The Sword and its Chosen

Andras and Kesh ride beneath the carved arches of Victor’s Feast Hall, Vale’s message and the route parchment secured beneath their cloaks. Andras’s loosened linen binding tugs at his forearm with every movement.

The herald steps before the gathered nobles and raises a silver staff. Servants pause beside the tables, their attention fixed on the riders and the concealed documents.

Lord Veyr rises from the victor’s table, his large leonine frame wrapped in formal crimson and gold. Practiced surprise widens his eyes, but his gaze drops briefly toward Kesh’s cloak.

The tournament organizer stands near the dais, no longer pretending to study the musicians. His attention moves between Veyr, Kesh, and the sealed message beneath Andras’s cloak.

A hush gathers around the victor’s table. Nearby servants remain motionless with lowered eyes, listening for the accusation, while Kesh’s hand settles near the golden blade.

Andras retrieves the black-crescent token from beneath the edge of the victor’s table, where it had been discarded, and places it before Lord Veyr. The brief search draws the nearby servants’ attention and costs him the chance to study the hall’s wider reaction.

Lord Veyr’s practiced surprise vanishes. His lion ears angle back, and his fingers close around the table’s gilded edge as his eyes fix on the crescent mark.

Kesh steps nearer, one hand resting beside the oath-blade. Around them, the nearby servants lower their eyes, while the tournament organizer stops pretending the musicians hold his interest.