"Today, each knight will demonstrate not only his magical power—but his mastery over that power." He paused, letting his words sink in as the silver streak in his hair caught the afternoon light. "Today's trial is about control as much as it is about prowess. Raw magical ability means nothing without discipline, without the refinement that separates a true knight from a mere wielder of power."
His voice dropped slightly, forcing the crowd to strain forward to catch every syllable. "It is about magic, yes—but also physical ability. For what is a knight who cannot properly wield a sword? What use is a man who can command the elements but cannot command his own steel?"
As he turned to look at us, Mordred's thin lips curved into what might have been a smile, though it held no warmth. "Today, we separate the wheat from the chaff. Today, we discover who among you has earned the right to call himself Arthur's champion." His gaze lingered on each of us in turn. "Today you will be pitted against one another—your magical skills tested, yes, but your physical abilities will be tested as well. Your sword mastery, your ability to read your opponent in the heat of battle, your tactical acumen for making swift decisionswhen death hangs in the balance. These are the qualities that will determine whether you live or die in service to the crown."
Mordred paused to look at each one of us as though wanting to make sure we were paying attention.
"Magic without martial skill is chaos waiting to happen. A knight who cannot anticipate his enemy's next move, who hesitates when milliseconds matter, who allows his blade work to grow sloppy while focusing on arcane power—such a man is not worthy of Arthur's trust."
"Mordred does not know the meaning of the word 'succinct,'" Gareth whispered to Percival, who tried to hide his laugh behind a cough.
"For our first duel, I call forth," Mordred started.
The crowd then fell into complete silence, hundreds of nobles and courtiers hanging on his every syllable. Even the banners overhead seemed to still in the afternoon breeze, as if the air itself waited for Mordred's pronouncement.
"Sir Lioran of the Borderlands and Sir Balan of the Eastern Crosses."
“Balan?” Percival turned to me, concern written across his features.
It echoed my own.
Balan’s reputation was well-earned. He towered over the other knights, a mountain of muscle wrapped in ceremonial armor that shifted with the flex of coiled power. Even if Lancelot might have matched his height, he didn't match Balan's bulk. In fact, no one was as broad or as muscular as Balan.
Almost immediately, there was a flutter of conversation among the stands—everyone clearly shocked to find the two of us paired—Balan, the largest of the knights, and me, the smallest.
"Lioran and Balan?" Gareth said as he looked at Percival, and both shook their heads.
"There must be a mistake," Gawain added.
But I knew better. This was no mistake. It was completely intentional. Someone didn't want me to make it past this trial.
"Lioran," Percival started, but I interrupted him with a wave of my hand.
"No matter the size of the man, we all have our weaknesses, don't we?"
"Yes, but," Percival continued, but I cut him off as I took a step forward.
"Good luck, Lioran," Gawain called after me.
I gave him and Percival a quick nod, then took a deep breath as I stepped into the center of the arena and eyed my opponent.
Sunlight glanced off Balan's breastplate, glinting along every brutal line of his frame. When he flexed his gauntlets, the leather creaked like overstretched rope. Thank the gods this wasn't a physical trial only—because if it came down to brute strength, I’d be dead before I could blink. One punch from Balan and I’d be returned to Annwyn.
A murmur rippled through the crowd as he stepped forward—The Knight of Two Swords—broad, deliberate, and absolutely sure of himself. His shadow stretched long across the arena floor.
I glanced at Percival. He gave me a small nod, mouthing: “Remember your training."
Balan approached me with a cocky grin.
“This’ll be quick,” he announced, loud enough for everyone in the stands to hear.
We took our positions at the arena’s center, hundreds of eyes fixed on us. Arthur’s gaze felt like iron across my shoulders. My mind returned to the fact that I was fairly sure this had been designed as a way to weed me out. Because I was the smallest of the men, I knew I was considered the weakest, not to mention my unimpressive lineage. Perhaps Arthur's advisors had warnedhim against having such a small and unknown knight among his closest?
Well, I would prove them all wrong.
I looked at Balan.
Hopefully.
