Morning, Liens's army camp.
The drums marking the hour rang throughout the camp. Inside the royal tent at its center, a guard beside the throne looked outside and judged from the sun's shadow that it was around eleven.
Just as he wondered whether the King of Knights no longer intended to accept the challenge, a messenger hurried toward the tent and bowed to the man seated on the throne beside him before reporting:
"Your Majesty!"
"Speak."
"Arthur, the King of Knights, has picked up your glove. Bedivere, the fifth seat of the Knights of the Round Table, pinned it to the gates of Kerimud City with an entirely silver sword!"
Silence.
A long silence.
The guard withdrew his gaze and cautiously glanced at the king beside him, hoping to gauge his reaction. Unfortunately, he could discern nothing.
The king's expression remained as it always had...
Arrogant.
"They picked up the glove... so that means they intend to fight. Correct? Has a messenger from Kerimud brought word of how many people King Arthur plans to bring?"
Liens spoke slowly, asking nothing else.
The messenger remained kneeling on one knee in salute, not daring to meet Liens's eyes as he respectfully answered:
"Yes, Your Majesty. According to the messenger, King Arthur intends to fight three against three."
"Three against three?"
"Yes."
King Arthur. Percival. Bedivere. Sovell.
Only three of their four senior figures were coming...
Excluding the one-armed Bedivere, that left the second and fourteenth seats.
That was what Liens thought.
He could not help feeling grateful that, in a sudden flash of inspiration that morning, he had added a rule to the challenge requiring them to fight on foot.
After he returned to camp, a scout had reported that the King of Knights' warhorse had died in the