The morning sun cast long shadows as Sir Dwayne, Sir Edric the Dark Knight, and Sir Barrys rode toward the capital. The air was crisp, filled with the scent of damp earth.
“Sir Dwayne, a minute to bid Rogan farewell wouldn’t have gone amiss,” Sir Barrys suggested, his voice tinged with regret.
“No time to spare,” Sir Dwayne replied, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
Sir Barrys sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”
The trio rode in silence, the only sound the soft galloping of their horses. Then, Sir Edric spoke up. “The god of Wind fanatic’s prophecy proved false. We survived the Battle of the North.”
Sir Barrys’ expression turned somber. “Nineteen good men didn’t.”
Sir Dwayne’s expression remained resolute. “War demands sacrifice. Let us honor their memory.”
He turned to Sir Barrys. “And let this be clear: the Knight King must not hear you mention anything like the god of Wind. Your head would be on the spike.”
Sir Barrys nodded, glancing nervously at Sir Edric. “You silenced the fanatic in the war room before he could finish speaking.”
A hint of a smile played on Sir Dwayne’s lips. “The Dark Knight does what the Dark Knight does best.”
Sir Edric’s expression remained stoic, but a glimmer of satisfaction flickered in his eyes.
With renewed urgency, the trio spurred their horses forward, racing toward the capital.
As the night deepened, the fierce northern wind howled, making every step a struggle. The trio, weary from their day-long ride, spotted a secluded house, its windows dark and empty.
“Let’s press on,” Sir Edric suggested, his voice barely audible over the wind.
Sir Barrys protested, “You can’t be serious! We’ve been riding since dawn. A break would be a blessing. And who knows, the owners might be kind souls. I’m starving!”
Sir Dwayne nodded in agreement. “Sir Barrys is right, Edric. The northerners are known for their hospitality. And this wind is treacherous.”
He added, his voice low and cautious, “Leave your helmets and arms behind. No need to reveal our royal affiliations.”
The three knights dismounted their horses, their movements stiff from the long ride. They approached the house, the wind whipping their cloaks against their legs.
As the three travelers approached the seemingly empty house, they were startled by murmuring voices inside.
I thought this place was deserted,” Sir Barrys whispered, exchanging a wary glance with Sir Dwayne.
“So did I,” Sir Dwayne replied calmly.
Sir Edric raised a hand, signaling silence. “Shh, I can hear them. Listen.”
The trio leaned in, their ears attuned to the faint voices within. A trembling voice called out, “What do you want? Do not harm us.”
Sir Dwayne reassured, “Harm? No, we seek shelter for the night, if you please. We mean no harm.”
Sir Barrys added, “We’re weary travelers. Your hospitality would be greatly appreciated.”
The door creaked open, revealing a short man in his early 40s. His cautious eyes assessed the trio before stepping aside.
“Enter, but be peaceful,” he said, his voice laced with apprehension.
The trio entered the house peacefully, grateful for the refuge from the harsh wind. Efron, the 40-year-old man, welcomed them warmly.
“Please, sit,” he said, gesturing to the table.
Efron introduced his family: “This is my wife, Illa, and our daughter, Morlan.”
Illa greeted them with a gentle smile. “Welcome, guests. We rarely receive visitors, especially not in this unforgiving weather.”
Sir Dwayne nodded in appreciation. “Indeed, the northern winds are treacherous.”
Efron’s expression turned serious. “I heard Reagan’s men rode to Windsdale.”
Sir Dwayne replied, “Windsdale survived, though we didn’t pass through. Some merchants spoke of it.”
Efron’s face lit up. “Wonderful news for us.”
Illa brought forth a steaming meal, and the group began to eat. Sir Barrys and Sir Edric, the Dark Knight, remained silent until Sir Barrys spoke up.
The food is exceptional. Thank you for your hospitality.”
Illa smiled. “You’re most welcome.”
Morlan, the curious daughter, asked, “Why isn’t the dark man eating?”
Sir Dwayne chuckled. “Edric is shy.”
Efron’s eyes widened. “A Darklin! I haven’t seen a dark-skinned person in years.”
Sir Edric’s voice was low and cautious. “Do you have a problem with my skin?”
Efron’s expression turned nervous. “Of course not.”
An awkward silence followed
As they finished their meal, Illa efficiently cleared the table, gathering the dirty plates. Sir Dwayne and Sir Barrys expressed their gratitude in unison, “Thank you.” However, Sir Edric remained silent, his plate untouched.
Morlan, fascinated by the brooding knight, stared at him intently. Her father, Efron, intervened, “Morlan, stop staring at the young man. I don’t think he appreciates it.”
Morlan’s face flushed as she apologized, “Sorry,” her eyes still locked on Sir Edric. He remained impassive, his silence unsettling.
Just then, Illa rushed back into the room, her face pale. “They’re here… The bandits are here. Neil and his men have arrived.”
Efron’s expression turned grave. “Quickly, Illa, Morlan, hide. Now.”
As his family hastened to conceal themselves, Efron steeled himself to face the gang of bandits
As Efron stepped outside to confront the bandits, Sir Dwayne, Sir Barrys, and Sir Edric remained vigilant, ready to intervene.
“Should we do something?” Sir Barrys whispered to Illa.
Illa’s calm, yet trembling voice replied, “No. Neil’s gang has terrorized us for months. We give them what they want to avoid destruction.”
Sir Dwayne and Sir Edric listened intently, their concern growing.
Suddenly, Efron’s cries echoed from outside, punctuated by the sound of fists pounding flesh. Illa’s composure shattered.
Morgan, clinging to her mother, sobbed, “They’re beating Father!”
Sir Edric sprang into action, rushing outside to confront the bandits. Sir Dwayne attempted to restrain him, wary of revealing their knightly identities.
But Sir Edric was too swift.
The outnumbered knight struggled against the gang. Sir Dwayne and Sir Barrys joined the fray, their combined strength turning the tide.
Just as they subdued the bandits, Neil landed a treacherous blow, his blade piercing Efron’s side, mere inches from his heart.
Illa, witnessing the horror through the open door, felt her world crumble.
The bandits were swiftly defeated, but the victory came at a terrible cost.
Efron, mortally wounded, lay struggling for life.
Illa rushed to her husband’s side, where Efron lay dying, blood pouring from his chest. “Morgan, bring a rag to stop the bleeding,” she instructed.
Morgan hastened to fetch the rag while Sir Edric announced, “We’ve defeated the bandits.”
Illa’s response was laced with anguish and anger. “At what cost? My husband’s life?”
Sir Dwayne offered a somber reply. “Such tragedies occur.”
Illa cradled Efron’s hands, her eyes filled with pity. Efron struggled to speak, but only grasped her hands.
The night dragged on, Illa tending to her husband. Dawn broke, and Sir Dwayne declared, “We must leave. Thank you for your hospitality.”
Illa’s bitterness was palpable. “You’ve brought only misery to my family.”
Sir Dwayne mounted his horse, followed by Sir Edric and Sir Barrys. Sir Barrys addressed Morlan, “Farewell, may your father recover.”
Morlan’s faint reply held hope. “By the god of Wind, he will.”
As the knights departed, Illa shouted, “Ride away and never return, knights!”
Sir Dwayne smiled, knowing their true identities were bound to be discovered.
Shortly After, Sir Edric revealed a rare leaf he had been keeping. “This Jenn Leaf heals ten times faster. Miley gave it to me at Westwood.”
Sir Barrys questioned, “Why didn’t you give it to Illa yesterday?”
Sir Edric’s reply was introspective. “I guess I’m not that kind of person.”
Sir Barrys seized the leaf and rushed back to Efron’s home. Sir Dwayne tried to stop him, but Sir Barrys rode back instantly.
Illa asked, “What do you want, knight?”
Sir Barrys offered the leaf. “Take this. It’s a Jenn Leaf.”
Illa recognized its value and accepted it gratefully.
As Sir Barrys prepared to leave, Illa thanked him. Morlan echoed her gratitude.
Sir Barrys rejoined Sir Dwayne and Sir Edric, and soon the capital came into view.
The sun had set, casting a glow over the capital, Sir Dwayne, Sir Barrys, and Sir Edric, the enigmatic Dark Knight, rode into town. Their majestic steeds’ hooves echoed through the streets, drawing the gaze of awestruck commoners.
Blacksmiths, traders, and merchants paused in their daily activities, their eyes locked onto the trio. Murmurs rippled through the crowd: “Sir Edric, the Dark Knight.”
The knights’ imposing presence commanded attention, their armor glinting in the sunlight. Sir Edric’s dark armor seemed to absorb the light around him, intensifying the air of mystery surrounding him.
As they approached the castle, the gates swung open, and the Knight King’s guards stood at attention. The royal court’s majesty awaited them.
Upon entering, the Knight King emerged, his regal demeanor warm and welcoming. “Ah, noble knights, your arrival is most timely.
Sir Dwayne, Sir Barrys, and Sir Edric dismounted, their faces set with accomplishment.
Sir Dwayne, ever the diplomat, stepped forward, his eyes locked on the Knight King.
“Your Majesty, it’s an honor to be welcomed here before even reaching the Royal Court,” Sir Dwayne said, his voice laced with reverence.
The Knight King’s warm smile greeted them, his eyes twinkling with approval. “The honor is mine my friend Sir Dwayne, and Sir Barrys, Savior of the North!”
Sir Barrys’ face lit up with a humble smile, his eyes shining with pride. “Thank you, Your Grace. It’s an honor.”
The Knight King’s gaze shifted to Sir Edric, his expression thoughtful. “And the Dark Knight, well done. I am sure your skills were as formidable as ever on the battle field.”
Sir Edric’s deep voice remained icy, his expression unreadable. “Yes, sire. Indeed.”
With formalities observed, the trio followed the Knight King up the grand staircase to the Royal Court. The sound of their armor clinking echoed through the hall, a testament to their battle-hardened prowess.
As they entered the royal court, the Knight King gestured to his servant. “Pour our noble knights a cup of wine.” The servant obliged, filling the cups with a rich, crimson liquid.
Sir Dwayne and Sir Barrys eagerly accepted their cups, while Sir Edric declined. “I won’t be drinking,” he said curtly.
The Knight King smiled, unfazed. “Sit, enjoy the wine, and let us discuss pressing matters.” He raised his own cup, savoring the wine’s sweetness. “Ah, the sound of satisfaction.”
Sir Dwayne chuckled. “Indeed, Your Grace. The sweet sound echoes in the belly.”
Sir Barrys joined in, “This wine surpasses Westwood’s finest, Your Grace.”
The Knight King beamed. “I hired the world’s best winemaker. His craftsmanship is unmatched.”
Sir Edric remained silent, his eyes observing the conversation.
The Knight King turned serious. “Tell me, how did you defy the odds and protect Windsdale from Reagan’s men?”
Sir Dwayne began, “Sire, I arrived with eastern coast mercenaries, turning the tide of the battle. Sir Barrys and Sir Edric had already engaged.”
Sir Edric spoke up, his voice measured. “Yes, the battle was lost until Sir Dwayne’s reinforcements arrived.”
Sir Barrys added, “Your Grace, our men fought with honor. Reagan’s men retreated.”
The Knight King’s expression turned stern. “You should have pursued and eliminated them all.”
Sir Dwayne explained, “We acted cautiously, wary of a potential trap.”
The Knight King nodded. “Your experience is unmatched, Sir Dwayne.”
He asked, “What of the 19 men who rode with Sir Barrys and Sir Edric? Where are they?”
Sir Edric’s response was swift. “They’re all dead.”
The Knight King’s face fell. “Sir Avalor and the others… such a pity.”
Sir Dwayne offered, “We must look to the future, sire.”
The Knight King pondered. “These mercenaries, can they be trusted?”
Sir Dwayne advised, “Forming an alliance would be wise, Your Grace.”
The Knight King smiled. “Perhaps you’re right.”
As the servant refilled their cups, the Knight King raised his hands. “A toast to the defenders of the North!”
Sir Barrys, Sir Dwayne, and even Sir Edric reluctantly raised their cups, drinking to the toast. Sir Edric’s expression betrayed his reluctance.
WESTWOOD
Sunny hours in Westwood, as terror gripped the hearts of its residents as relentless attacks continued. Survivors spoke of a phantom assailant, dubbed “the White god.” Lord Weah, ruler of Westwood and the Western realm, conferenced with Sir Cole.
“Apparently, the people’s claims hold truth,” Lord Weah said gravely. “Witnesses multiply by the day.”
Sir Cole nodded thoughtfully. “Of course, m’lord. However, the Knight King may resist this notion.”
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Lord Weah’s expression turned somber. “Indeed. He ordered Sir Barrys to silence Old Man Richards after his eyewitness account.”
Sir Cole’s brow furrowed. “Our timely visit to the capital for the Jousting Tournament presents an opportunity. We can persuade the Knight King.”
Lord Weah agreed. “You’re right, Sir Cole.”
Later that afternoon, Sir Cole visited the infirmary, where victims of the White god lay. Lady Attendant Miley and Chirurgeons tended to the wounded. Sir Cole, renowned for his compassion, offered words of comfort.
As he touched an injured man’s arm, he said, “All will be well.”
Lady Miley approached, her face a picture of gratitude. “Sir Cole, good day.”
Sir Cole smiled wryly. “Little good about this day, Miley.”
Miley requested, “May I ride with you to the capital for the tournament?”
Sir Cole nodded protectively. “I wouldn’t have you travel alone with the White god lurking.”
Miley thanked him, her eyes sparkling.
Sir Cole’s curiosity got the better of him. “Are you going to see Sir Barrys?”
Miley’s smile hinted at secrets. “Not solely, but it’ll be pleasant. I’m cheering for Sir Edric, the Dark Knight.”
Sir Cole’s eyebrow shot up. “Sir Edric? Do you have feelings for him?”
Miley’s cheeks flushed. “That’s all, Sir Cole. I must attend to these patients.”
Sir Cole chuckled, exiting the infirmary with a knowing smile.
IN THE CAPITAL
Preparations in the capital for the Decennial Jousting Tournament were in full swing. Meanwhile, the Knight King attended to courtly affairs alongside his trusted Grand Advisor, Liam. A guard interrupted their deliberations.
“Your Grace, Gareth-ding has arrived,” the guard announced.
The Knight King’s face lit up with enthusiasm. “Ah, Gareth-ding! Show him in.”
Gareth-ding entered, bowing deeply. “Your Grace.”
The Knight King welcomed him warmly. “Gareth, it’s been too long. How fare you?”
“I’m doing well, Your Grace,” Gareth-ding replied.
He then greeted Grand Advisor Liam, who responded with courteous respect.
The Knight King explained, “As Sir Barrys won the melee, the Knight’s Code forbids him from competing in the joust. I’d like you to instruct him on the Code’s nuances.”
Gareth-ding began, “Yes, sire. Rule 267 of the Knight’s Code states—”
Grand Advisor Liam interrupted, his tone brusque. “We’re familiar with the Code, Gareth-ding.”
Gareth-ding nodded respectfully. “Of course, Grand Advisor Liam.”
The Knight King directed, “Very well, proceed. My guards will escort you to Sir Barrys’ chambers.”
Gareth-ding bowed. “Your Grace, Grand Advisor.”
With a respectful nod, he departed the courtroom, accompanied by a guard.
Later that afternoon in the spar yard, Sir Barrys sat, observing knights prepare for the impending Jousting Tournament. Sir Leon Potts approached, his armor gleaming.
“Sir Barrys, I’ve heard a great deal about you,” Sir Leon said, his voice confident.
Sir Barrys replied, “I’m unfamiliar with the capital’s knights.”
Sir Leon chuckled. “I am Sir Leon Potts of House Potts.”
Sir Barrys’ thoughts raced. “House Potts? I know Sir Anfield Potts.”
Sir Leon’s smile broadened. “He’s my father.”
Suddenly, Sir Gregory Potts appeared, mirroring his brother’s grin. “And our father.”
Sir Barrys noticed their identical faces. “You must be twins.”
Sir Leon and Sir Gregory exchanged amused glances, responding in unison, “Yes, we are.”
Sir Barrys marveled. “Amazing! Delighted to meet you both. This is my friend Gareth.”
As Gareth stepped forward, Sir Leon and Sir Gregory extended hands in greeting. Gareth reciprocated.
Sir Gregory inquired, “Gareth, related to Gareth-ding?”
Gareth’s confusion deepened. “Who’s Gareth-ding?”
A distant voice called, “Sir Leon, Sir Gregory, your attention is needed.”
The twins turned, departing swiftly.
Sir Barrys turned to Gareth. “Gareth-ding? Do you know him?”
Gareth shook his head. “Never heard of him.”
As Sir Leon and Sir Gregory departed, Gareth and Sir Barrys resumed their conversation. “So, Rogan now owns a tavern?”
Sir Barrys nodded. “His adventures in the North have been remarkable.”
Gareth chuckled. “I wish I’d joined you. I’d love to see his slimy face.”
Sir Barrys laughed. “Rogan’s eccentric, but his love for coin remains unwavering.”
Gareth smiled. “Rogan, the master of coin.”
Their amusement was interrupted by two approaching figures. One, Gareth-ding of House Ding, addressed Sir Barrys.
“Ah, Sir Barrys of Westwood. You’re summoned by His Majesty, the Knight King.”
Sir Barrys inquired, “How may I assist?”
Gareth-ding replied, “You’re required to attend The Knights’ Code class. Follow me.”
Sir Barrys’ confusion deepened. “What does that entail?”
Gareth-ding urged, “No time to explain. Let’s proceed.”
Gareth exchanged a curious glance with Gareth-ding, who asked, “Why the stare, young man?”
Gareth introduced himself as Sir Barrys’ squire. Gareth-ding dismissed him, saying, “Your presence is unnecessary.”
Gareth-ding turned to Sir Barrys. “Shall we, Sir Barrys of the West?”
As they departed, Sir Barrys whispered to Gareth, “We’ll meet later.”
Gareth-ding inquired as they walked, “Is that young man also named Gareth?”
Sir Barrys confirmed, “Yes.”
Meanwhile, Sir Gregory and Sir Leon observed from afar, their laughter puzzling Sir Barrys.
LATER THAT NIGHT
Under the moonlit sky, Sir Edric, the Dark Knight, jousted with an imaginary foe in the castle’s courtyard. Sir Dwayne watched intently, offering critique.
“Sir Edric, you must improve,” Sir Dwayne advised.
Sir Edric retorted confidently, “I know what I’m doing.”
Sir Dwayne’s expression turned nostalgic. “I didn’t practice jousting with imaginary foes to win the tournament in my hometown Windsdale 10 years ago.”
Sir Edric countered, “We’re not alike.”
Sir Dwayne’s smile seemed forced.
Sir Edric dismounted his dark horse, Soul Snatcher, and led it toward his chambers. Sir Dwayne followed closely.
Unnoticed, Gareth watched from the shadows, his breathing quickening as he stalked them.
Sir Edric glanced back, sensing something amiss. “Someone’s following us.”
Sir Dwayne dismissed the notion. “You jousted with a phantom knight. Now you’re paranoid.”
Sir Edric hesitated, then nodded in agreement. “You’re right, no one’s following us.”
As they continued walking, Gareth struggled to stifle heavy panting, relieved to have gone undetected.
Upon entering Sir Edric’s chambers, Sir Dwayne settled into a chair, while Sir Edric led Soul Snatcher to her adjacent stall.
Sir Dwayne poured himself a cup of water, taking a refreshing sip. “I still distrust Sir Barrys of the West,” he said, his tone laced with skepticism.
Sir Edric replied, “We rode together, didn’t he win your trust.”
Sir Dwayne shaked his head. “No he didn’t.”
Sir Edric reassured him, “Sir Barrys poses no threat. He’s a noble knight.”
Sir Dwayne remained unconvinced. “I still can’t trust him.”
Curiosity got the better of Sir Dwayne. “How did he defeat you in the melee?”
Sir Edric conceded graciously, “Perhaps he was simply better.”
Sir Dwayne chuckled, doubting the explanation. An awkward silence ensued.
As Sir Dwayne prepared to depart, he offered, “Good luck tomorrow in the Joust.”
Sir Edric’s confidence shone through. “Luck won’t be necessary.”
Sir Dwayne smiled, anticipating this response. With a nod, he exited the chambers, leaving Sir Edric and Soul Snatcher alone.
THE NEXT MORNING
The capital teemed with activity, its bustling streets packed with esteemed lords from distant villages, all gathered to witness the revered Jousting Tournament. Knights from far-flung realms converged, eager to compete in the prestigious event.
Within the grand arena, participants stood before the majestic Knight King, flanked by, Grand Advisor Liam, Sir Dwayne of House Casterly and the elegant Princess Elaine. The air was electric, every seat filled to capacity.
The Knight King’s voice boomed, “Today, our storied jousting tournament commences, culminating tomorrow with the coronation of a new Lord Commander of the Realm. As tradition dictates, this noble title is bestowed upon the tournament champion, a honor granted every decade. Sir Dwayne, the illustrious knight from Windsdale, last claimed this distinction.”
Sir Dwayne, seated beside the monarch, rose, and the crowd erupted into applause. The Knight King continued, sword raised aloft.
“For a thousand years, our heritage has celebrated this time-honored tradition. May it forever endure, forging unforgettable memories and embodying our unyielding spirit. Let the tournament begin!”
The arena shook with thunderous cheers as participants prepared for the qualifying rounds.
IN THE COURT ROOM
The Knight King conferred with Grand Advisor Liam, mere hours before the main rounds. Suddenly, Sir Cole and Lord Weah entered, bowing deeply upon beholding the monarch.
The Knight King’s expression warmed. “Lord Weah, it’s been too long. Your presence is welcome.”
Lord Weah smiled reverently. “Your Grace, the honor is mine.”
The Knight King’s gaze shifted to Sir Cole. “Sir Cole, We have pressing matters to discuss.”
Sir Cole bowed. “Your Grace, Lord Weah and I also bear urgent news.”
The Knight King’s countenance darkened, his tone stern. “If this concerns the White god rumors, I warn you: do not expect me to indulge in fanciful tales spreading across the realm.”
Lord Weah stepped forward, undaunted. “Your Grace, I witnessed it personally. This is crucial.”
The Knight King’s anger flared. “You dare instruct me on what is important?”
Sir Cole and Lord Weah retreated, their words tempered. The Knight King’s command followed:
“Leave me. I have preparations to attend.”
Both bowed deeply, withdrawing from the grand court
IN THE COURTROOM
Sir Barrys’ private chambers, usually a sanctuary, now reflected his exhaustion. He grasped Gareth’s arm, pleading, “Help me.”
A knock on the door broke the silence. Gareth answered, revealing Chirurgeon Bratos, a familiar face from their youth. Bratos, a former student of the renowned Chirurgeon Breaus, beamed with recognition.
“Gareth, long time no see!” Bratos exclaimed.
Gareth smiled warmly. “Chirurgeon Bratos! What brings you here?”
Upon entering, Bratos noticed Sir Barrys struggling to stand. Concern etched his face. “What’s wrong, Gareth? He looks unwell.”
Gareth reassured, “Just drained from Gareth-ding’s rigorous Knights’ Code class.”
Bratos nodded knowingly. “Gareth-ding, the esteemed instructor, pushes newly knighted warriors to their limits.”
Sir Barrys, barely standing, managed a weak greeting. “Bratos… is that you?”
Bratos smiled. " It’s Chirurgeon Bratos now, my friend. I’ve followed in our mentor’s footsteps.”
Sir Barrys’ swollen eyes hinted at deeper struggles. “I’m a knight now… so much has changed.”
Bratos’ expression turned somber. “I rejoiced at your knighthood, yet mourned our beloved Chirurgeon Breaus’ passing.”
Sir Barrys’ voice cracked. “We’ve all suffered losses.”
Sensing his friends’ frailty, Bratos chose not to intrude. “I must attend to my duties. Traveling from Huddles Town to the capital has taken its toll.”
Gareth walked Bratos to the door. “Thank you for visiting. Forgive Barrys; he’s not himself.”
Bratos nodded understandingly. As he departed, he inquired, “Where’s Rogan?”
Gareth replied, “Likely in the North, pursuing his coin ventures.”
Bratos chuckled. “Rogan, the master of coin… some things never change.”
With a final smile, Bratos thanked Gareth and took his leave.
SIR EDRIC’S TENT
Within his tent, Sir Edric prepared for the main rounds of the tournament, aided by Lady Miley, his secret lover and attendant. As she fastened his armor, Miley’s eyes sparkled with emotion.
“My beloved Edric, when shall we marry? I tire of our secret love. I yearn for all to know.”
Sir Edric’s rare smile captivated her.
“Who knows of our love, Miley?”
Miley’s voice barely rose above a whisper. “None, perhaps Sir Cole.”
Sir Edric’s expression darkened. “Sir Cole? How did he discover our secret?”
Miley reassured, “Fear not, my knight.”
Sir Edric knelt, his eyes locking onto Miley’s.
“Lady Miley of the West, will you marry me, Sir Edric, the Dark Knight?”
Miley’s eyes widened, disbelieving. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered, “Yes… I do.”
Sir Edric’s lips met hers, sealing their love. The tournament’s din faded into the background.
As Sir Edric entered the arena, Miley’s cheers mingled with the crowd’s roar. Sir Judah Karius, his opponent, vowed, “I’ll defy odds, bringing glory to House Karius.”
The announcer’s booming voice echoed:
“On the red side, Sir Judah of House Karius! On the blue, or rather, dark side, Sir Edric, the Dark Knight!”
The crowd erupted, overshadowing Sir Judah’s presence. The two knights prepared, their focus unwavering.
The arena fell silent, anticipation hanging heavy. Sir Edric and Sir Judah positioned their horses, Soul Snatcher and the white stallion, at opposite ends.
The drums sounded and the announcer’s voice echoed: “The joust begins! Charge!”
Sir Judah and Sir Edric spurred their horses forward. Hooves pounded the earth, thundering toward the center.
Soul Snatcher, Sir Edric’s majestic steed, surged ahead, its black coat glistening. Sir Edric’s focus narrowed, his lance poised.
Sir Judah charged, lance trembling slightly. The crowd held its collective breath.
The knights clashed. Sir Edric’s lance struck true, hitting Sir Judah’s shield with a resounding crack. The force sent Sir Judah stumbling.
Sir Edric’s precision and strength left the crowd aghast. Soul Snatcher reared, triumphant.
Sir Judah struggled to regain balance, his lance splintered. The white stallion whinnied, sensing its rider’s distress.
The judges’ flags waved: blue for Sir Edric, red for Sir Judah.
The announcer declared: “Sir Edric, the Dark Knight, wins the first round!”
Miley’s cheers pierced the din, her eyes shining with pride. Sir Edric rode Soul Snatcher to the winning post, his dominance undeniable.
Sir Judah approached, extending a hand in respect.
“You ride like the wind, Sir Edric. I yield.”
Sir Edric nodded graciously, accepting the concession.
The crowd roared, acclaiming the Dark Knight’s victory.
Gareth wasn’t to pleased as he watched on from the stands alongside Chirurgeon Bratos.
Gareth’s expression turned even more grim, his eyes narrowing as he watched Sir Edric’s triumph. Chirurgeon Bratos noticed his unease.
“Troubled, Gareth?” Bratos asked.
Gareth’s voice was low. “Sir Edric’s skill is undeniable, but his arrogance grows. I fear his ambition.”
Bratos nodded thoughtfully. “Ambition can drive greatness, yet blur moral lines. We must observe carefully.”
In the arena, Sir Edric dismounted, Soul Snatcher still prancing triumphantly. Miley rushed to his side, her smile radiant.
Sir Edric’s gaze met Gareth’s, a flicker of tension between them.
The announcer’s voice cut through the tension: “Next match: Sir Edric, the Dark Knight, faces Sir Lucas of House Thornton!”
The crowd erupted, anticipating the next clash. Gareth’s eyes never left Sir Edric, his concern deepening.
The Jousting continued, Sir Edric came out of his tent readily to face Sir Lucas of house Thornton
Sir Lucas of House Thornton rode into the arena, his silver armor gleaming. His horse, Starlight, pranced elegantly.
The announcer declared: “Sir Lucas, the Unyielding, seeks to dethrone Sir Edric, the Dark Knight!”
Sir Edric remounted Soul Snatcher, his expression unyielding.
Gareth’s grip on the railing tightened. “This match will reveal Sir Edric’s true character,” he whispered to Bratos.
Bratos nodded. “Sir Lucas’ skill is underestimated. This will definitely be a test for Sir Edric.”
The drums sounded. The knights charged.
Sir Lucas’ lance struck Sir Edric’s shield, but the Dark Knight held firm. Sir Edric counterattacked, his lance aimed at Sir Lucas’s exposed flank.
The crowd gasped.
Sir Lucas deftly shifted Starlight, avoiding the blow. The knights passed, their lances shattering.
The judges conferred, flags waving: blue and red tied.
The announcer declared: “The knights shall ride again!”
Tension mounted. Gareth’s eyes locked onto Sir Edric, sensing a growing darkness.
Miley’s smile faltered, concern etched on her face.
Sir Edric’s gaze never wavered, his focus fixed on victory.
The arena trembled with anticipation. Sir Edric and Sir Lucas positioned their horses for the rematch, Soul Snatcher and Starlight, at opposite ends.
The drums sounded. The announcer’s voice boomed: “Rematch! Charge!”
Tension mounted. Gareth’s eyes locked onto Sir Edric, sensing a growing darkness.
Miley’s smile faltered, concern etched on her face.
Sir Edric’s gaze never wavered, his focus fixed on victory.
The arena trembled with anticipation. Sir Edric and Sir Lucas positioned their horses for the rematch, Soul Snatcher and Starlight, at opposite ends.
The drums sounded. The announcer’s voice boomed: “Rematch! Charge!”
Sir Edric and Sir Lucas spurred their horses forward.
Soul Snatcher surged ahead, Sir Edric’s focus unwavering. Sir Lucas charged, lance poised.
The knights clashed. Sir Edric’s lance struck Sir Lucas’s shield with incredible force. The impact sent Sir Lucas stumbling, Starlight whinnying in alarm.
Sir Edric’s dominance was evident. His precision and strength left the crowd aghast.
Sir Lucas struggled to regain balance, his lance splintered. Sir Edric charged again, his second strike hitting Sir Lucas’ exposed flank.
The judges’ flags waved decisively: blue for Sir Edric.
The announcer declared: “Sir Edric, the Dark Knight, wins the rematch!”
Sir Lucas dismounted, extending a hand in respect. “You are a great rider, and you have a great horse.”
Sir Edric nodded in acceptance.
The crowd roared, acclaiming the Dark Knight’s victory. Sir Edric rode Soul Snatcher to the winning post, triumphant yet again.
Chirurgeon Bratos leaned to Gareth. “Sir Edric’s ambition burns brighter. But I think We must beware.”
Gareth nodded. “His dominance will soon come to an end, he could be facing one of the Potts brothers in the Semis.”
As Sir Edric celebrated, a hooded figure watched from the shadows, intrigued by the Dark Knight’s prowess.
The jousting tournament reached its climax, the semi-final stage. Twin brothers Sir Gregory Potts and Sir Leon Potts dominated the competition, their prowess unmatched. Their father, Anfield Potts, beamed with pride in the stands, his chest emblazoned with the Potts family crest.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the arena, the announcer’s booming voice echoed:
“Hear ye, hear ye! The jousting tournament shall continue tomorrow!
SEMI FINAL MATCHES
First duel: Sir Leon Potts of House Potts faces Sir Barrow Halton of House Halton!
“Second duel: Sir Gregory Potts of House Potts clashes with Sir Edric, the Dark Knight!”
The capital erupted into excitement, whispers of the impending battles spreading like wildfire. Knights, nobles and commoners alike speculated on the outcomes.
Anfield Potts’s eyes sparkled, anticipating his sons’ triumphs. “Tomorrow, our family’s legacy will shine brighter!” He said.
In the shadows, Sir Edric’s determination intensified as he said to the crowd. “Soul Snatcher and I will vanquish Sir Gregory. No one stands in my way.”
Gareth and Chirurgeon Bratos exchanged concerned glances. “Sir Edric’s ambition may be his downfall,” Gareth whispered.
Bratos nodded. “The Potts brothers will not yield easily.”
Miley’s thoughts turned to Sir Edric’s growing over confidence.
Later that night, The tavern’s warm glow illuminated the lively gathering, knights and nobles uniting in anticipation of the jousting tournament’s climax. Sir Anfield Potts beamed with pride alongside his twin sons, Sir Gregory and Sir Leon, their semi-final berths secured.
Sir Barrow Halton, confidence radiating, declared, “Tomorrow, I’ll vanquish Sir Leon Potts! The winner of Sir Gregory and Sir Edric’s duel will fall before me in the final. My victory is assured!”
The patrons erupted into laughter, Sir Gregory Potts raising his cup, ale sloshing. “House Potts shall reign supreme! My brother Leon or I will claim the glory. And, Leon, if we meet in the final… I’ll triumph!”
Sir Leon smiled, eyes twinkling. “You’ve indulged in too much ale, brother. Defeating me? Unlikely.”
The tavern exploded into laughter, Sir Anfield Potts’ chest swelling with pride.
As the night wore on, lively debates and jests filled the air. Knights and nobles speculated on the semi-final outcomes.
On the other side of the tavern’s periphery, Sir Cole and Sir Barrys engaged in a subdued conversation, amidst the lively atmosphere.
A lot has changed, Barrys,” Sir Cole said, his voice thoughtful.
Sir Barrys’ gaze drifted, his expression weary. “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”
Sir Cole smiled sympathetically. Sir Barrys’ exhaustion was palpable, his head drooping toward the wooden table.
“You’re struggling with Gareth-ding’s classes, aren’t you?” Sir Cole asked.
Before Sir Cole could continue, Sir Barrys interrupted, his voice laced with frustration. “Yes, yes, I know. Mastering the Knight’s Code and our traditions is essential. I won’t fail.”
Sir Cole’s smile reassured. “All will be well, Barrys. Your dedication will pay off.”
As Sir Barrys’ eyelids fluttered shut, Sir Cole inquired, “Who do you think will win the joust tomorrow? I’m tempted to place a substantial bet, courtesy of Rogan’s corrupting influence.”
Sir Barrys’ voice barely rose above a whisper. “The Dark Knight… Sir Edric… will win with ease.”
Sir Cole’s eyes widened. “Sir Edric, the Dark Knight? I’ve heard of his prowess since the melee.”
Sir Barrys nodded, his face sliding onto the table, sleep claiming him amidst the tavern’s raucous laughter.
Meanwhile Sir Edric who was absent from the tavern, focused on his solitary preparations, his determination to win the Joust was burning brighter. Miley watched him on from the shadows of the Night.
THE NEXT MORNING
As the sun rose over the capital, the city stirred with anticipation. The semi-finals and final of the Decennial Jousting Tournament were about to commence, and the realm held its breath for the crowning of its new Lord Commander.
In the grand courtroom, the Knight King sat alone, quill in hand, signing documents of state. The doors swung open, and Sir Windor of Windsdale entered, his armor gleaming in the morning light. He bowed deeply, his voice filled with respect.
“Morning, Your Grace. You sent for me?”
The Knight King looked up, his eyes piercing. “Ah, Sir Windor, welcome. Words have reached me Lord Phillips, the Warden of Windsdale and all North, has been murdered.”
Sir Windor’s expression turned somber. “Yes, Your Grace. He was killed the night we defended Windsdale against Reagan’s men.”
The Knight King’s face clouded with sorrow. “A tragic loss. His killer remains unknown, but we must act swiftly. The North needs a new leader.”
He paused, his gaze settling on Sir Windor. “My advisors and I agree: you are the ideal candidate for Interim Warden and Lord of the North.”
Sir Windor knelt, his head bowed. “Your Grace, I am honored. I swear unwavering loyalty to the crown.”
The Knight King nodded. “Serve well, and the title shall be yours permanently. Grand Advisor Liam will brief you on pressing matters. Now, I must attend the tournament.”
Sir Windor rose, bowing deeply as he left the court room.
The Moment of truth began, The arena erupted into cheers as the Knight King, flanked by his escorts and the princess, made his grand entrance. The crowd rose to their feet, a sea of colorful banners and pennants waving in unison. As the monarch took his seat, the audience followed suit, their chatter and excitement building into a palpable frenzy.
To the far left, Sir Barrow Halton of House Halton sat astride his majestic steed, his armor gleaming in the sunlight. His lance, adorned with the Halton crest, stood tall beside him. Across the arena, Sir Leon Potts of House Potts mirrored his opponent’s poise, his own lance bearing the proud emblem of his lineage.
Sir Anfield Potts, Leon’s father, watched anxiously from the stands, his eyes fixed intently on his son. The air was heavy with anticipation.
The drum’s resonant beat shattered the tension, signaling the commencement of the joust. Sir Barrow and Sir Leon spurred their horses forward, the thunder of hooves echoing through the arena.
As the knights converged, their lances dipped, aiming for the heart of their opponent’s shield. The crowd held its collective breath. Time seemed to slow.
Sir Barrow’s lance struck Sir Leon’s shield with a resounding crash, but the Potts knight held firm. Sir Leon’s counterattack was swift and precise. His lance found its mark, striking Sir Barrow’s shield with tremendous force.
The Halton knight stumbled, his balance compromised. The crowd gasped. Sir Leon seized the opportunity, expertly guiding his steed for another pass.
The second impact was decisive. Sir Barrow’s shield splintered, his lance flying from his grasp. The arena erupted into cheers as Sir Leon Potts emerged victorious.
The Knight King rose, a broad smile on his face. “Sir Leon Potts of House Potts wins the first semi-final! His prowess in the lists earns him a place in the final.”
Sir Anfield Potts beamed with pride, his eyes shining with joy. Sir Leon, his armor battered but unbroken, rode triumphantly around the arena, basking in the adoration of the crowd.
The second semi-final match commenced, the arena ablaze with anticipation. Sir Gregory Potts, confident and boastful, rode into the arena. His opponent, Sir Edric, the Dark Knight, emerged on Soul Snatcher, his Dark majestic Horse. Miley’s fervent cheers pierced the din.
Sir Gregory, waving to the crowd, boasted, “Today, I shall prove my superiority! Sir Edric, the Dark Knight, will fall before me!”
Sir Edric’s expression remained stoic, his eyes fixed on the task.
The drum sounded, and the knights charged. Sir Gregory’s lance quivered with anticipation, while Sir Edric’s remained steady.
The first pass: Sir Gregory’s lance struck Sir Edric’s shield, but the Dark Knight held firm. Sir Edric counterattacked, his lance aimed true. Sir Gregory’s shield shattered, his lance flying from his grasp.
The crowd gasped. Sir Gregory stumbled, struggling to maintain balance.
Sir Edric seized the opportunity, expertly guiding Soul Snatcher for another pass. The second impact crushed Sir Gregory’s remaining defenses. His shield splintered, and he tumbled to the ground.
The arena erupted into cheers as Sir Edric emerged victorious. Miley’s screams of joy echoed through the stands.
The Knight King rose, a nod of approval on his face. “Sir Edric, the Dark Knight, wins the second semi-final! His prowess earns him a place in the final against Sir Leon Potts.”
Sir Gregory, humbled and battered, struggled to his feet. His boasts silenced, but he still didn’t acknowledged Sir Edric’s superiority.
Sir Edric rode triumphantly, Soul Snatcher prancing beneath him. Miley’s adoration for her lover shone brighter than ever.
MINUTES BEFORE THE FINALS
Sir Edric’s tent, a sanctuary for him amidst the tournament’s chaos, bustled with pre-final preparations. Miley tenderly cleaned the sweat from his brow, her touch soothing his focused mind.
Suddenly, a hooded figure emerged from the shadows, its presence unsettling. The air thickened with tension.
“Well done on shaming Gregory Potts,” the mysterious visitor said, voice low and gravelly. “I hope you’ll repeat the feat against Leon Potts.”
Sir Edric’s gaze narrowed, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword. “And who are you?” he demanded.
Miley’s eyes widened, fear creeping into her expression.
The hooded figure turned to leave, its words dripping with enigma: “I am nothing… but I will be something.”
With that, the mysterious visitor vanished into the bustling tournament grounds.
Miley’s voice trembled. “Who was that?”
Sir Edric’s response was laced with unease. “I have no clue.”
His brow furrowed, lost in thought. Who was this mysterious figure? Friend or foe?
The final match loomed, mere minutes away. Sir Edric’s focus returned to the task at hand: defeating Sir Leon Potts.
THE FINALS
The arena was in anticipation as Sir Edric, the Dark Knight, and Sir Leon Potts faced off in the ultimate showdown. The Knight King, Princess, and esteemed nobles watched with bated breath.
Sir Edric rode on his horse Soul Snatcher, exuding confidence. His dark quality armor gleamed, and his lance shone with a dark elegance.
Sir Leon, accompanied by his father, Sir Anfield, and twin brother, Sir Gregory, rode forth with determination. His family’s honor rested on his shoulders.
The crowd held its collective breath as the two knights charged forward. Lances lowered, the thunder of hooves shook the ground.
First Pass:
Sir Leon’s lance struck Sir Edric’s shield with tremendous force. The Dark Knight held firm, his armor unyielding.
Sir Edric counterattacked, his lance aimed true. Sir Leon’s shield cracked, but he maintained balance.
Second Pass:
Sir Edric’s lance struck Sir Leon’s exposed shoulder, sending him stumbling. The crowd gasped.
Sir Leon regained composurere, charging forward with renewed ferocity.
Third Pass:
The knights clashed, lances shattering simultaneously. Sir Leon’s horse stumbled, its rider struggling to maintain control.
Sir Edric seized the moment, expertly guiding Soul Snatcher for the decisive blow.
The Final Impact:
Sir Edric’s lance struck Sir Leon’s chest, sending him tumbling to the ground. The arena erupted into cheers.
The Knight King rose, a broad smile on his face. “Sir Edric, the Dark Knight, wins the Jousting Tournament!”
Miley rushed to Sir Edric’s side, tears of joy in her eyes. Sir Edric dismounted, embracing her.
Gareth and Chirurgeon Bratos exchanged disappointed glances, their hopes of Sir Edric’s defeat dashed.
As the Dark Knight raised his arms in triumph, the crowd roared, acknowledging his supremacy.
Chirurgeons rushed to tend to the badly injured Sir Leon, who lay motionless on the ground. Sir Edric approached, concern etched on his face.
Sir Gregory Potts, Sir Leon’s twin brother, intercepted him. “You’re not needed, Darklin,” he spat, venom in his voice.
The term “Darklin” ignited Sir Edric’s ire. He discarded his helmet, revealing his intense gaze.
You were never a worthy knight, Sir Gregory,” Sir Edric declared. “Your twin brother, Leon, surpassed you in every aspect. House Potts clings to faded glory, its legacy crumbling. None of you will claim a seat at the High Table. Your father’s dreams will wither, and House Potts will succumb to oblivion.”
Sir Gregory seethed, his hand on the hilt of his sword. His father, Sir Anfield Potts, restrained him.
“Leave him, Gregory. He dares mock our noble house. I will teach him respect.”
Sir Anfield, the battle-hardened veteran, tossed his gloves to the ground, signaling a duel to the death. The crowd gasped.
Sir Edric picked up the gloves, his voice cold. “To the death.”
The arena fell silent, stunned by the sudden turn of events. Sir Barrys watched from the stands, Gareth and Chirurgeon Bratos’ schemes momentarily forgotten. The Knight King, Sir Dwayne and the entire assembly held their collective breath.
Sir Edric and Sir Anfield raised their swords, poised for mortal combat.
The duel commenced, Sir Edric and Sir Anfield clashing in a flurry of steel and skill. The Dark Knight’s prowess shone, his movements swift and deadly. Sir Anfield, battle-hardened veteran, countered with precision, but Sir Edric’s superiority gradually gained the upper hand.
Their swords danced, striking sparks as they exchanged blows. Sir Edric’s intensity intensified, his focus unwavering. Sir Anfield stumbled, his footing faltering.
The Dark Knight seized the moment, his sword poised for the fatal blow.
“Stop!”
The Knight King’s commanding voice echoed through the arena, halting Sir Edric’s motion.
Sir Edric hesitated, then lowered his sword, obedience overriding his Battle-fueled instincts.
As Sir Anfield struggled to rise, Sir Edric offered a hand, assisting him to his feet. The gesture surprised the crowd.
Sir Anfield, his pride wounded but honor intact, gazed at Sir Edric with newfound respect.
“You have my respect, Sir Edric, the Dark Knight.”
Raising his hands, Sir Anfield declared to the crowd:
“New Lord Commander of the Realm!”
The arena erupted into thunderous cheers, the assembly uniting in acclaim. Sir Edric stood tall, his triumph tempered by humility.
The hooded figure watched on from the stands as the scenes unfolded.
Later that night, The tavern overflowed with revelers, celebrating Sir Edric’s triumph in the Jousting Tournament and his ascension to Lord Commander. Whereas the Knight King’s coronation feast drew nobles, lords and esteemed knights.
As Princess Elaine entered, her radiant beauty captivated Sir Barrys. Sir Cole smiled, “You have a keen eye, Barrys. That is Princess Elaine, the Knight King’s daughter.”
The Knight King rose, his voice booming: “Today, we crown a new Lord Commander of the Realm, Sir Edric!”
Applause thundered through the hall. Sir Edric approached the Knight King, kneeling before him.
“Sir Edric, do you promise loyalty to the crown, service to the realm and adherence to the Knight’s Code?” the Knight King asked.
“I do, I do and I do,” Sir Edric vowed, his head bowed.
The Knight King declared, “It is done!” and tapped Sir Edric’s shoulders with a sword. “Sir Edric, the Dark Knight, arise! New Lord Commander of the Realm and member of the Order of the Knights of High Table!”
The assembly erupted into cheers as Sir Edric stood.
The feast resumed, lively and joyous. Sir Edric raised his hands, announcing, “I have another declaration: I am engaged to Lady Miley of the West. Our wedding will take place in a few weeks.”
Miley’s hands trembled as Sir Edric kissed them, her face aglow. The crowd, initially stunned, cheered and applauded.
Suddenly, windows shattered, and a powerful gust swept the hall. A divine presence, known as the White god, burst in.
Miley, familiar with the entity from her hometown Westwood, exclaimed, “The White god!”
Sir Dwayne shouted, “Protect the Knight King at all costs!” Guards and knights rushed the monarch to safety, exiting the feast.
Chaos reigned as the White god’s energy scattered food, decorations and furnishings, yet miraculously, no one was harmed.
