Elora’s fists clenched. Her deceitful brother was no better than Osmont. She shook her head. As she glanced back at Julian, her heart ached. He believed her brother to be a worthy adversary, a skilled fighter. But the only skill Edward possessed was deceit.
A boom of thunder ignited the sky, and some spectators ran for more cover.
As Julian stopped Storm at his side of the field, the shield teetered in his grip. He could barely hold it, and it sagged sideways.
“This has to stop,” Elora proclaimed, rushing forward to the fence. “He’s already hurt!” Large drops of rain pelted her.
Mace shook his head. “He’s the only one who can stop this. He has to forfeit.”
Chills of dread engulfed her. Her chest hurt. Julian would never give up.
He turned Storm and started down the list. The final pass. The horses jerked forward, down the lists, the riders rhythmically moving with their animals. The steeds kicked up mud and water. The lances came down simultaneously.
Elora clutched the fence so tightly, her knuckles burned. The rain increased, pounding a tempo of doom about her, soaking her clothing and hair, and drenching the stands.
A spear of lightning struck a nearby tree with a sonic boom. Elora gasped and pulled back, covering her ears. People screamed and ran for cover.
Julian’s horse tossed its head and reared. He yanked on the reins as Edward’s destrier balked near him. Julian pinwheeled the lance over his head and flung it aside, pulling on the reins, turning Storm so he wouldn’t fall. His steed reared up, banging into Edward’s, causing Edward’s horse to rear onto his back legs.
Edward tried to gain control of the animal, but its back legs buckled, and the horse arced its body in a half-circle before crashing heavily like a tree to the ground, pinning Edward beneath him.
Elora moved forward to the edge of the stands, her fingers curving over the wooden fence. The rain pelted her with hard, punishing drops.
The horse squirmed, kicking its feet, and rocking until it finally stood up. Edward lay in the mud and water, painfully grasping his right leg. His squire dashed across the field to his area, sliding to his knees through the sludge. He leaned toward Edward’s helmet, listening, and then glanced at his leg. He frantically looked from side to side before hollering for a physician.
“No,” Elora mumbled. Fear clasped her heart in a tight grip, and for a moment, she couldn’t move. Edward was hurt! She chided herself for thinking him immoral and deceitful. She mentally shook herself and dashed from the stands through the field. Mud soaked her slippers, sucking her feet down as if trying to prevent her from reaching Edward. She fought through the mud, forcing her legs to move, and dropped to her knees at Edward’s side.
Through his helmet, his groans of agony resounded. He gripped his leg tightly.
Across from Elora, his squire shouted for a physician again.
A frenzied whinny sounded, and Elora glanced up to see Edward’s horse laying in the mud, its red rump cover so darkened by grimy mud that it was almost black. The horse tried to jerk upright but squealed and settled back.
Elora wiped the water from her eyes and turned to Edward. She leaned toward him, easing his helmet from his head. “Edward,” she gasped.
His teeth were clenched, and his eyes closed as he tossed his head from side to side. She touched his chest and leaned forward to speak to him, but he howled in pain, and she pulled back, curling her hands into her chest. Trembling, she sat in the mud, soaked through to the skin by the rain.
When the physician came, he stood over Edward with a sweeping stare for only a second before urgently motioning for others in the stands.
Elora glanced at Edward’s horse again. A man was inspecting the steed, running his hand along one of its legs. The horse kicked hard, letting out a low neigh. The man shook his head and stepped away from the animal. She knew enough about horses to know it was not a good sign if they were not on their feet. Another man approached the downed animal, drawing his sword.
Elora turned away. She couldn’t look. It was Edward’s beloved, trusted steed.
Frantic, Elora looked back at Edward. The horse must have broken its leg in the fall. It was always a death sentence for the animal. She glanced down at Edward’s injured leg as fear clawed through her. His strong destrier had to be put down because of his leg. What future would there be if Edward’s leg were broken? The thought sent immobilizing distress through her trembling body.
Edward groaned. His face twisted in agony, his teeth barred, his eyes squeezed shut. She wanted to help him but was afraid to lay a hand on him. She was terrified of causing him any more pain.
The agonized whinnies of Edward’s horse ceased suddenly as a soft rolling thunder filled the sky.
Four men jogged with a gurney across the field to his side. Two men moved to Edward’s shoulders, two to his legs. They lifted him from the mud, and he screamed in agony.
In her mind, Elora heard the horse’s cries. It couldn’t be saved. She was terrified Edward would meet a similar fate. They quickly placed him on the gurney.
Elora stood on shaky legs as they rose and carried Edward off the field. She followed slowly, trembling, shaking.
“Ellie!” a voice called.
She turned to see Julian running to her across the field. She wanted to race to him and have his arms around her. But she hesitated. She remembered how he had pulled the reins, and his horse had slammed into Edward’s. It must have been on purpose; for the same reason Edward had hit Julian’s injured arm deliberately. To win. Elora was learning that apparently no act was too extreme in the name of victory.
