The King's Deryni Read Online Free PDF Page A

so did he,” he added with a grin.
    As the pair wheeled for another run, Alaric came trotting up happily on his pony, his stack of ten rings borne proudly on his junior-sized lance.
    â€œPapa, did you see me?” the boy crowed. “Did you see?”
    â€œI did, indeed, and you did very well,” Kenneth replied somewhat distractedly, reaching down to take the pony’s reins. “You mustn’t gloat, though. Come up and sit with Llion and me. The king is going to have another go at Sir Jamyl.”
    Again baring his gap-toothed grin, Alaric let Llion take his lance to lean it against the fence, then clambered up to sit in the curve of his father’s arm, between him and Llion. Kenneth could feel him tense as the pair began their second run, always concerned for the king. This time, Jamyl’s lance shattered against the king’s shield with a force that sent the royal rider reeling precariously in the saddle, but Brion managed to keep both his seat and his weapon. As he drew up at the end of the
barrière
and turned, gentling his excited mount, he saluted with his lance, grinning.
    â€œAgain, Jamyl!” he shouted. “You’re going to have to do better than
that
. And I still think I can take you!”
    â€œYou can try, Sire!” Jamyl replied, good-natured laughter in his voice as he trotted over to the sideline and discarded what was left of his lance, then selected another from a rack.
    â€œI shall do more than try!” Brion returned.
    Again they took their places at either end of the
barrière
and prepared to engage, suddenly loosing to the charge, lances lowering as their horses gathered speed. This time, both lances shattered against shields, but it was Jamyl who reeled in his saddle, though he, too, quickly recovered his seat and pulled to a halt, tossing aside his shattered lance as he turned his mount.
    â€œWell struck, Sire!—but perhaps we should call this a draw,” he called, raising the visor of his tournament helm. “You very nearly had me that time! Give an old man a break!”
    Brion guffawed and handed off the stub of his lance to his brother Nigel, who was squiring for him, then trotted his horse back to meet Jamyl midway, halting knee to knee with him to clasp forearms across the
barrière
.
    â€œOld man, indeed!” the king declared. “But you’d better not be saying that just to salve my pride.”
    â€œI think not, Nephew,” Duke Richard said, chuckling as he walked out to join the pair. “It was well ridden—both of you. But your lady mother asks that this please be the last challenge of the day. You know how she dislikes the heat and dust. She would like to award the rest of the prizes, so that our guests can retire for a few hours to refresh themselves before the evening’s festivities.”
    Brion glanced toward the reviewing stand, where his mother and sisters were conferring with King Illann, then laughed and leaned toward Jamyl conspiratorially. “What she means is, she doesn’t want her hall polluted by a bunch of sweaty, smelly men who’ve been in armor all afternoon.”
    â€œCan you blame her?” Jamyl replied, grinning.
    â€œNo, but I really wanted to trounce you, Jamyl,” Brion responded, turning beseeching eyes on his uncle. “Can we not ride one more pass, Uncle? Please?”
    â€œOnly if you wish to incur the resentment of an exasperated queen,” Richard replied. “Be content with a draw, as Sir Jamyl suggests. Either of you could do far worse. Part as equals, knight to knight.”
    For a moment, Brion looked like he might continue to protest, but then he quirked a reluctant smile and pulled off his helm, handing it down to Richard.
    â€œOh, very well. I accept the draw.” He pulled off his gauntlets and tossed them into the helm Richard offered up. “And I suppose there’s an element of grace encompassed in the knightly vows I