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Llion to one side by the bicep and clearly was interrogating him. Llion, in turn, had both hands set firmly on young Alaric’s shoulders, and was shaking his head.
    All this Kenneth noted, the while watching Brion sidelong as the two of them rode out to meet the rider in black. All around them, a hush of anticipation was settling over the field. It was not uncommon for newly fledged knights to accept challenges in honor of their coming of age as warriors—Brion had been doing it all afternoon—but clearly, this challenger was new come to the field, and unknown to virtually everyone save Kenneth and, apparently, the king. When the rider had come within a few horse lengths of the king, he halted and slowly dipped his lance in salute, letting its tip rest lightly on the ground.
    â€œHail, Brion of Gwynedd,” he said quietly, blue eyes ablaze within the shadows of his helm. “I offer you the reverence accorded a king, but my business today is with Sir Brion Haldane. Will he honor me with a
pas à barrière
?”
    â€œYou . . .” the king whispered wonderingly. “You were at my coronation.”
    â€œAnd told you then that I should be there for you, when you have need. Today your need is to demonstrate that you are not afraid to face a seasoned warrior in battle. Your men are watching. . . .”
    He jutted his chin toward the outer boundaries of the tourney field, where the elite of Gwynedd’s fighting men were gathering along the rails: battle-hardened veterans and those newly belted, and also the squires and pages, Gwynedd’s future knights.
    â€œShall we?” Sé said softly.
    With a glance at Kenneth, the king nodded gravely. Nodding in return, his opponent lifted his lance and wheeled to head for the far end of the
barrière
along which the two would ride. Kenneth accompanied the king to the opposite end and dismounted, giving his mount to Nigel and holding the head of the king’s horse while Brion selected a lance.
    â€œI know he’s a Knight of the Anvil,” Brion said quietly, staring down the
barrière
as Kenneth helped him seat the lance. “Anything I should know about their jousting strategy?”
    Kenneth only shook his head and chuckled as he reached out to adjust a stirrup buckle. “Nothing
I
could tell you, my prince. They spend hours every day, honing their fighting skills. He will probably trounce you right royally—which is as it should be, on this, your first day as a newly dubbed knight. But he won’t humiliate you. What he does, he will do for your own good, to remind you how much you still have to learn.”
    â€œI already know
that
,” Brion muttered under his breath.
    He bent helm to lance far enough to tap the visor into place, then let Kenneth lead his mount into position, to the right of his end of the
barrière
. At the far end, his opponent sat statue still, white-painted lance at rest in one gloved hand, stark against his black raiment.
    Heart pounding as if it were he, about to face Sé Trelawney, Kenneth moved back a few paces, easing toward the sidelines with Nigel. He had no doubt that Brion would be taught an important lesson today, but the means had yet to be shown. What he did know was that Deryni did not come much more puissant than Sir Sé Trelawney, especially when honed by the rigorous training of the
Equites Incudis
. Could the less experienced king take a pass from the Anviler knight? That remained to be seen.
    The two eyed one another for several long seconds, holding their increasingly fractious mounts at either end of the
barrière
, until suddenly, as if by unspoken command, both loosed their steeds in the same instant and came thundering down their respective lanes, lances dropping between horses’ necks and shields. The weapons were especially designed for tournament use, to break away on impact—and did, both of them shattering halfway along their