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Je
It was a salute! her heart screamed. He was saluting her, and Je
Royce spun his horse to face his opponent, lowered his visor, couched his lance… and was still. Perfectly still-violence, cold and emotionless; leashed for the moment, but waiting…
At the first note from the trumpet, Royce crouched low, dug his spurs into Zeus, and sent him hurtling down the course straight at his opponent. His lance struck the Frenchman's shield with so much force the shield flew off to the side and the knight toppled backward over his horse, landing on his bent right leg in a way that left no chance the leg was unbroken. Finished, Royce galloped to the opposite end of the field and waited, facing the entrance. Unmoving again.
Je
Royce, she noted from the corner of her eye, did not move his gaze from Ian MacPherson, and something about the way Royce watched him convinced Je
She lifted her sideways gaze to Royce's face and could almost feel the relentless thrust of his narrowed gaze pilloring Ian. So absorbed was she that Je
"Je
When Ian took his place down the field from Royce, Je
An ear-rending roar went up from the crowd, but Royce didn't remain to enjoy the hysterical accolades. With cold disregard for his worthy, fallen foe, whose squire was helping him to his feet, Royce wheeled Zeus around and sent him galloping off the field.
The tournament was next, and it was what Je
Beyond that, there were to be no rules, no ropes nor fences dividing the forces once the fighting began. Nothing. Je
Two cavalcades of one hundred knights each-one headed by Royce, the other by DuMont-rode onto the field from opposite ends, followed by squires carrying spare lances and broadswords.
Je
Trumpets sounded three warning blasts, and Je
Je
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