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such a dream had come to him. He had nearly died, and Master Laerg had nearly destroyed the School
of Wizardry. So now she wet her lips and asked in a low voice, "What did you see?"
He told her. She looked around, as if expecting the men and women standing near them to turn to beasts
on the spot, and then said, "What about your cousin? Didn't you warn him?"
"Of course I warned him," said Randal. "But do you have any idea how stubborn Walter is? I might as
well have been talking to myself."
"So what are you going to do?"
Randal shrugged. "Without my magic, what can I do except hope that this time I'm wrong?"
As he spoke, a cavalcade of mounted men thundered onto the field, armed and armored, their banners
waving.
A herald addressed the new arrivals. "Duke Thibault, are you and your vassals fighting today?"
"Not today," said the leader of the group. "We've come to watch the sport, nothing more."
"I don't like this," said Randal, under his breath. "I don't know what's wrong, but I don't like it."
"Neither do I," said Lys, "especially after what you just told me. Wait, what's that happening?"
Two knights had gone into a marked-off section of the field, and started cutting and slashing at one
another with broadswords.
"They're beginning the tourney with single combats," said Randal. "Those two will fight until one of them
yields."
Lys frowned. "Fight about what?"
"Nothing in particular, most of the time," a voice cut in before Randal could answer. Sir Guillaume,
wearing his armor but not his shield and helmet, strolled over to join the two younger people. The knight
went on, "Sometimes one man or the other will have a real grievance. But usually they just fight for the
practice or for the honor of winning."
Even as Guillaume finished speaking, another voice carried to them across the field, loud and confident. "I
challenge you, Sir Walter of Doun!"
"Oh, no," said Randal. "Not Sir Reginald."
Guillaume looked puzzled. "What's wrong with him?"
Randal chose his words carefully. "He beat a stableboy a couple of nights ago, and Walter made him
stop. He's probably still nursing a grudge."
As Randal watched, Walter and Sir Reginald went out onto the field. The marshal cried out, "My lords,
do honor to the duke our patron," and the two knights flourished their swords toward the castle that rose
in the distance above the trees.
"Time was," said Sir Guillaume, "that marshals in Brecelande would begin a bout by calling for honor to
the King."
"Do you remember those days?" asked Lys.
No king had ruled in Brecelande since the High King had died and his infant daughter had vanished years
before.
"Oh, no." Guillaume laughed. "Do I look that old? I heard the tale from my father."
The marshal cried out, "Do honor to your noble opponent."
The two knights saluted each other by striking their swords against their shields with a ringing blow.
"Then for honor and glory, lay on!" the marshal cried.
For a moment, neither man moved. Then Randal, watching, heard Lys gasp as Walter slipped his shield
off his left arm and tossed it away onto the grass.
"Nice," murmured Sir Guillaume in an appreciative tone as Walter gripped his sword in both hands, with
the blade held at the vertical in front of him. "Very nice."
"I don't understand," said Lys. "Why did he throw away the shield?"
"He's using the sword two-handed, like a greatsword," said Sir Guillaume. "That puts more strength into
his blows, and allows him to attack from more directions. But it's risky--the blade has to be both sword
and shield at once-and only a man confident of his own skill would choose to fight that way in a challenge
bout."
Sir Guillaume sounded admiring, but the knight's words only served to renew Randal's feelings of coming
doom.
Walter's fighting like that to show the whole world what he thinks of Sir Reginald, the young wizard
realized.
If the stableboy Reginald was roughing up hadn't been me, Walter might have just fought him
sword-and-shield and been content. But no, he's decided to rub it in...
Out on the field, the two knights circled, keeping their distance. Then Reginald stepped forward and cut
at Walter's helmet with an overhead blow.
"It's all a matter of style," Sir Guillaume explained further. His eyes were intent on the field. "Walter
carries a hand-and-a-half sword-it's longer and heavier than Sir Reginald's broadsword, but not so long
and heavy that it can't also be used one-handed by someone strong enough."
"And is he?" asked Lys. "Strong enough, I mean.
Randal thought back to the fight against the bandits and how Walter had swung that sword with one
hand, the long blade arcing through the air in a steely blur.
"Yes," he said. "Walter is strong enough."
Meanwhile, Walter had blocked Reginald's first blow easily, but the attack had been nothing more than a
feint. Now Reginald's blade dropped and became a cut aimed at Walter's rib cage.
But Randal's cousin pushed his own blade over and down to block the blow. The swords met, singing,
and then sprung apart.
Walter swung into a shield-side attack on Reginald's leg. Reginald pivoted his shield downward and
blocked, but Walter used the speed of the rebound to come around in a blinding half-circle toward
Reginald's helm on the sword side.
Reginald stepped back and blocked with his own blade, but the superior length and weight of Walter's
sword told against him. The strength of the two-handed blow forced the other blade downward to ring
against Sir Reginald's helm.
Reginald opened his shield away from his body to punch the metal rim against Walter's armored chest.
But Walter pivoted with the swinging shield, and swung his blade with all the strength in his shoulders,
twisting his body to add the power of his hips to the edge of his sword.
The blow took Sir Reginald in the back of the helm as he stepped forward. Reginald stumbled, his lunge
turning into a fall, and lay face down on the field.
Still holding his sword with his left hand, Walter reached down, pulled on Sir Reginald's shoulder, and
turned him onto his back. Then he placed the point of his sword at the eye slit in Sir Reginald's helm.
"Yield you, sir knight."
Sir Reginald's gauntleted hand relaxed, letting go of the hilt of his sword. "I yield."
Sir Walter helped Sir Reginald to his feet. Then the two men walked to the colored ribbon that marked
the edge of the field, ducked under, and vanished amid the other knights, leaving the heralds to mark
down the results of the bout.
"That's it?" Lys asked, in disbelief.
"It's more than you seem to think," Sir Guillaume answered. "Sir Walter now owns Reginald's arms and
armor. If Reginald wants them after today, he'll have to buy them back."
A short while later, Walter came over to join Randal and the others. The young knight carried his helmet
in the crook of his left arm. Sweat ran down from his hair and left streaks in the dust on his face.
"Water," he said hoarsely to Randal. " That was hot work out there."
Randal hurried to fill a goblet from one of the barrels of drinking water set up around the edges of the
field. As he handed the goblet to his cousin, he muttered, "Have you fought enough now?"
"No," said Walter. He drained the goblet and held it out again. "I'm having a good time, and I'm doing
well. How else am I going to get the practice that I need to fight well in war when it comes?"
"If it comes, you mean."
Walter shook his head. "When."
The heralds began to cry the arming for the grand melee, when all the knights at the tourney would take
part in a mock battle. Walter drank one final goblet of water, then mounted his horse and rode away to
join the others. This time he took his shield.
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