Chapter 50 – The Joust

The knightly tournaments Shaelith herself had seen in movies or TV shows in her previous life had been rather gray-brown, muddy affairs. The sun-drenched tournament field in Bomfrey, on the other hand, looked as if a burst piñata had vomited its multicolored contents all over the stands.

Countless knights, practically glittering in their colorful armor, and thousands of frenetically cheering, equally colorful commoners shimmered before her eyes.

Although they wear a lot of clothes and cover almost every bit of skin on their bodies, no one can say they look boring.

On a large sandy area, wooden guardrails divided the tournament grounds into parallel lanes, flanked by grandstands rising in steep tiers. At the head of the arena, the tournament field was crowned by the boxes of the Triarchs. Red, blue, and gold in the center for Tulvia, dark blue and silver on the left for Nalvine, and black and gold for the Order of the New Forge on the right. The sentient banners also had a good view of the field.

Shaelith and Mirrsoss had seats in the royal box, for the Tulvians did usually not permit women on the tournament field. For the sake of diplomacy, she had grudgingly accepted this and now sat alongside Mirrsoss next to Obelaine, while Grimbart and Thaelon served as Benderast’s squires.

Grimbart helped Benderast with his armor and weapons, which was unintentionally comical given the size difference, while Thaelon had made it his main task to keep the horse Boudin calm. The horse did not seem to like all the noise at all. Even though it had rather reluctantly grown accustomed to Benderast’s presence on its back over the past few days.

Then fanfares sounded and the colorful knights galloped out onto the field. Whenever two two-hundred-pound, steel-armored knights on their horses collided and shattered their lances against one another, there was a crash that Shaelith could feel right down to her bones even that high up in the stands.

But the crowd obviously loved it, and even the normally so subdued Obelaine leaned forward with sparkling eyes so she wouldn’t miss anything.

Well, I suppose it does have a certain appeal.

Some of the knights also used the tournament as an opportunity to woo ladies, dedicating their first victory to the lady of their heart before trotting their horses over to the grandstand. There, they lowered their lances before the lady, who then fastened her hennin to the lance for good luck.

It was a bit archaic and hopelessly melodramatic, but the ladies in the noble stands were absolutely thrilled by it and couldn’t stop swooning.

Prince Frambert also rode up to the grandstand, where he raised his lance before Obelaine in perfect elegance. “I dedicate this victory ride to you, Princess.”

With a friendly smile, Obelaine fastened her hennin to his lance.

Much to Shaelith’s surprise, Sir Gaudbert turned out to be an excellent jouster. But perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised her. Even while dancing, he had proven to be much more agile and nimble than she had initially suspected.

And he has, after all, already shown otherwise that he also has stamina.

He handled the lance with the same ease as he handled the wine jug, and unseated his first opponent with a strike to the left shoulder that was as forceful as it was precise, cleanly knocking him off his horse. And Gaudbert did it with almost nonchalant elegance.

Afterward, he let his horse prance toward the stands with a playful swagger. Straight toward her.

I should have seen that coming.

“My lady.” Raising his lance, he gave her a smile that might well have caused a less worldly woman to faint. In fact, she could already hear the ladies behind her sighing in delight. But it was Shaelith whom he looked straight in the eyes. “Would you allow me to lay my humble victory at your feet?”

He lowered his lance before her.

Mirrsoss fluttered her wings excitedly beside her, squeaking, and Obelaine also stifled a shy giggle.

Not gonna lie, you’re one suave son of a bitch. Fine.

The only problem was that she wasn’t wearing a Hennin that she could have hung on his lance.

Gaudbert waited patiently, grinning unflinchingly.

He did that on purpose!

Her dress didn’t really have anything that could be easily cut off, and there wasn’t actually enough fabric for her to get away with it anyway. And she couldn’t hang her underwear on the lance either, even though she would have loved to see their faces. But she knew the Tulvians wouldn’t be able to handle that. There was only one option left. Even if it wasn’t perfect.

Oh, fuck it.

With a bold gesture, she reached under the hem of her robe, pulled off one of her thin garters trimmed with spider-silk lace, and, with a wink, hung it on Gaudbert’s lance.

The silence was deafening.

Gaudbert, on the other hand, burst into roaring laughter, which was soon followed by the laughter of the commoners. On the noblemen’s gallery, the faces grew even more indignant.

“Thank you, my lady!” Gaudbert flicked the garter off his lance and deftly caught it before slipping it over his armored upper arm and riding off, bowing from the saddle.

“What a funny man,” Mirrsoss said appreciatively. “I think he likes you, Shaelith.”

“He’s okay, I guess.”

~

As the day went on, the field of competitors thinned out significantly, until sixteen knights remained, then only eight, and finally four.

Benderast may have contested his first round with little technical finesse, but the combination of what Honor had taught him and his sheer raw mass was enough to secure him the victory.

After that, Benderast rode a bit awkwardly toward the grandstand looking for Shaelith.

Oh no, buddy, definitely not.

“Just keep riding,” she hissed at him as he came nearer.

“But you have two garters, don’t you? Can’t you maybe…?”

“No!”

“Sorry, sorry, it was just an idea!”

He rode straight on.

In his third joust a knight insulted him before they went into position and Benderast used this provocation to give his new Chronosteel middle finger a try as he knocked the guy of his horse.

The stable boys, craftsmen, farmers, and dockworkers in the cheap stands laughed themselves silly, and from then on, Benderast was the undisputed favorite of the common folk. They raised and shook their fists in laughter whenever Benderast went rode into the joust and flashed the middle finger as soon as he’d knocked an opponent out of the saddle.

The celebrated Sir Fisto the Finger.

The quarterfinals produced a surprise when Prince Gwilet was drawn against Prince Frambert.

The two spoke animatedly with each other at the edge of the field, Gwilet gesturing stiffly, Frambert shaking his head repeatedly. Gwilet’s face darkened.

Mirrsoss’s antennae twitched excitedly back and forth. “Prince Frambert is outraged, and Prince Gwilet is furious.”

“He seems to have miscalculated a bit,” said Shaelith, nodding.

It didn’t take long. After just one clash, Gwilet hit the sand hard. With a flush of anger on his face, he scrambled back to his feet.

Ha! That means Benderast has at least one point in the bag already.

Shaelith and Mirrsoss cheered wildly. Obelaine cheered, too, though more cautiously. Her betrothed had won, but her brother had lost, after all. Down at the edge of the field, where the knights were waiting, Benderast, Grimbart, and Thaelon bounced up and down, celebrating together. Thaelon nearly collapsed as Benderast slapped his shoulder.

In the first semifinal, Prince Frambert faced Sir Gaudbert, and although they were friends, they gave each other no quarter. Or perhaps precisely because of that. It took four rounds, and they each broke three lances before Frambert was thrown sideways from his horse.

But afterward, Gaudbert rode over, helped him up, and Frambert helped Gaudbert down from his horse, and they hugged each other, laughing.

Oh wow, look at that. If Benderast wins the next round, he’ll have to face Gaudbert in the final.

In his own semifinal, Benderast faced Sir Radfry, who turned out to be one of Gwilet’s seconds.

Radfry was a rather slender fellow who, while excelling in technique, stood no chance against Benderast and his mountain of muscle, according to Shaelith’s assessment. Radfry, on the other hand, even had trouble holding his lance properly.

So as the two charged toward each other, Shaelith remained relaxed until they collided and Benderast’s lance struck Radfry in the shoulder, cleanly knocking him from his horse. Radfry’s lance, however, did not break. Instead, with the ugly sound of screeching metal, it pierced Benderast’s side just below his right armpit.

Benderast rode on for a few more moments, just long enough for the herald to declare him the victor. Then he tumbled from his horse.

At first, he hung sideways in the saddle, with the lance protruding from his armor, and then he slipped completely out of the stirrups.

Shaelith was immediately on her feet and was already pushing her way through the stands before she could even form a clear thought. Mirrsoss followed right behind her.

Damn it, no!

Grimbart and Thaelon were also rushing toward Benderast and reached him long before Shaelith did. Thaelon knelt beside Benderast and pressed on the spot where the lance had pierced his armor, while Grimbart carefully removed his helmet.

Two guards tried to block her path, but she simply shouted, “Let me through, I’m his concubine,” and rushed past the stunned men.

She knelt down beside Benderast and saw blood. Not as much as she’d feared, but the spear had pierced through.

When Shaelith carefully pulled the lance out, Benderast, who had previously been only moaning softly, let out a cry of pain.

The lance hadn’t pierced all the way through after all. To her relief, she realized that the mycelium she had woven into the armor had held. It had deformed and hadn’t been able to completely prevent the lance from penetrating Benderast’s skin a good bit, but Shaelith also realized that the tip would have pierced his lung if it hadn’t been stopped.

I’m glad I put in those few hours of work. 

She activated a simple healing glyph and sealed the wound with a protective layer of mycelium.

“Just a minor flesh wound,” Benderast groaned, slowly sitting up with Grimbart and Thaelon’s help.

“Do you think you can keep jousting?” Shaelith scrutinized him to see if he’d hit his head. Although she wasn’t quite sure how she would notice the difference.

Benderast nodded. “It just hurts quite a bit.”

“I can help with that,” said Mirrsoss, blowing a small pinch of wing dust toward him with her wings. 

“Oh! That’s much better,” said Benderast, surprised. “Thanks, Mirrsoss!”

Grimbart, on the other hand, picked up the lance and examined it suspiciously. “That’s some pretty heavy wood.”

Shaelith looked up at Gwilet, who had meanwhile made himself comfortable in his father’s box and was looking over at them with boredom.

You little rat.

~

Shaelith and Thaelon quickly tended to Benderast’s wound off the field with a proper bandage while Grimbart repaired his armor, and before long the final round was announced, and Benderast had to get back on his horse.

Sir Gaudbert rode out onto the field, Shaelith’s garter still fastened to his armored arm, and raised his lance in greeting. “Don’t worry, I won’t aim for the wound. I’m no dishonorable dog.”

You really aren’t.

In the first pass, they both landed a clean hit that shattered their lances and drew a cry of pain from Benderast. Shaelith saw blood seeping through his armor. Apparently, the wound had reopened.

In the second round, Gaudbert nearly caught Benderast with a clever maneuver, but just before impact, Benderast had unexpectedly shifted his weight to spare his wounded side, causing Gaudbert’s lance to bounce off his shield without doing any damage.

It wasn’t until the third round that Benderast once again managed, with a tremendous effort, to hold his lance perfectly straight and put all his force into the attack. He struck Gaudbert squarely in the chest. The lance shattered but Gaudbert was unable to stay fully in the saddle, slipping down as he rode away.

The commoners cheered enthusiastically, while the nobility in the stands reacted with more measured politeness.

Gaudbert sat up groaning, took off his helmet, and shook the sand out of it with a laugh.

Benderast dismounted and held out his hand to him. Gaudbert hesitated briefly but then took it and let himself be pulled up. He did not, however, spare him a single glance.

Instead, he checked the garter on his armored arm before seeking out Shaelith’s gaze at the edge of the field. “It seems the lady’s luck has abandoned me at the end.” He winked at her.

Smiling despite herself, she watched as his squire helped Gaudbert off the field.

Soon afterward, the heralds solemnly announced the result. “The noble Benderast Stonefist has claimed victory in the joust, thereby winning not only the mounted portion of the tournament but also two points in the Trial of Reclamation against Prince Gwilet. The overall score is now four to three in the prince’s favor.”

But he’s caught up. He can actually still win. Provided he’s fit enough for the melee after his injury.

After Grimbart had loosened his armor, Shaelith examined his bandage. Fresh blood had seeped through it. She would try to heal him properly later, when they had some peace and quiet. She tightened his bandage once more.

“Ouch!” Benderast flinched and grimaced.

“Don’t be such a wimp.”

“I’m not being a wimp,” Benderast protested. “But I’d like to stay in one piece for the melee.”

“Are you sure you want to compete while injured?” Shaelith looked at him skeptically. “This is Gwilet’s last chance to take you out.”

“And for me, it’s the best chance to finally give that guy the beating he deserves.”

He tapped his helmet, and the middle finger of his fist shot stiffly into the air.