Williams, Michael - Dragonlance Heroes Book 03 - Weasel's Luck by Williams Michael

Author:Williams, Michael [Williams, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy - General, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Krynn (Imaginary place), Fiction - Fantasy, General, Fantasy, Fiction, Fantasy fiction
ISBN: 9780786931811
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast
Published: 2004-05-01T04:00:00+00:00

He opens the visor and bursts into tears.

“Receive his soul to Huma‟s breast,” whispers Sir Ramiro.

Sir Orban‟s parrot shrieks as though it is on fire.

Strong arms seize Gabriel Androctus, who opens his visor and stares with bloodless anger at the sorrow and commotion on the tournament grounds. He smiles faintly once: that is when the head of the lance is drawn from the breastplate still bearing, to the astonishment of everyone, the padding wrapped tightly about it.

“Arms courteous” he says. “By your rules, di Caela.”

By sheer force, unaided by blade or point or sharpened edge, he has driven his wooden lance into an armored opponent.

The marshals loosen their hold, out of astonishment. Androctus, not bothering to dismount, rides his destrier from the tournament grounds to his tent beyond the western edge of the encampments. His opponent for the next morning withdraws from the lists. It is a Knight from Ergoth, Sir Lyndon of Rocklin. The Knight and his host stand in the great hall of Castle di Caela. A chair lies in fragments in front of Sir Robert, where he has dashed it to the ground in his fury.

To his outraged host, Lyndon explains:

“I know how this looks, Sir Robert, and how it reflects ill on me. But despite the hooded gentleman‟s assertions, despite the padding found upon the broken lance, something is surpassingly wrong here, surpassingly unfair in the doings of that black-garbed man.”

“I know, Lyndon, and by Huma we‟ve done our damnedest to find him out. We have given that lance the once-over . . . the twice-over! Unless my eyes are bad, unless the marshals themselves are blind, Sir Gabriel has done nothing visibly unlawful. Terrifying, yes, in its clean and blind . . . brutality. But not unlawful.”

“Nonetheless,” maintains Sir Lyndon, “not the Lady Enid nor her considerable inheritance is enough to compromise my honor. And compromised it would be, were I to tilt against one who had advanced unfairly through the ranks of the tournament, killing a most admirable Knight in his treachery.”

“Do not confuse honor with fear, Sir Lyndon,” booms a voice from the entrance to the hall. It is Prosper Inverno of Zeriak, come to the great hall of Castle di Caela after his victory in the lists against Sir Ledyard.

“Impressive show of arms today, Inverno,” Sir Robert manages to say, drawing his anger under control at the arrival of his honored guest.

“I thank you, Sir Robert,” Sir Prosper replies cheerily. “Had I not unhorsed Sir Ledyard, he would have stood here instead of me. Indeed, I bear more bruises than he does, but he bears a large bruise, I am sure, where it will make it most uncomfortable for him to sit horse tomorrow. The fall was comical, and like a true Knight, he took it with laughter.”

Laughing softly and wearily, Sir Prosper walks to the center of the room. His dark green tunic is torn at the right shoulder, where Ledyard‟s lance has battered against the incomparable translucent armor. Prosper seats himself gingerly, slowly.

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