me.
“You know what you’ve just done,” Lyn admonished.
“I called upon the lord of these lands,” I said. “Lodging or challenge will be ours now.”
“If you’re a monk upon the road it would be lodging. But you two… Why do men love to fight so?”
“Not love, duty,” I pointed out.
“If you set yourself to master other men,” Marrok added, “you have to prove to be their master.”
Lyn frowned. “There’s only one man I wish to see mastered right now, and I need at least one of you alive to do it. Don’t forget your duty to me . To Nessie.”
“Never,” I swore. But duty in this time of Arthur was a complicated thing. I rummaged through our packs for my golden helm.
When the great doors rolled out, it was clear my challenge would be answered. Trailed by a half-score knights and squires, the lord of the castle came, his steel-blue helm in one hand and a sapphire-hilted sword in the other. The scales of his armor glinted with a hint of the blue of the forge, perfect complement to the blued-leather hauberk on which they hung. The young man following him most closely carried his shield, twin to the indigo one that hung like a proclamation in the elm.
“What business have you here?” The lord’s voice was strong, though he’d likely seen a quarter century in the lists. Mid-forties, perhaps, nearing fifty, gray already salting in his beard. That he still met each challenger himself was surprising yet commendable.
“These men travel in my name,” Lyn said, speaking before either Marrok or I could. “We’re on a desperate quest, one that brought us, inadvertently, to your door.”
Inadvertently ? I scowled, but held my tongue. Rank here was as complicated as duty, but Lyn held it above Marrok who, knight that he was, held it above me, fourth son of a petty king.
“I saw your coming, my Lady, and theirs. I cannot let you pass without challenge.”
“Saw?” Lyn asked.
“I know your quest. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“A righteous man who knew why we ride would offer us food and lodging and help us on our way.”
“A righteous man would,” the lord-knight agreed, weariness and regret heavy in his tone. “But I’ve not been righteous for a long, long time. Send me your champion. Let’s get this done.”
Marrok and Lyn both slid from their horses as I settled my helm in place. Exasperation sharp in Lyn’s eyes, she drew on my left gauntlet and Marrok my right. He shoved my shield into my hand and strapped it on. Lyn handed me my sword. Reluctant squires both, but efficient ones.
“Get it done quickly,” Lyn whispered, “and without hurt. If he truly knows who we are, I want to know how.”
“Your kitchen knave will do his best.” I bowed, half-mockingly, glad for the helm between my cheek and her hand by the glare she stabbed my way. I grinned back.
“Not too quickly,” Marrok said, and by the wist in his voice I knew he envied that it was me not him to face the lord-knight.
In all honesty, for whatever reason I wore the armor, it felt right to be readying for the fight. There were few things my body seemed born to. Pleasuring the two who stood behind me now was one of them. Swinging a sword was another.
I bowed my respect to the Blue Knight—to his age, his experience, his station. I had no doubt he would acquit himself well.
We circled one another and feinted once or twice, assessing the other’s mettle, his stance, how he held his blade. This part of the dance where we made our introductions was a particular favorite of mine. Not that I would draw it out beyond its usefulness, but duels were often decided in these few moments before blades ever touched. Weakness and strengths could often be read in these moments. Fear and confidence became readily apparent.
The Blue Knight moved with a fluid grace that belied his age. He held his blade with the easy confidence that came from experience. There was no rush nor hurry to his steps. No hesitation in his manner.
“You know what you’ve just done,” Lyn admonished.
“I called upon the lord of these lands,” I said. “Lodging or challenge will be ours now.”
“If you’re a monk upon the road it would be lodging. But you two… Why do men love to fight so?”
“Not love, duty,” I pointed out.
“If you set yourself to master other men,” Marrok added, “you have to prove to be their master.”
Lyn frowned. “There’s only one man I wish to see mastered right now, and I need at least one of you alive to do it. Don’t forget your duty to me . To Nessie.”
“Never,” I swore. But duty in this time of Arthur was a complicated thing. I rummaged through our packs for my golden helm.
When the great doors rolled out, it was clear my challenge would be answered. Trailed by a half-score knights and squires, the lord of the castle came, his steel-blue helm in one hand and a sapphire-hilted sword in the other. The scales of his armor glinted with a hint of the blue of the forge, perfect complement to the blued-leather hauberk on which they hung. The young man following him most closely carried his shield, twin to the indigo one that hung like a proclamation in the elm.
“What business have you here?” The lord’s voice was strong, though he’d likely seen a quarter century in the lists. Mid-forties, perhaps, nearing fifty, gray already salting in his beard. That he still met each challenger himself was surprising yet commendable.
“These men travel in my name,” Lyn said, speaking before either Marrok or I could. “We’re on a desperate quest, one that brought us, inadvertently, to your door.”
Inadvertently ? I scowled, but held my tongue. Rank here was as complicated as duty, but Lyn held it above Marrok who, knight that he was, held it above me, fourth son of a petty king.
“I saw your coming, my Lady, and theirs. I cannot let you pass without challenge.”
“Saw?” Lyn asked.
“I know your quest. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“A righteous man who knew why we ride would offer us food and lodging and help us on our way.”
“A righteous man would,” the lord-knight agreed, weariness and regret heavy in his tone. “But I’ve not been righteous for a long, long time. Send me your champion. Let’s get this done.”
Marrok and Lyn both slid from their horses as I settled my helm in place. Exasperation sharp in Lyn’s eyes, she drew on my left gauntlet and Marrok my right. He shoved my shield into my hand and strapped it on. Lyn handed me my sword. Reluctant squires both, but efficient ones.
“Get it done quickly,” Lyn whispered, “and without hurt. If he truly knows who we are, I want to know how.”
“Your kitchen knave will do his best.” I bowed, half-mockingly, glad for the helm between my cheek and her hand by the glare she stabbed my way. I grinned back.
“Not too quickly,” Marrok said, and by the wist in his voice I knew he envied that it was me not him to face the lord-knight.
In all honesty, for whatever reason I wore the armor, it felt right to be readying for the fight. There were few things my body seemed born to. Pleasuring the two who stood behind me now was one of them. Swinging a sword was another.
I bowed my respect to the Blue Knight—to his age, his experience, his station. I had no doubt he would acquit himself well.
We circled one another and feinted once or twice, assessing the other’s mettle, his stance, how he held his blade. This part of the dance where we made our introductions was a particular favorite of mine. Not that I would draw it out beyond its usefulness, but duels were often decided in these few moments before blades ever touched. Weakness and strengths could often be read in these moments. Fear and confidence became readily apparent.
The Blue Knight moved with a fluid grace that belied his age. He held his blade with the easy confidence that came from experience. There was no rush nor hurry to his steps. No hesitation in his manner.
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