by Robert Evert
“Just give me a second!”
Lionel feigned a thrust. Edmund parried but missed—miserably.
“Will you at least try to make a good show?” the King said, appalled. “Honestly! What’s the point of this, if not to make a good show?”
He jabbed again, forcing Edmund to spring backward.
They stood near the edge of the ring of trampled snow now. If Edmund retreated any farther, he’d be wading in hip-deep drifts, unable to dodge Lionel’s whistling attacks.
Edmund ran right, trying to return to the circle’s center, but halfway there, Lionel cut him off.
“Come on!” Lionel shouted. “Fight!”
Okay. Parry and then get to the stones.
Parry? He’s too fast! I can’t even see his sword when he swings!
The tip of the King’s blade swooped within an inch of Edmund’s midsection.
Edmund countered with a jab, but his own sword fell several feet short.
“What are you doing?” Lionel cried. “Parry, counter, move! Don’t you know anything about sword fighting?”
Edmund sidestepped. Lionel blocked his path to the clearing’s center.
“I, I thought”—Edmund faked left, dashed right—“I thought we could pray first. You know, at the stone monument!”
Again Lionel cut him off, lunged, and swung at Edmund’s head.
“Oh, don’t worry about that. We’ll pray over your body. I brought several clergymen who will say nice things. They do wonderful services.”
He swung again.
Come on! Parry! Chop his sword down to size!
Lionel drew his sword arm back for another lunging stab. Just as Edmund was about to hop out of its way, somebody far off screamed, “Ed!”
He half turned. Two figures stood on the northern ridge: one was Becky; the other was undoubtedly Abby, bundled in layers of clothing and furs.
Lionel’s sword skimmed across Edmund’s chest, ripping open his tunic. Edmund cried out. The torn fabric seeped bright red.
“First blood!” King Lionel raised his arms in triumph and paraded around the circle of trampled snow. The nobles along the ridge clapped and cheered.
Edmund quickly cast his healing spell.
“Ed!”
“Abby, stay there! Stay there! Becky, stay! Do you hear me?”
But they didn’t stay. Becky and Abby ran along the crest of the hill in search of a way into the valley.
You have to end this. If Abby comes out here, she’ll ruin everything.
King Lionel turned to Edmund, his smile sliding into a bewildered frown.
“I thought I marked you.” He pointed to Edmund’s chest where the tunic had been sliced open, yet there was no wound. “I drew blood, I know I did. It was right there. Where’s the … where’s the—?”
Get to the stones!
Screaming, Edmund drove forward, swinging his sword like a madman.
“Ah! That’s the spirit!” The King dodged the erratic blows. “Make it look good! Jab, then slash!”
Edmund swung and swung and swung again to force him back, but the King didn’t give ground; he merely sidestepped then repositioned himself before Edmund.
“Good!” The King laughed. “But put more anger into it! Make sure they can hear you all the way in the hills! Try shouting something that could be put in a song, something like this … I will kill you, you evil villain!” He swung his shining longsword just over Edmund’s ducking head.
“Ed!” Abby yelled behind him. She was getting closer.
You have to end this! Hurry!
“Try stabbing more,” the King suggested. “Don’t always—”
Edmund swung.
Lionel parried.
Blue sparks flew where the two swords clashed.
Both blades fell into the snow, sundered just above their hilts.
“You bastard!” The King shook his broken sword at Edmund. “This … this was my great-great-grandfather’s!” The King drew a long knife from his golden belt. “Now I really will kill you slowly!”
Edmund threw his hilt at the King’s face and darted around him to the pile of stones. He seized the long pole.
“You!” the King snarled. “You ruined a perfectly good sword! And it was my favorite, too! It had diamonds!”
Abby and Becky had reached the bottom of the hill.
“Stay there!” Edmund shouted. “Don’t come any closer!”
Lionel charged at Edmund, leaping over the pile of stones.
Edmund touched the boulders and cast his enlargement spell. In a flash, they doubled in size.
With a loud crack, water erupted as the ground under their feet gave way.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The enlarged boulders plunged through the hidden ice. Lionel disappeared with a shriek, but Edmund’s staff caught the hole’s sides before he became completely submerged.
As Edmund spit and sputtered, gasping through the shocking pain of the icy water, Becky sped to him, grabbed the staff in her powerful jaws, and pulled.
“Ed!” Abby screamed.
Shivering to near convulsions, Edmund dragged himself onto the trampled snow at Abby’s feet.
“T-t-t-take, take, take … m-m-my, my, my cl-clothes … take m-my my clothes off,” he told her.
She recoiled. “What?”
“Hurry! T-t-take, take … off …” He tugged with blue, trembling fingers at the wet tunic clinging to his quaking body.
A thrashing hand appeared above the water; a large ruby ring flashed in the morning light.
“Hur-hurry!” Edmund tried to kick off his boots. “P-p-pa, pants. Take off p-pants!”
“I, I can’t take off your—!”
“Hurry!”
Eyes closed, Abby fumbled to pull off Edmund’s stiffening pants.
King Lionel’s head popped above the water. He tried to scream but sank back under the circle of broken ice.
Now naked, Edmund lay shaking on the snow. “Over, over, over …” He pointed to his dry clothes and blankets just outside the trampled snow circle. “G-g-get, g-get, get …”
Abby dashed to his supplies as Lionel’s head appeared for a second time, eyes bulging, mouth contorted in agony.
Edmund rolled over and extended his staff into the water. A pale blue hand seized it. The lords and knights on the hilltop to the east, suddenly aware of what had just happened, gave a collective cry and raced down the slope as fast as the deep snow would allow.
Abby rushed up to Edmund with his clothes, head turned so she couldn’t see his naked, trembling body. “Here!”
Edmund pulled Lionel to the edge of the ice, but couldn’t haul him out of the water.
“Help me!” he said to Abby.
Grabbing the King’s golden breastplate, Abby heaved. Then she saw Lionel’s panic-stricken face. She let go.
“Him?” she said incredulously. “Ed! That’s … that’s King Lionel!”
“Help,” Lionel said, barely able to breathe, clawing at the ice. He slowly slid back into the water. “Lordships …”
“Ab-b-b-b!” Edmund said, shaking.
Abby grabbed the King’s breastplate again and yanked him onto the ice.
The King lay stiff on the snow, trembling.
“F-f-fire, fire.” Edmund pointed to the woodpile well away from the ice. “Get me to …” He pointed again.
Painfully aware Edmund still didn’t have clothes on, Abby wrapped a dry cloak around his shoulders and stuffed a hat onto his dripping head. Then she lifted him up.
Standing by the convulsing King, Becky growled, while a hundred horsemen thundered toward them.
“Stop!” Edmund nodded at the riders. “Ice! B-b-break!”
In sudden understanding, Abby dashed toward the riders, waving her arms. “Stop! Stop! This is ice! This is ice! You’ll—”
The lead horses reached the edge of the frozen lake. Ice cracked beneath the snow.
“Stop!” Abby yelled. “Go back! Go back! It’s all ice!”
Some riders reined their horses in. Others kept charging, ice breaking beneath their horses’ pounding hooves. Horses and riders collapsed into the water with wild whinnies and screams.
Edmund staggered to the woodpile and cast his fire spell.
“Fyre av nå!”
It erupted into a glorious blaze of heat. Teeth chattering, Edmund cast his healing spell a third time, hoping to stave off the frostbite sure to come if he didn’t get warm. He pulled on the rest of the clothes Abby had flung at him.
At the other end of the snow-covered lake, riders retreated, some shouting to their King. Becky leapt around Edmund, who staggered to where Lionel lay. Lionel stared into the morning sky with unseeing eyes, entire body shaking. Edmund touched the King’s cold, wet brow and cast his healing spell under his breath.
He lifted the King to his feet. “Hurry. Fire. Fire … will, will w-w-warm you. Hurry.” They staggered to the bonfire. “Ab-Abby! Get, get his coat and cl-clo-cloak. Over, over there!”
Abby ran to the King’s discarded outer clothes. By the fire, Edmund began pulling off Lionel’s breastplate. Lionel’s freezing hand caught Edmund’s.
“If we don’t g-g-get, if we d-d-don’t, don’t get these off of you,” Edmund told him, “y-you’ll, you’ll die!”
Lionel’s widened eyes shifted to Abby.
“Abby,” Edmund said, “turn your back!”
Abby was more than willing to do as she was told.
Edmund undid the straps to the King’s breastplate; it clattered to the snow. “And, and g-g-go, go see if, if any of those men have any dr-dry clothes, bl-blankets, anything, Abby. He’s, he’s fr-fr-freeze, freezing to death!”
Abby ran off, calling to the riders.
The King gurgled out a guttural noise, but what he was trying to say, Edmund couldn’t tell. He wrapped the fur-lined cloak around the King’s massive shoulders.
Lionel began to jerk spastically. “Wh-wh-wh—”
“Shut up and get closer to the f-fire.” Edmund guided the King nearer to the flames. “And get your pants off. Ab-Abby’s g-getting you dr-dry, dry clothes.”
Abby sprinted back. Men followed, stepping tentatively on the snow-covered ice.
“Y-y-y-y,” the King stammered.
“Shut up.” Edmund rubbed Lionel’s hands. “Lean into the fire. Get closer.”
Abby wrapped a blanket around Edmund’s shoulders.
“Not me.” He pushed the blanket toward the King, who immediately seized it to cover his exposed lower body.
“Wh-wh-wh?”
The King’s men finally reached them.
“Are you all right, sire?” one asked, throwing another blanket around the shivering King. “Your Majesty, can you hear me?”
Others ran up, each tossing coats and furs and blankets onto their King. Abby yanked one off and wrapped it around Edmund. One of the lords tried to snatch it back, but Becky snapped at him, and he let go.
“Are you okay?” Abby rubbed Edmund’s back and pulled his hat farther down over his wet ears. “You could have been killed! And why did you save this?” She jabbed a disgusted thumb at Lionel, now nearly buried in blankets and extra clothing.
“D-do, do you have a horse?” Edmund asked her.
“Yes, it’s tied to a tree up there.” She motioned to the northern hills.
“R-r-ride, ride to Rood. Get extra clothes, pants, and boots, okay?”
Abby eyed the knights huddled around their King.
“What about them? They’ll be able to follow my tracks.”
Edmund shook his head. Freezing water dribbled down his stiff hair and numb forehead. He fought to move his lips. “Safe. We’re, we’re safe.”
The King stood behind them now, covered in furs. He was still shivering, but his skin was no longer an icy blue.
“Wh, why, why—?”
“Why d-did, why did I save you?” Edmund asked. “Because everybody’s life is—”
“No. I kn-know why you saved me. I’m the, the king! Of course you’d save me.” He snorted. “It’s … it’s your d-d-du, duty!”
“You’re welcome,” Edmund said sharply. “I expect you to keep your promise about the Highlands.”
“B-but you did not w-w-win the battle!” the King said.
Edmund threw his hands up. “Do you really want me to kill you?” He patted his bare waist for his weapon belt, but it was on the ground by the hole.
Abby handed him her dagger.
Five knights drew their weapons.
Becky snarled, but the wary knights didn’t give ground.
“You d-did, did, did not d-defeat me,” the King said proudly. “I have yet to be killed in b-battle!”
Oh, for the love of …
“All right,” Edmund said. “If you want to fight to the death, fine. Tell your men to give us room and not intervene.” He backed away from the fire for more space to maneuver.
The King took a knight’s longsword.
“Ed?” Abby said.
“Abby, you and B-Becky get off the ice.” Edmund held her dagger at the ready. “I have a feeling it’s going to break again, and this time, I’m not going to s-save this Royal Idiot.”
At this, the King hesitated as he and his men looked anxiously at their feet.
“Get off the ice,” the King said to his knights.
They quickly retreated to a grove of trees.
“Ed?” Abby repeated.
“Abby, get off the ice,” Edmund said, as he and the King circled each other. “Stay by the fire. You’ll be safe.”
“But—”
“I know what I’m doing. If I kill him, the Highlands will be free. Now go! I can’t let you distract me. Get the hell off the ice!”
“Okay. Come on, Becky.”
Becky didn’t move.
“Becky! Go with Abby!” Edmund said.
Reluctantly, Becky obeyed.
King Lionel swung his sword in a jerky motion, as though his arm were a rusty hinge, and missed Edmund by several feet.
“You c-c-annot d-d-defeat me in battle. Nobody can! Especially not with a, a, a d-dagger. I am a k-king! Kings are never defeated by daggers!”
Edmund laughed, his body shivering again now that he was away from the fire.
“What?” the King asked, stalking closer. “What are you laughing at?”
“I was just wondering … how are y-your minstrels going to sing about two half-naked men f-fighting to the death in the snow?”
The King looked down, suddenly realizing he still had no pants on.
He chuckled.
“An interesting tale, n-no doubt! But I’ll have the minstrels overlook that minor detail.”
He swung his sword over his head, taking a defensive stand.
“And will they overlook the fact that I dragged you out of freezing water?” Edmund tried to keep his bare feet from touching the burning snow for too long. “I saved your life.”
“But you have not defeated me!”
Stupid ass! His pride won’t—
Pride. Open your mind, and see things from his point of view. He isn’t evil, he’s just …
Edmund retreated a few steps, unwilling to move farther from the fire.
Give him what he wants.
“No,” he said through clenched teeth, “you’re right. I didn’t defeat you.”
“Ha!” the King cried, but he was again starting to shake uncontrollably, his face losing its color. “Then you admit it!”
Edmund stopped. The snow bit his wet toes. He sighed.
Give him what he wants. Go ahead.
“I admit it.” He tossed the dagger at the King’s feet.
“Ed!” Abby shouted.
Lionel looked at the dagger, then back at Edmund. “What are you d-d-do, doing, man? P-p-pick, pick up your weapon! P-pick, pick it up, r-right this in-instant!”
“I can’t beat you in battle,” Edmund forced himself to say. “You’re King Lionel the Fair, the greatest warrior of our age.”
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br /> Lionel straightened, both pleased and surprised.
“So it seems you have two choices.” Edmund wrapped a blanket around himself and headed back to the blazing fire. “You can kill me, right here and n-now, unarmed.”
“O-o-or?”
“You could give me the Highlands in reward for saving your life.”
The King seemed to consider this.
“Like you said, there’s nothing here you want.” Edmund warmed his hands. “You called it a hellhole, I believe.”
“It is a m-m-mis, miserable place,” the King confessed.
Edmund faced him.
“Then give it to me, and have your minstrels sing ballads of your unprecedented grace and fairness.” The King started, so Edmund added quickly, “And how nobody has ever killed you in battle.”
Lionel lowered his sword and approached the fire.
“What do you want with this godforsaken place?”
“It’s my home,” Edmund said, “and I’d die for it if I had to. So would many people.”
Lionel nodded. “That, I understand.” He gazed around at the forested hills covered in snow. “It would be a kingly gift.”
“One sung about for ages upon ages,” Edmund agreed. “What other king has been so generous?”
“True.”
“Then you’ll give me the Highlands?”
“I know!” the King cried. “I shall make you Lord of the Highlands!”
“No,” Edmund said firmly. “I don’t want to be a lord. I just want the Highlands.”
“What if we have our armies—?”
“No!”
Don’t antagonize him. Give him what he wants.
Edmund adjusted his tone. “Your Highness, you’d offered lordship over the Highlands to anybody who’d found the Star of Iliandor, correct?”
“Yes, and you brought—”
Edmund waved, quieting him. “What would other kings and lords think if you gave your own life so little worth?”
Lionel stared, perplexed.
“Think of it this way,” Edmund said. “Suppose you were captured by an enemy—which would never happen, of course!”
“Of course!”
“But if you were, how high would your ransom be? How much is your life worth to those around you? If you only give me lordship over these lands—a lordship you would have given me just for finding a silly trinket—then, well … you’re saying your life isn’t worth much.”
