The two dukes regarded each other from opposite sides of the tournament field,

while their squires made the final preparations. High in the clear, blue sky the
sun burned, its rays punishing contestants and spectators alike. It was the third
day of the tournament, a tournament of which the outcome would determine the fate
of Bretonnia. There was no prize in gold to be gained. No mere maiden's love nor
field or forest was at stake here. For the victor would be declared King of
Bretonnia, successor of Louen the Lionhearted and master of the realm.

Eight dukes had entered the tournament. Six had been eliminated in previous rounds
during the past days- the dukes of Bordeleux and Aquitaine, Brionne and Parravon in
the first day, Artois and Gisoreux on the second day. Now only duke Huebald of
Carcassonne and duke Folcard of Montford remained.

The other dukedoms had proven unable or unwilling to present their candidates. Duke
Taubert of l'Anguille had declined the invitation so he might oversee the final
phase of some addition to his famed bastion. Bohemond of Bastonne, on the other
hand, claimed to have no interest in the title- which did not come as a surprise
for those close to him, for the grail knight was more at home on the battlefield
than in politics. Then there was Adalhard, duke of Lyonesse, who felt that rumours
of his Norscan lineage and several ill yet necessary choices in governing his
dukedom, in particular the upstart town of Nez, had cost him much support among the
dukes. Which left Couronne and Quenelles, yet both dukedoms found themselves
without a duke- Louen had no heir to succeed him, and the heir of Quenelles had
been missing for decades.

And so the fate of Bretonnia would be decided that day, not through lineage nor
appointment, but through the tradition of the joust. As was custom with such
tournaments, each contestant would receive three lances to break upon his opponent-
to break them on their opponent's chest would earn them one point, while breaking a
lance against the opponent's helmet was a feat deemed worthy of two points. If,
when all lances were broken, there was a tie, then the tournament would continue on
foot; a duel with blunt sword and shield. The first strike against body or head
would then mark victory and, by extension, the ascension of the new King.

Duke Huebald did not intend to let it come to that. He regarded his opponent,
draped in the black and white of Montford. His opponent's dukedom was a domain of
mountains and cliffs, unfit for the true cavalry charge- by necessity, Folcard held
the upper hand in combat on foot over any man in Bretonnia. No, the outcome would
be decided before Folcard could claim the advantage. Fortunately for the knight in
red and blue, Cacassonne was hardly the mountaineous place Montford was. There were
vast open fields there, perfect for the charge with lance and shield. Huebald's
experience in that style of warfare would bring him victory that day.

The knight extended his right arm outward, where a squire stood ready to hand him
his lance. The knight gave a kurt nod to his squire- no words were passed between
the two men, for what was there to be said at a momentous event such as this?
Huebald took the black lance offered to him and held it upright against his body,
the red and blue pennon lifted up by a cool breeze as it hung high near the lance's
tip.

The two knights then approached the bar, and the audience went quiet. There was
nothing but silence now, for none dared break the concentration of the contestants.
For a moment the dukes took each other's measure- Huebald realizing his wiry frame
would form a smaller target for the tall, broad-shouldered duke opposing him.
Another advantage to the duke of Carcassonne, and another reason why he would need
to settle this joust from horseback. Then the trumpets were sounded, a short, sharp
note to indicate the start of this final round. Both knights lowered their visor,
and spurred their steeds onward. The crescendo of hooves was all that could be
heard as all spectators sat motionless, breathless.
As the knights gained momentum they lowered their lances, leveling the cumbersome
weapons at their opponent. To hit such a small target as a chest or head, at such
length and such velocity, took skill no ordinary man could hope to achieve. Yet
Huebald and Folcard were not ordinary men- their skill at the joust was unrivaled
throughout the kingdom, as had been proven in days before.

Then the contestants crashed into one another, with such force the blows would have
been the death of them both had they not met with tournament lances. Nonetheless,
the blows were painful. Huebald cringed as a white hot pain rose up through his
shield arm, and had to force his eyes shut as his opponent's lance burst from the
blow. His lance, too, had hit against his opponent's shield, yet the weapon was
still intact. The duke of Carcassonne cursed as he finished the lap around the
dividing bar; if his opponent broke all his lances before any points were scored,
the joust would continue on foot after all.

He wasted no time in readying his mount for a second charge- already Folcard stood
ready with a second lance, staring down his opponent. Again the trumpets sounded
and the two knights barreled down at each other on opposite sides of the dividing
bar. Lances went down, and again the impact against Huebald's shield broke
Folcard's lance. The Carcassonian duke now cursed aloud, for again his own weapon
had only been able to graze Folcard's shield. He was getting the distinct
impression Folcard was not even trying to hit him, focussing entirely on defense
while being more than happy to break his lances in what appeared to be a poorly
executed attack.

His squire seemed to have the same idea. The young lad looked at Montford's duke
with suspicion. 'Duke Folcard's lances break... rather quickly, no?' Huebald looked
down at his servant. On one hand he agreed, but such insinuations were not to be
made lightly. To accuse a fellow duke, a fellow grail knight, of being less than
honourable was considered poor form. But for a squire to question his betters in
such matters was unheard of. 'You would be better off concerning yourself with my
horse and equipment, rather than utter such dubious claims,' he intoned with heavy
voice. Then he leaned in closer. 'Even if you are most probably right,' he added in
a hushed tone, earning him a smile from the boy.

The knights then readied themselves again, waiting for the trumpet to be sounded a
third time. The trumpeteer was quick to oblige the two dukes, who immediately set
out on the third charge. Huebald decided that this round he would make sure his
opponent's lance would not break, even if it meant allowing Folcard to earn a
point. To compensate he'd score two points by shattering his lance on his rival's
head.

Yet as Huebald raised his lance to aim for his opponent's head, Folcard made a wild
warding gesture with his shield- and dropped his lance in the process! Huebald had
no time to react- his weapon shattered against the oncoming duke's shield, while
his steed trampled Folcard's third and final lance. A cry of amazement when up from
the audience, and Huebald cried out in anger. Folcard had played him for a fool!
The audience would believe Folcard had dropped his lance by accident, a result of
his inability to cope with Huebald's sudden shift in aim. But Huebald knew Folcard
was too experienced a knight to fall for such tricks- he had forced the joust to
come to end in a tie, so that the outcome of the tournament would be decided on
foot! He had manipulated the tournament for his own selfish ambition!

Enraged Huebald retrieved his longsword from his squire, who was as perplexed as
Huebald was. Before the trumpeteer even sounded the start of the round the duke of
Carcassonne walked down the dividing bar, towards his approaching opponent. Beating
sword and shield together, Huebald offered a prayer to the Lady, just moments
before raising his sword to deliver the first strike. Folcard, too, raised his
sword, but in a manner far more calm and collected.

The two dueled for almost an hour, exchanging blows with one another to try and
land a single strike. Huebald put up a great fight, but he was unaccustomed to
fighting on foot- or more accurately, not as experienced as his opponent. Folcard
performed a feint overhead, then quickly drew back and thrust his blade forward
again- hitting Huebald in the ribs.

A trumpet sounded a long, high note. The battle was over. Folcard of Montford was
the new King of Bretonnia.

As the people cheered to greet their new king, Huebald could only stand there,
perplexed, and with great worry for the Kingdom's future.