Chapter One
Berwick Tournament
England
One more pass and victory shall be mine!
The Black Dragon was in fine form today.
The dagger given to Addax by his father, the one that had belonged to generations of his forefathers, was front and center as he made his run down the guides toward the de Birmingham knight.
With all of the protection, padding, and tunics that Addax wore, he’d had a special sheath sewn into his tunic for the dagger so that the hilt was peeking out, the onyx eyes observing his success.
It was lodged at his breastbone, and that was intentional.
Addax always wanted the dragon dagger to see everything he did, especially in the tournaments.
He felt as if his father was watching through those onyx eyes.
And perhaps he was.
Astride his muscular, dappled Belgian warmblood, Addax lowered his lance into the cradle, preparing to aim it right at his opponent’s chest. He could hear the crowd in the list screaming in excitement, the cry they took up whenever the Black Dragon was competing.
It was a cry that sent chills up his spine, that fed his bravery and soothed his soul.
That cry that the crowd rarely did for anyone else when he was around.
Black! they would cry. But it sounded like…
Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
The horses were drawing closer to one another.
Addax was focused on his opponent’s neck and chest area and nothing else.
He wasn’t looking at his horse, or his lance, or the guides, or even the arena around him.
Only at his opponent’s chest. Then the horses were finally in range of one another.
He dropped his lance and braced himself, leaning forward slightly so the impact wouldn’t throw him off his horse.
Crash!
The de Birmingham knight toppled.
The crowd went wild.
Addax’s lance was shattered, but he still had the hilt and about six feet of it left, so he held it aloft as he swung his horse around and made a run past the lists as the crowd screamed for their champion.
They were throwing flowers and silken, scented scarfs, and even money and gloves.
Having several men who worked for him as he rode the circuit, including two squires, he knew that anything of value would be collected by his squires and brought to him.
Often, he shared anything that was tossed to him with his men, so he knew nothing would be stolen from the booty.
He trusted the men who worked for him, and they knew that Addax was generous.
It was easy to be generous when one had more money than God.
Loping out of the arena, he reined his excited horse to a walk as friends and servants were there to greet him.
The first face he saw was Cole de Velt, commander of Berwick’s garrison and head of the de Velt empire.
Cole had thousands of men at his disposal, carrying on his father’s legacy by adding his own fame to it.
Jax de Velt was a legend in these parts, and in England as a whole, and Addax and Cole went back many years in their friendship.
Addax had spent several evenings feasting at Berwick Castle before the tournament, something he’d deeply regretted the first two days of competition because it took that long for the ache in his head to subside.
But it had been worth it.
“And that is how you defeat an opponent,” Addax announced as his squires reached out to stop the horse. “Every man here should take note of my technique.”
Cole shook his head at the arrogance, looking at the knights around him. Seasoned men, all of them, who smirked and rolled their eyes at Addax’s egotistical declaration.
“You are only a battering ram,” Cole said. “You may as well go around with a club and beat men off their horses for all of the technique you show.”
Addax guffawed loudly as he swung his leg over the saddle and slid off.
“If I thought I could get away with it, I would do exactly that,” he said, moving to the group of men who had been waiting to congratulate him.
“In fact, I thought about breaking some arms when I arrived. Only on those men I do not like, of course. I would spare your arm, Cole. And my brother’s.
And perhaps Julian and Beau’s. But de Wolfe?
I will break both of his arms and both of his legs, and take great delight doing it. Anything to keep him out of the arena.”
That brought laughter from the group. Essien, who had grown up tall and powerful and handsome, was positioned next to Julian de Velt, Cole’s younger brother, who had also competed earlier in the day.
To Julian’s right stood Beau de Russe, the great competitor known as Bringer of Nightmares.
He had quite a brutal reputation on the tournament circuit, and had for several years.
Rounding out the group was the object of Addax’s ire, Sir William de Wolfe.
A knight at Northwood Castle, seat of the Earl of Teviot, and the truth was that there was no one more skilled, more ruthless, or more respected than William.
In the north, he’d already earned himself the nickname of the Wolfe of the Border.
He was young compared to the rest of the knights in their circle, but youth had nothing to do with a man who was quickly working his way into legendary status.
And they all knew it.
“I’ve not faced you yet, Addax,” William reminded him, a twinkle of mirth in his hazel-gold eyes. “But I will, eventually.”
“And you’d better be prepared,” Julian said. “De Wolfe has won at least two tournaments in the north that I know of, and probably more that I don’t. You may have some serious competition.”
“Pah,” Addax said, frowning. “I am the Black Dragon. A dragon has no competition.”
“Dragons can be tamed,” William muttered.
Addax lifted a dark eyebrow. “Now you shall feel my wrath,” he said. Then he started to look around. “Es? Where is that big club we always carry around to dispose of whelps like de Wolfe?”
Essien grinned. “I will not help you,” he said. “If you want to beat de Wolfe, then you must do it alone.”
The threats, as well as the responses, were lighthearted.
There was a good deal of laughing going on, mostly because they all knew Addax wasn’t serious.
The man dominated the tournament circuit everywhere he went, and he’d kill anyone who tried to harm his friends, de Wolfe included.
He’d proven that on multiple occasions when an opponent injured someone who meant something to him.
Addax wasn’t beyond vengeance to protect those he loved.
None of them were.
“My lord!”
A shout came from the direction of the arena, and they could see one of the field marshals approaching. The man was heading for Cole, mostly, because Berwick was his town and the House of de Velt had sponsored the competition. Cole waved the man over.
“Speak,” he told him.
The man was an older, seasoned marshal who followed the tournament circuit. His judgment was just, and he was well respected. He focused on the enormous lord bearing the title of Baron Blackadder, an honor he’d inherited from his father.
“After the last bout, the guides must be repaired, my lord,” the man said. “We had one more bout this morning, but it will take time to repair the guides.”
Cole nodded. “I see,” he said. “What happened? I watched al-Kort’s bout, and I didn’t see any damage to the guides.”
“When the de Birmingham knight fell, my lord,” the marshal explained. “He fell into the guide and collapsed a section of it.”
Everyone looked at Addax, who merely shrugged. “Such are the perils of the game,” he said. “I’ve fallen into the guide enough. We all have.”
“The de Birmingham knight was impaled on part of the broken wood,” the marshal told him. “He is in his tent, having it removed.”
Addax hadn’t known that, and suddenly, the victorious mood he’d been indulging in seemed to dampen. “I did not realize that he had been wounded,” he said. “Is it bad?”
The marshal shrugged. “I do not know,” he said. “I do not think so, for he walked from the arena under his own power.”
Addax’s dark eyes moved off toward the competitor’s encampment. “I will see to him,” he said. “De Birmingham and I have competed against one another in the past. He is a fair opponent.”
With nothing more to say to that, the marshal simply bowed out.
As he headed toward another group of competitors to tell them that the schedule of bouts had changed, a knight wearing a tunic emblazoned with a three-point shield with blue and white stripes approached Addax and his group.
In fact, the knight intentionally bumped into Addax to catch his attention.
“My bout was next,” he said loudly. “Did you truly have to break everything so the rest of us could not complete, Addax?”
Addax grinned at the man who had become one of his best friends on the tournament circuit.
A member of the Northumberland de Grey family, Sir Maximilian de Grey was handsome, strong, and skilled.
So very skilled in so many things. With his blond hair and dark eyes, he was also quite handsome and had no shortage of female admirers.
He had the flashy style and the ego to match, as many tournament knights did, competing for prize money because it was lucrative and they had no other real means of making their fortune.
But Maximilian was different. Someday, he would be a wealthy earl.
He competed for the glory and nothing more.
“I do not know why you are crying about it,” Addax said. “It is not as if you have a chance against de Wolfe, whom you shall be competing against.”
Maximilian shot a long glance William’s way, only to see William with a lazy smile on his lips. “You,” Maximilian demanded as he pointed at William. “You will be pulverized.”
William struggled not to laugh. “Is that what you call it?”
“Do you mock me?”
“Nay,” William said. “I simply question your definition of pulverizing.”
“How dare you.”