The World Dragon's Heir

Chapter 660: The Victor

With the contestants in place, the referee prepared to start the final round.

Sir Charles squared up on his horse, then saluted Sir Nallon before the flag dropped and both horses trampled the packed earth of their lanes.

Something had changed to this round, Dominic decided. The horses were moving faster than usual, and when the lances hit, they didn’t simply break, they shattered. Cedar didn’t splinter as much as pine, but large chunks of wood flew from the impact as the two knights passed each other.

“One lance each!” The referee shouted.

Both knights returned to their spots, and the squires checked their equipment before handing them another lance.

Sir Nallon shook his arm, and the squire rushed over with a fresh shield, replacing the presumably damaged one that his knight was wearing, and then the pair moved back into position.

Again, the horses surged forward, faster again, and both lances splintered, leaving Sir Charles knocked nearly sideways on his saddle, but still upright. His shield was pierced clean through, and the broken end of the lance dangled feebly from the hole left by the blunted tip.

The pure violence of the attack left the crown in awe, but neither knight hesitated as their equipment was checked again, ensuring that it wasn’t damaged by the intense blows.

Once they were certain that it was safe to go again, and Sir Nallon had downed a potion to dull the pain in his chest from the last hit, they prepared for the third pass.

This time, Sir Nallon went high, but Sir Charles adjusted his shield, smacking the lance upward and over his head, while his own lance struck directly into the Shersdonian knight’s chest.

Sir Nallon’s armour buckled slightly and one of the straps popped open.

That was going to take some time to repair, but most knights wouldn’t have a second set of armour. It wasn’t as common to have armour damaged in a tournament as in a battle, so Dominic wasn’t certain if Sir Nallon would be able to continue before the thirty minutes were up.

The Knight withdrew behind the wall, and Pops was called down to help with the issue.

A portable forge or torch would fix the issue easily enough, as it didn’t need to be pretty, just straight enough to be worn for two more passes.

That also gave Sir Charles time to recover and catch his breath, a brief reprieve while he made his plans for the final two passes.

He was now up by one lance, only a few points, but that was enough if he could keep the rhythm.

Twenty minutes later, Sir Nallon was back with hastily repaired armour, the shining spot of the fresh repair clearly visible, as Pops hadn’t had time to polish the whole piece. Surely, it was as strong as the rest of the piece, his skills wouldn’t make it any other way.

It just wasn’t finished in the decorative sense.

Facing each other again, the Knights prepared to charge. For Sir Nallon, it was an uphill battle. If he couldn’t cause Sir Charles to miss a lance, he wouldn’t be able to catch up.

Dominic could see that the pressure was getting to him, just going by the stress in his shoulders as he sat waiting for the flag to drop.

The fourth pass started, and lances shattered again, leaving both Knights with a stub of wood.

“Four lances to three. Knights, please prepare for the final pass of the tournament.” The referee announced.

At the drop of the final flag, both Knights squared themselves with fierce determination, neither hiding their intentions. Sir Charles was going for the clean hit, to score the points to keep himself ahead.

Sir Nallon had to get the unhorsing. That was the only way that he could win the match at this point, so not only did he need the hit, he needed one that was going to unbalance the other Knight and take him out of his saddle.

Neither of them backed down, neither of them wanting for any sorts of tricks. Not this time.

Sir Charles got the clean hit on Sir Nallon’s shield, breaking the lance, while Sir Nallon hit high on his chest and thrust the lance outward, knocking Charles sideways and lifting him off the saddle before the lance broke, leaving the Cygnian Knight flailing with one foot in the stirrup and the other knee on his saddle.

He lifted his broken lance in victory, waving to the crowd as he circled back in front of the referee’s stand and the Royal booth.

Dominic rose to make the speech, then realized that he wouldn’t be able to give the awards from up here. So, he was going to have to move.

But first…

“Ladies and gentlemen of the audience. Loyal Knights of the Realm, and honoured guests. Thank you all for attending to see the gallantry of our mightiest Knights.

This event was a first for Wistover, and I do thank you all for bearing with us as we learned the finer points of hosting a proper tournament. But now for the moments that we have all been waiting for, the awarding of the prizes.

As you all know, there are awards of gold and jewels for all of our top three contestants.

However, there is something more for our winners.

Both of these fine Knights will receive a lifetime supply of Wistover’s signature Magitech-made wine, a small comfort to keep their insides warm during cold evenings on the circuit.”

Dominic paused as the crowd laughed and cheered.

“And finally, our winner, and first champion of the Wistover Joust,” again a pause as the crowd went insane, “will receive a new set of custom-designed Magitech armour, made to his own specifications.”

That wouldn’t be worn during a tournament, as the rules limited the use of magic for fairness’ sake. But for ceremonial purposes and military action, it would be an incredibly powerful advantage.

“May I present to you our winner, Sir Charles Whitbury of Cygnia City!”