Chapter One
A hooded figure stood in a small crowd of peasants, enthralled by the upcoming joust. He looked out of place, dressed in deep purple robes embroidered with gold and clasped around the throat with a blood red gemstone. Nobility, after all, sat in the wooden stands to observe the tournament games.
Karina assumed this person was planted only to draw her curiosity. She was the Black Knight. So undefeated was she, that distractions and attempts at fixed wins against her favor were commonplace. As she stared through the slits in her obsidian colored helmet, she pondered if this stranger would try to stand in her way. Her attention was wrenched from thoughts of the stranger, to her horse, a charger black as ebony and muscled thickly, that pranced restlessly beneath her.
“Peace, Tarron. We’ll ride once the trumpeters give their call. Once more, my old friend, we are to wait for the Duke to give his speech,” she soothed, patting the charger’s thick neck with gauntleted fingers. As she spoke, the Duke of Rostlecastor approached the stands, dressed in gaudy robes of silver and red, a circlet resting just over his bushy brow.
“M’Lords! M’Dams!”
His voice carried with the wind to where even Karina could hear him, even from where she sat on top of her steed at the other end of the tourney field. Her rival this day, a man she’d yet to ride against, trotted into view behind the Duke and took his place at the opposite end of the tourney field. Already she could tell it’d be an easy set of passes. The man opposite her, even armored, was smaller than she was.
“We shall charge with victory this day, Tarron. What say you?” she asked softly, to which the massive charger shook his great head and snorted his impatience.
“This tourney is in celebration of the birth of my wee lass, Rosalyn and to give a date to my daughter, Allyson with her coming of age!” the Duke proclaimed, to which both peasantry and nobility alike cheered, save one. Karina’s eyes were drawn to where the hooded stranger stood, unresponsive. A flash of gold shone from beneath his hood and she could almost feel his eyes staring straight through her. A chill gripped her as though snowmelt ran down her spine and she tore her eyes from him with a grimace.
“The victor of this jousting tournament will have the privilege of my dear Allyson’s hand in marriage,” the Duke announced.
As the Duke spoke, his daughter rose from her seat, eyes puffy and red with spent emotion. How could someone who claimed themselves as a father force their child into something so cruel? The very thought brought Karina’s blood to a boil and left her hand clenching against the lance at her side.
“I shall free you, lass, lest my rival’s lance pierce my breast,” she vowed in a whisper.
Of course, she had known little of family for some time now. She’d never known her father and her mother had never borne another child. The closest thing she’d had to a family after her mother had passed was the captain of the guard in a southern Grizlenzadian province and the stable owner of Rostlecastor, Flannigan.
“Many knights of the province of Rostlecastor have participated in this so grand of tourneys and now, we have come down to two final suitors. Sir IsekFlanory from the northern reaches of Grizlenzadi.”
A cheer erupted from the crowd as the fan favorite urged his horse into a canter down the tourney field and back around. Everything from his armored form to the molted mare he sat upon was smaller than Karina and her charger, to the point it was almost amusing.
“And, the nomadic renegade, known only as the Black Knight.”
Not a cheer was to be heard as Karina squeezed her knees together, wordlessly urging Tarron into a charging, powerful sprint. Indignant sounds met her ears and a few stones were hurled towards her, though none so much as glanced across her armor. She was used to such poor receptions as this, simply because she was unorthodox in the way she accepted winnings. The Black Knight was notorious for letting free a hand, rightfully won, for marriage and giving lands to serfs of the various provinces she’d jousted in.
Yet, she found her eyes drawn towards the riled crowd as she pulled Tarron to a halt. They’d once more reached their end of the field, and her eyes drifted towards the peasantry. Her green irises stayed locked onto the form pressed close to the field. The hooded figure stared at her with an intensity and rapture she’d never seen before.
The Duke had taken to his seat as Karina brooded over the stranger. Why did he stare? She shook her head impatiently. What did it matter? The same chill rolled down her spine as her soul all but split wide open under the golden gaze she was met with. It took all her willpower to look away again. The trumpeters had stood with their horns at their lips and should she continue her stare, she’d miss the fanfare signaling her charge.
Everything faded in the background, from the crowd to the stranger in the purple robes. There was a job at hand, a lady to set free. No distractions, merely Sir Isek, his mare, Tarron and her lance. Then, the trumpeters sounded the horns, signaling both Karina and Sir Isek to prepare to charge.
With a four-note fanfare, she kicked Tarron into a canter, her lance pointing high to the sky. It took mere seconds in real time, but to her, the entire world slowed. She seemed able to focus on every aspect of Sir Isek’s charge from the way his horse stumbled a step and a half before actually cantering forward, to the way he sat with his lance holding arm. His hold was too wide and his posture leaned too far to the right. It rendered his left shoulder almost fully exposed. That was her target.
She grinned as she leveled off her lance and struck the rival rider in the shoulder. The man was thrown backward from his saddle and onto the dusty ground while her lance splintered from the blow. Together with Tarron, they reached the other end of the tourney field and turned around to check on Sir Isek, who’d yet to move from where he lay sprawled on the ground. His horse, the skittish thing that it was, had raced away and was nowhere to be seen.
Angry shouts greeted her as Karina dismounted and walked over to her fallen rival. How hard had he fallen that he was still so dazed?
“You killed him!” a particularly hysterical woman shouted from the stands, but as Karina nudged Sir Isek with her armored boot, he gave a plaintive moan, but slowly sat up.
“I shall not ride again,” he croaked, shaking his head as he got up on unsteady legs.
Karina stared at him, surprised such a prestigious jouster would relinquish the tourney victory to her after a single pass. The trumpeters’ music once more filled the air as Sir Isek made a show of shaking his head, solidifying his forfeit.
The Duke didn’t look pleased in the slightest and his daughter Allyson looked even less so, as she had once more burst into tears. Yet, Karina made a show of approaching her despite her distress and the Duke’s obvious irritation. Slowly, she knelt on one knee. “M’Lady Allyson,” she began, forcing her voice deeper until it barely passed as masculine. “I have no desire to strip your honor from you by forcing you into wedlock. I grant you, as my prize, the freedom to do as your heart desires and not be trapped as a coveted possession.”
Briefly, Allyson’s tearful eyes stared straight through her helmet and locked her gaze on Karina’s own. A look of awed wonder crossed her features, but quickly her gaze broke as she offered Karina a deep bow.
“Sir Knight. You honor me with your chivalry,” she whispered as she stood once more. Dabbing at her eyes with an embroidered kerchief, she blew Karina a kiss before turning around to speak with her father.
It was only once Karina’s attention was freed that she felt the eyes of the stranger boring into her from behind.