Lienz was bustling—at least today it was. Taverns, weapon shops, and smithies overflowed with knights in every kind of heraldry, nobles and noblewomen, and an even greater tide of servants.

Lothar's party settled into an inn. Modell crouched by the hearth, drying the clothes the persistent rain had soaked through. Laine had carried out his task perfectly: he had brought back the lances and shields Lothar and Hans required, then gone to the yard to watch the smith's apprentice shoe their two newly acquired Hungarian horses. Lothar cradled a steaming bowl of oat porridge and took small sips.

Hans polished his new lance, his tension plain to see. Like Lothar, he had been only a squire until now and had never truly seen battle. His attributes suggested that his martial skill was already respectable, but skill that had never been tested was difficult to trust.

No one had announced the tournament's exact starting time. Yet when nearly the entire city began streaming toward the hunting grounds outside the walls that afternoon, everyone understood that it was about to begin.

The hunting grounds were the lord's private preserve. Poaching was a crime, its punishment ranging from a fine to death according to a lord's severity. Many lords regarded commoners as beasts fit only to eat grain; only meat-eating nobles counted as human in their eyes.

Lothar's party followed the crowd to the grounds, which were already packed. Timber stands encircled the tourney field at the center, grand enough to recall the amphitheaters of the old empire. Count Leopold's seat stood at the highest point.

Beneath its canopy hung the black eagle of the Greater Germanic Empire to the left and the red-and-white arms of House Babenberg to the right. Tiered seating rose around the field on both sides. In an age when most tournament grounds were crude and temporary, this was the equivalent of a great stadium able to hold tens of thousands.

"Count Leopold is an ambitious man," Lothar said.

"They say he intends to join this round of the Crusade himself. For now, though, he is still preparing out of consideration for His Majesty the Emperor."

For the past several years, the Emperor and the Pope had been locked in a bitter struggle. The conflict between imperial and ecclesiastical power had reached a fever pitch. The Emperor coveted the Church's immense wealth and sought to curb the clergy's influence, while the Pope longed to gather the princes loyal to Rome and march against House Hohenstaufen. War had ultimately been avoided, but the Pope had excommunicated the Emperor nonetheless.

Even now, when both sides showed signs of reconciliation, lesser lords still dared not act on their own before the Pope restored the Emperor to communion.

The Greater Germanic Empire was loosely bound, but the Emperor still commanded authority. As head of House Hohenstaufen, Emperor Henry ruled Swabia, one of the Empire's original four great duchies alongside Saxony, Franconia, and Bavaria. His power base was formidable. He was both the Empire's sovereign and its strongest individual feudal lord. Bohemia was stronger than any of the four duchies in sheer strength, but its Slavic population had long left it at the edge of imperial power.

Count Leopold's ambition was evident from the scale of the tournament alone. Most knightly tournaments offered no formal prize. The champion earned fame and honor, which were reward enough. Every victor could also demand ransom from his defeated opponent, or claim the loser’s armor and horse as spoils, just as in war.

For many lords, then, holding a tournament was a remarkably economical undertaking. Knights could display their prowess, catch a lord's eye and rise from landless knight to enfeoffed vassal, or build a name and bargain from a stronger position. A tournament was, in short, a vast hiring fair—an event nearly every knight had attended at least once.

Unfortunately, Lothar's father, Count Werner of Aargau, was simply too poor to support more knights. He had never held a tournament or sought to recruit one. Until now, Lothar had never truly taken part in this entertainment so beloved by medieval nobles and knights.

Tournaments were dangerous, of course. Few ended without injuries or deaths. Even with easily shattered white-ash lances and blunted, rounded sword tips, a real bout could still maim or kill. This was especially true for impoverished knights from fallen houses, men whose only armor was a patchwork ancestral harness little better than an antique.

One clash was often enough for an opponent to find a weakness in their armor and strike a fatal blow. Still, they flocked here in hopes that a lord might notice them and take them on as enfeoffed knights.

Modell brightened. "My lord, I hear squires who fight on foot can enter the tournament too."

Lothar shook his head. "Best not. Only knights may kill knights. If you accidentally killed one, you would likely pay with your life." The warning doused Modell's enthusiasm at once.

Then a clear, lilting song rose from the crowd. A bard from northern Albion danced as he played his lute. The Celtic folk of those islands seemed born to sing and dance, performing old favorites and occasionally improvising a verse of their own.

One bard spotted the veiled Prajna and brightened. Strumming his lute, he danced over to her side. "Oh, dark-haired beauty from the East, you walk beside our valiant knight—"

Still singing, he gave Lothar a flattering smile and held out his hand. Lothar smiled helplessly and signaled for Laine to place a coin in the man's palm. Prajna watched without expression. She had mastered the art of keeping her face blank; her eyes revealed nothing of what she thought.

A massive banquet table was laden with delicacies: roast pheasant, peacock, even swan, along with every kind of game and great pitchers of fine wine, all free for the guests to enjoy. It resembled a modern buffet. Some knights and their companions were already blind drunk, dancing with reckless abandon beneath the stands to the bards' music.

Before the Count's stand, a long wooden barrier ran through the center of the field, with simple rails around it. Once the tournament began, knights would enter from opposite sides and joust along the barrier. It kept their horses from colliding head-on and suffering irreparable injury.

Quite a few noblewomen had already reached the stands. They whispered as they appraised the knights appearing on the field. Some openly favored particular men, tossing them coquettish glances and garlands.

Many noble couples joined by political marriage placed few restrictions on one another's private conduct. A lady who took an interest in a knight might not only invite him into her bed, but also finance his equipment—and sometimes keep him as a long-term lover.

Ahead, a handsome, fair-skinned knight with brightly colored feathers in his helm waved at the stands like a peacock displaying for a mate. A chorus of shrieks rose from the noblewomen. Winning the favor of ladies and young noblewomen in the stands, securing patronage, or even finding someone willing to bankroll them was another goal for many knights.

Lothar noticed a small drama in the crowd. A knight in old armor exchanged a look with a young lady in the stands. Her eyes were full of worry; his face was set with determination.

The story was obvious: a penniless knight in love with a noble daughter. If he won the tournament—or merely distinguished himself—he might gain enough favor to become a suitable match for her.

Lothar did not think his chances were high. A fine suit of armor allowed a knight like Lothar to fight ten Magyar nomad riders at once. Armor and no armor, good armor and worn-out armor—those were entirely different things.

"Tournaments in this age really are fascinating," Lothar said. "Hans, have you ever attended one like this?"

Hans shook his head. "In my time, tournaments had become social performances. Knights dressed like gaudy birds and never had to fight at all."

He was dazzled by the spectacle, his blood racing as he imagined easily defeating one opponent after another before a roaring crowd.

"Look! The Count has arrived!" someone shouted.

The crowd erupted. In an age starved of entertainment, they were deeply grateful to the generous Count who had spent so much to give them such a magnificent spectacle.