with all they had. Watching Kendrick swing and slash mesmerized Thor: it was a thing of beauty. But the McCloud was a fine warrior, too. Back and forth they went, each exhausting the other, neither giving ground.
Finally their swords met in one momentous clash, and they each knocked each other’s swords from their hands. Their squires ran out, maces in hand, but as Kendrick reached for his mace, the McCloud’s squire ran up behind him and struck him in the back with his own weapon, the blow sending him to the ground, to the horrified gasp of the crowd.
The McCloud knight retrieved his sword, stepped forward, and pointed it at Kendrick’s throat, pinning him to the ground. Kendrick was left with no choice.
“I concede!” he yelled.
There was a victorious shout among the McClouds—but a shout of anger from the MacGils.
“He cheated!” yelled out the MacGils.
“He cheated! He cheated!” echoed a chorus of angry cries.
The mob was getting angrier and angrier, and soon there was such a chorus of protests that the mob began to disperse, and both sides—the MacGils and McClouds—began to approach each other on foot.
“This isn’t good,” Feithgold said to Thor, as they stood on the side, watching.
Moments later, the crowd erupted: blows were thrown, and it became an all-out brawl. It was chaos. Men were swinging wildly, grabbing each other in locks, driving each other to the ground. The crowd swelled and it threatened to blow up into an all-out war.
A horn sounded and guards from both sides marched in, managing to split up the crowd. Another louder horn sounded, and silence fell as King MacGil stood from his throne.
“There will be no skirmishers today!” he boomed in his kingly voice. “Not on this day of celebration! And not in my court!”
Slowly, the crowd calmed.
“If it is a contest you wish for between our two great clans, it will be decided by one fighter, one champion, from each side.”
MacGil looked to King McCloud, who sat on the far side, seated with his entourage.
“Agreed?” MacGil yelled out.
McCloud stood solemnly.
“Agreed!” he echoed.
The crowd cheered on both sides.
“Choose your best man!” MacGil yelled.
“I already have,” McCloud said.
There emerged from the McCloud side a formidable knight, the biggest man Thor had ever seen, mounted on his horse. He looked like a boulder, all bulk, with a long beard and a scowl that looked permanent.
Thor sensed movement beside him, and right next to him, Erec stepped up, mounted Warfkin and walked forward. Thor swallowed. He could hardly believe this was happening all around him. He swelled with pride for Erec.
Then he was overcome with anxiety, as he realized he was on duty. After all, he was squire and his knight was about to fight.
“What do we do?” Thor asked Feithgold in a rush.
“Just stand back and do as I tell you,” he answered.
Erec strode forward into the jousting lane, and the two knights stayed there, facing each other, their horses stomping in a tense standoff. Thor’s heart pounded in his chest as he waited and watched.
A horn sounded, and the two charged each other.
Thor could not believe the beauty and grace of Warfkin—it was like watching a fish jump from the sea. The other knight was huge, but Erec was a graceful and sleek fighter. He cut through the air, his head low, his silver armor rippling, more polished than any armor he had laid his eyes upon.
As the two men met, Erec held his lance with perfect aim, and leaned to the side. He managed to knock the knight in the center of shield while simultaneously dodging his blow.
The huge mountain of a man tumbled backwards, onto the ground. It was like a boulder landing.
The MacGil crowd cheered as Erec rode past, turned, and circled back. He raised his face plate held the tip of his lance to the man’s throat.
“Yield!” Erec yelled down.
The knight spit.
“Never!”
The knight then reached into a hidden satchel on his waist, pulled out a handful of dirt, and before Erec could react, threw it into Erec’s face.
Erec, stunned, reached for his eyes, dropping his lance and falling from his horse.
The MacGil crowd booed and hissed and cried in outrage as Erec fell, clutching his eyes. The knight, wasting no time, hurried over and kneed him in the ribs.
Erec rolled over, and the knight grabbed a huge rock, picked it up high and prepared to bring it down on Erec’s skull.
“NO!” Thor screamed, stepping forward, unable to control himself.
Thor watched in horror as the knight brought down the rock. At the last second, Erec somehow rolled out of the way. The stone lodged deep into the ground, right where his skull had been.
Thor was amazed at Erec’s dexterity. He was already back on his feet, facing this dirty fighter.
“Short swords!” the Kings cried out.
Feithgold suddenly wheeled and stared at Thor, wide-eyed.
“Hand it to me!” he yelled.
Thor’s heart pounded in panic. He spun around, searching Erec’s weapons rack, looking desperately for the sword. There was a dizzying array of weapons before him. He reached out, grabbed it, and thrust it into Feithgold’s palm.
“Stupid boy! That is a medium sword!” Feithgold yelled.
Thor’s throat went dry; he felt the whole kingdom staring at him. His vision was blurry with anxiety as he spiraled into panic, not knowing which sword to choose. He could barely focus.
Feithgold stepped forward, shoved Thor out of the way, and grabbed the short sword himself. He then raced out into the jousting lane.
Thor watched him go, feeling useless, horrible. He also tried to imagine if it were himself running out there, in front of all those people, and his knees grew weak.
The other knight’s squire reached him first, and Erec had to jump out of the way, as the knight swung for him, barely missing. Finally, Feithgold reached Erec and placed the short sword into his hand. As he did, the knight charged Erec. But Erec was too clever: he waited until the last moment, then jumped out of the way.
The knight kept charging, though, and ran right into Feithgold, standing, to his bad luck, in the place where Erec had just been. The knight, filled with rage at missing Erec, kept charging and grabbed Feithgold with both hands by his hair, and head-butted him hard
