No more give. The wooden stake was firmly lodged into the ground and was my que to take a brief reprieve from the labor and wipe the sweat that had gathered on my brow. I looked up from the stake in front of my feet and towards a veritable sea of tents that dotted the grassy field. Rising above the sea was pennants and banners of heraldry I could only factor a guess towards the meaning behind. If I was not so jaded, I would have found it rather pretty. Altogether the tents had more color than I had seen anywhere else in my life, but I always felt uncomfortable looking at the brightly dyed tents it was a reminder that the dye used to color a single tent was worth more than me and several of my fathers before me.

While drifting off into thought, distracted by the tents or more likely procrastinating my return to work, I noticed an odd commotion. People were moving at an alarming rate down the rows of tents and towards the temporary arena that had been built in the midst of the tournament grounds. It was not just the knights, and noblemen, but soldiers, and laborers who rushed to the area. Before I knew it, I was also making my way towards the area. If I had ever had a vice it would have been curiosity. I rationalized that as long as I returned before the other laborers, I could avoid the punishment of the taskmaster. Though I knew that was wishful thinking.

A large crowd had already gathered around the arena by the time I arrived. Through necks, heads, and arms all I could make out was there was two men standing in the arena. I would not call myself tall, but I was by no means short either. Still, it was a troubling task to get a peak in past the crowd.

 Conveniently I found a wooden wash basin not far from the group. I imagined a laborer must have dropped it to get a better look at the scene. I simply flipped it over and I was elevated over most of the heads. Now I could actually see what was taking place.

There were two knights standing in the arena. I had never gotten a good look at it until now, but I noticed the grass of the field had been upturned to make way to its dirt floor. It was bordered with a heavy rope that roughly outlined a circle. Past the rope stood rows of men in steel plate armor, no two sets the same. the reflective metal only broken up by the bright colors they wore on their tabards. This was only allotted a fragment of my attention as the real attraction was the three men inside the ring.

There was another knight that I was not able to catch a look at, because he was laid out on the ground. He wore armor similar to the men outside the ring but what struck my eye was that the dirt he lay next too was stained with a streak of blood. My attention turned to see the knight on the left side of the arena. Blood was still fresh on the blade of his longsword.

He was tall even for a knight. His armor was dark and matte unlike any other I had seen so far at the tournament, or ever before in the lordship. It only added to his imposing figure. The color of his amor was hard to discern it was dark almost black, but a tinge purple. A purple darker than the ripest grapes, so close to black that no one waste the expense of mixing a dye to its shade. But most striking of all was the eye.

The knight wore a full-face helmet not much different from any other, had it not been for the color, and the eye. Where normally a metal helmet would leave small slits for the soldier to see through, this helmet had a cutout relief of a large single eye. I wondered how the knight saw as none of the holes looked like they would line up all too well with a person’s eye. It made one wonder if underneath the helmets mask the knight was a cyclops or some other beast of legend.

“And what have you to say for yourself?” An inquisitive voice stated. It was loud and covered the whole crowd who had gathered around the arena.

I was too enthralled by the sight of the mysterious dark knight that I had hardly glanced at the second man standing. A man in spotless silver armor adorned with golden trim, polished to a mirror finish. The sun had almost peaked and reflected off of the armor giving him a radiant presence. He was tall but did not approach the height of the man he confronted, his hair a dirty blonde cut short in all directions, but the front, which he had parted to the side. He looked to be young, and if he was not of nineteen winters such as myself, I would have only expected him to be a couple of seasons behind. He held a helmet under one arm, his longsword in another.

The helmet was a work of master craftmanship just like the armor, but its appearance was rather strange. It was in the shape of a fish with a large open mouth. It appeared that when worn the man's face would be cradled by the two lips of the fish face. I would have found it a goofy sight had it not betrayed the man’s identity.

 A lowborn such as myself did not often know of foreign lords or royal affairs but from spending the past week and half laboring at the tournament grounds I had picked up on much gossip. He was Jarrick Dumont. I had only learned of him but three days prior, but the helmet was a giveaway. The fish was meant to be a bass the symbol of his family heraldry. I assumed he had come, much like many of the other knights, to the tournament to hone his skills in this time of relative peace and win honor for his family. All that I knew was that he was his father’s fourth son, and that they said he was a prodigy with a sword.

“What have you say for yourself sir knight?” He yelled again. There was still no response from the imposing dark knight.

“You kill a member of my house and have not even the gall to issue your defense!” The young noble paused from talking only to place the helmet upon his head. “If it is a deathmatch you desire. Then I shall be your opponent!”

The noble now had both of his hands on the hilt of his sword and raised it into a guard position. The dark knight took a grip of his sword and charged with great speed towards his enemy. He opened by throwing three strikes at the noble where it would have taken another to make just one. His speed was unmatched. When he sliced with his blade, I could hear a whistle as it split the air apart. The noise could be heard even as far back in the crowd as I stood. Yet Jarrick Dumont still stood against him.

 Despite the great speed at which the attacks came to him none broke through his defense. The first came from above and he blocked it along the flat of his sword. The next a slice to his chest which he once more blocked, and again one came from the same direction which was he able to block and move to riposte. Though his strike lacked the reach to damage the knight.                           

 The dark knight was strong, but it was clear he lacked the skill of his opponent. He kept attacking with the same strike. It was closer to watching lumberjack try and chop down a tree that was fighting back than a duel between two swordsmen. The knight repeated the same strike for a third time, this time faster than any of his other attacks, but Jarrick was ready. He stepped to the left and propped his blade behind that of the knight. He pushed the strike back from the outside, killing its momentum. He took another quick step back and cut the right hand of the knight through a small joint in the armor. The knight dropped his guard, and Jarrick lunged in stabbing him under the chin. He drove his blade between the bottom of the knight’s helmet and the top of the gorget. 

 The sword had gone several measures into the man’s skull, and quickly he fell to the ground limp and lifeless. I turned my back towards the scene and dismounted my washbasin. I would have to be fast to return to my post before the other workers. I was not eager to return to work, but eager not to be caught by the taskmaster.