Chapter Fourteen

The melee arena wasn’t far from the city, and by horse the journey would be very short. Maddon’s equipment was being carried for him in a carriage with several of the others while he trotted along the cobbled road on his horse amid the throng. The group from the castle with competitors and the royals rode together with a large escort of guards, making quite a sight as they passed through the streets, and many people came out of their houses to see them pass, calling out as they did, with shouts of “Long live the King!”, “All hail the Farhorns!”, and in one case “Pay the miners!”. It made Maddon smirk. Even on the richer north side of the city where there was only a slight smell of sweat and sewage the miners had their supporters.

Ariana rode with them, her face impassive. He hadn’t spoken to her alone since their confrontation after the execution. He had the tournament to focus on, and would not go back to her to apologise just so he could beg for her help.

Maddon found it hard to see any of the people due to the triple line of Bloodsworn guards surrounding them, but it was nice to be out in the city and away from the slightly gloomy castle walls. With no way to tell whether the initial two assassins were the only ones or who paid them, the King wouldn’t allow any of them to leave the castle without good reason, even with guards. It was nice to be out and hear the sound of life and the rushing of the Larimer River through the city. The houses closest to the castle were tightly packed together neatly, becoming more disordered as they progressed further out towards the newer buildings.

Outside the double set of outer walls were a number of tents and other temporary dwellings where travellers and beggars had made camp. The city gates didn’t open for everyone, and it led to a dubious sort congregating outside. They were best stayed away from. None of them cheered the Farhorns’ passing.

While they travelled Maddon ran over everything he had learned in his own training and from watching others train. It was a fairly pointless exercise, as he could remember everything perfectly, but it helped to keep his nerves at bay. He resolved that after the melee was over he would keep up his efforts with training. Learning to fight was something that was useful not just for tournaments, and he should not have let himself lapse so long.

He was nervous, of course, but after today, however it went, the tournament would be done with. Besides, his father wouldn’t be expecting too much from him, so he felt that with all the training he had done he could only surpass expectations. It could hardly go worse than the joust, anyway. He still felt sore from being knocked on his back there. Maddon had decided to focus his training efforts on the melee, so he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t just avoided that event as Fendred had done, given that he would be up against talented opponents and there was the risk of injury. It had been worthwhile for Quinlan though. He had won substantial prize money from it. That reminded him. He thought he had discovered something very interesting which he needed to discuss with Quinlan.

There were a fair number of people already at the tourney grounds when they arrived. All the competitors had their own brightly coloured tents around the ground, away from the crowd. Some were armoured and getting in some last minute practice outside the arena. He could smell hot pork and fresh bread in the air from the vendors’ stalls. Maddon dismounted smoothly, and with the help of one of the young squires, carried his armour over to his tent to get changed. It was heavy, but by now he was used to it. His shield was of course emblazoned with the Farhorn crest, as was his blue cloak. Checking himself in a looking glass, he thought he cut a fine figure.

Exiting his tent, he saw Quinlan outside a nearby tent, hacking into a wooden practice dummy with his sword, a helmet on the ground next to him.

“Looks like you’re winning,” noted Maddon. Quinlan turned, the look on his face was less than excited.

“Yes?” he asked warily.

The prince smiled, trying to make sure he sounded friendly.

“I just thought I let you know that, as we’re friends, I’m not going to tell anybody about what’s going on between you and Seraphina,” said Maddon, watching as Quinlan’s face went rigid. “Personally, I don’t mind, you’re not blood relatives. I would just advise you to be careful, as who knows how the King’s brother would react if he found out?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said his cousin flatly, his eyes flicking around quickly to see who was nearby.

Maddon smirked. He had worked out what was going on between Quinlan and Seraphina after seeing them sat next to each other at the feast when the Darrowmeres had arrived. Maddon had been thinking about John and Favian Slynn’s argument last meeting when he noticed the odd behaviour of his daughter next to him. The looks and smiles that passed between them whenever they brushed arms, the way Seraphina had instinctively reached for Quinlan’s hand during a tense moment in the fight, before blushing when she realised what she had done, looking around to see if anyone had noticed it. A lot of it wouldn’t be obvious to most people. But Maddon was a person who was always paying attention, and it was clear that the way they were behaving went far further than Fendred and Ariana’s cautious courtship. He had paid more attention to both of them since then, and noticed that in family meals they often shot looks at the other one, and there was a noticeable reaction when one of them entered the room. Of course he didn’t know for sure, and it was a bit of a gamble, but Quinlan’s reaction practically confirmed it.

“Please, don’t even bother,” said Maddon. “Why would I tell anyone anyway? I imagine that the irreversible damage has been done, and there are more important things to worry about. However, if you do ever need a way out of the castle around the guards, I may have discovered one.”

Quinlan ran a hand through his hair, a desperate look on his face. He looked around him again.

“You want me to help you win, is that it?” he asked. “Is that what it will take?”

“This isn’t blackmail,” Maddon insisted. “No matter what you do, I won’t tell anyone. All I’m trying to do is offer you something as proof of friendship. I know you weren’t a fan of this idea before, but working together until the end is a good strategy, and I’m perfectly happy for you to win if you beat me fairly. Second place is very respectable for me, not to mention more believable. Besides, it wouldn’t be a real win for me if you threw the match.”

His cousin sighed.

“And what was it you were saying about a way out of the castle?” he asked.

Maddon shrugged.

“I was reading an old book which described a tunnel leading from the castle. I haven’t had the time to look for it yet but it would take you out of the castle into the city if you need it, and as far as I know nobody else knows about it.”

Quinlan nodded slowly.

“What about Ariana?”

“If we’re all still in the game at the end then I guess you have to decide which of us you’d rather fight,” said Maddon. “But I know what I would prefer you to do.”

***

The competitors were lined up in double file in the outside the tunnel entrance to the tourney arena. Maddon was stood next to Quinlan, hoping to stick with him for most of the fight. Ariana was somewhere near the front of the line. Each person’s wooden house crest was visible attached to their helmets. There was little added weight though. The wood was made to be light and brittle. Quinlan’s Greentree rider crest, usually red, was black, a colour reserved solely for bastards. A Striph could not have the same colour as a trueborn Greentree.

Maddon spotted a knight heading over to them, crossed swords atop his helm. The Darrowmere sigil. Shaldar was beside him, dressed for show rather than sport.

“Maddon Farhorn,” nodded Fendred, “Good to see you here, not all your age would venture into a melee. And you must be the bastard. In Grenfell they wouldn’t let women and bastards fight with the rest of us, but I suppose you were raised with Farhorns. Did they pay for the armour?”

Quinlan opened his mouth to speak but Maddon interrupted him, seeing that his cousin’s face was taut with anger.

“I hope your bodyguard isn’t planning to enter the melee as well,” said Maddon. “At this rate he’ll have trouble eating his steak. Try to tell him to watch out.”

The mute glared at him, and he felt a twinge of unease.

“He’s not deaf, he understands,” said Fendred. “But he won’t be fighting, he’s just here to escort me. I do my own fighting.”

“Just not jousting,” muttered Maddon.

The other prince did not rise to the bait. He smiled at them both.

“I prefer to be fresh for the melee. I do hope you haven’t overexerted yourselves, I would appreciate a challenge. The competition at home has got a little stale.”

With a nod, he left them, sending Shaldar away and taking his place in line.

“Typical highborn,” muttered Quinlan.

“Probably trying to put us off for the melee, don’t let it rile you up,” said Maddon.

“I know, said his cousin irritably. “Don’t try to give me advice on how to fight, I know what I’m doing.”

The signal came from up ahead for them to head forwards, and Maddon rolled his shoulders, allowing the adrenaline to rid him of his aches and the weight of his armour. There was nothing like a dose of nerves to help you in a tight spot. It focused the mind and made you stronger.

The sun was high in the air as the entered the arena grounds, welcomed by cheers and trumpets. The people loved the show of it all, he supposed that if they couldn’t be a part of it then watching it was the most excitement they could get. With the melee being the most important part of the tournament, it got the most impressive stadium. The royal box seemed to loom over the competitors, at the highest point as well as being on the innermost ring of seats, with Darrowmere and Farhorn flags hanging down from the box underneath the royals. Every tier of seats in the arena was full, and it was full of excited chatter as men and women gambled on all the potential outcomes. Over sixty competitors stood on the field, and by the end of it there would be one man still standing. A melee was chaos. Everybody would be fighting at once, whaling on their opponent until they could break their defences and destroy the crest they all wore. It was not as dangerous as a full combat one which could last hours, but there was still great glory in getting through it. Even just participating in one gained respect.

Maddon nodded to Quinlan as his illegitimate cousin moved to take his place between other competitors soon lost him among the suits of armour as everyone spread out. He could see Ariana not far away, distinguishable by a cloak identical to his own. An announcer began to read out a list of names of the men participating. Each competitor raised their hand to indicate their presence, the idea being that it helped the crowd to single out their favourites.

“Quinlan Striph, natural born son of Sir Trystan Greentree of Striphnem.”

He saw the hand go up near the edge of the arena, followed shortly by Swift. He hadn’t had a chance to ask Florian, but he was also a person to potentially team up with. He hadn’t been as good friends with him as Ariana as the age difference was fairly pronounced but they had got on well enough. When the announcer reached the end of the list, the trumpets blew, and he stepped back.

“Let the melee commence!”

Maddon knew his strategy. He had to fight his way over to either Quinlan or Ariana and then stick with them, preferably getting into as few fights as possible before he found them. He looked around him quickly. There were opponents on all sides, and no rules about who had to fight who, so he could be attacked from any direction. He should try to head for the edge of the arena first, where he would be less vulnerable and less likely to lose his crest from a surprise strike.

The first clashes between people begun around him, and Maddon’s heart leapt into his mouth as his first aggressor saw him alone and charged at him. He forced himself not to panic as lots of options ran through his head at lightning speed. He settled on a move and moved to meet the charge, remembering what Falk had shown him. The moment before contact, he spun to the side, his right leg moving behind him to his left as he swung his arm around, smashing his shield into the man’s arm and following it up almost instantly with a sword strike to the head, splintering his crest. The attacker’s momentum carried him forwards and he crashed to the ground, defeated.

The prince didn’t wait around but dodged around a fighting pair towards the edge of the arena, heading in Quinlan’s general direction. There were no points for eliminating opponents, the winner was just the last one left, and as thrilled as he was with his successful first hit, he knew that it was better to just try to survive than seek out more opponents. He reached the edge unhindered, where a wooden wall ran around the arena, with doors built in for losing competitors to exit, with help if necessary. In the direction he was going, it had the advantage of obstructing swings to his left side, which was ideal, so long as nobody attacked him from the other direction.

As he paused to look around, he saw one of the men in front of him take a hit in the stomach from a flail, denting the armour slightly. The fighter doubled over, while the flail-wielder stepped back to deliver the knockout blow from the round chunk of metal he was swinging, sending his crest flying in pieces. Obviously for the tournament there were no spikes, and there were rules on the weight of the ball, but it was a brutal hit. Maddon had seen the flail-wielder in training and recognised the armour. His choice of weapon was an unusual one, but he was good with it. Maddon attacked, swinging from the right and hoping to catch him unawares, but the man reacted quickly, dodging backwards towards the arena wall. Perfect.

Maddon followed up his attack, swinging low and then hitting with his shield, knocking him back. The man tried to swing the flail around but the ball dragged against the arena wall, losing a lot of its speed, and Maddon pinned the chain against the wall with his shield, feinting with a swing from the sword and then kicking the knight in his codpiece with an armoured boot. Unconventional, perhaps, but not strictly against the rules. The problem with a flail was that it was a very aggressive weapon, with very limited ability to block, leaving him reliant on his shield for defence.

Maddon kept up the pressure, not wanting to give him time to back away from the arena wall where the prince had the advantage. His next few swords strikes were blocked by the man’s shield, and the knight retaliated with a kick that Maddon blocked with his own shield. He could see what was coming next, and he raised a sword to catch the overhead swing from the flail at the top of the wood. The chain wrapped around his sword, almost hitting him. Luckily for him, it caught, and with a strong grip, Maddon wrenched his sword sideways, swinging it so that the flail was ripped out of his opponent’s hands. The weapon slid off the end of his sword and went flying into the sandy ground behind him.

Maddon grinned inside his helmet, and the man, now without a weapon, ran at him with his shield in front of him. Their shields clashed and Maddon swung the pommel of his sword into the side of the knight’s helmet, knocking him off course. The combatant blocked one of his sword strikes and swung a punch at Maddon’s head which the prince smashed head-on with his shield. He heard a noise of pain and knowing the man would struggle to block both, swung his shield around towards the man’s face and then his sword low, making contact with the latter strike and causing the man’s leg to buckle. As he sagged, Maddon barged into him, knocking him down so that he fell on his back. He moved in to put the man out of action for good, raising an armoured boot.

“I submit!” called the knight, hitting the ground twice to signal it, just as Maddon was about to bring it down on his stomach. The man removed his helmet, and the prince broke the crest with a sword strike. He smiled in relief. He had won the fight. He felt like there should be more of an audience reaction to show it, but the rest of the arena was still fighting. He took a moment to get his breath back.

“You seem to be doing well,” said Quinlan, appearing in front of him wearing a green cloak, longsword in hand, black crest unbroken. Regardless of birth, he was an incredibly skilled fighter, and did not seem tired from the exertion.

“Well I’m still here,” he said, as his defeated opponent left the arena.

“Then let’s get back into it,” said his cousin.

The prince sighed, and headed back into the fighting.

***

Maddon grunted as he took a hit from the mace on his arm, deadening it. All around them were the clashes and clangs of metal on metal, too numerous to distinguish from each other. He felt like he had been fighting for hours now, and a lot of his focus now was on conserving his energy. He imagined himself at the centre of a circle. He was holding the middle, while his opponent wasted energy dodging around him and attacking. Maddon was happy to let him, focusing on counter-attacks where his opponent tended to drop his guard. That way he didn’t waste energy on hits that would most likely be blocked.

He waited for the next swing, blocking them with his shield and lunging forwards as the fighter’s guard opened up, striking within the gap. It was a weakness Maddon had noticed with the knight even before the tournament. He also knew that when he started taking hits the man only got more aggressive. When the prince’s stab hit, he reacted as Maddon expected, launching a series of quick attacks with his one-handed mace that were hard to keep up with. It was a shorter and therefore quicker weapon than a sword, and it meant the warrior always tried to come in close.

Maddon retreated backwards under a hail of blows, trying to keep his head. He didn’t have the instincts for fighting – he just had what he had been taught and his own intelligence. He was on the back foot with an opponent coming towards him. What should he do?

The knight swung downwards at him and Maddon stepped back with his left foot, the mace swinging past him without making contact. As the knight advanced with the strike he brought his sword down on the man’s shoulder and smashed the edge of his shield into the attacker’s face, breaking his attack. As his opponent was knocked back another voice called out to him. The knight’s head turned, and Quinlan’s heavy longsword caught him behind the kneecap, swinging around to strike him in the chest, taking him off his feet. He didn’t try to get up, and Quinlan destroyed the wooden attachment to his helmet.

“I did have him you know,” said Maddon, secretly relieved to have had the help.

“I’m sure you did,” said Quinlan, stopping to look around. Only about a quarter of the competitors were still standing. They were nearing the endgame. He could see Ariana fighting it out with someone, still going strong, hacking at the men with surprising energy. While he watched, two fighters, apparently also a team, set upon the pair mid-fight. Perhaps neither Maddon nor Quinlan would need to knock Ariana out of the running. In theory he and Quinlan could just stand here and watch, but ‘spectator fighters’ were seen as poor sportsmen and tended to gather abuse. The unwritten rule was that they should be attacked and ganged up on by those nearby.

“Come on, let’s join in,” said Quinlan, signalling for Maddon to join him as he ran to Ariana’s fight. He sighed, and followed, wishing he could have a slightly longer break.

Quinlan caught one of them unawares, jumping in with a kick that sent Ariana’s opponent stumbling.

“About time you turned up,” said Ariana, nodding to her cousin.

Maddon left him to his opponent and approached the other two, his sword at the ready. The two had broken off their fight upon seeing him approach and now there was a stalemate, with the three of them equally spaced, catching their breath.

“Well, he who does not strike first...” muttered Maddon, swinging at the man on his right. His strike was parried away, and he dodged back to avoid a swing from the other fighter. He moved to his right, trying to keep the man between him and the other opponent as he attacked. Unfortunately, the other opponent chose to attack Maddon as well, and he found himself on the defensive, facing two opponents. He skirted to the side, trying to move so that he only faced one at a time and swinging wildly in retaliation. He almost dropped his sword parrying away a particularly powerful swing, and was forced back by several hard hits to his shield, falling to one knee.

“Look out!” he shouted in desperation to the nearest of the two, pointing towards the other. To his surprise, the fool fell for the ruse, looking away for a second, just long enough for Maddon to swing the sword upwards between the man’s legs, doubling him over. Rising up, he brought his shield round into the knight’s side, knocking him towards the second man, and then slashed the sword down on his back. Weakly, his opponent swung his sword upwards but Maddon stepped away and his own sword struck his opponent’s metal gauntlet with a hard clash, causing him to drop the weapon. The prince’s next strike shattered the crest, and the man dropped his shield, raising a hand in surrender. By this time Quinlan was there to help dispatch the second man, and he was dealt with without much trouble. Ariana’s opponent was down as well, with the prince almost as out of breath as Maddon was.

“Did you seriously yell ‘look out’ in the middle of a fight?” asked Ariana in disbelief, shaking her head.

“Don’t look at me, he’s the one who fell for it,” protested Maddon, gesturing to the man.

“Only five others in it now,” noted Quinlan. Maddon nodded grimly. There were two separate fights going on. Their unofficial truce couldn’t survive much longer.

“Is that Fendred?” asked Ariana, looking at the trio of fighters furthest from them. Maddon looked, and saw the Darrowmere sigil of crossed swords on the fighter’s black and yellow tunic.

“That’s him,” Maddon agreed. He saw no sign of Florian. It seemed that he was a better archer than a swordsman.

Perhaps recognising the prince as the member of a rival kingdom, the other two seemed to be ganging up on the man, who was doing well at holding his own. As they watched, he dodged around one of them, sending him tumbling into the wall of the arena while he attacked the other. By the time the man regained his footing Fendred had disarmed the other, who subsequently submitted, and moved to attack the rising man. While that happened, a winner emerged from the other fight, and Quinlan rushed off to meet him.

“Well then,” said Ariana, turning to Maddon. “Not long left now. At least you’ve done better here than you did in the joust. Shall we see what the Darrowmere is really made of?”

His sister’s attention drifted to Fendred, and Maddon’s anger took control. Ariana had to bring up the joust, didn’t she? What was it she had called him the other day? A coward who could not hold his crown? Maddon the meek? She had thrown him to the floor like a child. She always took every opportunity to put him down.

“Not this time,” muttered Maddon to himself, ire building up inside him.

“What was that?” Ariana asked, looking back just as her brother’s blunted sword caught her in the side of the face, sending her reeling back. Maddon followed up, hitting her shield arm and slashing at her chest. She parried the last blow and stepped back, regaining her balance.

“You devious little bitch!” exclaimed Ariana, going into a fighting stance. It was a pity he had missed the crest, it would be a difficult fight now.

“I think you’ll find I’m taller actually,” replied Maddon, almost trembling with the sudden rush of adrenaline, his blue cloak billowing behind him, identical in colour to Ariana’s. He would not show her any sympathy just for being a woman. She was far too dangerous for that.

Ariana attacked, launching into a rapid sequence of moves. The first one scraped against his shield, sparks flying as it led into a high slash which Maddon swayed away from. Next he knew his sister would feint a strike at his chest and go for the knee. It was the same combination she always started with. Maddon ignored the feint, interrupting the sequence by slamming the edge of his shield into Ariana’s neck and stepping in close to follow it with an armoured elbow to the head, just missing the crest but hitting hard. His sister stumbled away, shaking herself off and raising her guard up again.

“When the fuck did you learn to fight?” croaked Ariana, clearly unsettled as she rubbed her armoured throat.

“Falk’s a good teacher,” replied Maddon, waiting for her to attack again. The weapons master had privately taught both of them, spending several hours with Maddon focused solely on how to beat his sister. Part of that included sharing what he had been teaching Ariana, which Maddon was hoping to make good use of. He also knew that it would waste more of Ariana’s energy if she were the one constantly on the attack.

Ariana reacted as he hoped, not waiting to catch her breath, but going straight into a new series of strikes. Her swings were noticeably slower than before, and Maddon avoided them all, waiting for the right moment when he ducked under and past Ariana’s heavy swing to slam the edge of his sword into the princess’ back, knocking her away. Ariana could win this if she just had the patience to hold off and force Maddon to do the attacking, but in her mind she should be beating her brother easily, and every hit Maddon scored infuriated Ariana even more, making her ever more desperate to rush at him. She was breathing heavily now, and her sword was dragging in the sand. Maddon was in better condition, the adrenaline keeping him alert. Ariana raised her sword to strike again and Maddon launched a kick, his heel driving into an armoured stomach, causing Ariana to stumble back yet again. Before she could respond, he reached out and ripped the eagle crest from her helmet by hand, crushing the brittle wood between armoured fingers.

“You weren’t keeping your shield up,” he said unashamedly, wanting to cheer his victory that very moment.

He could hear the sounds of a fight towards the other side of the arena behind him. They would be his next opponents. But Ariana wasn’t done. She let out an angry cry and charged at him, sword held aloft. Maddon didn’t react quickly enough and was tackled to the ground. Now that was a move he wasn’t prepared for. His sword fell from his hand as Ariana punched him in the stomach. Winded but angry, Maddon swung the shield around, connecting with Ariana’s helmet, making her fall sideways, relieving the weight on Maddon’s legs. He pulled one free and scrabbled away, retrieving his sword. He stood and kicked hers away, holding his weapon out and gesturing to her broken crest.

“You’ve lost!” shouted Maddon. “You can’t keep fighting.”

His sister said nothing for a few moments. Then she swore.

“Rot in hell, you piece of shit,” she spat, throwing her helmet down and storming off.

Maddon backed away, too exhilarated and exhausted to feel guilty at that moment. He looked around to see how Quinlan was doing and saw that he and Fendred were the only two remaining, fighting a fierce battle. His cousin had the longer reach and a heavier weapon, but it was slower as well as stronger. Fendred never gave him a moment’s peace as Quinlan dodged away, swinging his longsword expertly to bat away the prince’s attacks. Neither of them seemed to be scoring a hit. Maddon was too engrossed to even think about intervening in the fight.

Quinlan swung his weapon in a wide horizontal swing into Fendred’s shield, the weight of the strike sending him stumbling a few steps to his left and splintering his shield. He swung the longsword again, with a strike that looked as if it would break an arm if it connected. But it met empty air, as Fendred dodged out of the way, swinging his sword across to strike Quinlan below the ribs. His following attacks were too quick for the man to block, and Fendred’s sword caught him under the chin, knocking his head back. Before he could recover, Fendred was inside his reach, kicking his legs out from under him as he slammed an arm into his chest, sending him to the ground and breaking the painted black rider on his helm in half with a quick stab. And with that, only two remained.

Well at least he was guaranteed some prize money, thought Maddon, not feeling good about the fight as he walked to the centre of the arena to meet Fendred. The prince threw his damaged shield aside, swinging his sword around as if he was twirling a baton. He didn’t even seem tired.

Maddon didn’t waste time on words, but swung at him as soon as he was within reach, steel clashing against steel as they sparred and sparks flew. This wouldn’t be like fighting Arian. He had never fought Fendred before and hadn’t seen enough to notice any weakness in his style. He seemed to be a reactionary fighter, responding to how his opponent attacked with no apparent preferred moves. He parried Maddon’s sword away skilfully several times before eventually responding with a lunge that bruised his ribs. Fendred backed off for a moment, waiting for the prince to come to him.

They circled for a few moments, the tension palpable. Fendred was using his sword left-handed, a rarity which Maddon wasn’t used to. Fendred walked towards him slowly, his sword ready but not swinging. He backed away a little, but Fendred kept coming. He seemed calm, with confidence that probably wasn’t misplaced. Maddon swung his shield around, directing it at Fendred’s head. The Darrowmere caught the edge of it with his empty right hand and headbutted Maddon, his hears ringing from the blow. Fendred twisted the shield, sending pain through the younger man’s shoulder and elbow as he was forced to bend backwards. Maddon swung his sword at Fendred but the prince parried it away and before he could react a gauntleted hand hammered into his face.

The next thing he knew he was on his back, blinded as light rushed into his eyes, vaguely noticing a shadow above him. Fendred said something muffled which Maddon couldn’t focus on. He blinked as something metallic hovered very close to him, taking up a large part of his vision.

“Do you yield?” Fendred repeated.

“I yield,” he said, unable to nod due to the sword less than an inch from his eye. Fendred swiftly raised a boot and crushed the Farhorn eagle beneath it, stamping wood chips into the dirt.

Wild applause went up from the crowd around them, and Maddon forced himself into a sitting position. Fendred offered a hand up and he took it reluctantly, finding it hard to so quickly forgive someone who had just brutally knocked him into the ground a moment ago.

“Well fought,” said Fendred, pulling Maddon to his feet. “I’d heard that your sister was the better swordsman. It seems that was incorrect.”

“Thank you,” said Maddon with a smile. He had beaten Ariana. Now there was an achievement. Second place in the melee was a hell of one as well. He waved to the cheering crowd around him, and to the royal box where his family sat. Yes, he would sleep happily tonight.

Next Chapter: Chapter Fifteen