The flail came across and the sword met it in the air, the chain wrapping around the blade. The Mad Capon jerked hard and the sword was wrenched from Stoward Thom’s grip. The move left the fat knight open and Stoward Thom did not hesitate. He bull rushed, his shield a battering ram and the Mad Capon fell in an avalanche of flesh and armor, landing in a heavy heap. Stoward Thom pinned the Capon’s weapon arm to the ground with a talon, bashing him in his small face with the edge of his shield, again and again. It took eight squires to carry the fat knight from the field.

Things got much better after that.

Knights fell and victors were named and Pocket felt his luck change, witnessing skill at arms he once only envisioned in his imagination. In a furious battle, Poorly Well disarmed Blood Yolk only to have his own axe snatched from his grasp and used to defeat him. Pitch Feather and Sir Adelard the Pure agreed to fight without weapons in a strange, yet fascinating match where Pitch Feather emerged the victor, but Sir Adelard was so soiled from the mud he looked as black as his opponent. Pocket never saw Bronze Wattle, who battled in the opposite field, but news traveled quickly between the crowds and word was the famous knight was winning every match with honor. The lineup of knights in Pocket’s field was not without renown.

A hush fell over the people when the Dread Cockerel strode into view. Pocket saw him at the funeral, but only from a distance and in dim torchlight. In the light of day, the knight looked out of place, unwelcomed and unwanted. He was tall and rangy, with a sinister, smoke-like grace to his movements. Coburn resemble nothing so much as monstrous roosters, but there was something of the hawk in this one. His armor was the color of soot, unadorned, scarred and ugly; the mail around his legs was made of blackened rings. His feathers were a dirty grey, flecked with white and black, the long, usually vibrant tail feathers completely lacking in color. On his head was a leather coif, similar to the skullcaps worn by the squires, only this one was studded with metal and long in the back, falling around the knight’s shoulders. The Dread Cockerel’s deadly skill with a longsword was almost legendary, but for the tourney he wielded a cruel looking cudgel with an oaken handle and a head of iron. He did not carry a shield.