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Whill, and Whill nodded back.

CHAPTER FIVE
    The Award Ceremony
    W hill raised his hand and waved to the crowd. In return they cheered loudly, fists pumping in the air, as the chant for Whill grew louder still. Among the cheering fighters he saw Abram, a large smile spread across his face. Whill gave a bow and walked to the fighters’ section. He was greeted with many congratulations and pats on the back as he ascended the steps to his seat. He stopped before Abram, who extended his hand and shook Whill’s heartily.
    “I never had a doubt.” Abram pulled him into a small hug, still shaking hands, and offered him a towel for his face. “That was some of the best swordsmanship I have ever seen. I see you’ve come up with some of your own moves.”
    Whill wiped the blood from his face. “I have only you to thank. You have been a great teacher.”
    The blood had stopped flowing from his nose, but his cheekbones throbbed. He was going to have two magnificent black eyes. He touched two fingers to the bridge of his nose with a grimace. “I think it’s broken.”
    “We’ll have you fixed up after the ceremony. You still have your reward to receive.”
    Whill had forgotten completely about the reward. His weight in gold—he could hardly fathom the wealth he had won. Lord Rogus again went to the front of the royal booth to speak. The crowd quieted.
    “I offer my congratulations to the young fighter, Whill. We should all take a moment to congratulate him.” Rogus began a slow clap which was taken up by the crowd. The coliseum filled with loud applause that sounded like thunder breaking over crashing waves. Abram nudged Whill, indicating that he should stand. Whill complied, a smile spreading across his blushing face. He extended a fist into the air, sending the crowd into loud cheers and whistles. He then sat and the applause died down as Rogus continued.
    “And now, for some light-hearted entertainment.” The gate opened and a mob of jesters, jugglers, and dancers filled the ring, followed by more than twenty men carrying great drums. The drummers circled the ring and began an intricate, upbeat rhythm. The pounding echoed throughout the coliseum. The dancers jumped and spun, putting on a grand performance. Four men costumed as dragons took up the center of the ring. Facing each other at a safe distance, they blew fire from their mouths. The crowd cheered, the drums pounded, the dancers reeled.
    To Whill the night had become surreal. He had beaten one of the most legendary knights in Agora. He thought of the gold he had won, and a possibility occurred to him. What if King Mathus made him a Knight of Eldalon?
    Soon the show was over and the colorful performers exited the ring. Trumpets blared as King Mathus himself entered the ring, followed by ten knights. He shone with a brilliant light as he walked to the center. He wore light armor of silver underlaid with light blue fabric. Upon his back was a large cloak that could easily have covered his entire body if pulled around. Light reflected from it in a way Whill had never seen. A dragonhide cloak, he guessed. The knights followed King Mathus in two rows of five. The front four carried a large iron chest between them. Behind the knights ten more men entered the ring pulling a strange-looking mechanism. It had four large wooden wheels and was itself made of wood. It resembled a large battering ram, but in the ram’s place was a long wooden beam with a metal rod through the center, teetering upon two shorter beams. At one end of the beam was a large basket, and at the other a chair.
    “Is that what I think it is? Do they mean to weigh me here, now?” Whill asked.
    Abram laughed. “Yes, I’m afraid so. It is a better show for the people to see you weighed. Have fun with it. Give them what they want.”
    King Mathus raised an arm and the crowd quieted again. He turned and addressed Whill. “It is time for your reward, young man.” He extended a hand.
    Whill felt the