William pressed his legs against either side of the black horse he sat on. One hand on the rein and the other held a lance tightly to his side. His eyes narrowed as they fixated on the quintain ten yards out.

 

The quintain was a “T” shaped target post that held a shield on one arm, and a bag of sand on the other.

 

He took in long breaths to help him steady his pulsing heart. William was aware of Roland and Wat watching him on the side, silent observers like the White Hemlock and ferns that surrounded them.

 

“Hiyah!” he yelled, urging his horse forward. He rode through in the forest with vigor and spirit, trampling over broken branches, and dried leaves.

 

His lance missed by three hundred yards and his shoulders slammed into the shield. The arm of the quintain swung around and the sack of sand slammed into the back of his head, knocking him off his horse.

 

He landed with a thud on the floor with his eyes facing the leaf covered sky up.

 

Wat and Roland loomed over him, grinning wickedly.

 

“Have you seen the stars you’re aiming for? I imagine that sack did a number to your head,” said Roland.

 

William sighed. “Do I have to go again?”

 

“Glory and riches, William. Again,” said Roland.

 

William pushed himself up and mounted the horse again. He trotted back to the starting point, and took the lance from Wat.

 

“Hiyah!” William yelled. The horse neighed and kicked into top speed. William held the lance steady, holding it tight in his grip.

 

He was getting closer and closer to the target. And slam! He pushed into the shield with his lance.

 

In his excitement, he let go of the horse and the beast hitched. The quintain swung around and the bag of sand knocked him off the horse again.

 

“Oh,” he said, groaning as he lay on his back. “The path to riches and glory is filled with broken backs and cracked skulls.”

 

Roland and Wat loomed over him again, flashing him a wicked grin. “Feeling poetic?”

 

“I’ve always been a poet at heart,” said William.

 

“Yes,” said Wat, sniggling. “Although it took a bag of sand to bring out the best in you.”

 

“Come on,” said Roland, offering William a hand. “We’ve only a month to prepare.”

 

Night came quickly and the trio sat round a burning fire. There was a squirrel roasting over the cackling fire, filling the air with its flavor.

 

The forest was mostly silent, and save the occasional chirping of crickets seeking mate, no sound could be heard.

 

“This is a mad dream we’re chasing,” said Wat. He sat on the floor with his legs drawn up.

 

“Better mad than a satisfied peasant, Wat,” said William.

 

Roland rose up and turned the meat roasting over the fire.

 

“Roland, how am I doing?” asked William. “Do I stand a chance against the knight’s in the list?”

 

“I’m not a jousting knight,” said Roland, “Sir Hector didn’t even deem me fit for practice.”

 

“And yet, he would never fight an opponent without soliciting your advice first. Although, he’d say it’s “your humble take”. Come on, Roland, be plain with me.”

 

“Fine,” said Roland, sitting with a loud sigh. “You’re a long way off. But you have the courage for it, your technique needs to improve though.”

 

“What do you think the problem is?” asked Wat.

 

“It's quite obvious what his biggest problem is and that's his terrible aim. Right now we need to find a way to improve that. I think I have an idea on how to fix it; though it might be dangerous. But that's a tomorrow problem right now let's eat,” said Roland, taking the meat off the fire.

 

“I agree,” said Wat, rising to his feet. “Meat is more important right now.”

 

William barely slept that night. He would turn on this side, and tussle on that side. Eventually, he gave up on sleep and sat up instead.

 

The fire had burned out and in its place, a tiny wisp of smoke was rising like incense into the night sky from the glowing ember.

 

William wondered if he was making a mistake choosing this path. Maybe he should have given his friends their silver coins and let them do what they wanted with their money.

 

He closed his eyes. Now was the time to reach for his burned out stars and change them, and not just his but those of the men who chose to believe in his madness.

 

William sighed and fell into a troubled sleep.

 

The night passed away, and just at the crack of dawn, when the sky was still grey and dull, William roused Roland and Wat from their sleep.

 

“Here,” he said, giving the sleepy men wooden swords. “Swordfight practice, we want as much gold as we can have.”

 

“It’s not morning yet,” said Wat, yawning.

 

“People who want to change their stars don’t sleep till the sun is up,” William replied.

 

“You can’t beat the two of us,” said Wat, rubbing his eyes.

 

William chuckled, holding his sword at the hilt with both hands. “Oh, you have no idea. Come on boys.”

 

Wat and Roland nodded at each other and charged with their swords.

 

It was Wat who arrived first, bearing down his sword heavily. William stepped aside quickly and landed a blow on Wat’s exposed back.

 

Next came Roland, a more tricky customer. He thrust with his sword, and William had to parry off the first strike.

 

Pleased with himself, Roland feinted to the left and threw a right blow, but William was ready. He broke into Roland’s arc and stubbed the hilt of his sword on his head.

 

“Ow,” said Roland, rubbing his head.

 

“Sorry,” said William, grinning.

 

Wat rushed up from behind and William pushed breathless Roland away. The latter fell to the floor on all floors.

 

“Come get it, you twat,” Wat said, slashing and thrusting at William with his wooden sword.

 

William dodged a slash at his neck pushed Wat with the end of his sword.

 

Wat staggered backwards and knocked over Roland who was still on all fours.

 

William was breathing heavily and smiling at them. “Is that all you got? This is the spirit of a man that wants to change his stars.”

 

Wat coughed. “You’ve always been a natural at swordfight,” he said. “Let’s return to jousting.”

 

"Agreed, we need to work on your aim," said Roland panting as he got up.

 

Roland tied a string between two trees and tied a brass ring to the center of the string. The brass ring was no more than half a foot in diameter.

 

William gaped in disbelief. “You want me to run a lance through that? What sort of training is this?” he threw at Roland.

 

Roland picked a nice spot on the ground and sat. “That,” he said, grinning. “is a training for a man that wants to change his stars. Let’s get started.”

 

A brass ring dangled ten yards before William, taunting him, daring him to hit the mark with lance.

 

The black warhorse and huffed nervously. “Calm down,” he said to the beast, patting it on the side tenderly.

 

William returned his attention to the brass ring again. From a corner of his eye, he could see Roland standing with his arms folded across his chest – observing. Wat was there also, leaning against a tree with a corner of his mouth raised in a sneer.

 

William tightened his grip round the makeshift lance and held it up.

 

“Hiyah!” he yelled, kicking the horse into a trot.

 

The beast neighed like the knight’s steed that it was and charged forward. It’s hooves thudded heavily on the forest floor as it covered the distance between William and the brass ring.

 

William clasped the lance to his side and got into cradle halfway to the ring. He aimed the lance forward as he bounced nearer, and when he was there, he raised his chin and shut his eyes.

 

The lance never made it into the ring, for William missed his target by half a mile.

 

“And that’s the seventeenth time he’ll be missing his target,” added Wat, painfully to Roland. “My grandmother would need half that number to pierce a ring.”

 

“Your grandmother died before you were born,” said William.

 

“You need to slow down, William, and keep your eyes on the target,” said Roland, sighing. “Learn to adjust your body first with the lance and your opponent.”

 

“That makes no sense,” said William, pulling his horse around. “Greater speed means greater damage, and I need to protect my eyes from splinters in a real joust.”

 

“If you were a nobleman who was trained from a very young age to hit your target without looking I would agree with you. However, I've been watching you closely William for the past few days. It's not just your technique or that you're just too stiff... No, the skill and technique required to master the proper form of jousting takes years to be ingrained into your body and it's not something you can learn overnight. At this rate you won't be good enough to get past the first round of the tournament let alone win it. Even if we trained you for six months nonstop you'd still only be average at best and forget about catching up to the raining champions,” replied Roland.

 

Hearing that, William's heart began to thump louder. Had anyone else said such things to him he would have easily scoffed it without any worry. However, hearing it from Roland hit him differently because there's no one's intuition he trusted more then Roland's when it came to jousting. It was due to Roland's extraordinary knowledge that a knight like Sir Hector was champion of many jousting tournaments. It was Roland's keen eye for spotting even the most minor of flaws in Sir Hector's opponents techniques that won him many victories.

 

"What are you saying Roland...? Do you think I should give up then?" dejectedly answered William.

 

Roland smugly smiled. "If we were to train how every other knight trains that is..."

 

"Unlike most knights who shield their eyes before they strike you will not take your eyes off your target."

 

“You’re asking me to risk going blind,” said William.

 

“It's a high risk high reward approach no doubt about it. Besides, if God says you’re going to die a blind man, shutting your eyes behind a helmet won’t stop it from happening,” answered Roland.

 

“Alright,” said William, bobbing his head. “I’ll do as you ask.”

 

“Good,” said Roland. “Let’s go again.”

 

“Of course, you’ll do as he asked,” Wat snapped. “If you don’t win the tournament, I’ll have you sold for five silver florins.”

 

William grinned broadly and returned to the start of the cleared bush.

 

“Remember, William,” said Roland, “Be calm, be in control, and never take your eyes off the target. Grasp your lance in your cradle and guide it towards the circle.”

 

William bobbed his head in affirmation and Roland stepped back from him.

 

He held the reins with one sweaty hand and gripped the lance firmly in the other.

 

“Hiyah!” William cried, sending the horse into a run. He kept his eyes on the brass ring hanging in the air from a string.

 

“Get it in the cradle!” he heard Roland yell behind him.

 

William grunted and aimed the lance forward. He felt the urge to take his eyes off the ring when he got close, as he had seen others do so many times ever since he started following Sir Hector about.

 

That’s how every other knight does it, a voice whispered in his head.

 

Those knight’s never needed to change their stars, another voice said.

 

William reaffirmed his resolve and kept a solid aim on the ring. His eyes widened as the lance went in through the ring.

 

“He did it!” Wat cried. “I always knew he had it in him.”

 

Roland walked up to him with a more sober expression. “Did you keep your eyes on the target?” he asked William.

 

“Yes.”

 

“And what did you see?” Roland pressed further.

 

“My lance breaking into the sides of my opponents,” said William.

 

Roland grinned and patted William’s thigh. “It’s the flash of victory, never should you miss that.”

 

Wat went to the horse and gasped. “Get off the horse,” he said, abruptly. “Get off the horse you idiot.”

 

William jumped off the beast and Wat continued to examine the horse. He caressed the head, felt its legs and raised the right fore leg up.

 

“Oh no, no,” Wat said, alarmed. “Look, there’s something in the hoof. Why’s there no shoe there?”

 

William shrugged. “I couldn’t find it this morning.”

 

Wat’s eyes bulged in horror. “And you rode it anyways?”

 

“It’s one of four shoes!” said William. “What’s the odd it’ll get hurt on that one hoof?”

 

Wat tutted in pity and stroke the side of its face. “Poor thing, this is going to hurt,” he said.

 

He held the end of the small branch stuck between the horse’s hoof and pulled out at once. The horse snorted and limped forward.

 

“This isn't good,” Wat declared with the air of an accomplished vet. “He’ll be out for a week.”

 

“Are you certain Wat? It’s got three other legs,” William blurted.

 

“And you have two! How about you lend it one of yours?” said Wat, fuming. “If we ride the horse anymore, we’ll never be able to use it for the tournament.”

 

William knew not to question Wat when it came to the condition of the horse. The lad was an animal lover through and through and there's no animal he loved more than horses. While traveling with Sir Hector, William knew Wat would often cry in secret at the way Sir Hector mishandled his steep while riding drunk. Wat would treat their wounds, trim their hooves, always made sure they received proper exercise and were properly fed. He'd even sleep with them and stay up if the steed was sick and he would be the one to bury them if they died.

 

Frustration was building up in William. "I need to train, I can't sit still for a whole week?"

 

“Don’t worry too much about it,” said Roland, squeezing William’s shoulder. “We’ll find another way.”

 

“Another way?” William said, aghast. Suddenly, his eyes lit up as realization dawned on them. “Another way!”