King’s Tourney
The sun sank slowly in the sky, recalling golden tendrils back to their heavenly domain. The night crept in, draping the cottage and the surrounding woods in her inky tapestries: doings that went unheeded by the inhabitants of the small house.
Tessa sat on the floor of the cottage in silent meditation over an ornately carved basin, while her companion watched and fidgeted anxiously.
“Well?” she finally spoke, her shrill voice shattering the silence. Her plump form rocked forward, trying to get a closer look into the basin.
“Is he handsome?”
In response, Tessa leaned forward. Her thick hair followed suit, framing a small, dark face in curtains of black silk.
“Quite,” she replied, waving her slender hand over the bowl.
The gesture caused the liquid in the basin to swirl slightly, then solidify, freezing in its midst the image of a face that had lain floating in its ripples.
“See for your self,” the sorceress commanded.
Her companion peered in eagerly, barely able to suppress her squeal of delight at what she saw. “Oh! He is! He is!” she cried, grabbing hold of the other woman’s hand and shaking it vigorously. “Thank you!”
The sorceress bowed her head slightly as she spoke. “It is my pleasure” she said. The two women rose from the floor. The basin, left alone on the ground, allowed its contents to liquefy once more and returned the image back to whatever realm the seer had conjured it from.
“You can leave a token of your appreciation in the urn by the door,” the sorceress said, escorting her guest out.
Depositing several pieces of silver in the open urn, the woman called to her servant to make ready for their journey. Wordlessly, he held open the door of the coach for his mistress. She hurried in, eager to just settle back and fantasize about the handsome stranger she was destined to meet. Closing the door behind her, he turned around. The sorceress had stood in the doorway watching him silently. It was she that spoke first.
“A good evening to you Master Erad,”
“Sorceress,” he replied curtly.
She studied him intently, he returning her contemplative gaze with a stare of ice. Clearly, he was still upset over their earlier encounter, when he had come seeking her help. But there was nothing she could do about that. To fulfill his request would mean violating ancient laws to which she was bound. Erad had not understood that. Or had chosen not to. Instead, it was easier for him to assume that her refusal had been because the pockets of the villagers were not deep enough. It was those very pockets that she hoped to protect now.
“Erad, your plan will fail. It will serve to do nothing but part you from what you have worked so hard to earn. He will take the money, but give you nothing in return. ”
“Keep your predictions sorceress,” he replied gruffly, “they are not wanted by us. It seems your talents are best suited for playing matchmaker to the wealthy, than assisting us poor folks.”
With those words, Erad mounted the coach. With a crack of his whip, he stirred the horses into a brisk run, leaving Tessa standing in the darkness staring after their receding forms.
* * *
The blacksmith paced anxiously about the small room, his burly form casting a great hulking shadow that moved across the floor. Inga called to him from her seat near the fireplace, begging him to settle down, but he ignored her. The boy was late, and while it may be nothing, one could never be certain. Rhode had spies everywhere. If they had caught him and learned of the plot…but no, he couldn’t allow himself to think that way.
A loud rap at the door nearly startled him out of his skin. Moving aside the curtains of the window ever so slightly, he peered out into the night. When he was sure of the person who stood outside, he hurried to the door, opening it just wide enough to pull his visitor in.
“Erad! Where in the name o’ the Nine were you?” he thundered, slamming the door shut.
“The sorceress, Madame had a reading tonight.”
“Grady, let the boy take his cloak off and come by the fire, he’d catch his death of cold standing there in that dank thing!” Inga chided, as she stirred the contents of a pot she had hung over the burning fire.
Soon the three of them were seated by the hearth, sipping the strong, spiced tea that Inga had brewed.
“Well? Did he agree? Was it enough?” Grady asked impatiently.
“It was enough,” Erad nodded. “The deed will be done after Rhode leaves for the King’s Tourney. He would waylay him on the road there.”
Grady sighed and leaned back in his chair. Four days, he thought. Could it be possible that all their troubles would end in four days? That bastard Rhode, that tyrant, that usurper who had oppressed them for so long would be dead. He’d always thought that when this moment came he would feel some relief, if not joy. But all he felt was the nagging doubt, a feeling that was intensified by the look on Erad’s face. It was Inga who gave voice to those doubts.
“But there’s something wrong?” she asked, “Something you’re not telling us.”
“The sorceress…” Erad hesitated, “she thinks the plan will fail.”
“Was it a vision, did she see this?” Inga asked intently.
“Bull! Tea leaves and gypsy fortunes be old wives’ tales,” Grady answered.
Inga was not convinced. The sorceress had admitted once that the interpretation of visions was often difficult and prone to errors, but what if she was not wrong? And if the plan did fail? What would be the consequences?
It was Tessa herself who had prophesied that the hardship of the villagers would end when Rhode’s rein ended. But Tessa had been reluctant to help them bring about that end. She believed that the prophesy would fulfill itself when the time was right. If they interfered and failed, could they change the prophesy?
“It doesn’t matter what she thinks now, prophesy or no,” Grady said at length, “Our man’s already been paid, now we wait and see.”
* * *
Two more days, thought Rhode, before the Tourney. He studied the list of names before him. It was his habit to get the names of all the opponents before hand, so that he could plan ahead. Some he could buy off, others he could arrange for unfortunate accidents to happen to them before the challenge, leaving nothing but the weaklings for him to face on that day.
He smiled as he crossed a name from that list. Poor Lord Goodrick, it seems his ship had mysteriously sunk as it crossed from the Tesler Isles, drowning him and most of his companions. He was one of the last champions who posed any serious threat to Rhode. Now he was gone, and this year again Rhode would be the champion. He would be given more land and riches by the High King for his victory, and by law his reign as Lord would be secured for another four years, till the next tourney. A rap on the chamber door interrupted his musing.
“Yes? What is it?” he snapped at the intrusion. A guard entered, bowing low before speaking.
“Your grace, pardon the intrusion, but your informant awaits.”
“Well send him in,” Rhode replied, annoyed now by the delay.
A small, hunched, dirty form made his way into the chamber. He stopped in front of Rhode and made a deep obeisance.
“My Lord,”
“Messenger,” Rhode said curtly, “What news have you?”
“Ill news I fear, my lord, the wind whispers to me dark words of treason.”
“Out with it messenger, I would hear your words plainly,” Rhode replied, not hiding his irritation. The man had always been too melodramatic for his liking, but he was by far one of the best spies Rhode had. If it wasn’t for that, he would have lost his patience with him and would have had his tongue out a long time ago.
“Murder, my lord. The villagers would see you dead.”
“What!” Rhode cried, anger coloring his visage, “those craven sheep wouldn’t dare!”
“It is truth I speak my lord, not by their own hands but by a hired sword. They mean the deed to be done soon, so that you would never make it to the tourney.”
“A name Argo, who is this assassin?” Rhode asked, grabbing the front of the informant’s tunic and shaking him with both hands.
“Alas my lord, it was all I was able to find out.”
“Dammit!” Rhode flung the little man with a vengeance against the cold stone floor, kicking at him in fury.
“Mercy, my lord, mercy!” the messenger cried.
“The tourney is two days away, Argo. Two days!” Rhode shouted. He landed one final kick before turning away from the cowering man. Drawing in a deep breath he tried to calm himself.
Turning back to the messenger he spoke again, his voice controlled.
“As much as it would please me to torture every last one of them to get the information I want, that would take too much time. I need specific names, if not of my assassin, then of those who hired him.”
“There may be another way, my lord,” Argo rasped from the floor.
“Oh?”
“The sorceress. It is rumored she prophesied the end of your rule, perhaps she may be able to see also the face of your killer. I will go to her, if my lord commands me.”
“No,” Rhode said at length. “This is far too important. I’ll see to this myself. You can go find Olda and tell him I want a proclamation put up in the town. I’m raising the taxes. It would seem our villagers have some extra wealth lying around, and I won’t have them wasting it on hired swords. Now go.”
With those words, the messenger scurried off, grateful that his lord had pardoned him to be in his service yet another day.
* * *
Tessa walked up to the cottage grateful to be home at last. The muscles of her arm burned from the strain of carrying a basket heavy with healing herbs. She stopped short at the door. Even before entering, she knew someone was already there waiting for her. She had expected him to come, though she had not known when. Setting down her basket, she drew in a deep breath and pushed the door open.
His back was to her when she entered. She watched him inspecting her cabin, his eyes roving over the items on her shelves: potions, crystals, scrolls of spells, unaware that she had entered. His hand reached out to pick something up off the shelf.
“My Lord,” the sorceress greeted.
Rhode jumped, clearly startled. He turned to face her, his eyes dark with anger. Clearly he was upset that he had let this woman sneak up on him and more so that he had shown his surprise.
“Sorceress,” Rhode replied .
“And what service can I offer my Lord, that he has left his castle and journeyed to my humble abode”
Rhode studied the woman. The words were innocent enough, spoken with just enough deference. But there no mistaking the look in the seer’s eyes. She hated him, he knew. But most of her kind did. When he had taken rule of Aresia after defeating the last Lord in battle, he had murdered that Lord’s advisor, an old wizard who refused to swear allegiance to a new master. Such actions did not make him popular with witches or wizards, but the order of Arekdor to which most belonged was a divided body with problems of their own, making retaliation unlikely.
“Come now, a seer of your repute must already know the answer to that, if you are as good as they say you are.”
The sorceress remained silent. Rhode was not deterred. He came for an answer and he did not intend to leave without one.
“The villagers have been very busy plotting against me, seer. No doubt fueled by that fool prophesy that you filled their heads with. Don’t deny it woman, my spies keep me well informed. The one thing they have failed me in though is the name of this hired sword. And that, my dear sorceress is where you come in. You will show me the face of my killer.”
“And if I refuse?” Tessa asked.
Rhodes response startled her. She expected unbridled rage. Instead he just laughed.
“Oh, I suppose I could threaten you with torture or death, “ he replied, studying her reaction. The sorceress just stood silently, unflinching.
“No, I don’t suppose that that would persuade you. Death doesn’t frighten you, at least not your own…a few villagers then? But that would take some time and greatly diminish my work force. So instead I have just chosen one. Not one of my villagers, some one from another town. A half-bred child, what was her name…Allysa?”
At the mention of the name, Tessa’s composure broke.
“You will not touch her, monster!” she spat.
“Ah, so the rumors were true after all! She is your daughter. The ruler of that city does not like your kind very much. Even if the child possesses no magic as her father claims, I don’t think they would overlook the fact that she is a half-breed! Give me what I need sorceress, and your secret will be safe.”
“The nine forgive me,” Tessa whispered. She had foreseen that the villager’s plan would fail but she had not seen that it would be by her hand. Walking to the shelf, she took the silver basin.
Tessa walked slowly towards the gallows, her footsteps the only sound in a village silenced by night and death. Rhode had put on quite a show for the execution earlier. Whether it was the hanging of the villager’s hero or his revelation to them that she was the betrayer that made him happiest, Tessa was not sure. What surprised her though was their reaction. There was fear yes, but something else too: confusion. Not to mention the absence of anger or retaliation against her. Perhaps they were shocked, or too broken to be capable of any emotion. Whatever the reason it had not concerned Rhode. He had long departed on his journey, leaving the body of the unfortunate man hanging in the centre of the town: a constant reminder as to the fate of those who dare conspired against him.
Stepping up to the gallows, she took the knife from the folds of her cloak and began to work on the noose that held the body suspended. It wasn’t long before she had achieved her goal and the body fell unceremoniously to the ground. Stepping down from the gallows, she knelt next to the fallen body, cradling the lifeless form. A small sob escaped her lips. She had killed this man. Gently she stroked his face, his cold skin smooth an immaculate under her touch. Her finger lingered along the edge of his cheek as she studied his face. Her brow knotted as she gazed down at him, momentarily confused. Shaking her head she shrugged of the thought. Visions were never perfect.
In a low voice she began to sing, an old song in an ancient language, meant to give aide and peace to a soul as it journeyed on in the afterlife.
The central square was alive with activity. A crowd that had gathered earlier, was fast increasing in size and level of chaos, as its members pushed and prodded, each trying to move closer to the front. The numerous vendors, manning the surrounding stalls, added to the din as they called out to any passerby about the special offers on their wares.
“Celebration prices! The tyrant is dead! Fresh fruit for the feast!”
“Lovely lace, my lady at the best price to wear to the coronation of our new ruler.”
“Alright, make way, clear the road, Lord Falcon approaches” a guard said, trying to form a path between villagers and merchants alike.
The eager villagers huddled together, trying to get as close as possible for the best view of their new ruler without obstructing the path.
“They say Rhode murdered his brother, and that is why he entered the tourney, to avenge his death,” a woman whispered to Tessa.
Any reply the sorceress was going to make was cut short by the approach of the new lord. Tessa, gazing up at his face, was speechless. For his was identical to that of the dead man’s that she had cradled several nights ago, save his features were flawless while the other was scarred. The face of this man was the one that had floated in the water, not the other. So the prophesy had been fulfilled, not by the doing of the villagers but by Rhode himself.
End
Tessa sat on the floor of the cottage in silent meditation over an ornately carved basin, while her companion watched and fidgeted anxiously.
“Well?” she finally spoke, her shrill voice shattering the silence. Her plump form rocked forward, trying to get a closer look into the basin.
“Is he handsome?”
In response, Tessa leaned forward. Her thick hair followed suit, framing a small, dark face in curtains of black silk.
“Quite,” she replied, waving her slender hand over the bowl.
The gesture caused the liquid in the basin to swirl slightly, then solidify, freezing in its midst the image of a face that had lain floating in its ripples.
“See for your self,” the sorceress commanded.
Her companion peered in eagerly, barely able to suppress her squeal of delight at what she saw. “Oh! He is! He is!” she cried, grabbing hold of the other woman’s hand and shaking it vigorously. “Thank you!”
The sorceress bowed her head slightly as she spoke. “It is my pleasure” she said. The two women rose from the floor. The basin, left alone on the ground, allowed its contents to liquefy once more and returned the image back to whatever realm the seer had conjured it from.
“You can leave a token of your appreciation in the urn by the door,” the sorceress said, escorting her guest out.
Depositing several pieces of silver in the open urn, the woman called to her servant to make ready for their journey. Wordlessly, he held open the door of the coach for his mistress. She hurried in, eager to just settle back and fantasize about the handsome stranger she was destined to meet. Closing the door behind her, he turned around. The sorceress had stood in the doorway watching him silently. It was she that spoke first.
“A good evening to you Master Erad,”
“Sorceress,” he replied curtly.
She studied him intently, he returning her contemplative gaze with a stare of ice. Clearly, he was still upset over their earlier encounter, when he had come seeking her help. But there was nothing she could do about that. To fulfill his request would mean violating ancient laws to which she was bound. Erad had not understood that. Or had chosen not to. Instead, it was easier for him to assume that her refusal had been because the pockets of the villagers were not deep enough. It was those very pockets that she hoped to protect now.
“Erad, your plan will fail. It will serve to do nothing but part you from what you have worked so hard to earn. He will take the money, but give you nothing in return. ”
“Keep your predictions sorceress,” he replied gruffly, “they are not wanted by us. It seems your talents are best suited for playing matchmaker to the wealthy, than assisting us poor folks.”
With those words, Erad mounted the coach. With a crack of his whip, he stirred the horses into a brisk run, leaving Tessa standing in the darkness staring after their receding forms.
* * *
The blacksmith paced anxiously about the small room, his burly form casting a great hulking shadow that moved across the floor. Inga called to him from her seat near the fireplace, begging him to settle down, but he ignored her. The boy was late, and while it may be nothing, one could never be certain. Rhode had spies everywhere. If they had caught him and learned of the plot…but no, he couldn’t allow himself to think that way.
A loud rap at the door nearly startled him out of his skin. Moving aside the curtains of the window ever so slightly, he peered out into the night. When he was sure of the person who stood outside, he hurried to the door, opening it just wide enough to pull his visitor in.
“Erad! Where in the name o’ the Nine were you?” he thundered, slamming the door shut.
“The sorceress, Madame had a reading tonight.”
“Grady, let the boy take his cloak off and come by the fire, he’d catch his death of cold standing there in that dank thing!” Inga chided, as she stirred the contents of a pot she had hung over the burning fire.
Soon the three of them were seated by the hearth, sipping the strong, spiced tea that Inga had brewed.
“Well? Did he agree? Was it enough?” Grady asked impatiently.
“It was enough,” Erad nodded. “The deed will be done after Rhode leaves for the King’s Tourney. He would waylay him on the road there.”
Grady sighed and leaned back in his chair. Four days, he thought. Could it be possible that all their troubles would end in four days? That bastard Rhode, that tyrant, that usurper who had oppressed them for so long would be dead. He’d always thought that when this moment came he would feel some relief, if not joy. But all he felt was the nagging doubt, a feeling that was intensified by the look on Erad’s face. It was Inga who gave voice to those doubts.
“But there’s something wrong?” she asked, “Something you’re not telling us.”
“The sorceress…” Erad hesitated, “she thinks the plan will fail.”
“Was it a vision, did she see this?” Inga asked intently.
“Bull! Tea leaves and gypsy fortunes be old wives’ tales,” Grady answered.
Inga was not convinced. The sorceress had admitted once that the interpretation of visions was often difficult and prone to errors, but what if she was not wrong? And if the plan did fail? What would be the consequences?
It was Tessa herself who had prophesied that the hardship of the villagers would end when Rhode’s rein ended. But Tessa had been reluctant to help them bring about that end. She believed that the prophesy would fulfill itself when the time was right. If they interfered and failed, could they change the prophesy?
“It doesn’t matter what she thinks now, prophesy or no,” Grady said at length, “Our man’s already been paid, now we wait and see.”
* * *
Two more days, thought Rhode, before the Tourney. He studied the list of names before him. It was his habit to get the names of all the opponents before hand, so that he could plan ahead. Some he could buy off, others he could arrange for unfortunate accidents to happen to them before the challenge, leaving nothing but the weaklings for him to face on that day.
He smiled as he crossed a name from that list. Poor Lord Goodrick, it seems his ship had mysteriously sunk as it crossed from the Tesler Isles, drowning him and most of his companions. He was one of the last champions who posed any serious threat to Rhode. Now he was gone, and this year again Rhode would be the champion. He would be given more land and riches by the High King for his victory, and by law his reign as Lord would be secured for another four years, till the next tourney. A rap on the chamber door interrupted his musing.
“Yes? What is it?” he snapped at the intrusion. A guard entered, bowing low before speaking.
“Your grace, pardon the intrusion, but your informant awaits.”
“Well send him in,” Rhode replied, annoyed now by the delay.
A small, hunched, dirty form made his way into the chamber. He stopped in front of Rhode and made a deep obeisance.
“My Lord,”
“Messenger,” Rhode said curtly, “What news have you?”
“Ill news I fear, my lord, the wind whispers to me dark words of treason.”
“Out with it messenger, I would hear your words plainly,” Rhode replied, not hiding his irritation. The man had always been too melodramatic for his liking, but he was by far one of the best spies Rhode had. If it wasn’t for that, he would have lost his patience with him and would have had his tongue out a long time ago.
“Murder, my lord. The villagers would see you dead.”
“What!” Rhode cried, anger coloring his visage, “those craven sheep wouldn’t dare!”
“It is truth I speak my lord, not by their own hands but by a hired sword. They mean the deed to be done soon, so that you would never make it to the tourney.”
“A name Argo, who is this assassin?” Rhode asked, grabbing the front of the informant’s tunic and shaking him with both hands.
“Alas my lord, it was all I was able to find out.”
“Dammit!” Rhode flung the little man with a vengeance against the cold stone floor, kicking at him in fury.
“Mercy, my lord, mercy!” the messenger cried.
“The tourney is two days away, Argo. Two days!” Rhode shouted. He landed one final kick before turning away from the cowering man. Drawing in a deep breath he tried to calm himself.
Turning back to the messenger he spoke again, his voice controlled.
“As much as it would please me to torture every last one of them to get the information I want, that would take too much time. I need specific names, if not of my assassin, then of those who hired him.”
“There may be another way, my lord,” Argo rasped from the floor.
“Oh?”
“The sorceress. It is rumored she prophesied the end of your rule, perhaps she may be able to see also the face of your killer. I will go to her, if my lord commands me.”
“No,” Rhode said at length. “This is far too important. I’ll see to this myself. You can go find Olda and tell him I want a proclamation put up in the town. I’m raising the taxes. It would seem our villagers have some extra wealth lying around, and I won’t have them wasting it on hired swords. Now go.”
With those words, the messenger scurried off, grateful that his lord had pardoned him to be in his service yet another day.
* * *
Tessa walked up to the cottage grateful to be home at last. The muscles of her arm burned from the strain of carrying a basket heavy with healing herbs. She stopped short at the door. Even before entering, she knew someone was already there waiting for her. She had expected him to come, though she had not known when. Setting down her basket, she drew in a deep breath and pushed the door open.
His back was to her when she entered. She watched him inspecting her cabin, his eyes roving over the items on her shelves: potions, crystals, scrolls of spells, unaware that she had entered. His hand reached out to pick something up off the shelf.
“My Lord,” the sorceress greeted.
Rhode jumped, clearly startled. He turned to face her, his eyes dark with anger. Clearly he was upset that he had let this woman sneak up on him and more so that he had shown his surprise.
“Sorceress,” Rhode replied .
“And what service can I offer my Lord, that he has left his castle and journeyed to my humble abode”
Rhode studied the woman. The words were innocent enough, spoken with just enough deference. But there no mistaking the look in the seer’s eyes. She hated him, he knew. But most of her kind did. When he had taken rule of Aresia after defeating the last Lord in battle, he had murdered that Lord’s advisor, an old wizard who refused to swear allegiance to a new master. Such actions did not make him popular with witches or wizards, but the order of Arekdor to which most belonged was a divided body with problems of their own, making retaliation unlikely.
“Come now, a seer of your repute must already know the answer to that, if you are as good as they say you are.”
The sorceress remained silent. Rhode was not deterred. He came for an answer and he did not intend to leave without one.
“The villagers have been very busy plotting against me, seer. No doubt fueled by that fool prophesy that you filled their heads with. Don’t deny it woman, my spies keep me well informed. The one thing they have failed me in though is the name of this hired sword. And that, my dear sorceress is where you come in. You will show me the face of my killer.”
“And if I refuse?” Tessa asked.
Rhodes response startled her. She expected unbridled rage. Instead he just laughed.
“Oh, I suppose I could threaten you with torture or death, “ he replied, studying her reaction. The sorceress just stood silently, unflinching.
“No, I don’t suppose that that would persuade you. Death doesn’t frighten you, at least not your own…a few villagers then? But that would take some time and greatly diminish my work force. So instead I have just chosen one. Not one of my villagers, some one from another town. A half-bred child, what was her name…Allysa?”
At the mention of the name, Tessa’s composure broke.
“You will not touch her, monster!” she spat.
“Ah, so the rumors were true after all! She is your daughter. The ruler of that city does not like your kind very much. Even if the child possesses no magic as her father claims, I don’t think they would overlook the fact that she is a half-breed! Give me what I need sorceress, and your secret will be safe.”
“The nine forgive me,” Tessa whispered. She had foreseen that the villager’s plan would fail but she had not seen that it would be by her hand. Walking to the shelf, she took the silver basin.
Tessa walked slowly towards the gallows, her footsteps the only sound in a village silenced by night and death. Rhode had put on quite a show for the execution earlier. Whether it was the hanging of the villager’s hero or his revelation to them that she was the betrayer that made him happiest, Tessa was not sure. What surprised her though was their reaction. There was fear yes, but something else too: confusion. Not to mention the absence of anger or retaliation against her. Perhaps they were shocked, or too broken to be capable of any emotion. Whatever the reason it had not concerned Rhode. He had long departed on his journey, leaving the body of the unfortunate man hanging in the centre of the town: a constant reminder as to the fate of those who dare conspired against him.
Stepping up to the gallows, she took the knife from the folds of her cloak and began to work on the noose that held the body suspended. It wasn’t long before she had achieved her goal and the body fell unceremoniously to the ground. Stepping down from the gallows, she knelt next to the fallen body, cradling the lifeless form. A small sob escaped her lips. She had killed this man. Gently she stroked his face, his cold skin smooth an immaculate under her touch. Her finger lingered along the edge of his cheek as she studied his face. Her brow knotted as she gazed down at him, momentarily confused. Shaking her head she shrugged of the thought. Visions were never perfect.
In a low voice she began to sing, an old song in an ancient language, meant to give aide and peace to a soul as it journeyed on in the afterlife.
The central square was alive with activity. A crowd that had gathered earlier, was fast increasing in size and level of chaos, as its members pushed and prodded, each trying to move closer to the front. The numerous vendors, manning the surrounding stalls, added to the din as they called out to any passerby about the special offers on their wares.
“Celebration prices! The tyrant is dead! Fresh fruit for the feast!”
“Lovely lace, my lady at the best price to wear to the coronation of our new ruler.”
“Alright, make way, clear the road, Lord Falcon approaches” a guard said, trying to form a path between villagers and merchants alike.
The eager villagers huddled together, trying to get as close as possible for the best view of their new ruler without obstructing the path.
“They say Rhode murdered his brother, and that is why he entered the tourney, to avenge his death,” a woman whispered to Tessa.
Any reply the sorceress was going to make was cut short by the approach of the new lord. Tessa, gazing up at his face, was speechless. For his was identical to that of the dead man’s that she had cradled several nights ago, save his features were flawless while the other was scarred. The face of this man was the one that had floated in the water, not the other. So the prophesy had been fulfilled, not by the doing of the villagers but by Rhode himself.
End
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