‘My lucky shirt,’ he said, his Kudreyan accent still strong despite his obviously lengthy sojourn in New Perego ‘Never bloodied, never damaged, a gift from Gang Skor!’
He smiled, showing many gold-capped teeth, before being dragged away by his men. Haelward stared at him face blank as a stone. This was an arrogant one indeed.
They could hear everything through the door, the banter and abuse from the crowd, the ring of steel against shield, the cries and grunts of pain from the losers. Three people had been dragged back in through that door, at least one of whom would never get up again.
Then, at last, it was his turn. He heard the announcements and the febrile response of the crowd, their throats now hoarse and rasping.
‘And now for the final duel, a Kudreyan, a man undefeated, once a raider of these shores, now one of its greatest champions, the champion of the family Skor and terror of all other spike fighters throughout the land. Even those who have been here for only a day have heard of him. I give you – Coron Degg!’
And now Haelward entered his battle focus, concentrating only on those things that mattered to his survival, filtering out anything extraneous and irrelevant. The crowd noise fell and the announcer’s voice faded in his mind. He looked at Degg, standing next to him behind the old man in black. He was clasping and unclasping his palms and Haelward could even see a bead of sweat standing out on his forehead. Encouraging signs. Then the door opened and the volume of the waiting audience hit him almost like a physical blow. His mind went back a few years, to his last fight here. Nothing had changed; he knew exactly how things worked.
Degg took up his flail and buckler and walked out on to the bloody sand; arms raised to the crowd. Haelward then picked up his. Water dripped from the spiked ball of the flail, used to clean the blood off. Holding his flail up high, he took his position in the arena. Behind him he heard the flag being raised. The crowd volume soared but he ignored it. Just the flag, watch the flag. When it was lowered he knew what to expect.
It was only a second, but a second that seemed frozen for ever. He saw Degg’s eager face, desperate to get started. He gripped the buckler so tightly his knuckles whitened. Then the flag went down, the crowd screamed their hysteria and battle commenced.
Back in the waiting room, shortly after his arrival, the fighter Poul had come over to him. They remembered each other; Poul had been doing this for many years, after all. His speech was slurred, his eyes wandered absently, but he did say one thing that mattered. ‘Degg starts fast. His battles never last long. He overwhelms people early, so keep on your toes and keep moving.’
And so it was – in the same second the flag went down, instead of circling his opponent, Degg went straight for him, aiming a deadly blow directly at his chest. Haelward, correctly forewarned, saw it coming, though, and blocked it with his buckler. The blow, though, was powerful enough to make his hand sting and for the vibrations to travel up to his shoulder. There was no time to feel the pain, though, because Degg was on him again and the blow was on course to take his head off. Having no other recourse, Haelward threw himself to the floor, getting a mouthful of sand for his trouble. He rolled away from his assailant but could not stop another blow hitting him on the back of his shoulder. Pain shot through him and he felt blood dampen his shirt. It was a blow to his back though and did not count as a victory strike. Haelward got to his feet, keeping as far away from Degg as possible. Both men started to swing the flails over their heads, giving the duel a more conventional look.
They sparred for a while, defensive blow matching defensive blow. It was enough for Haelward to see that Degg was fast. Too fast. It would take luck, cunning, or both for Haelward to win here.
Then Degg was at it again, a lightning-fast advance and a strike like a cobra. All Haelward could do was lift the wooden stock of his flail up in a feeble defence. However, his luck held – the two chains tangled with each other leaving the combatants pulling hard at their weapons trying to topple the other off his feet. Inevitably, Degg was stronger. Haelward felt his balance go and over he went, losing his grip on his flail. Desperately he got to his knees. He was totally exposed and any blow could finish him off easily. For the first time he heard the crowd in his ears, anticipating the Kudreyan’s victory.
However, fortune still smiled on him. Degg was still trying to untangle the two chains. No blow came. Haelward grasped the stock of his weapon again, winding his wrist and so freeing both weapons to their owners again.
Still, they circled each other; he could tell the crowd were loving every minute. He was gratified to see that Degg was breathing almost as hard as he was. Then, however, the other man spoke to him.
‘You fight well,’ he said . ‘You have done this before, I can see that. It means nothing to me, though; you are still going down. Right this minute.’
It was the oldest trick in the book and Haelward fell for it.
Because Degg was speaking to him, it caused him to lower his guard and he did not see the ball of spiked metal until it was inches from his face.
He managed to move a little, stepping backwards and turning his head sideways, but he had no chance to avoid it completely. The flail caught his left cheek, cracking the bone and loosening his teeth. He slipped to his knees, spitting blood into the sand. He knew Degg would be on him again and blocked three blows with his buckler, denting it on each occasion. Despite the pain threatening his judgement, and the blood threatening to choke him, he regained his feet, earning a raucous cheer from the crowd, who, he sensed, were switching allegiances to his side.
This had to finish quickly; he could not stand up to much more punishment. He swung at Degg’s head. The man avoided it easily but the backswing caught the back of his neck, drawing Degg’s own blood, which, Haelward assumed, would soon be staining the back of his lucky shirt.
They circled once, then twice. Haelward realised that Degg was waiting for his injury and fatigue to take its toll. Both men knew it would not be long now. Haelward thought furiously; he had to do something. Degg’s look of expectant triumph was perfectly justified, for he felt his legs weakening and he could not keep spitting out blood for ever. There was but one desperate gamble he could think of. If it failed, he would definitely lose but, without trying it, he was a beaten man anyway. Haelward stepped forward and saw Degg preparing to defend a swipe of his flail. Instead, Haelward reversed his grip on his buckler and hurled it like a skipping stone straight at Degg’s face. It was not a lethal manoeuvre but a surprising one; Degg ducked and swung his flail at the thing, his concentration now broken and the right side of his chest momentarily exposed. Haelward continued his advance and swung his flail at Degg’s chest, hitting him square on the solar plexus. Stunned, Degg fell on to his back, looking dumbly at the front of his shirt, which was now beginning to colour with his blood, first a spot or two, then a livid crimson bloom that stuck the shirt to his chest. He had been defeated.
For the first time that night the crowd was stung into absolute silence, scarcely believing what it was seeing. Then, as a dam bursting at the press of too much water, the noise broke. The best fight of the night was the last one and the sound of the crowd surely rose to the heavens to disturb even the Gods.
Haelward dropped his flail and lifted his hand to the crowd. He staggered over to Odo Kegertsa. ‘Ten minutes, upstairs.’ He slurred before sinking to his knees and mopping up his blood with his shirt.
Ten minutes later that was exactly where they were. Odo sat flanked by two henchman, facing Haelward, a bloodied rag held to his face –someone who had been mobbed unendingly on his walk up the stairs to the seat he occupied now. Willem sat next to him; the two men had yet to speak to each other properly.
‘Well,’ said Haelward to Odo, ‘I have done as you asked. Now it is your turn – or shall it be said that the Kegertsas do not keep their part of the bargain?’
Odo smiled his mirthless smile. ‘Of course we do, but let us talk of tonight first. You defeated a man we all thought undefeatable. Lennark Skor
will be crying into his purse for months. Why not work for me? We could make a fortune, both of us. A soldier’s pay is a pittance anyway. Why not forget the war and stay here.’
Haelward dabbed his bloodied cheek. ‘I would rather face a hundred Arshuman spear than go through tonight again. Just bring the girl to us and we shall be gone from here for ever.’
‘The girl?’ said Odo, feigning surprise. ‘But I need fifty crowns before I release the girl.’
Haelward felt the pit of his stomach sink. ‘Is that not what I earned for you tonight?’
Odo snapped his fingers, causing one of his henchmen to lean over the table.
‘How much did I earn from the Degg fight tonight?’
‘Well sir, you were on course to make fifty five crowns on it tonight, but there was a late run of money on this fellow. You ended up with forty-three crowns.’
Haelward groaned; he knew exactly who had put the late money on him to lower his odds. Odo wanted to keep him here where he could keep earning for him. He had failed Willem and felt in too much pain to resist this manipulative criminal. His fogged brain searched for the words he needed but failed, leaving Willem to speak next.
‘You are saying you need seven more crowns before you release Alys?’
‘Yes I am. A few more fights from Haelward here and it will be repaid. Bear in mind, his odds have shrunk considerably from now on.’
‘And you are a man of honour, are you not? Do you swear that if you get seven more crowns you will release Alys to us?’
‘Of course,’ said Odo. ‘But you do not have seven crowns.’
‘No I don’t,’ said Willem. He stood and pulled out a pouch fastened to his belt. He loosened the drawstring and emptied its shining gold contents on to the table. ‘I have eight,’ he said, sitting back down again.
Odo was silent as a statue. Haelward looked over to Willem and saw something in him that he had never seen before, a firm line to his jaw, a steely determination – the callow boy had definitely become a man.
‘Well,’ said Haelward, ‘will you honour your bargain or shall I tell Master Skor that your word means nothing? What will your rivals make of that?’
Odo stood, leaving his henchman to pick up the coins. ‘One hour, in the harbour by the jetty. My man will bring her; you will not see me again.’
And with that Odo Kegertsa was gone into the cold night, his men following again, leaving the door swinging open behind them.
Willem’s face was a picture of happiness. He fastened his purse back on to his belt and turned to see Haelward looking at him in bewilderment.
‘How?’
‘It is not only Odo who can bet on the outcome of fights. I had a little bet of my own. For an ex-marine your odds were terrible. You said before you did not trust Odo and I agreed with you. I knew he would try something.’ Haelward nodded slowly. ‘I am impressed. How much did you bet?’
‘Everything.’
‘What! Everything we had?’
‘Indeed. If you had lost, we would be struggling to eat tomorrow.’ He looked at Haelward’s appalled face. ‘Worry not! I knew you would win; you have battled both ettins and spirits and have come away unscathed. I had to do what I could to get Alys back. I was not leaving this place without her.’
‘Speaking of leaving, Marten has booked us passage on a ship heading into Tanaren City on the morrow. We could be in the city in days. Let us get to the harbour. I still do not trust Odo even now; it would still be easy for us to end up with a knife in our backs.’
Less than an hour later, on the harbour front with the salt tang hanging heavily in their nostrils, Willem was finally reunited with Alys. Only one man came to bring her, the very one who had shown Willem to her room in the brothel itself. Oblivious of the onlookers, and of the drunken crowds still thronging Sea Street – though the hour was close to dawn – the two embraced.
‘I knew you would come,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘I never doubted it, not for one second.’
Willem did not reply. She was not the girl he had first met. Her face was painted, though not so much as the other girls, and she wore her hair loose rather than tied behind her. Her eyes, too, were different; there had always been a sweet purity to her expression that he had always believed was a reflection of the good she always believed was held in others. That had diminished. She looked sadder now, hurt, even, by the realisation that perhaps others saw the world not as she did, but as a harsher, crueller place. She smelled the same, though, and her soft words showed that, though she may have been a little different, a little wiser perhaps, she was still the girl he loved at heart.
Odo’s henchman interrupted them. ‘I would leave now, if I were you. The boss is known to change his mind quickly. Be thankful that he likes sharp, intelligent people, or you would not have made it to the harbour alive.’
They heeded his words. Moored at the jetty was a small rowing boat piloted by a couple of men from the Southern Breeze, the ship Marten had paid for them to sail on, for he, too, had put a fair deal of coin on Haelward that night. They clambered in and were away in no time.
Willem looked back at the receding lights of the city, he counted the second brothel along Sea Street and wondered if Rose was there, sleeping or working. His happiness was tarnished a little by learning of her plight. ‘When I can, I will come for you,’ he said to himself. ‘We both will.’
Alys cut into his thoughts. ‘Glad to leave it behind? I am sorry, Willem, that I have been sullied for you. Know that I love you all the more for your understanding. Let us go home now, to the university, to the lodgings, where we belong.’
‘What happened there I have forgotten already,’ Willem replied. ‘It is forward that we shall look, not back.’ She looked at him and smiled; he thought her quite radiant. ‘See how the breeze runs through your hair!’
‘Can you both be quiet, please,’ Haelward said, still holding his hand to his face. ‘I am in quite enough pain already.’
‘Poor Haelward!’ Alys laughed. ‘You will have to tell me how you came by your injuries.’
‘I walked into a door,’ the man grumbled. ‘And while I rolled on the floor crying like a baby Willem upped and rescued you. And that is the truth. Almost.’
They made it to the ship and at dawn were underway, heading eastwards to the great city. Their journey was swift and they got there within two days. Willem and Alys were happy to return to their tiny rooms at St Philig’s. but soon they both realised that the apprentice monk and the artist were gone for ever and they could never return to being the people they had once been. Not that it changed their feelings for each other, for you cannot change that which is set in stone. If anything, they had become closer, stronger. For some things endure beyond a lifetime and that is something both Willem and Alys had known for a long, long while. They would never be separated again.
30
Dawn at Erskon House was greeted by the trilling of a million tiny songbirds and the cries of the cockerels in the courtyard. At Osperitsan it was often the harsh call of the crows living on the roof that stirred her. But at Edgecliff it was the shrieking of the great gulls riding the first thermals of the day over the soaring cliffs on which the castle perched. It was the gulls she could hear now, calling and leadenly beating their wings in a sky slowly turning from deepest mauve to lilac as the winter sun peeked apologetically over the horizon.
But she was not at Edgecliff now.
She stirred as her fogged memory cleared. Her arm was around someone warm, someone strong, someone snoring. For Jon Skellar snored badly; she would wager even worse than she did herself. He had been an absolute gentleman that night, holding her when she asked, then releasing her when she grew uncomfortable. He had never been inappropriate with her and had spoken in soft, comforting tones when he saw the tears mist up her eyes. She would miss him.
She eased herself out of the bed, her bare feet flapping on the cold stone floor. He did not stir. She found her dress now washed and pressed, the velvet
rustling as she slid it over her. It was a modest dress for a duke’s daughter, blue velvet and lace, but one that could still dazzle minor nobility, let alone the peasantry. She did not bother with her jewellery.
She checked the letters on her dresser. The top one, addressed to Jon, she looked at three times, tempted to break the seal on it and read it one last time, but finally she set it down again and sighed. She had to keep herself fidgeting to distract herself, to keep herself from dwelling on the import of what she was about to do.
For, if she was to stop and think of it, her terror would be all the greater.
It was the truth – she was beyond frightened. Her churning stomach told her that. She had never known such an unsettling fear, not under the earth at Oxhagen, not when she was ambushed on the hills and not even when the estate at Osperitsan was turned into a place of blood and misery.
Her husband and father were dead and the perpetrators were still out there. A great wrong needed to be righted and she believed it was in her power to do so. But she did not know what the price would be.
She leant over and gave Jon Skellar a soft familial kiss on his exposed neck. ‘Goodbye, Jon,’ she whispered.
That done, she swathed herself in a black hooded cloak that Jon had given her and left the room. She then walked the length of the manor house where only a few bleary-eyed servants were stirring. She said hello to every one of them, trying to keep up a cheery façade, until she finally exited the house through the great doors.
Immediately she headed to the stables where the chief ostler was already up, grooming and feeding his precious charges.
‘I need a horse,’ she said to him. ‘It does not have to be fast, just of good temperament and not easily frightened.’
‘Of course, my Lady. I think I have just the one for you. When do you want her ready?’
‘In about twenty minutes, at the front gate. Do it in fifteen and there will be a ducat in it for you.’
She left him and looked about the rest of the courtyard. It was all but deserted. She then walked back towards the manor house, but rather than head for the great doors she skirted the building itself, walking on the narrow, sandy strip of land between the house and its boundary wall. The whole house, perched precariously on its narrow promontory high above the sea, was often buffeted by strong winds and Ceriana found that even the protective wall did not stop sand getting blown into her mouth and eyes. Nevertheless, she continued her walk until at last she stood just outside the very room where she had spent the night with Skellar. In happier times she would have climbed the wall and tapped on one of the great windows, for here there was barely a gap of two feet between house and wall. But these were not happier times and she wanted Skellar to sleep just a little longer. She did not want him seeing her. Not now.
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