Chương 129: The First Joust

Lord Ceonwin didn't have a match this week. The tournament slowed down as more of the riders were eliminated, and as the crowds picked their favourites. Tradition was tradition, and in picking the next Ealdorman, the average civilian would at least feel like they had a closer bond if they saw them jousting at a tournament.

Instead of helping with the joust, I spent the afternoon practicing with Lord Ceonwin and practicing my own tilts—which we still passed off as practice for him to take a hit, even if he definitely knew what he was doing. When the afternoon came to a close, Lord Ceonwin pulled me away from Willaf and Foal and whispered, "Your first joust is tomorrow, correct?"

"Correct."

"Use as many Presences as you can tonight, and increase your overall well. You're close to Titanium, although you might have to push it."

"Is there enough in the pouch I got today to bring me to Titanium? Eight points' worth in the bag?"

"It is full to the brim," he said.

"More Presence may not help you take a hit, but you will make it seem far more plausible to everyone present if a Titanium beat a Silver, rather than a Steel. Either they will doubt the claims they heard a few days ago, or they will simply assume you were a high-tier Steel and have since advanced. The rumours that you cheated should fade." I nodded.

"I'll push it as far as I can, sir."

"Good luck," he said.

"You are dismissed— Actually, pardon me, but there was one more thing. Do you intend on winning the tournament?"

"As if I could unhorse you, sir," I said with a chuckle.

"No. But I plan on using it to get myself some land before the final match, then withdrawing."

"Do you know who you are going to challenge?"

"No, sir, but I plan to do it tomorrow. Sooner than later. After I make a bit of a scene in the joust."

"Very well. Best of luck." He paused.

"If you fail, you owe your land to the lord you challenge. They will surely find out you forged your papers of thegnage. How strong are those illusion pendants?"

"Sir?"

"I know you have been using illusion pendants. It is the only way you could pull this off. How strong are they?" I shrugged, then pulled one out of my pocket and showed it to him.

"Heavenly grade," he said after a few seconds of examination." How did you get this?"

"Someone gave them to me."" Someone?"

"Uh, yeah." I scratched the back of my head.

"A girl from the tournament camp, sir. We've been chatting a little…"

"Just a girl?"

"Well, she's a Path-walker. I've been trying to figure out where she's from."

"Be careful, Levi. You don't know who might be out there, and you don't know who you might be dealing with. No one works for free."

"We'll see," I said. If I was more than willing to give others help, then there was a chance I wasn't the only one. But it was a chance. I couldn't just assume everyone had good intentions.

"Is there anything wrong with the pendant?" I asked.

"Any way it could be externally sabotaged, or tampered with, so that it would fail on me at the wrong time?"

"Not that I can see or sense," Lord Ceonwin said.

"It is as standard of an illusion pendant as they come. They can get very warm with repeated use, but that shouldn't be a problem. Your durability will handle it."

"I'll be careful, sir," I said.

"But how about you? Have you had any more assassination attempts that I just don't know about?"

"Not that I've seen," he said.

"There may yet be more meddling, though. I have had my guards searching the keep at all hours, and I've kept my senses spread as wide as I possibly can. So far, no one has made any more attempts."

"Maybe they'll give up."

"Not likely. But for now, that should not be your focus. Worry about winning your first match." ~ ~ ~ If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. I stayed up as late as I could, using a batch of Presences about every ten minutes. White energy rushed into my body, burning my chest, then flooding up to the back of my neck and steadily increasing my Presence. I kept my reading slate close by, watching the numbers steadily tick up.

Lord Ceonwin had been right—the pouch I received had been especially full. Some of that was, hopefully, due to me saving his skin at the last week's joust. By the time I reached forty-seven points of Presence, I couldn't stay awake any longer. And if I didn't sleep, I wouldn't regenerate any of it overnight. So I slept, and the next day, I filled my pockets with as much as I could. Throughout the morning, I continuously used Presences, claiming what I could.

It would have to be enough—and if I had measured it out correctly, it would be. There wasn't anything more I could do to prepare, though. I had to hope I was ready. ~ ~ ~ The jousting match came far too soon, and I'd just finished using the last of the Presence I had been keeping in my pockets. Lord Ceonwin excused me from afternoon sparring well before my match, giving me time to don my armour, prepare my illusion pendants, and ride Burr to the tournament grounds.

I approached from the side closest to the castle, opposite to the charred stable. As I got closer, I kept expecting a swell of nerves or imposter syndrome to hit me. Something would tell me I wasn't ready, like I was walking into an exam I wasn't prepared for. It never came. Burr hopped over the fence and trotted onto the lists, and then I trotted over to the rack of lances—four of them. Without a squire of my own, I picked one up, then gripped the back of it.

Technically, we could bring our own lances if we wanted. But with this being a trial-joust, it was the responsibility of the challenged lord to provide lances, especially when the tournament was held on such short notice. Since thegns had to travel here quickly, not all of them could bring their own equipment. It worked in my favour, though. I had practiced with these lances recently, so I was used to their weight.

"Sir Ricdine has arrived," the messenger announced.

"He takes the place of Sir Leoheard." The crowd stared at me, watching with quiet apprehension, and that was when a faint pit opened up in my stomach. I reminded myself that I wasn't even me, I was just pretending to be another man. I raised my lance to the sky, and the crowd gave a shaky cheer. Trying to ham it up a little bit, I shouted, "I apologize for my late entrance! However, with the taxes on my lands being as low as they are…" I saw the faces of a few of the commoners watching behind the fence brighten.

"... I don't have many servants or processions to help me move all my equipment." There were no cheers, still, but I wasn't getting too many skeptical glances. I must've advanced properly to Titanium—as Lord Ceonwin promised, it smoothed over my introduction.

"Yes, yes…" the messenger said, rolling his eyes.

"Every thegn wishes to make a name for himself, but we don't have time to read off all the heraldry. Riding against him is Sir Turoc of Weaxe, who remains in his proper position in the bracket." I trotted Burr to the right lane, though this time, I was charging from the opposite direction—and I was staring right at Alis, who perched on the remains of the stable roof to watch. I hooked the chainmail covering over my mouth, even if my standard illusion charm was active.

It would help protect me, for what little it would actually do. The messenger dropped his flag. There was no time for ceremony, apparently—or no one was in the mood for it. Sir Turoc charged first, lowering his lance as he raced toward me. I kicked Burr into motion, then raced forward, lowering my lance and lifting my shield. I clenched my gut, preparing to take a hit. The lance impacted me like a freight train, striking my chest and exploding into wooden shrapnel, but mine only glanced off Turoc's shield.

It didn't break. I scowled and inhaled sharply. Down a point. The crowd was cheering for it, too. I tried not to take it badly. They just wanted to see carnage, and they weren't actually against me. Sure, it was just Sir Ricdine who was failing, but it felt like me. A searing hot brand of pride hissed inside me, and I trotted Burr back to the end of the lane, ready to try again. Was I going to mess up my first joust? The next flag dropped, and we charged. I lowered my lance, aiming first for Turoc's chest.

There was a chance he failed twice, and I didn't, and I could win just by making hits against the man's body. But that seemed unlikely. My lance struck his shield, and his struck my chest again, and both our lances broke. I was still a point down, and we were halfway done. Clenching my teeth and sucking in a breath to assuage the sting of a lance crashing into me, I narrowed my eyes. I had to focus. My Focus stat was my biggest advantage. I had to figure out his weaknesses and act.

I couldn't just trust my opponent to fail. Casting aside the stump of my lance, I picked up another from the rack, then returned to my starting position. With no recesses called, we charged again. I lowered my lance, aiming for Turoc's helmet, while guarding myself with my shield. I analyzed the angle of his lance. It was drifting to the side, and if I angled my shield just right… Both of our lances glanced off with a hollow thud. I'd focused too much on deflecting, and my own angle had been poor.

It barely even made a clang when it tapped Turoc's helmet. Now, I had to break a lance on his head. Surely, Turoc would go for the body again, when he was up a point and I hadn't shown much proficiency in breaking lances. Back to the starting line. Neither of us changed lances. Inhaling sharply, I leaned forward, ready to take the incoming blow, and pointed my lance, again, aiming for Turoc's helmet. I went lower, poised to catch my lance between his eyes this time.

When it struck, it bounced up, then caught on the horse-shaped ornament at the bottom of his plumed. My lance splintered and cracked, spewing sawdust in an arc. At the same time, I twisted my shoulder back, making Turoc's lance bounce up. It didn't break. Breaking it on the helmet was worth two points. It put me just ahead of him.

"Sir Ricdine is the victor!" the messenger shouted.

"Please clear the lists." I dropped the stump of my lance, then turned to the crowd. Over their clamour, I shouted, "If I could have one moment, please! I have a challenge to issue!"