(eng) Jonathan Moeller - Demonsouled 1-3 by Demonsouled Soul of Tyrants Soul of Serpents

Author:Demonsouled,Soul of Tyrants,Soul of Serpents [Demonsouled,Soul of Tyrants,Soul of Serpents]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

2

Black Knights

“Be careful,” whispered Adalar, handing Mazael his lance and shield. “He’s as fast as you.”

Mazael stared at Amalric. The Dominiar commander wore fine black plate, his features hidden beneath a black helm crowned with sweeping eagle’s wings. Dominiar squires swarmed around him, adjusting his armor, his horse’s traces, his shield, lance, and black cloak with the Dominiars’ silver star.

“I think he wants to kill you,” said Adalar.

Mazael glanced at his squire. “It’s a tournament. Sometimes knights get killed.”

“Aye,” said Adalar, “but accidents are one thing, and malice another. I think he wouldn’t have minded killing Sir Tobias. And I don’t think he’d mind killing you.” He hesitated. “You did bed his sister.”

“I told you,” snapped Mazael, “I don’t want to hear…”

The trumpets blasted, and Amalric surged forward. Mazael cursed, caught his balance, and kicked Chariot to a gallop. The Dominiar commander seemed like a statue of black iron atop his horse, immutable and invulnerable. Mazael gritted his teeth, set himself, and brought his lance around.

Amalric shifted his shield, caught Mazael’s lance, and leaned forward. His lance slammed hard into Mazael’s chest, skidding past his shield. It exploded in a spray of splinters, Mazael’s breastplate ringing like a gong. The force knocked Mazael back, almost tearing him from Chariot’s saddle. He flung aside the shattered lance, seized his saddle horn, and managed to keep his balance.

“Gods, that hurt,” muttered Mazael, brushing splinters from his armor.

Adalar sprinted up. “Are you all right? I was sure he cracked your breastbone.”

“No,” said Mazael, trying not to cough. His chest hurt, and he wondered if Amalric’s blow had in fact cracked something.

“I think he’s faster than you,” said Adalar.

“I know,” said Mazael.

“You’ll have to keep your shield up, try to hit him as he hits you,” said Adalar, handing up another lance. “Otherwise he’ll unhorse you before your lance even gets near him.”

The trumpets blared again.

Chariot sprang forward. Mazael set himself, kept his shield up, and rode at Amalric. Their lances exploded against their shields, splinters flying in all directions. The blow slammed Mazael’s shield back, his hand cracking hard against his chest, the rim smacking against his chin. Both men rocked in the saddles, flailing for balance, but neither one fell. Amalric reined up, black cloak billowing like a flock of ravens. Mazael let Chariot come to a halt, shaking his shield arm. It hurt like the devil, and the shield had splintered. Gods, Amalric hit hard! He tossed it aside, and Adalar provided him with a fresh shield and a fresh lance.

They rode again, breaking a third lance.

And then a fourth.

The cheers from the crowds rose to a roar. Mazael and Aeternis had broken three lances against each other, but Mazael had knocked Aeternis from the saddle on the fourth pass. No one had yet broken four lances.

Mazael pulled off his helmet, wiping the sweat from his brow, and glanced over the crowds. It seemed as if all of Knightrealm had arrived to watch the final ride of the tournament. Both Lord Malden and Malleus leaned forward, watching keenly.

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