had a chance to fight and the crowd in the lodges went mad
with glee and terror.
Summer continued to observe as
flails sang through the air, pummeling unfortunate opponents with their spikes
and weight. The echoes of heavy broadswords filled the air as knights did
battle against one another, sharpening their combat skills and showing off for
the crowd. Already, chargers were going over on their sides and Summer gasped
as brave young squires rushed out to the field to assist their fallen masters.
"The b-boys will be
killed!" she insisted to her father, as if he hadn't noticed the actions
of the foolish young lads. "Make them stay away until this is
finished!"
His expression was intolerant.
"Summer, 'tis their duty to remove their fallen masters from the field.
Otherwise, the men would be trampled under the feet of others."
Distressed, Summer returned her
apprehensive gaze to the field, watching as a strong young squire dragged his
armored liege from the battle. But the man's charger, still on the ground in
the midst of the chaos, was too injured to rise and Summer came to the
conclusion that the melee wasn't exciting any longer. It was brutal, barbaric,
and reckless.
The thrill of her first
tournament began to fade as she watched several more men go down, one of them
bearing de Moray's colors. Some were able to walk from the field on their own,
others had to be carried off. Chargers limped away, others dashed away, kicking
up their heels and crashing through the barriers. As Summer became
disillusioned with the battle before her, others in the lodges were shouting
for more. The more blood and defeat dealt, the more spectacle they wanted to
experience.
Summer's stomach churned as a
knight bearing colors of yellow and red fell to the ground, blood streaming
from the slit in his visor. His squire was too small to carry him away and
began to shout for help, waving to the heralds milling about the battle's
perimeter. But the heralds refused to assist, demanding that other squires move
in to aid the lad. As Summer watched, the small squire and two other young men
carried the injured man from the field.
The game was no longer
entertaining. Summer could not imagine what Genisa or her father found amusing
within the vicious sport of the melee, men hacking and bleeding and fighting
all in the name of Glory. In faith, she hadn't known what to expect from the
event; somehow, she imagined chivalrous knights doing delicate battle, denting
armor and little else. Certainly not this blood sport before her, knights
savagely fighting until only one man was left standing.
She did not want to watch any
more.
CHAPTER
FOUR
“Father, I demand you stop this
now!"
Edward tore his gaze away from
the exciting spectacle, shocked to discover his daughter near tears. His brow
furrowed unsympathetically. "Summer, what is the matter?"
"This," she jabbed a
slender finger toward the bleeding, writhing mass in the center of the field.
"Men are d-dying in there!"
Edward forced himself to pat his
daughter's hand in a feeble attempt to calm her. "No one is dying. It is
all a great competition of skill and talent."
Summer yanked her hand away from
her father, exasperated that the man failed to see the seriousness of the
situation. Turning to Genisa, she attempted to gain a measure of support for
her protest. "And you? How can you enjoy this travesty?"
Genisa looked shocked and
remorseful at the same time. "What's the matter with you, Summer? I
thought you were excited about this."
Sensing she would receive little
backing from her sister-in-law, Summer frowned with dismay; no one seemed to
understand her concern and that, in turn, greatly distressed her. As she
contemplated the blood-thirsty side to Genisa and her father she had never
known to exist, another harrowing cry emitted from the battlefield and she
turned in time to observe a massive green and yellow charger list heavily to
one side. Bearing down upon the toppling beast was none
with glee and terror.
Summer continued to observe as
flails sang through the air, pummeling unfortunate opponents with their spikes
and weight. The echoes of heavy broadswords filled the air as knights did
battle against one another, sharpening their combat skills and showing off for
the crowd. Already, chargers were going over on their sides and Summer gasped
as brave young squires rushed out to the field to assist their fallen masters.
"The b-boys will be
killed!" she insisted to her father, as if he hadn't noticed the actions
of the foolish young lads. "Make them stay away until this is
finished!"
His expression was intolerant.
"Summer, 'tis their duty to remove their fallen masters from the field.
Otherwise, the men would be trampled under the feet of others."
Distressed, Summer returned her
apprehensive gaze to the field, watching as a strong young squire dragged his
armored liege from the battle. But the man's charger, still on the ground in
the midst of the chaos, was too injured to rise and Summer came to the
conclusion that the melee wasn't exciting any longer. It was brutal, barbaric,
and reckless.
The thrill of her first
tournament began to fade as she watched several more men go down, one of them
bearing de Moray's colors. Some were able to walk from the field on their own,
others had to be carried off. Chargers limped away, others dashed away, kicking
up their heels and crashing through the barriers. As Summer became
disillusioned with the battle before her, others in the lodges were shouting
for more. The more blood and defeat dealt, the more spectacle they wanted to
experience.
Summer's stomach churned as a
knight bearing colors of yellow and red fell to the ground, blood streaming
from the slit in his visor. His squire was too small to carry him away and
began to shout for help, waving to the heralds milling about the battle's
perimeter. But the heralds refused to assist, demanding that other squires move
in to aid the lad. As Summer watched, the small squire and two other young men
carried the injured man from the field.
The game was no longer
entertaining. Summer could not imagine what Genisa or her father found amusing
within the vicious sport of the melee, men hacking and bleeding and fighting
all in the name of Glory. In faith, she hadn't known what to expect from the
event; somehow, she imagined chivalrous knights doing delicate battle, denting
armor and little else. Certainly not this blood sport before her, knights
savagely fighting until only one man was left standing.
She did not want to watch any
more.
CHAPTER
FOUR
“Father, I demand you stop this
now!"
Edward tore his gaze away from
the exciting spectacle, shocked to discover his daughter near tears. His brow
furrowed unsympathetically. "Summer, what is the matter?"
"This," she jabbed a
slender finger toward the bleeding, writhing mass in the center of the field.
"Men are d-dying in there!"
Edward forced himself to pat his
daughter's hand in a feeble attempt to calm her. "No one is dying. It is
all a great competition of skill and talent."
Summer yanked her hand away from
her father, exasperated that the man failed to see the seriousness of the
situation. Turning to Genisa, she attempted to gain a measure of support for
her protest. "And you? How can you enjoy this travesty?"
Genisa looked shocked and
remorseful at the same time. "What's the matter with you, Summer? I
thought you were excited about this."
Sensing she would receive little
backing from her sister-in-law, Summer frowned with dismay; no one seemed to
understand her concern and that, in turn, greatly distressed her. As she
contemplated the blood-thirsty side to Genisa and her father she had never
known to exist, another harrowing cry emitted from the battlefield and she
turned in time to observe a massive green and yellow charger list heavily to
one side. Bearing down upon the toppling beast was none
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