Free Chivalrous by Dina L. Sleiman Page B

hair wearing a burgundy gown. “My fair duchess and I welcome you all to this celebration of a new and—with all hope—lasting peace in the realm of England. Long live King Henry.”
    The crowd echoed the words, and Allen spoke them with gusto. “Long live King Henry.”
    While hiding away in the forests, running for his life along with the many children of their group, he had feared this day when England was ruled by a just king might never come.
    The duke directed his attention to the knights once again. “Brave warriors, as we commence the games today, be honorable, be courageous, be chivalrous, and be strong. But most of all, go hand in hand with the God of all creation.”
    Tears sprang to Allen’s eyes. So it was true. This was a righteous, God-honoring region. He had feared it might not be possible after living under the ruthless and evil King John for so long. How Duke Justus had maintained this bastion of goodness and truth, he desired to discover.
    â€œLet the games begin!” the duke said.
    The herald raised his hand and called over the crowd, whichagain had commenced its cheering. “The rules of today’s tournament shall be as such. Each set of competitors shall begin with a joust. If both competitors keep their seat, they shall continue jousting until at least one falls. If only one falls to the ground, his opponent shall be declared the victor.”
    A year ago, although he was a well-trained warrior with a sword, Allen would have never dared to engage in a joust, but so much had changed in that short time. Confidence won the battle in his chest, for he could unseat any man in Lord Linden’s service.
    â€œIf both should fall to the ground and only one rises to his feet, that man shall win. If both stand to their feet within the allotted time, a sword fight will commence.”
    He glanced to the nervous-looking knight at his left in green and gold and to the one in blue and white at his right, with a youngish face peeking through his open visor. No problem there, but tomorrow, as Allen rose through the ranks, matters might prove more challenging, for he had noticed some fearsome competitors among the group.
    â€œIf one man should be pinned, lose his sword, or surrender, the other shall be victorious. If the battle reaches a stalemate, Duke Justus shall decide the winner.”
    All sounded fair to Allen. This tournament would proceed much as his training rounds in Lindy.
    â€œAfter all competitors have battled, the winners shall move to the next round until a single champion is declared and a prize of gold coins awarded.” The herald raised a fist overhead. “Prepare to fight.”
    Allen sighed as he turned his horse back toward the gate. Having registered his entry late in the day, he would have a long wait before him. But he simply must win that prize, both because he needed to curry the duke’s favor and because his small savings would not last long in this wealthy city.
    For a moment he wished he had a squire—or better yet, an entire retinue—with which to while away the time. He was naught but a stranger in a strange land. But he had his faithful steed, Thunder, and God, his constant companion.
    They would see him through this day.

    If Warner DeMontfort had to endure one more minute of this chaotic caterwauling, he might just lose his morning meal on the hood of the man who stood—or more accurately bounced—in front of him. He pushed his way through the crowd and out of the arena for a brief respite. His reconnaissance mission had proven quite successful already. The duke had little enough security around him. That pompous fool clearly expected to be loved and doted upon by his people, but not everyone wished him well. If only he knew his banished cousin freely roamed the arena, scheming his demise.
    Over the past year, the resistance had grown to a sizeable force. Many in North Britannia longed to return to the old