also had a firsthand experience with miraculous healing magic. Ariel's unguents and potions had me patched up, and with only a day of rest I was ready to get back to work. Ariel said she could work wonders on wounds far more serious than mine.
Still I realized that the power to heal, impressive as it was, did not keep Kjeldor's enemies at bay. Powerful protection was not the reason for our nation's greatness. There must be more, I thought.
Ariel advised bed rest for the remainder of the day, but since I really wasn't tired, I sat in bed reading adventure stories.
Not long after, Lord Rothchild stopped by to check on me. I wanted to scream, 'Where were you?' But, of course, one does not speak that way to a king, so we both avoided speaking about the obvious.
'You are an astute young man, Finroy,' he said with an air of discomfort. He was more subdued than I'd ever seen him, and there was a serious look in his eye.
'I'd be proud to have you as my regal overseer. You have shown your true mettle and performed your duties admirably. Congratulations.'
'Thank you, sire,' I croaked.
'Well, the healer told me you'll be making a full recovery,' he said, changing the topic quickly. 'I'm glad to hear it.'
We made light conversation for some minutes, and then Lord Rothchild wished me well and excused himself.
Come evening another visitor appeared. Devareaux, whose only interest in me up to this point had been to issue dire threats, almost seemed to show actual concern for my well-being.
'Your service to the king is rightly appreciated,' he said. 'You are a true patriot and an upstanding citizen of the nation of Kjeldor.'
Even when granting compliments, the duke had a foreboding manner. If I'd heard only his tone, and not his words, I might have feared for my life, yet his actions were friendly enough.
He presented me with a box of wafers, which were wet with some kind of paste. They were, he explained, a remedy his mother used to give him when he was hurt. The thought of Duke Devareaux having a mother was enough to make me smile.
I sampled one, and it was the most wretched, putrid concoction I'd ever tasted. Despite an almost overwhelming urge to spit out the pasty wafers, I choked them down, one by one. This was the first genuine kindness I'd been shown by this man, and I certainly wasn't going to insult him or his mother. I wondered why folk remedies were always so unpleasant.
We talked, and his candor was unusual. He told me that Lord Rothchild's father had died in a sporting accident when Lord Rothchild was only six. His mother was taken the following year by consumption. The young Lord Rothchild had grown up without any guidance, the adults in his life catering to every whim of the little prince.
The lord had developed a pattern of irresponsible behavior that could have been his undoing. His saving graces were twofold: He knew how to surround himself with very capable advisors and assistants, and he had a charming personality and a gift for leadership.
Devareaux offered some very useful advice as well. He told me the places to look for Lord Rothchild at different times of the day if he wasn't where he was supposed to be. They were, of course, by no means certain, but hopefully they would be a template I could use to avoid future tests of my jousting skills.
Finally, he turned to go. When he reached the door he said one last thing. 'You're an ambitious young lad. You could do well for yourself in this court. '
