by Jason Malone
Osmund was beginning to raise his voice, and I could see the hatred in his scowl. Egil and Cubert stood behind him, avoiding my eyes. Osmund had always been forward with me and was always willing to speak his mind, but never like this. I opened my mouth to retort as Dughlas came up behind me.
“What’s wrong?” he said. Philip and Matilda were with him, and when Osmund noticed Matilda, he turned his attention away from me and pointed at her.
“That child is what’s wrong,” Osmund said. He turned back to me, glaring. “She told us why you weren’t able to defend our homes. Oh, sure, you were caught in a blizzard. But she also told us that you stayed in Oldford with her on the day you planned to come home. If you had a shred of honour and followed your oaths instead of your prick, you would have arrived home before those bandits attacked.”
“And what difference would that have made?” I asked. There was anger in my voice now, too.
Osmund spat. “None, ’cause you’re a rubbish fighter. You ever been in a proper battle? During the war, I saw men worth four of you shit themselves on the field.”
“But you swore an oath to us,” Egil said. “You promised that in exchange for our service, you would do all you can to defend us.”
“Has he not done that?” Dughlas said.
“He has, until that night.” Osmund and Cubert nodded in agreement, and Egil continued.
“That is why we ask Edward to now release us from our oaths. How can we be expected to defend him, if he cannot defend us?”
“We won’t follow a cursed man,” Osmund said.
I thought about it for a moment. These three men were some of my best fighters, and aside from Dughlas, they were all I had left. The servants that had survived were no warriors, nor was Matilda. But those men had given their oaths freely, and it would not be right for me to deny them release from those oaths. Oaths are supposed to be maintained with mutual respect, and if they had lost that respect for me, then I was partly to blame. But I needed them.
“No,” I said. “You swore those oaths as a bond for life. Only death can release you.”
Egil and Cubert nodded, disappointment lining their faces. Oathbreaking was a sinister crime, and they knew that. They may not have liked my decision, but honour demanded they respect it. Osmund, however, shook his head and drew his sword.
“Our deaths or yours?” he said. He rested the point of his heavy blade on my chest. I stared at him, heard Matilda gasp, and Dughlas drew his sword.
“Do it,” I said. Osmund looked down at my chest for a moment and then back up to my face. I felt him press the point against me slightly, but then he stepped back three paces and held out his arms.
“Draw your sword,” Osmund demanded. I paused and then slowly pulled my sword from its sheath. “I challenge you to a hazeling, Edward Godspeaker.”
From the moment Egil requested I release my men from their oaths, I feared this would happen. Osmund was proud—too proud. By now, everyone had gathered round to watch the confrontation, and Osmund would never have been pleased with anyone witnessing me denying him release from his oath.
And so I was challenged to a hazeling.
Hazeling was an ancient custom, outlawed by the usurper Wim nearly a decade ago. Even so, it was still widely practiced, and noblemen did little to enforce its ban. Hazeling was a way for men to settle disputes in a simple manner. It was a test of arms, a duel, traditionally fought within a circle of hazel branches, in which the victor was proven to be in the right. The Gods would guide the blades of the duellists, and they would choose the winner. In many cases, the duel was fought until first blood, but tonight Osmund and I would fight to the death. I could decline Osmund’s challenge if I wanted, but it would bring great dishonour to me and mean Osmund would win by default.
I had to accept, and accept I did.
“You’re going to die,” Dughlas mumbled to me.
There were no hazel trees about, so Egil and Cubert had taken reeds from the swamp and laid them out in a circle nine yards wide, marking the ring in which the duel would take place, and Osmund was pacing within it. Dughlas, Philip, and Matilda stood beside me.
“No, he is not,” Matilda snapped.
“Yes, he is, My Lady.”
“Dughlas, if you are right, take Matilda back to Henton tomorrow,” I said without taking my eyes off Osmund. He glared at me, pacing back and forth.
“What about me?” asked Philip.
“You do whatever Dughlas tells you. Swear to him. You will be his oathman should I die.” I glanced at Dughlas, and he nodded.
Matilda grabbed my arm, and I turned to look at her. “You told me you would show me the world,” she said. There was fear in her eyes and desperation in her voice. “Let me talk to Osmund. I cannot let you die here.”
“The challenge has already been made. Only the Gods can decide who lives or dies now,” I said. I tried to remain calm and gave the impression that I would happily accept whatever Fate had in store for me.
But behind that façade, I was afraid. Dughlas was probably right. I would die tonight. Osmund was arguably my best warrior, and I had never seen him bested in a fight. He fought for the king in the Usurper’s War and returned from that war with over a dozen scars — scars that attested to his skill and experience. Osmund was faster than me, stronger than me, heavier than me, and taller than me. He knew how to fight, and he knew how to kill. He had every advantage over me.
I sighed, gripped the hilt of my sword, and kissed the blade. I stepped slowly into the ring of reeds, and Osmund stopped pacing.
The hazeling had begun.
5
Prophecy
The air was silent as Osmund and I fought. None watching uttered a word. The animals of the swamp were quiet, and the marsh reeds were still. The only sounds were the blow of steel on wood and steel on steel.
Dughlas was right. I was going to die. I had borrowed his shield so that Osmund and I would be evenly matched, and the moment I stepped into the ring, Osmund swung at me. I held the shield up to block and heard the thud of his sword as it splintered wood. I fell back, but the shield held strong, and before I could get back up, Osmund swung his blade down upon me again. I rolled to the side, Osmund’s sword sliced the air, and I blocked once more. I stumbled, but this time I stood my ground. Osmund was panting already.
“I was a far better warrior than you are when I was your age,” Osmund said. He jabbed at me before I could respond, but I knocked his sword sideways. “I was in my prime when you were still sucking your ma’s tit.”
Osmund made another swing at me from above, but I caught it with the shield and lunged at his gut. He jumped backwards and grinned. “Oh, that’s right,” he said. He thrust his blade, I dodged, and he swung. I blocked and heard the shield crack, but it did not break.
“You killed your mother when you crawled from her filthy northern cunt.”
My blood boiled, and anger filled my heart. I lost my temper. I yelled and swung at Osmund, but he blocked with his own shield. I swung again, and he blocked. I hacked at his shield, again and again and again as little splinters flew from the wood.
Osmund was laughing as I drove him back. I made another slice at Osmund, but this time he thrust his shield forward and pushed me back. I lost my footing and tumbled backwards.
“Get up!” Dughlas shouted. Osmund stood over me, smiling. I watched him for a moment and saw the fire in his eyes. There was frost on his heavy breath.
“What’s wrong?” Osmund said. “Did I hurt your feelings?”
“Oathbreaker,” I said. Osmund’s smile faded, and his anger returned. He lunged his blade downwards at my chest with a roar, but I rolled again, and in one swift movement I smashed the rim of the shield into Osmund’s sword, knocking it out of his hands and sending it sliding across the dirt. I threw myself up and rammed into Osmund’s side with the shield, and both of us tumbled to the ground. I climbed to my feet and stood over Osmund, who scrambled for his blade.
I stepped
back and let him take it, watching as he struggled to his feet, gasping for air. He moved his mouth to speak, but no words came out. I waited. He bent over, leaning on his sword, then stood up straight and smiled at me.
“You’d be eel-food without that shield,” he said. He tossed his shield away and took his blade in both hands. He stood there, inviting me to do the same. I had no choice. In hazeling, the duellists must be evenly matched.
I dropped the shield.
“Edward,” Matilda cried. She stepped forward, but Dughlas hissed at her and pulled her back. Osmund and I stood opposite each other for what seemed like forever, each daring the other to strike. One wrong move now, and one of us would die.
Osmund was puffing. He was faster than me, stronger than me, heavier than me, and taller than me. He knew how to fight, and he knew how to kill. He had every advantage over me.
But he was tired.
He may have been a great warrior in his prime — and was even a great warrior now — but I was young, and he was old. I had seen Osmund fight before, but I had never noticed how quickly he tired until I fought him myself. Age had stolen his energy.
Now it was my turn to taunt.
“You tired, old man?” I jeered. I glanced at Egil and Cubert, standing together outside the ring. They were frowning. Osmund said nothing, only stood there. “Do you know why they call the Gifted ‘Godspeakers’?”
“You can talk to the Gods,” Osmund said.
I nodded and smirked. “Do you know what the god Alcyn told me last night in my dreams?” Fear flashed across Osmund’s face. “Alcyn told me that he was waiting for you to join his host of souls. You will ride in the ranks of the dishonourable dead and take your place alongside oathbreakers, murderers, and rapists. He is excited to hunt with such a great warrior.”
“You’re a liar, boy.” Osmund was right, of course, but I could tell he believed what I said.
“Alcyn also told me that you would die by my blade. Why else would I have so willingly accepted this fight?”
Osmund ignored me and instead threw himself forward, swinging his blade with both hands. He was fast but tired. I stepped back and parried his sword downwards with my own.
“I am sorry I could not save your family,” I said. He roared and sliced his sword up towards my head. I parried again, steel rang, and the shock rippled through my arms. He stepped back and paused to catch his breath, then lunged at me.
This time I dodged the jab and stepped to his side. Osmund stumbled forward, and I slashed at his leg. The blade cut through cloth and leather. He fell on his face, but I let him climb back to his feet. It was dark, though in the firelight I could see blood dribbling from the gash in his pants.
“I’ve had worse,” he grunted. He lunged forward again — I knew he would — and this time I dodged and struck him on the back of his head with the pommel of my sword. He collapsed to his knees and dropped his sword. I kicked it to the side and held the tip of my blade at the back of his neck.
“You asked me a question before this fight. What was it?” I said. I had won, I knew, and that made me prideful.
Osmund spat. “You don’t have the balls to kill me.”
“You asked me if your oath bound you to me until my death, or your death. Do you want the answer?”
“Let him live, Edward. You’ve won,” Dughlas said. I glanced at him, and he nodded. Matilda had her hands over her mouth, and she shook her head. I turned back to Osmund, who looked up at the night sky.
“Do you want to live, Osmund?” I asked.
“My life is not yours to give or take.”
And those were Osmund’s last words. He would not beg and would not accept mercy. He was proud, and so was I. It was pride, not anger or bloodlust, that caused me to drive steel through Osmund’s spine. Blood poured over his mail coat and onto the dirt, then Osmund’s body fell to the side with a thump.
I looked up at Egil and Cubert. “Anyone else?” I yelled. They stared at me but made no challenge. “Bury him then.”
I strode off into the reeds without another word, away from the abandoned village. No one tried to stop me, and no one said a word. I was angry now. Angry that Osmund had forced me to kill him. He was my best fighter, and now I feared the others would leave me too, but they would not challenge me. Not after I had killed Osmund.
I doubted I would see Egil, Cubert, and Dughlas after sun-up the next day.
I do not know when I did, but I fell asleep among the reeds, beneath the silver light of the moon. It was the night of the festival of Middlewinter, I realised, and folk across the kingdom would be celebrating the prelude to Winterlow. Efenled was bright and full that night.
I had originally gone to meditate, but I must have been exhausted, for I woke slumped against a tree stump with an aching back. I was shivering. I then remembered my fight with Osmund and sighed. Osmund was not a bad man. Was I right to kill him?
I looked up at the sky as if seeking answers, but then I had to do a double take. Was my mind playing tricks on me? The sky was pitch-black, starless, and empty. Earlier, the land had been illuminated by the light of a million stars, but now the world appeared to be encased in a big black dome. Whatever had disturbed us before was now playing tricks on me.
I put a hand around the hilt of my sword and went back to the village to check that my companions were all right. The fire was still burning in the pit at the centre of the settlement, but it had died down to a whisper. The circle of reeds was still there, but I could not see Osmund’s body, so I assumed the others had buried him. Or thrown him into the marsh. I hoped they had done the former. He died like a warrior and did not deserve to be a meal for whatever creatures lurked in this swamp.
A sense of unease crept up my spine, so I gripped the hilt of my sword and went around each house to make sure everyone was well. I counted the servants, who were all sleeping in one hut together, huddled under their fur cloaks. Egil and Cubert were still there, asleep and snoring, and they shared a hut. Dughlas was there too, and he slept on the floor in a hut with Philip, who had managed to fall asleep in a dirty old bed under some holey rags and a fur coat. Everything was quiet. Peaceful.
But wrong.
I checked Matilda’s hut and found her awake. She was in the kitchen — if you could call it that. It was nothing more than a tiny room with a stone oven. Matilda had started a fire in that oven and was warming herself. She flinched when I entered but then stood up and rushed over to me.
“Oh, Edward,” she said. She threw her arms around me. “I feared I would lose my guide.”
“I did not mean for all that. Forgive me,” I said.
She pulled away and looked into my eyes. “What happened out there?”
“Osmund decided he was discontent with being my oathman, so he tried to kill me.”
“No, not that. That was not a lady’s business. I am talking about before the fight.”
“Oh, that. I am sure it’s nothing.”
She shivered. “I just want to be in a proper house again. Not…this.”
“Well, you did ask me to take you from Henton so you could see the world. This is the world,” I said. Despite the darkness, she noticed me smile, and that made her grin too, but only for a second before a frown appeared again.
“Will you stay with me tonight?”
“Not yet. I need to make sure that whatever is out there does not wish us harm.”
Matilda squeezed my arms. “Take me with you then. Just please, do not leave me here alone.”
I thought about it and almost said no, but I admit I wanted her company. “All right, but stay close,” I said.
She smiled and then took my arm. I led her back out of the house, where I made a torch out of some materials lying about.
“Hold this,” I said, handing the torch to Matilda. She carried it in her right hand and held my arm close with her other. “Just do as I say, okay?”
“Okay,” she said. And so we went off into the marsh, away from the village, traips
ing through the wet mixture of water and earth.
“What are we looking for?” Matilda whispered.
“A mound. Or a large rock, an odd tree, or something like that. Something that looks out of place,” I replied. My head darted left and right as I scanned the landscape for any signs of Otherworldly activity, but it was so dark, I could barely see in front of me. The sky was still empty and black.
“Where are the stars?” Matilda said. I ignored her, and she changed the subject. “I am sorry about your man.”
“He was a good man. He was like an uncle. But I suppose Fate did not want our paths to align,” I said. The anger had gone now. I was just sad. I had lost my home and many of my people, and tonight I had been forced to kill a friend. What else would I lose?
“I did not know you could fight like that. It was astonishing,” she said.
“Admittedly, I owe my skill to my sword, Godwin’s sword. It was supposedly forged by an Edin before they left the World many millennia ago, and blessed by the power of their race. It is said to give its wielder the luck of all its past wielders.” I chuckled. “Perhaps it isn’t true, but I keep it with me always just in case.”
Matilda smiled and pulled herself closer to me. “Is it true what you said about Alcyn?”
“No. I just wanted him to do something careless.”
“He is with his family now, I suppose.”
I nodded, but I doubted that. The souls of oathbreakers did not join the halls of their ancestors — they were cast out and doomed to ride with Alcyn, the god of death. If they were lucky, that is.
And then Matilda screamed. In one swift motion, I pulled away from her and drew my sword. Then I sighed. Matilda was frozen in shock. She had walked into the hanging leaves of a willow tree.
“Just a tree,” she said, and then we both laughed. She took my arm again, and we carried on. But we had only walked a few steps when Matilda stopped me. “Wait, look, Edward. There are more.”
She held the torch out as far as she could, and its light shimmered off a large pool of water. Matilda was right; there were more willow trees. They appeared to be surrounding the pool, acting like a curtain to conceal it, although I could not see to the other side because in the centre of the pond was a tall mound.
