helmets.
Tarrington looked deep into Rowan’s eyes, almost with a look of relief.
“This is yours now. Defend it well.” Tarrington grabbed Rowan’s arm and raised it into the air. The crowd doubled its cheering. Rowan looked to the seat where he had arranged for Sir Aldwyn to sit. His mentor was clapping too, but there was no smile on his lips.
Rowan’s spirits sank, but only for an instant. He looked at the cheering crowd, and their roar of approval carried him on a buoyant wave of exhilaration. Surely this was what he was meant to do.
It seemed as if he was born for it.
On the ceremony stand, Lord Gavaah himself presented the tournament sword, medal, money, and the coveted victory cloak to Rowan. The man’s very presence was an honor, for Lord Gavaah was the impetus behind the Camerian Tournament Council. It was he who provided the wealth and the savvy to organize the tournaments at Elttaes, Amion, Laos, and Berwick into the first regional league of structured tournaments. Lord Gavaah’s brilliant Bread and Tournaments strategy—offering free bread to anyone who attended the games—had brought nearly instant fame and success to what had been a loosely structured and unprofitable activity.
Within two years, the council had taken tournament attendance to a near frenzied level of participation. Lord Gavaah’s return on his initial investment of fifty thousand loaves of bread and four opulent stadiums had made him wealthy beyond measure, and his influence in Cameria was widespread.
Rowan didn’t really care who or how or why the tournaments had gained such popularity. He just loved them … every part of them. At first he had convinced himself that participating would be an effective way to proclaim the Prince, but somewhere along the way his call to be a Knight of the Prince had faded into the background and the tournaments themselves had become his priority. Now he basked in the glory that came with being a champion.
As the opulent victory cloak fell upon his shoulders, cheers erupted from twenty thousand spectators, and Rowan felt like a king. The cloak was a symbol of a true champion, for only those knights who had prevailed in one of the five major city tournaments received one.
Rowan hefted the beautiful sword with the Camerian Tournament Council emblem engraved in the pommel. It felt even better than the Knights of the Prince sword he had used to rise this far. The balance was perfect. This would be his new tournament sword … a sword to be envied by all.
It was still early in the tournament season, and Rowan would have to defend his new title a dozen times, but his future looked bright. He would represent the great city of Laos at the Camerian Games in Kroywen in six months’ time, an honor only a few had ever won. Rowan had every intention of becoming champion of all Cameria.
When the accolades faded, Lord Gavaah put an arm around Rowan’s shoulder and walked with him toward the edge of the platform. He was a handsome man whose shrewd eyes were softened by a hearty demeanor and a ready smile. He was known for his voice, a smooth baritone that could ring throughout a stadium or purr through a contract negotiation.
“You have the makings of a great Camerian champion, son.” Lord Gavaah grinned broadly. His black mustache and beard glistened in the afternoon sun.
“Thank you, Lord Gavaah. It was an honor to fight Sir Tarrington.”
Gavaah clapped him on the back. “You did more than fight him, Sir Rowan. You beat him. And now you are in a position to become one of the greatest swordsmen in all of Arrethtrae.”
Rowan beamed at the sound of that.
“You and the CTC have much to gain if we are smart about how we proceed,” Lord Gavaah added. “That’s why I’d like to help you.”
He gestured to a man just a few paces away. The man stepped forward and bowed. “Mr. Balenteen at your service.”
“Mr. Balenteen is a CTC agent,” Gavaah said. “He will help you manage your
Tarrington looked deep into Rowan’s eyes, almost with a look of relief.
“This is yours now. Defend it well.” Tarrington grabbed Rowan’s arm and raised it into the air. The crowd doubled its cheering. Rowan looked to the seat where he had arranged for Sir Aldwyn to sit. His mentor was clapping too, but there was no smile on his lips.
Rowan’s spirits sank, but only for an instant. He looked at the cheering crowd, and their roar of approval carried him on a buoyant wave of exhilaration. Surely this was what he was meant to do.
It seemed as if he was born for it.
On the ceremony stand, Lord Gavaah himself presented the tournament sword, medal, money, and the coveted victory cloak to Rowan. The man’s very presence was an honor, for Lord Gavaah was the impetus behind the Camerian Tournament Council. It was he who provided the wealth and the savvy to organize the tournaments at Elttaes, Amion, Laos, and Berwick into the first regional league of structured tournaments. Lord Gavaah’s brilliant Bread and Tournaments strategy—offering free bread to anyone who attended the games—had brought nearly instant fame and success to what had been a loosely structured and unprofitable activity.
Within two years, the council had taken tournament attendance to a near frenzied level of participation. Lord Gavaah’s return on his initial investment of fifty thousand loaves of bread and four opulent stadiums had made him wealthy beyond measure, and his influence in Cameria was widespread.
Rowan didn’t really care who or how or why the tournaments had gained such popularity. He just loved them … every part of them. At first he had convinced himself that participating would be an effective way to proclaim the Prince, but somewhere along the way his call to be a Knight of the Prince had faded into the background and the tournaments themselves had become his priority. Now he basked in the glory that came with being a champion.
As the opulent victory cloak fell upon his shoulders, cheers erupted from twenty thousand spectators, and Rowan felt like a king. The cloak was a symbol of a true champion, for only those knights who had prevailed in one of the five major city tournaments received one.
Rowan hefted the beautiful sword with the Camerian Tournament Council emblem engraved in the pommel. It felt even better than the Knights of the Prince sword he had used to rise this far. The balance was perfect. This would be his new tournament sword … a sword to be envied by all.
It was still early in the tournament season, and Rowan would have to defend his new title a dozen times, but his future looked bright. He would represent the great city of Laos at the Camerian Games in Kroywen in six months’ time, an honor only a few had ever won. Rowan had every intention of becoming champion of all Cameria.
When the accolades faded, Lord Gavaah put an arm around Rowan’s shoulder and walked with him toward the edge of the platform. He was a handsome man whose shrewd eyes were softened by a hearty demeanor and a ready smile. He was known for his voice, a smooth baritone that could ring throughout a stadium or purr through a contract negotiation.
“You have the makings of a great Camerian champion, son.” Lord Gavaah grinned broadly. His black mustache and beard glistened in the afternoon sun.
“Thank you, Lord Gavaah. It was an honor to fight Sir Tarrington.”
Gavaah clapped him on the back. “You did more than fight him, Sir Rowan. You beat him. And now you are in a position to become one of the greatest swordsmen in all of Arrethtrae.”
Rowan beamed at the sound of that.
“You and the CTC have much to gain if we are smart about how we proceed,” Lord Gavaah added. “That’s why I’d like to help you.”
He gestured to a man just a few paces away. The man stepped forward and bowed. “Mr. Balenteen at your service.”
“Mr. Balenteen is a CTC agent,” Gavaah said. “He will help you manage your
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