Fairchild

[MedicMan]

James Fairchild galloped down the yard, aiming the blunted lance that he carried at the shield of the man riding on the opposite side of the fence. He saw that his opponent was doing the same, and he braced himself for the impact as the two riders drew level. James felt the impact in his arm as his lance struck home, and felt the full force of his opponent’s lance at the same time. James’ lance had snapped, and he dropped it as he rode on, whilst his opponent’s lance was still intact, and he kept hold of it as he reached the end of the fence. They turned, and the man opposite James raised the visor of his helmet.
‘Excellent, James!’ shouted the man, ‘we’ll make a knight of you yet!’
‘I’d be a knight now if you weren’t so obstinate, father!’ retorted James, and his father roared with laughter.
‘We’ll see, we’ll see,’ was his reply. ‘Take another lance, we’ll have one more go.’ One of the stable lads was offering James another lance and he took it, preparing to make one last charge. His father spurred his horse into motion and James did likewise, each man seeking to unhorse the other. They drew closer, and James again aimed his lance at his father’s shield. His father appeared to be doing the same, but at the last minute he brought his lance around so that it lay across his body, pointing out to the side and right in James’ path. James’ lance struck first but his father stayed in the saddle, and then the sweeping path of his lance hit James hard in the chest. He struggled to keep his balance but the unexpected blow succeeded in unbalancing him, and he sprawled backwards out of his saddle and into the mud of the yard. His horse continued to the end of the fence and then stopped as it had been trained to, and James struggled to get up. Behind him, his father handed his lance to the stable boy and rode up to his fallen son. He dismounted and removed his helmet, before holding out his hand. He winked. ‘Better luck next time, son.’ James said nothing, though he took the proffered hand and hauled himself to his feet. Neither man was wearing plate armour; it was heavy, and too expensive to risk denting in practice, so both combatants wore chain mail shirts. The armour was still heavy, and James grunted with the effort of standing – he could feel a bruise on his leg somewhere. He was about to say something, but a page had come up to the outer fence of the yard with a piece of parchment in his hand.
‘Sir John!’ he called. James’ father walked over and James followed, watching as his father took the message and read it. His father’s face grew dark. He dismissed the page with a wave of his hand, keeping the parchment clutched in his hand. His knuckles slowly grew white.
‘Father, what is it?’ asked James. Sir John didn’t reply, but slowly held out the parchment. James took it and began to read, his eyes widening as he reached the end.
‘But… I thought you’d killed it, or at least chased it from the estate! We haven’t seen it for years!’
‘It seems I didn’t do enough, James. It is back, and this time I’ve got to make certain I finish the beast off.’ Sir John strode off towards the manor, leaving James on his own. He waited for his father to get ahead of him, then began walking back to the manor himself.

When he got back, he found his father giving orders to anyone and everyone around him.
‘Have my armour cleaned and made ready in my chamber… sharpen my sword… yes, sound the bells…’ It was clear that James’ father intended to take no chances this time. James remembered what had happened last time the beast had come…
The bard who had been staying at the manor at the time had dubbed the creature ‘Le Mauvais’, the Evil One, and it had been terrorising the estate and the domains around it for several months. No one had been able to find the beast, nor had anyone even seen it, until Sir John personally led a hunting party into the woods. There they discovered the beast’s lair, learning that the bane of their estate was an alphyn – a lion with cloven hooves, two tails and the speed of an elk. None were thought to live in England, most bards insisted they inhabited the hills of the Welsh Marches, but Sir John had found one and he fought it. The beast had fought hard, but Sir John and his squires were the better fighters and would have killed it had it not fled. They had attempted to track it, but such was the alphyn’s speed they gave up pursuit, contented to have seen it off their land. Now, it seemed, the alphyn had returned, and Sir John was determined to slay it once and for all. James had been eight at the time, too young to help, but now he was nine years older and felt ready.
'Father, let me ride with you!’ Sir John turned to face him.
‘James, no. You’re not old enough, and I don’t think you’re ready.’ James had a retort ready, but his father had already turned away to be armoured.

 

[FragileWinter]

It's not my normal style of fantasy to read but I like it. I'm interested to see where it goes. By the way, if you need any mythical creature info, I've got plenty.