Sir Kendrick and the Castle of Bel Lione (4 page)

The following morning, Kendrick and Duncan rose early and departed for Attenbury. Kendrick noticed Duncan was unusually quiet and caught him glancing toward him from time to time as they rode.

Attenbury was more than a two days’ ride from Chessington, but even at a moderate pace, there would be plenty of time before the tournament began to find lodging and stables. That suited Kendrick well. He liked to become familiar with his surroundings and carefully plan his course in all situations.

Kendrick glanced at Duncan and caught his stare once again. “Something troubling you, lad?”

“You … fought in tournaments?”

“Find that difficult to believe, do you?”

“Actually, yes I do,” Duncan teased. “Does the Council of Knights have the right Sir Kendrick?”

Kendrick responded with a hard glare and a grunt of annoyance.

“I’m sorry, Kendrick. I mean no disrespect,” Duncan hurried to add. “You just don’t seem like the tournament type. And what about that speech you gave me about not seeking glory and adventure?”

Kendrick didn’t reply, but focused on letting his anger abate. He reminded himself that the lad was ignorant of his past and the pain that lingered there.

“So …” Duncan probed, “were you any good?”

Now Kendrick wished for the silence that had existed before this conversation began. He glanced again at Duncan. “Some may have thought so.”

Duncan produced a wide grin and eyes full of impish intent. “I can’t wait to see this!”

Kendrick shook his head and turned his attention back to the roadway, wondering if Duncan was more excited about seeing the tournament or witnessing his humiliation.

“Dear Prince,” he muttered to himself, “give me the patience.”

They camped for the night in a clearing by the roadside. The following morning, Kendrick handed Duncan an unfamiliar-looking tunic.

“Whose mark is this?” Duncan examined the bright red design. “It’s not the Prince’s.”

Kendrick hesitated, lost in thought. “It was my mark before I became a Knight of the Prince.” He slipped a similar tunic over his head.

By late afternoon, Kendrick and Duncan arrived in Attenbury. The city already bustled with much tournament activity, and many of the participating knights were arriving. Kendrick and Duncan had no small challenge in finding an inn for themselves and stables for their horses.

The next morning, they walked to the tournament arena, where banners from all across the region fluttered in the breeze. The wealth and prestige of the participating knights was evident by the quantity and quality of their supporting entourages. Kendrick and Duncan found the registry quarters and entered to find two tables set to receive participants.

“Which events will you participate in?” Duncan asked.

“Only the Skill at Arms.”

“What?” Duncan looked disappointed. “What’s the point in even registering if all you plan to do is the Skill at Arms?”

Kendrick ignored him and stepped forward behind two other knights. Duncan followed him. Just a couple of paces to the right trailed a line of knights waiting to register at the other table. A registrar sat at each table, and a white-haired gentleman, obviously a tournament official, supervised the proceedings.

“I thought you were supposed to be some great tournament knight,” Duncan said.

Kendrick slowly turned to face him. He narrowed his eyes and spoke in low tones. “I’ve never claimed such foolishness. And do not forget that our purpose here is not the tournament!”

Duncan shook his head and looked to the other registry table. He quickly turned back and elbowed Kendrick, nodding toward the knight currently registering at the other table.

“What?” Kendrick asked impatiently. He followed Duncan’s gaze and set his eyes upon an imposing knight who wore a tunic of striking azure and gold. Though most knights presented themselves with an air of regal authority, only a few truly possessed the impression without extended effort. Here beside them was one of such caliber.

“Sir Casimir!” The tournament official stepped forward to greet the man. “What an honor to have you participating in our events.”

“In which events will you compete, sir?” the seated registrar asked Sir Casimir. “Skill at Arms, Swords, Joust, or all three?”

“All,” the knight said tersely.

“Very well, sir. You will obviously be granted exclusion from the qualification runs. The fee is thirty florins, and the Skill at Arms begins in two days. Are there any arrangements that—?”

“Name and origin?” a loud voice asked.

Kendrick broke his focus from the knight at the other table and stepped forward to register. “I’m Kendrick of Penwell.”

“In which events do you wish to participate? Skill at Arms, Swords, or Joust?”

Kendrick hesitated just as Duncan stepped forward beside him. He looked toward the knight called Casimir as he turned to leave, and their eyes met. Kendrick felt the man’s cold gaze as he peered into the soul of something dark.

He had always been a man of keen discernment, even from his youth. But since he had joined the Prince, his discerning skill had heightened in a way he never expected, especially when he came near to the heart of darkness. He relied upon and trusted this ability, for it had not yet failed him.

The encounter was brief, but it left Kendrick with a feeling of apprehension … and serious resolve.

He turned back to the registrar, who seemed impatient until Kendrick glared at him.

“Ah … your events, sir?” the man prompted.

“All,” Kendrick said firmly.

“Very well, sir. Do you have proof of prior participation?” the registrar asked.

“No.”

“According to the tournament rules, you must either have proof of prior participation or fulfill the qualification runs before—”

“Sir Kendrick is excluded from the qualification runs.” The tournament official stepped up behind their table.

Kendrick and Duncan looked up at the older gentleman. The registrar seemed to hesitate.

“You are Sir Kendrick, also of Bremsfeld, are you not?” the official asked.

Kendrick hesitated. “I am.”

The official bowed slightly. “Welcome to our tournament. Please let me know if there are any arrangements you may require me to make for you.”

Kendrick nodded his thanks, paid the fee, and left.

Outside the registry quarters, Duncan grabbed Kendrick’s arm. “I’m sorry for doubting you, Kendrick. I … I just …” Duncan struggled for words.

“Think nothing of it … it was a long time ago. Or so it seems,” Kendrick said. “It’s something I wish I could erase from my past.”

“But why?”

Kendrick looked at Duncan and then away, into the distance. “It just is. Come, let’s get something to eat.”

COLD HEART

The tournament opened with a gala parade and then opening ceremonies that allowed all of the citizens and visitors of Attenbury to join in the spirit of the knightly events and choose their favorites. Kendrick and Duncan rode side by side as the parade slowly made its way through the crowded main thoroughfare. Armor gleamed in the bright sunshine, and banners and tunics waved their colors against a pristine blue autumn sky. Musicians played, and dancers wove gracefully in and out of the procession. Cheers rose from every corner as the procession passed.

Kendrick glanced at Duncan, smiled, and shook his head. The young man seemed entranced by the whole spectacle but especially by the many young maidens who had lined the streets and shops to gaze upon and flirt with the echelon of knights that stretched before and after them. Some honored their favorites by throwing flowers or draping colorful scarves across the horses’ necks. Duncan seemed so intoxicated by the attention that he could hardly guide his horse through the crowd.

Oh the foolishness of youth! Was I as full of folly?
He smiled again ruefully.
Probably. I just hope the lad grows wiser soon. There’s work to be done.

Qualification runs were held later that day. Since these rounds had
been waived for Kendrick, he and Duncan spent the time sparring and then milling about the tents, trying to pick up information that might pertain to their quest. Kendrick especially tried to discover more about Sir Casimir. But they learned little beyond the fact that the man was a tournament regular, he was heartily disliked by servers and merchants, and no one seemed to know exactly where he came from.

“I know he’s a Vincero Knight, Kendrick,” Duncan said quietly that night as they returned to their quarters. “The way he looked at us …”

“I agree. But we need proof.”

“Like a medallion?”

Kendrick nodded. “Like a medallion.”

The games opened early the next morning with the first round of the Skill at Arms. All these events were performed with a lance—in full armor, on horseback—and were designed to test speed, agility, and accuracy through various obstacle courses. The knights did not compete face to face but accumulated points based on how quickly and successfully they completed each task. Both Kendrick and Sir Casimir performed well enough in the early rounds to qualify for the finals, where Kendrick prevailed, amassing enough points to win the competition. This meant he would enter the Swords event as the ranking knight.

During the day’s closing ceremonies, the top three knights were presented with tournament gold coins indicating their rank in the first phase of the tournament. They stood together on a wooden platform, with Kendrick in the middle, Casimir to his right, and another to his left.

After the presentation, Kendrick turned to offer an arm of congratulation to each knight. But Sir Casimir only sneered and walked away. Duncan appeared at Kendrick’s elbow. “He’s a friendly fellow.”

“Yes, isn’t he though.” Kendrick strode off.

Duncan was shorter than Kendrick, and he had to hurry to keep up. “Your performance was amazing! I had no idea … you have a good chance at winning the tournament.”

Kendrick tossed his coin to Duncan. “Here’s a souvenir for you.”

Duncan caught it, his smile fading.

“I won the Skill at Arms for only one reason,” Kendrick said, “to make Casimir angry.”

“I don’t understand you, Kendrick. I don’t see how doing well in this tournament could harm our mission or dishonor the Prince. If anything, it’s an opportunity to proclaim Him.”