really were in the same class when it came to the use of their weapons. Prince Perian might even be better. Perhaps his sneering look was justified.
Something in Tyrion resisted that notion with every fibre of its being. He was not prepared to let anyone beat him while there was still breath in his body. If he was going to lose this fight then he would need to be defeated fair and square. His opponent would win because he was the better warrior, not for any other reason.
The crowd roared as Tyrion went on to the offensive. He smashed aside Prince Perian’s shield with his own, stepped inside his guard and stabbed. Prince Perian parried desperately, padding backwards, obviously taken off guard by the change of pace and tactics.
Tyrion pressed home his advantage, sensing that he was never going to get a better opportunity to go in for the kill. He closed the distance, striking out at Prince Perian’s shoulder, numbing a nerve and causing the blade to drop from his hand.
It was over. Tyrion had won. He was the victor on the first day of the great tournament. The crowd chanted his name. It was more intoxicating than wine.
As he was taking the applause the herald beckoned him over. ‘Join the other contestants. The winners on today’s field are to be presented to the Everqueen.’
The Everqueen and her entourage entered the field. The face of every elf present changed immediately, taking on a glow of love and worship. They stared as if a goddess had just manifested herself in their midst.
Alarielle was beautiful, Tyrion did not deny that for a moment – she was tall, fair and possessed the most striking green eyes that he had ever seen – but he could see nothing to justify the adoration in which she basked. Powerful magic indeed was at work here. Was he the only one unaffected by it?
Even as the thought crossed his mind, their gazes met. A shock passed between them. She turned and looked away first. She seemed to have picked his face out of the entire crowd, possibly because it was the only one not wearing an expression of undying love, he thought sourly.
One by one, all of the final candidates for champion stepped forward to be introduced to her. She accepted their greetings graciously and as if it was her due. Tyrion found himself resenting this more and more as the ritual progressed. He tried to control his emotions, a thing he was normally very good at.
He struggled to make his expression bland and place a smile upon his lips but it felt unnatural and stilted. Whatever sorcery was being worked on the crowd was having the opposite effect on him.
He was not used to feeling such emotions. He was normally amiable. It was not because he was self-conscious around women that he felt this way either; there were few elf males who were less so. He greatly enjoyed female company. There was magic at work, he felt sure of that. And that in itself was unusual, for he was normally the least sensitive of elves as far as magic was concerned.
As she came ever closer, he began to get some idea of what he thought might be happening. There was an aura about Alarielle and it did seem to command love and respect. He suspected that whatever sorcery was present affected him differently. For some reason, something in him resisted it, and perhaps this anger was part of that process of resistance.
Suddenly they were face to face. Tyrion was a head taller and he bowed to her, not fully and formally as was expected but in the social manner in which one greeted an equal or near equal. He could hear gasps of outrage from the crowd and he suspected that if he was not careful he might get lynched.
The Everqueen did not seem to mind though. She seemed more intrigued than outraged, although that might simply have been good manners and self-control. Members of the Maiden Guard glared at him. They looked as if they would like to knock him to his knees with the butts of their spears. That was not something that you could do to a freeborn elf though. The Everqueen placed her hand on the arm of the captain of the guard to emphasise it, he thought.
A chamberlain leaned forward between them, stared coldly at Tyrion then made the formal introduction as politely as ritual demanded.