Ransom looked through his visor at the melee, the words of the king almost a whisper through the roar of the waterfall surging in his ears. He looked to the side, where he saw the Black Prince and his knights gathered at the edge of the combat, observing the chaos on the field. But something nagged inside Ransom’s chest. The prince was wearing full armor and so were his men. They were bystanders now, yes, but he had a deep suspicion they were about to enter the fray.
“Estian is going to join the fight,” Ransom said, keeping his eager animal in check. It wanted to charge into the thick of the battle.
“His banner was not among those presented at the beginning,” Devon said. “He’s just watching.”
“Trust me, Devon. He’s waiting for others to fall first. Hold back.”
“There is no glory in that,” Devon carped. “We’re so close to winning this tournament. I want this victory, Ransom. I want it so badly my teeth hurt!”
Yes, Devon wanted it. He wanted to shove it in his father’s face, to prove that he was worthy of something.
“Devon’s right,” said Sir Robert on the other side. “It’ll be over if we wait much longer. Let’s get in there and finish it.”
“Oh, a nasty blow!” Devon said. A groan went out from the audience as a knight was bashed in the helmet with a flanged mace and fell off his horse backward.
The groan was replaced by a sudden cheer from the wooden stands. Ransom turned just in time to see the Black Prince and his mesnie charge into the tumult. The surprise attack caught the others off guard, and soon knights were spilling from their horses right and left. Some held up hands, offering to yield and pay a ransom.
“By the muddy Fountain, how did you know that would happen?” Sir Robert said in astonishment, turning his neck and visored helmet toward Ransom.
“Now!” Ransom shouted, urging his destrier forward. “Dex aie!” Sir Simon had already been knocked out of the match, but that still left Talbot and Alain in the mesnie. As one, they barged into the melee, swinging their swords.
Ransom buffeted one of the Black Prince’s knights from behind, knocking him off his saddle. He swatted the man’s empty steed to clear it away and went straight for Estian himself. Claiming the prince as a prize would be worth a hefty sum indeed.
Prince Estian swiveled in the saddle and met Ransom’s bastard sword with one of his own. The man stared at him through the slit in his visor, eyes full of determination. Estian and his knights were the regular champions at the tournaments in Chessy. Ransom had often wondered if they won so many times because people let them win.
He certainly didn’t plan to do so.
Ransom deflected the counterthrust, and the two knights were suddenly knee to knee, deflecting and parrying each other, their blades ringing out as they clashed in the air.
“Get him, Ransom! Get him!” shouted Sir Talbot.
Ransom felt the prince’s weakness. He was a skilled swordsman, but he was weaker on his left side. Ransom used his legs to guide his destrier to rear up, hooves flailing. The prince’s steed backed away, screaming in rage, and when Ransom’s horse came down again, he’d shifted position to the prince’s left side. He directed his destrier forward and started hammering against Estian’s armor. The prince blocked two blows, but he failed with the third and fourth.
A preternatural warning came, and he sensed someone coming at him from behind. Ransom jerked his elbow up and caught the blow of the flanged mace on his elbow instead of his helmet. A blind blow like that would have knocked him senseless.
Then Estian redoubled his assault from the other side. On the defensive, Ransom swiveled his blade through the air, propping the tip on his other gauntlet, and held it up as a staff to ward off the rainstorm of blows. The man with the mace hit his shoulder this time, the blow of metal against metal ringing like a bell. Ransom kicked his destrier to move forward, but he felt someone yank on the edge of his armor. The horse kept going, and Ransom fell off.
His stomach clenched with the rush of air, and he landed flat on his back. A horse stepped on his helmet, twisting it around sharply before dust blinded him.
Ransom’s heart was racing, and he knew he’d be trampled if he stayed on the ground. He couldn’t sit up, so he rolled to one side, hearing the thump of hooves against the dirty yard. The fall had not knocked the air out of him, and somehow he was still holding his sword in one hand. He dragged himself to his knees, and when he started to stand, a mace glanced off his helmet.
He heard the crowd cheer as he reached up, grabbed the mace, and pulled the knight right off his horse. Still gripping the man’s arm, Ransom knelt and raised his sword with the other hand.