Page 34 of Pippa of Lauramore (The Eldentimber #1)
Rigel is against Bran in the first round.
The two men take their places, and the contrast is striking—Bran on his white steed and Rigel on his black.
The men charge each other, their banners streaming behind them.
The people in the crowd hold their breath.
To my disappointment, but not my surprise, Rigel unseats Bran.
The whole thing looked too easy, and when Rigel takes off his helmet to acknowledge the crowd’s cheers, he barely looks like he exerted himself.
He does surprise me by dismounting from his horse and offering a hand to his competitor.
Bran accepts, and he doesn’t seem to be injured.
The crowd eats up Rigel’s goodwill, and they call out for him.
Fickle crowd.
Next, Lionel is up against Peter of Coppel.
It’s not to be a quick match, for neither falls off in the first go round.
They line up and charge each other, and once again their shields deflect the lances.
I lean forward, not daring to breathe. This next time Peter could very well knock Lionel to the ground. It could happen. It could.
Lionel flips his visor open, glaring at the other man. They charge each other, and this time, his lance hits Peter directly in the chest. Peter falls from his horse and crashes to the ground. I sit back, nauseous.
Lionel has placed in the final three.
I refuse to look at him and ignore his preening in front of the crowd. To my pleasure, their applause is polite at best. As Lionel exits, Archer and his opponent enter the arena. Lionel gives Archer a long, hard glare, probably wondering how Galinor is well enough to compete at this point.
Archer ignores him and rides past, taking his place. He will be riding against Matteo of Pluot, a prince of a small kingdom to the west. Matteo hasn’t done well in any of the previous competitions, and I am sure he is hoping to place today.
They charge each other with shields and lances raised. Matteo’s lance harmlessly hits Archer’s shield, deflecting off to the side, but Archer’s lance meets its mark. Matteo falls from his horse, and the crowd jumps to their feet, roaring their congratulations.
Archer raises his hand, but for obvious reasons, does not lift his visor. Having secured Galinor’s spot in the top three, he rides from the arena. I sit back, taking deep breaths to calm my rapidly beating heart. Galinor is still in the competition.
There is no break between this round and the final round. Father stands up, drawing the audience’s attention to him. Archer, Rigel, and Lionel ride into the arena. I wonder if anyone finds it odd that Galinor still has his visor closed.
“Prince Lionel of Vernow, Lord Rigel of Errinton, and Prince Galinor of Glendon, you have placed in the final three. The next two jousts will decide your spot. Competing in the first joust is Prince Lionel against Prince Galinor. Take your places.”
I clasp my hands in my lap. Leonora sets her hand on mine, and together we wait.
The crowd is quiet in anticipation. Galinor’s horse shifts impatiently under Archer, ready to charge.
With no hesitation, they leap forward. Archer is at a disadvantage on a horse he’s never ridden, but it doesn’t show.
Their lances collide. I lean forward, biting my lip.
Like a mighty tree, Lionel falls to the ground.
The audience is silent, and then, after several heartbeats, they go wild, screaming Galinor’s name.
I stare at Lionel, shocked and relieved to see him off his horse.
He seems equally surprised to find himself on the ground.
When his groom runs to help him, he swats the man’s hand away and pulls himself up.
There’s mud clinging to his armor. He pulls the helmet off, and his face is twisted in disgust. He turns his glare on the man he believes to be Galinor.
Archer nods to him and then rides to the side, waiting for Lionel to clear himself from the arena.
Lionel storms off, and when he’s out of the arena—but not so far as to be out of view—he heaves his helmet at the ground.
I steal a glance at Father and am satisfied to see the disapproving look on his face.
Once Lionel and his horse are clear, Rigel and Archer take their places. The crowd waits expectantly. The rain has begun again, and the water comes down in great sheets. Both men ready their shields and lances. Galinor’s horse paws at the ground and snorts, ready to run.
“Oh please, Archer,” I whisper. “Please win.”
They charge, and I stand, no longer able to stay seated.
I bite my thumbnail, waiting for the men to collide.
Archer’s lance hits Rigel just moments before the other lance connects with Archer’s shoulder.
The force pushes Archer back in the saddle, but Rigel, who is already unbalanced, falls to the right.
A few others in the crowd stand with me as we watch the black lord, who is unable to right himself in the saddle, slide into the mud.
Close to falling himself, Archer finds his balance and draws himself up. Suddenly, the entire arena is on their feet, screaming praises to the Prince of Glendon.
Archer has won the joust.
I scream with the rest of them, yelling until my throat is raw. Leonora, forgetting that she is a lady, is at my side, clapping wildly.
Archer dismounts, clutches his side with one hand, and hands his horse to Galinor’s page. I narrow my eyes, watching him. Rigel’s lance didn’t hit him in the side, but in the shoulder. He’s faking Galinor’s wound.
Alexander jumps from his seat—I hadn’t even realized he was back from Galinor’s tent yet—and runs to Archer’s side. Archer holds up his hand in victory, even as Alexander helps him from the arena.
“They must have staged it,” Leonora says, her words muffled by the crowd.
Father stands, and the audience slowly falls quiet as people find their seats once more. “Prince Galinor of Glendon is the winner of the joust. Since it looks as though he may have been injured in the last round, let us give him a moment before he claims his victory.”
In just a few minutes, Archer rides back in the arena. He’s favoring his right side, but he holds his hand up to the crowd as he makes his lap.
“He is an impostor!” A voice calls out.
All eyes dart to the entrance of the arena. There Lionel stands, red-faced and livid.