Everyone watched in awe as Finnan and Anseis surged down the final straight, with the human knight whacking his steed so hard in the flank with his spurs and lashing so hard with the reins that it was a wonder he didn't draw blood. Meanwhile, his halfling competitor was still clutching a snake in each hand, arms high in the air as he tried his best to keep them clear of both horses.

It was anyone's game, and Ren felt so woozy that he had to lean against his staff as he looked on, eyes wide and teeth digging into his lower lip.

In that moment, the world seemed to slow down... and as the two opponents came truly side-by-side at last, Anseis' horse twisted its head away from the snakes, teeth gnashing as a whinny broke the air.

Then, in a blur like a pair of falling stars, both riders crossed the line at a pace too close for Ren to see who won. It had just happened so fast...

Every part of him felt weak, his eyes flickering for a moment. But he fought to keep looking on. He had to know the result.

Some time after Finnan and Anseis, the other riders came rushing along, and every rider soon came to a halt on the other side of the finish line, the six steeds panting as their flanks and legs glistened and trembled under the sun. Meanwhile, the entire stadium felt like a cello string about to snap - a tense, impatient silence swallowed every man, woman and child as they all turned one way – to just beneath the royal box, where the man keeping the laps stood.

As Ren followed their gazes, said man hurried down a set of wooden steps to where the royal herald was sat in a chair at the foot of the raised platform he spoke from. The lap-keeper whispered, his hand held up to shield his lips from any prying, to which the herald gave a nod. Then, the orator rose from his seat, adjusted his surcoat, and stepped up to address the crowd.

"First place goes to..." he paused deliberately for effect to draw out the tension "... the Yellow Team!"

The crowd let loose a gasp of shock and awe in unison, only to then explode into a cascade of applause and cheering. The joy was deafening, and soon, every mouth in the crowd was chanting "Finnan! Finnan! Finnan! Finnan!"

The sound was so loud in Ren's ears that it was like a hundred Thunderwave or Knock spells had been cast around him all at once. Eyes pinching shut, his hands flew up to cover his ears.

But just as he did that, he watched as, to his surprise, Finnan remained sat in Ruby's saddle and thrust his hands up to the sky, the two snakes he'd grabbed right off the course track still gripped in both his fists.

How he'd managed to do that during the race, let alone could remain there so calmly while two literal predators were squirming around in his hands, Ren had no idea. But the sight of it stirred a small something in him, like a small glow of embers in a fire, and before he knew it, he was lowering his hands.

The sight was... inspiring.

And it had come just in time too, for as he lowered his hands, the wood elf glimpsed two blurs in the corner of his eye. One of gold, yellow and the most brilliant blue, followed by another of navy, silver and black...

~~~

Logan was so amazed by what he was seeing that it took him a long moment as he looked to his right to see that it was Arabella who had been clinging to his arm as the race came to a close, her hands wrapped around the chain links of grey iron that surrounded his bicep.

Any other time, he might have frozen at the sight of that, especially when the princess looked his way, met his gaze, and blushed a delicate pink... but he couldn't spare a second for that now!

The moment Finnan crossed the line, Logan's body was buzzing with joy and excitement, his muscles electrifying with the desire to act. And he wasn't alone in that! As he sat there processing the halfling's victory in the race, Arabella had already let go of his arm, slipped deftly past Ren, and was hurrying as fast as she could down onto the track.

Spurred by relief and excitement, Logan soon followed right after her, and the sound of a lighter set of footprints behind him told him that Ren was doing much the same. The three of them spilled out into the torn-up racecourse and hurried towards Finnan.

All of them were buzzing with joy, but that sensation quickly mutated into alarm when, as Ruby trotted up to them with Finnan on his back, the snakes were still held in the halfling's grip. Right up until Romain joined up with them on the track, their druid friend was still holding onto them, shaking his wrists about and jabbering loudly in a language of shrill pops, shrieks and hisses.

"Finnan!" Romain yelled. "What are you doing?!"

The halfling glanced his way briefly, then returned to wrestling with the snakes. "Trying to get them to stop!" he shouted.

Arabella stood with her fingers covering her mouth. "Drop them, Finnan!" she called out as loud as she could. "You could hurt yourself!"

Her response clearly fell on deaf ears, for Finnan continued to try and wrangle the animals more and more before eventually shrieking "They won't listen to me!" as his eyes bulged in alarm.

"Quick!" a voice with a Milisevran accent called, and the party turned to see the court wizard, garbed in his scarlet robes and hat, standing at the bottom of the stands. Leaning over the barrier, he waved a hand in his direction and shouted "Throw them this way!"

With a yelp, Finnan did as he asked, whirling around in a green blur and yeeting the two legless reptiles through the air. As the snakes streamed towards the stands, there were a few cries of panic from the audience, but the court wizard drowned out their fears by thrusting his hand forth and yelling "Magic Missile!"

At those words, four silvery darts of energy shot from his fingers, weaving through the air as two homed in on each snake. Then, there was a rapid series of booms, the air rippled with magic, and all that was left of each animal was a fine red mist.

A few onlookers clapped as they saw this, and once the snakes were assuredly gone, Arabella was already hurrying forward. Helping Finnan down from his saddle, she lowered him to the floor and pulled him close to her chest as she knelt on the torn-up racetrack, tears streaming down her face.

Logan couldn't help but grin at the sight of this, and as their hug ended, he moved forward to place a hand on the halfling's head. "Well done, Finnan," he said, tousling his windswept hair as pride filled his heart.

From where he stood, Ren added "Nice work, little guy..." before Romain strode forward and knelt at the halfling's side.

"That was amazing, mon amis!" he declared exuberantly, rubbing Finnan's arm affectionately, causing a few leaves to come loose and sway down to the floor. "The bards will be telling stories of this race for years to come!"

Even Stalk, who had just made his way in at a more casual pace, looked impressed by what he had just seen. And Arabella was beaming all the while as she gazed upon Finnan and said "I'm so proud of you..." with teary eyes.

Most people would have been exhausted after doing what Finnan had just done in the race. But instead, the moment Arabella let him out of her grip, the halfling was already bouncing off the walls, running back and forth between each party member like he was a kid after a hundred sweet rolls.

"There... there was... he... h-he... he was..." Finnan stammered and babbled, wildly hopping up and down as he threw his gaze around almost desperately, eyes wide and pleading.

As if... as if he were trying to say something to them.

Logan might have been inclined to laugh at what he was looking at, but as he saw this, any humour in his soul faded and the smile on his face died down.

"Finnan? What's going on?" he asked.

Immediately, Finnan spun around to face him. "The snakes!" he squealed. "They came out of... they weren't out of the wilds! They knew nothing but how to kill!" He jibbered and jabbered loudly, hands flailing around in wild gestures. He then shivered as he clutched his hands to his chest, eyes falling shut as he said "I heard their voices... they were so violent... too cruel to be real animals..."

The air immediately stilled around the party as he said that; then Arabella walked over to Finnan and placed her hands on both of the halfling's shoulders, stilling his movements as much as she could while her voice gently shushed him. "Ssssh... Finnan, sweetheart. Just try to calm down," she said tenderly before her hand moved to his cheek. "Where did the snakes come from? Did you see it?"

It took a few seconds, but eventually Finnan took a deep, shaky breath and stopped moving. And then, he told them everything. And his words made everyone's eyes brows rise.

"They belonged to the yellow knight..., uh, Anseis!" Finnan told them, eyes suddenly brightening as he recalled the name. "It was his shield! The snakes came out of his shield!"

Logan blinked, alarm coursing through him, and as he glanced up, he saw a few of the others reacting in other ways; Arabella's and Ren's eyes widened, Stalk cocked his head, and Romain remained still and silent.

Ren was the first to speak up. "Do... do you think the snakes just gave him a spook?" the elf wizard asked aloud.

Logan turned to face the wizard and, after a pause, said "Maybe..." aloud.

"Well, who wouldn't be?" Stalk asked, standing with his arms folded. "I don't like snakes myself, and well... Finnan is Finnan."

"That may be so..." Arabella's soft voice then said as she looked between the three of them before finally settling on Logan. "But... I've never known Finnan to lie. Not even at the worst of times."

The earnest gleam in the high elf's almond-shaped eyes, and the matching gleam in Finnan's, made Logan's heartbeat stutter for half a moment. He briefly entertained the idea that he was siding with them purely because they were near and dear to him, which would have been unjust, even if it hurt...

But Logan knew a liar when he saw one, and the moment he saw them, something immediately clicked. Not in his head, but in his gut.

As his body was firing up to act, however, an unfamiliar voice remarked aloud "Phew, well that was a close one!" and caught his attention. Turning his head, he was then met by a bright flash of light and the words "Misty Step," uttered in a calm, casual tone. And as the incandescent burst faded into silvery mist, a large red hat and matching robes emerged from within.

The court wizard.

At his presence, Arabella rose from kneeling before Finnan. "Pardon me, sir, but would you be so kind as to help us?"

The wizard's reply was to smile, brazen as you please, before he said, "Forgive me, fair lady, but I believe I already have." He then reached up with a soft suede glove and tipped the brim of his hat to Arabella. His fashion extension was a comically large thing, floppy as a prize-winning fish, and shaded his long, narrow face and even longer beard – a twisted mass of black wire that hung from his chin like a stalactite – from the incandescent sun.

"Nilrem Ahriman, Wizard Royale to His Majesty, King Charles the Wyrmslayer..." he declared. "And forgive me, my lady. Your companions are known to me by name... but you are not," he told her as he ran his eyes slowly over the knights of the Yellow Team and back to her, the corners of his mouth slowly arcing like a pair of sabres.

Blinking and folding her lips briefly, Arabella's hands moved to her skirt and held them as she dipped down and curtseyed, saying "Lady Arabella Moonflower..."

The curving corners of Nilrem's mouth quivered, his own lips wet. "A pleasure..."

Logan felt his teeth clench together in the corners of his jaw, a dull scraping sounding within his skull as something propelled him to step forward. "Forgive me for interrupting..." he said, his tone a little stiffer than he would have liked. "... but I think we have more pressing matters to attend to."

It seemed that Nilrem had caught his meaning, as the moment Logan spoke, he lifted his gaze to peer up at the paladin from beneath his hat. His ears were tapered, though Logan couldn't see the tips, and his eyes were a deep, sinister crimson – darker than his clothing, yet somehow more saturated. Impossibly so.

"Indeed we do," the spellcaster replied, smirking. "I wouldn't worry about those snakes, Sir... Galehaut, wasn't it? They're a common sight in Milisevre, especially at this time of year." As he spoke, he pointed a finger up to the bright blue sky. "It's the hot climate, you see. Makes them more active – much to the chagrin of our farmers, as I'm sure you can imagine..."

There was an air of patronizing superiority in the wizard's tone that made Logan want to scowl. But, holding his tongue for now, he turned to Ren. As ever, the wood elf was clutching one of his arms shyly, only making eye contact long enough to say his piece.

"That does check out... It's the middle of summer, after all..." His tone was softer even than Arabella's, his mouth pulled into a lipless line of uncertainty and nervousness.

It made sense on the surface, undeniably. And yet Logan felt his throat tighten around the facts as he tried to swallow them.

"I see..." Logan said at length. "Well, accidents happen, I suppose." Tongues of fire roiled and coiled in his chest, yet he was able to hold it down.

"Exactly!" Nilrem replied, red eyes alighting with joy. "Anyways, now that's been sorted, the tournament can continue as planned."

There was something in his tone that made it seem like he'd said that before... but before Logan speak, the court wizard gave a flick of his wrist and, in a puff of smoke, summoned an arcane hand shimmering blue-white light. The Mage Hand then took his hat in its five translucent fingers, and as Nilrem bowed, whirled the hat in a wide, elegant and eye-catching sweep that made some girls in the audience giggle.

Unsurprisingly, Nilrem's attention was soon drawn their way, smirking like a snake himself as he sauntered off, with Logan's eyes trailing his every step.

The paladin stood with his arms folded, his attention as locked in place as he was, until a voice roused him from his state of fixation. The voice said his name, and he turned to see Romain standing beside him, hand raised tentatively as if to touch his shoulder.

"Mhm?" Logan asked. He could feel his jaw still grinding side to side, the dull scraping sound still thundering inside his ears. Glancing around, he soon realized that some time must have passed while he was focusing so closely – Arabella and Finnan were walking away hand-in-hand, and Stalk and Ren were nowhere to be seen at all.

Of his team, only Romain remained, and the Milisevran's focus was entirely on him.

"What is it, Logan?" he asked softly, eyebrows pinched in concern.

Sighing, the black-haired paladin told his fellow oathsworn and friend, "Romain... I think Finnan was telling the truth. I think Anseis and the Green Team might be up to something." He kept his voice low, but before his friend could reply, he raised a hand and said:

"Think about it – you know as well as I do that Anseis and his team are not the most chivalrous of men. I wouldn't put it past them to try something. Besides... I don't think Finnan has it in him to lie about anything, least of all this."

He felt his heart rise as he spoke, and knew it meant he believed in his words. And yet despite his certainty, said heart fell when he saw Romain shake his head.

"I... must disagree," he managed to say. "I dislike them too, but being unkind doesn't mean they'd be so brazen as to cheat," Romain replied. "And besides, we were literally just speaking to Master Nilrem – if they were using magic, he'd know."

Logan's reply was swift and sharp as a blade. "I wouldn't trust that man to regulate anything, let alone a tournament between knights." He couldn't explain why, but something in the wizard's tone made something scrape up his spine. The colour of his eyes, his flamboyant demeanour, and his slimy smirks made Logan grind his teeth all the more. "I'm not sure we can take his word as honest."

Romain arched an eyebrow. "Forgive me, Sir Logan, but Nilrem's been the court wizard for as long as I can remember... and I know this land's history like the back of my hand. In every tourney yet, there've been no magic-use incidents of any kind. I think, if there was any cheating going on, it would've been discovered by now – if not by him, then by someone else."

He took a step back, eyebrows lowered as denial and dismissal flared in his gaze. "I think we can take that as read, don't you think?"

And with that, he turned and parted ways – just as the royal herald began to speak again from the direction of his platform, addressing all within earshot:

"'Allo 'allo! In last place came Sir Rogar de Runcy, of the Black Team!" he declared, looking down at a knight who had a black kerchief tied around his arm. "Though you competed well and honourably, it pains His Majesty to inform you and your companions that you are out of the tournament! The remaining five teams shall present themselves at the archery range within the hour!"

Sir de Runcy scowled, dismounting his horse and tearing off his helmet to hurl so hard at one of his squires he knocked the poor lad over. He then spat in the face of his horse and stormed off, ripping his black kerchief to pieces as he did so.

Despite the herald's words, though, King Charles didn't seem to give a wit about him in any capacity... for instead, when Logan looked towards the royal box, which the herald's stand was next to, he felt a jolt of surprise lance through his chest to find that he was meeting the king's gaze!

While the royal herald's voice, blending into the background, called once again for all the competitors and spectators to move to the archery range for the next competition, the King remained sat calmly in his seat, back straight and chin held high, a smile on his lips and a gleam of intrigue in his eyes...