Chapter 63

Elves

For the past year, he had simply brushed their presence aside. It wasn't as if they were nearby, so he had put them easily out of his mind, including the question of whether he even believed elves or other races at that were real. 

Over time, he had started to believe that perhaps they, and other races, truly did exist, but a sliver of doubt remained at the back of his mind.

But now, an elven delegation had supposedly arrived?

Adrian stood and looked toward the bench where the high ranking lords and ladies sat. 

Only now did he notice a few robed figures seated beside Lord Winthrope and His Grace, Lord Oscar, who was deep in conversation with them. For a moment, Adrian wanted to move to get a better angle, but he thought better of it and sat back down.

“Truly?” he asked Lord Bronsone.

“Truly. I even caught a glimpse of one, and it was one of the most handsome faces I’ve ever seen…” Lord Bronsone said with faint awe, then smirked. “Of course, the most handsome face is the one I see in the mirror each day.”

Adrian rolled his eyes. “Why are they here?”

“Heard from one of the lords that they are interested in Creviceton, more specifically, the underground.”

“The underground?” Adrian muttered. The only things beneath Creviceton were monsters. Did the elves truly intend to plunge into those depths?

“Yes, and oh-” Lord Bronsone was cut off as his attention turned toward the arena. Adrian followed his gaze just in time to see Lord Corvus sweep his opponent’s legs, downing him, and press the tip of his spear against the man's neck.

Lord Corvus was the only one left standing. After a beat, he pulled his spear back, and the crowd erupted in cheers. 

Lord Corvus Night of Ravenspire had won the melee.

---

The melee had lasted a little over an hour or so, leaving plenty of time for participants like Lord Tuckstone and Lord Corvus to rest and recover. Adrian, however, spent the interval on Furley, his horse, riding around the town to ease his nerves.

Unlike the melee, where skill reigned superior, the joust would test his endurance or the skill to stay in one horse, at least in his books. 

And if there was one thing he was proud of, it was his endurance, and because of it, he was determined to win. 

Defeat would likely leave him moping for weeks, so he didn’t plan on being beaten at all.

The matter of the elves was set aside for now, Adrian couldn’t easily approach them. He even had a fleeting hope that Princess Skyla or Lord Jayson might call on him again so he could ask about the visitors or perhaps even meet them.

Adrian slowed his horse as he entered the area of the tents, Dexton catching up behind him before Adrian dismounted. He was looking for something light to eat. The air was a thick mix of scents, of sweat, blood, iron, and a lingering trail of perfume. A quick glance revealed the source of the latter.

Not far away stood three ladies in daring dresses that hung loose, revealing their shoulders, collarbones, and a hint of cleavage. The trio noticed his gaze, and the redhead among them spoke.

“My Lord, would you care to join us?”

She leaned forward slightly. Adrian’s eyes inadvertently flicked downward before he jerked his gaze away.

“I’ll have to decline, ladies.” Adrian said. To be honest, he was tempted, but he couldn't wantonly engage in such affairs now that he was a lord, especially not in public.

He kept walking, guiding his horse and ignoring the calls of the women behind him. Eventually, he found a honey-drizzled cake. It was dense, sweet, and expensive, a luxury for common folk, and he ate quickly before the time for the joust arrived.

---

Adrian nudged his horse out of the stable and toward the arena. The crowd cheered at their appearance, but Adrian turned his attention across the field. Not far off, at the edge of the grounds, he spotted Dexton. 

They were in the same turn, but fortunately, they were not opponents. His actual adversary was a knight in the service of Lord Winthrope, one who hadn't participated in the melee.

Not everyone who joined the melee entered the joust, and vice versa. In a way, those who had sat out the melee held a clear advantage over those who had already endured that ordeal. 

It seemed unfair, but Lord Winthrope’s vision for the tournament was centered on endurance and perseverance, this was simply another facet of the challenge. 

Besides, no one was forced to join both events, he was one of the few odd ones who did, if a fighter was exhausted and weary, he had only himself to blame for overextending.

Adrian gripped his lance tightly. His other hand, braced behind his shield, held the reins as the competitors aligned themselves. Adrian’s vision narrowed, and the roar of the crowd faded into a distant hum. 

Every spectator seemed to hold their breath. The air grew tense, like an archer pulling a string to its limit, waiting for the arrow to be released at any moment.

Then, the horns blasted.

Adrian’s focus sharpened into a lethal point. Nothing existed in his world except his opponent. 

Furley surged, galloping forward. As Adrian leveled his lance, he could hear his heartbeat pounding against his skull, resonating inside his helm. He had done this before, yet the rush remained the same.

It was over in a flash, like a strike of thunder. The lances met their marks and exploded in a spray of splinters.

Thwack!

Adrian was reeled back, dazed and numbed by the sheer force of the impact. He fought for control of the reins, a warm rush washed over him and returning him to top form. He rounded his horse, grabbing a new lance from Bron before surging forward once more.

Another lance shattered. Adrian felt a large splinter of wood lodge itself in the side of his arm, though it was caught primarily in his armor. Despite the blow, he managed to unhorse his opponent!

Delight bubbled up in his throat, erupting into a laugh. He was doing well, and there was no better feeling than victory. 

Adrian immediately slowed his horse, steering away from the jousters who were still tilting. He looked to the side, but his heart sank, Dexton had been thrown from his horse. 

He was defeated.

Adrian sighed before dismounting, as the servants rushed to his side to offer their aid.

-

Dexton’s loss was unfortunate, but the man took it in stride. He even mentioned that before the joust, the knight he had previously defeated offered to buy his emblem back for fifteen pounds, Dexton had agreed and planned to settle the debt after the tournament.

While Adrian gained another emblem again. Sir Harold from before hadn’t approached him yet, apparently, he had taken the loss worse than he thought or he didn’t think much of his emlem.

After that round, the field of competitors was reduced even further. Some withdrew due to injury, while others, like the twin princes, simply chose not to continue. Only fourteen competitors remained.

There was a two-hour reprieve before the next round, and Adrian spent every minute resting both his body and his mind.

When the second turn arrived, Adrian was among the first four pairs to tilt. His opponent was a renowned jouster from the West who apparently idolized Sir Harold, the knight of Precision whom Adrian had already beaten.

The man was skilled, but not quite a match for Harold, Adrian unhorsed him on the third pass, effectively securing his spot in the finals bracket.

By the time the round ended and the last pair had both fallen from their saddles, only three men were left, Lord Corvus, who had remarkably maintained his momentum despite winning the grueling melee, a knight under Lord Jayson named Sir Wallis, and Adrian Harrow, the simple baron from the distant South.

Adrian would have delighted to hear what the crowd thinks of this, think of him, but right now, he could only focus on the coming challenge.

Another two-hour rest followed. Since the number of competitors was uneven, the finalists had to draw lots. Adrian soon found himself seated upon a platform with the other winners. Lord Corvus sat in the middle, with Sir Wallis on one side and Adrian on the other.

A herald addressed the masses, explaining the rules of the draw. It was simple, the trio would each pull a slip of parchment from a ballot box. Two papers were marked "Fight." and one was marked "Bye." The lucky man who drew the "Bye" would move automatically to the grand final, while the two who drew "Fight" would have to joust for the remaining spot.

“I must admit, I didn't think much of you when Lord Wyatt first mentioned you before.” Lord Corvus said, tilting his head slightly. His long black hair swished in the wind, his demeanor calm and radiates confidence.

Adrian smiled politely. “I’m honestly surprised I’ve made it this far myself, but I’m not done yet.”

“Oh? You said before that you intend to win.” Lord Corvus noted. He had asked something similar much earlier in a casual tone, but now there was a distinct hint of seriousness in his eyes. “What do you think your chances are against me?”

Adrian took a moment to consider. “Lord Corvus is skilled so is Sir Wallis, I cannot match you both in pure technique.” He said humbly before flashing a wide grin. “But what I can confidently say is that…. I don’t go down easily.”

Lord Corvus chuckled. Just then, the herald finished his announcement and beckoned them forward to reach into the box.

Sir Wallis went first, holding his parchment without opening it. Lord Corvus followed, and then Adrian. Adrian prayed his luck would hold, he wanted that direct pass to the final.

The herald gave the signal. Adrian unfurled his parchment and cursed inwardly.

"Fight."