The Fallen One by Kathryn Le Veque Page A

“I am unconcerned over someone recognizing de
Lovern’s name or armor. He was an obscure knight, and obscure he shall remain.”
    “Not after you win this tournament using
his name.”
    “Then mayhap that will allow the man some
fame in death that he never achieved in life.   It is the least I can do for him since I have stolen his armor and
identity.”
    Mathias had an answer for everything.   After a moment, Justus sighed heavily and
looked away, shaking his head. “I hope this girl is worth the danger you are
putting yourself in.”
    Before Mathias could reply, the young
orphaned boy that they employed to clean up and run errands appeared.   Stewart was a skinny child with a crown of
wild red hair that looked more like bristly hay, but he was surprisingly well
spoken and obedient.   He focused on
Justus.
    “My lord,” he said. “A man is here to see
you.”
    Justus looked at the child with
disinterest. “Tell him to go away,” he said grumpily, then quickly
reconsidered. “Who is it, lad?”
    “I do not know, my lord,” the child
replied.   “Should I ask his name?”
    Justus nodded, defeat and frustration in
his manner.   Then, he shook his head and
stood up, lumbering over to the doorway.   He opened his mouth to say something to Mathias and Sebastian but
thought better of it. They wouldn’t listen to him, anyway.   He put his hand on Stewart’s stiff red hair
and turned the child around as they headed out of the room.
    “You would not disobey me, would you?” he
asked the boy.
    The child was deadly seriously. “Nay, my
lord.”
    Justus grunted, throwing one last word out
before he left the room completely. “At least someone listens to me,” he said,
trying to make his sons feel guilty. “Let it be the servant boy, then.”
    With that, he was gone.   Mathias was in the process of affixing a
standard to the second of the three poles as Sebastian continued to work with
the third pole, the crow’s foot.   Sebastian
glanced at his brother as he worked, their father’s mood and words hanging
heavy in the air between them.
    “Tate’s entry is a surprise,” he said. “It
is going to make this event a bit trickier.”
    Mathias was focused on his work. “I have
not seen him since January last year.”
    “He knows we are here, in Brampton.”
    “Of course he does. He has been charged by
Edward to keep watch over us to make sure we do not do anything foolish.   We stay in Brampton so he can keep a watchful
eye on three dishonored knights.”
    Sebastian looked at him. “If that is true,
do you think you should reconsider competing today?” he asked. “If de Lara is
not fooled by your disguise, Father’s predictions might come true – he may have
us all arrested.”
      Mathias
shook his head. “I cannot imagine the man would arrest us all,” he said. “In
fact, I do believe he will appreciate the level of competition if I am his
opponent.”
    Sebastian sighed, setting down the pole.
“We did not discuss the mêlée,” he said quietly.   “If you compete in that, then you will indeed
be taking up arms again.”
    Mathias looked at his brother. “I will be
taking up arms in the spirit of sport, not for battle,” he said patiently.
“There is a difference.”
    Sebastian wasn’t so sure but he didn’t
argue with him.   Mathias was always the
level-headed one, the brother with the most common sense and good
judgment.   Sebastian would have to assume
he was right even if he disagreed with him.   As he went back to work on Mathias’ host of tournament instruments,
Justus reappeared in the room.
    “Mathias,” the old man gasped, his face
taut with panic. “De Lara is here. He has asked for you.”
    Mathias didn’t react for a moment; he
simply stared at his father as if not quite comprehending the words. But
quickly enough, he realized what the man said and immediately began unstrapping
the plate armor around his shoulders.
    “Sebastian,” he hissed. “Help me get