But the horns, and the roars, were different. Toby had the spear locked under another man’s arm, and he couldn’t reach his dagger, and his life was in peril—and there was cheering. The other man pushed him down, wrenching his arm—dislocating his shoulder—and Toby went down, face-first, into the mud. But the cheering went on and Toby was determined not to die, and in a paroxysm of exhausted muscles he rolled over, dagger in hand.

The captain had put his sword in the other man’s eye. He pushed the corpse to the ground.

And then, the Black Knight was there, mounted on a tall black horse.

A space cleared. The brigans wanted no more fight, and yet were too proud to yield. But something had changed—the cheers were everywhere.

“I am Ser Hartmut Li Orguelleus,” he said. “I challenge you—face me, or be thought craven.”

Toby could only just see him—a huge figure in black armour. With a sword that burned like a torch, and made a faint sound, like running water.

Ser Gabriel coughed. But then he sighed and raised his visor. “Ser Hartmut,” he said.

“No!” roared Ser Gavin, and Ser Gabriel was thrown roughly to the ground. Gabriel looked up, somewhat surprised.

Ser Gavin towered over them on a sweat-besmothered war horse. His small axe dripped blood.

“My fucking brother has defrauded me of every worthwhile fight I should have had this spring,” he said. “I’m Ser Gavin Muriens, Ser Hartmut, and I insist on being the one to kill you.”

Ser Hartmut growled. Behind him, his men were flinching away down the hill.

Hartmut didn’t speak further. He reached up and pulled his heavy great helm off his back and over his head. Then, as his horse fretted, he took a heavy lance from his squire and sheathed his fiery sword.

He charged.

Ser Gavin had no lance.

He charged anyway.

Hartmut’s lance tip swooped down, and Gavin caught it on the haft of his little axe—his hand went out under the lance as the two horses crossed noses, and he caught the outside of his opponent’s bridle in his left hand.

The black horse twisted, attempting to right its head.

The reins snapped.

Gavin’s axe shot out—and struck Hartmut in the helmet. The blow did not damage him, but the Black Knight fell straight off his horse.

Gavin brought his mount around. Hartmut got to his feet—favouring his right leg—and drew his sword, which burst, again, into fire.

“An attack on my horse?” he said. “What a cowardly act!”

Ser Gavin laughed. “It is always comforting to take cover behind the rules, isn’t it?” he asked. “Especially if the rules always benefit you.”

“Dismount and face me!” Hartmut called. “Or be branded a coward.”

Gavin showed no sign of dismounting. “You mean, get off my war horse and face your magic sword?” he asked.