The Return Of The Silver Knight

  It was a dark and stormy night in Lundellon. The winds raged as the trees bent to their capricious will, and the placid Bowrain River was a sea of whitecaps. An ill wind blows through the little hamlet this night, and foreboding followed on the footsteps of the gale.

  The morn brought with it a fair and gentle wind, and the day of the Great Tourney promised clear skies over the kingdom. Everywhere the hawkers set up their makeshift stalls, offering everything from roasted pheasant to mull wine. Jesters and minstrels set about their merry work, greeting the
Tourney crowds with jest and song.

  As the noon hour approached, each contestant gathered his weapons, aided by his serfs, to prepare for the joust. The King, Lortay, arrived on a splendid steed, arrayed in kingly attire, and attended by his serf, Gant. The crowd acknowledged His Royal Highness, and he greeted them with a regal sweep
of his mailed hand.

  Just then from the west, came a bold rider, seated upon a most wonderful mount, his silver armor resplendent in the noonday sun. He had no serf, and carried his own weapons. His lance was engraved in gold, and the inscription read simply: "Truth".

  The Silver Knight had returned.

  The Master of Ceremonies announced the start of the contest, and both opponents took their positions at the rail, facing each other. They lowered their lances and waited for the drop of the handkerchief, which would signal the start of the joust. Tension in the crowd was palpable, and in their
silence, they waited. The two horses chomped at their bits and shifted with anticipation under the weight of rider and armor. The pennants waved in the gentle breeze as all seemed suspended in time, the expectant moment before the battle royal.

  Just then the signal was given, and both riders stirred their mounts to a gallop, lances leveled and charging. Just as they met, the Silver Knight feinted to the left, avoiding Laytor's lance, whilst striking with his own. The king was knocked from his horse, and rolled several times on the dusty ground,
finally coming to rest face-down, his helmet having come off in the fall.

  The crowd went wild with cheering and applause. The Silver Knight slowly rode to where the defeated monarch lay, and dismounting, offered to help him up. The king spat on the ground, cursing the day and swearing to avenge this indignity. Calmly, the Silver Knight mounted his steed, and nodding to the crowd, rode off into the west, to the Granada, and his own castle.

  A minstrel began to sing a new ballad, one that he made up on the spot. It told the tale of a vengeful king, and the brave knight who vanquished him.
Peace settled over Lundellon, and the people were happy. Truth and Justice had won the day.