The sun sank further down in the sky, reaching three o’clock. The bright rays of the sun cast light upon the plain, bathing the grass and hills and trees in a golden radiance. But with the light came heat. The fires of the sun beat down upon the knight on horseback. Clad all in silver armor, the mid-afternoon heat was magnified, so that beneath plates of iron, the knight’s sweat steamed down his body, the drops of boiling water doing more to heat than cool the Silver Knight. The tongue of the Silver Knight was parched by flames from the sky, and the swirling dust from the small road tormented his mouth the way whips may torture the flesh.

But through all the heat and bright light, the Silver Knight kept his gaze focused ahead, to the cursed West, where the light shone and seared the Knight’s eyes beneath his visor. There, on the top of a hill, stood a pavilion. It was decorated elaborately, each side of the pavilion a different bright color. The gaudiness was a sign of mockery, showing off, if you will. The pavilion belonged to a man the Silver Knight had met only once before, who always wore brown armor, made of iron one inch thick. The Brown Knight and the Silver Knight had encountered each other two days ago, and the Silver Knight had been challenged upon disgrace to his honor to fight the Brown Knight. Never could the Silver resist a challenge, never could this determined knight accept the title of coward, that was why he was there, to battle for his honor.

The Silver Knight waited, feeling the dust blow against his face and knowing full well the dryness of the dust might soon be quenched by his own blood. The white horse which bore the Knight was impatient. It was a war horse, used to charging, racing, galloping, or impressing the mares through various acts, waiting was something it did seldom. No sound save the shallow breathing of the Silver Knight and the slight clopping of his horse’s hooves as it stamped with the urgency to simply do something disturbed the quiet upon the plain. At last, however, the sound waited an hour for, but seeming like an eternity, came. A horn blowing across the plain.

The Silver Knight knew exactly where the sound came from, from the richly colored pavilion. The sound announced the coming of the Brown Knight. With that horn blast a herald came out from the tent and blew another note, loud, powerful, commanding. The Silver Knight’s horse ceased it’s impatient stamping, and gazed at the pavilion expectantly. Following the herald, there came out two squires, looking tough, cocky, and sneered at the Silver Knight as though he was a fly without it’s wings. The squires walked right up to the Knight and one, the larger of the two, spat at the feet of the horse. This agitated both the horse and the Silver Knight. The Knight grasped his lance which hung at his side, and itched to use it. But not on squires did the Silver Knight focus his attention, he waited for the Brown Knight, then would he unleash the battle lust he had been sustaining for so long.

Then the squires parted in different directions, each about twenty feet from the Silver Knight, and while they sneered, a figure appeared from the pavilion. It was a man on horseback, bearing a large shield and a lance as sharp as a bolt of lightning. The man rode closer, drawing nearer to the Silver Knight. His armor was brown, so was his helmet, and his horse, the entire outfit of the Brown Knight was brown. The Brown Knight’s horse trotted closer and closer. The Silver Knight sat still upon his horse, awaiting the coming of his opponent. The Brown Knight came to a halt, and even through the visor covering his face, you could feel his glare staring at you.

Both knights, Silver and Brown, paced on their horses, inscribing a circle in the dust, always keeping a stare focused at each other, for both knights had never felt defeat, and in the battle which would commence, one must lose. They stopped pacing their horses, and Brown looked into Silver, and Silver into Brown, and both felt the impending fight, the sweat on their brow, the wounds on their flesh, the exertion of every muscle as they pushed might against might. Both knights faced each other, waiting for the sign, the signal, which would send one of them to defeat, and the other to victory. Behind visors the knights squinted their eyes, patience drawing thin, bursting with energy begging, pleading, and insisting on being unleashed. The sheer power in the bodies of the Brown and Silver Knights was barely restrained now, to be released suddenly and ferociously. At last it came, the herald’s trumpet blast. The fight began!

With the speed of a dozen horses, each knight grasped the lance at his side, and they were armed in half a blink of an eye. Both knights spurred their horses with all the strength in their heels, and the magnificently breed and trained stallions did what they did best, rushed at each other! The first charge ended with a flash, as lance against shield unleashed a spray of sparks. They didn’t care. The Silver Knight turned his stallion with expertise, and rushed the Brown Knight, full force of man and steed behind that lance. The Brown Knight swerved his horse towards the oncoming enemy, but did not have time to match charge for charge. The lance of the Silver Knight passed harmlessly by the Brown Knight, missing the flesh of its target, and barely slowed by breaking through the enemy’s lance.

The Silver Knight turned to charge again, as he had done just before and had done countless times in tourneys and battles. The two squires handed the Brown Knight another lance, and this time the two knights met again, force against force. But no shields were hit this time, and no lances either, lance met armor and flesh. The Silver Knight staggered as he galloped past, and was aware of a pain in his head. Touching the place of pain gingerly, he found his helmet to have been ripped open from the Brown Knights charge. Blood from the wound leaked down into his eyes, partially blinding him. Gazing at the Brown Knight through blood soaked eyes, the Silver Knight saw that his enemy had suffered a gash across his chest, large, but merely a flesh wound, and not sight hindering. The Brown Knight smiled as he saw the blood leak out of the Silver Knight’s visor. They charged again.

The chests of both knights heaved with the beating of their own hearts, racing madly with each charge. But little did two knights of so great skill care of the hammering of hearts. They were focused, they were in control, one thought alone was absorbed by their minds, How can I win, how can I defeat him? Silver against Brown, champion against champion, power against power. Little did blood drenched eyes matter now, charges were done by instinct, the Silver Knight could have done just as well if he was blind or possessing the eyes of eagles, his moves were so precise that almost never was sight needed. The Brown Knight raged in fury beneath his armor, How dare he think he might win against me!?

The charge began again, racing forward with all the strength that could be mustered by either. Lance met shield, spark erupted once again, a repeat of the first rush at each other. But neither Silver Knight nor Brown Knight would admit that once again they were matched, for in the same charge each struck a second blow. Turning their direction in midair as they leaped, both knights turned one charge into two. But the Brown Knight’s horse was the better, whether his master was or not, and so Silver Knight was bared down upon by Brown. The blow left a wound in the gut of the Silver Knight, blood sprayed forth underneath armor, gathering in pools until it seeped over through the gaps in the steel.

This did not halt the Silver Knight, pain did not cause fear in him, or cause him to pause, it enraged him, brought him to a boil. Backing up, sweat of heat and battle upon his hidden brow, the Silver Knight prepared to charge. All muscles tensed, eyes narrowed, teeth gritted, pain flared through thought and triggered rage and fury to it’s utmost extreme. The Silver Knight saw the Brown, ready, preparing to strike, and the two unleashed their pent up power at that instant, and both galloped over the grass, yelling cries of war and battle. The grass barely bent as they came over it, so speedy was their attack. To the squires of the Brown Knight each was a blur, one a silver lightning bolt, the other a brown gust of wind. Then both blurs met.

With strength ten times his own, the Silver Knight struck, his blow a viper closing in on it’s prey. There was literally a crack of lightning as the lance broke full force on the Brown Knight. Then, by all misfortune, the Silver Knight’s horse stumbled, and before the steed could right itself, the Silver Knight saw a lance lifted over his head. The Brown Knight had his enemy at mercy, except that he did not beg for any. It would all be over, with one blow the Silver Knight would lose for the first time, and with that his life would be lost as well. But, just as the lance was going to come down, it dropped to the ground, harmlessly. The Silver Knight looked, and beheld that the Brown Knight grasped his chest, and slowly but steadily fell to the grass.

The Silver Knight sat stunned, seeing that his blow had bruised his enemy to the extent where he could not fight. Then, very slowly, the Silver Knight removed his helmet and wiped away the blood with his gauntlet. Blond hair waved in the breeze, a face both kind and righteous smiled. But it was more than what you could see on this face that made it special, for victory shone their, a light which you couldn’t see, but felt in the deepest part of your soul.

“The winner,â€