by T. S. Church
“It is yours, Kara,” he revealed. “It will cut through the toughest armour of any surface dweller, and through the hides of most beasts.”
Thinking about her sword, she turned her gaze from the mountain and looked up into the squire’s honest face.
“Can I have my sword, Theodore?” she asked suddenly. “It’s very important that I have it—it was made by someone very dear to me.”
He cast a wary look in her direction.
“Does fighting mean so much to you, Kara?” he asked. “You are safe here, in the most fortified city in the world. You do not need to fight any more.”
Kara turned her gaze from the mountain and looked down into the courtyard below. There were several peons and squires practising with their wooden training swords, trying out different combinations and fighting amongst themselves. They were uncommonly loud in their competition, and occasionally one or more of them glanced up in her direction, as if showing off for her.
One of them, however—slightly older and wearing training armour—did not shout out, and he seemed to pointedly ignore Kara’s presence on the ramparts, taking a greater interest in the peons’ practice.
“Who is that?” Kara asked, watching him command.
“Marius,” Theodore replied, and his voice sounded tight. “He’s a squire, like me.”
“Is he your friend?”
“No.” Theodore looked away. Kara noted his pained look.
“Theodore, you are upset.” Her hand rested on his arm.
“Marius is my rival.” He looked at her intently. “Rivals in all things, it seems.”
A cold wind blew again from the north and Kara shivered. Theodore pulled her sheet around her and carefully escorted her down to the waiting chair.
In the courtyard, one of Theodore’s own peons, Bryant, was fighting against one of Marius’s, their wooden blades clacking as they sparred. Kara had decided against sitting back in the chair and she walked with uncertainty, leaning on Theodore’s arm.
“Come on, Bryant!” Marius shouted.
Theodore’s eyes narrowed in anger.
Bryant yelled as his opponent’s blade smashed his knuckles and caused his fingers to bleed. He dropped the practice sword in shock. Several peons laughed in triumph, while others gathered around him to protect him from any further attacks— something Marius was quick to seize upon.
“So, Theodore’s peons rush to aid their fallen comrade,” he taunted. “Why do we not make a mock battle of it then? You five shall defend the fallen Bryant against my six. What say you, Theodore?” he added, turning to face the newcomers. “Are your peons up to facing mine?”
“I would favour any of mine against yours, Marius,” Theodore replied. “I teach my charges to be honourable men in the highest traditions of our order.”
“Yet you don’t teach them how to win,” Marius snarled. “There will come a time when they will have to fight for their lives. Where then will their honour get them?”
“I have faith in Saradomin’s way, Marius,” Theodore countered. “I believe in his teachings.” Making certain Kara was leaning securely against the wall, he approached the small crowd.
“As do I, Theodore,” Marius replied. “But we cannot anticipate his will.” He huffed in frustration. “Look at him!” He pointed to Bryant, who clutched his injured hand. “If he can’t fight, he is useless to this order!”
Bryant bit his lip, trying to hold back the tears that were welling, from rolling down his face.
“Is he crying?” Marius sneered. “Unbelievable!”
“That is enough, Marius!” Theodore said, his voice nearly a shout. Marius’s own peons suddenly went silent, aware that the game had got out of hand.
“What will you do about it, Theodore?” Marius responded. “We cannot fight—our own trial forbids it. So why don’t you run off and take Bryant to the matron?”
Theodore’s face reddened with anger. But Marius was right. If he were to strike him now—a week before their scheduled trial—then Marius would be declared the victor, for Theodore would have acted dishonourably.
Suddenly a new person spoke up, and everyone turned.
“It seems Theodore cannot fight you, but I can.”
Kara’s voice was soft and provocative, and her eyes met Marius’s astonished gaze with mocking contempt. She pushed herself away from the wall and—to Theodore’s astonishment—walked confidently toward him, all signs of weakness gone.
“A girl dressed in the white linen of an invalid?” Marius snarled. “I will not demean myself.”
“If I am to fall so easily, then it will take little of your time, Marius,” she replied. “Surely you can spare a few minutes.”
Marius was struck speechless, and not knowing how to retort made him angrier still. He turned to walk away, but Kara would not let him go so easily.
“Come on, Marius,” she said to his back. “Are you afraid to face me? Perhaps Bryant would be a better match.”
The peon lowered his head again, fearful that he would be the victim of a new taunt. Kara noted his look, and her heart softened. By the time she had reached his age, she had hunted with the dwarfs in the blackness of the mines. But she was not malicious and she didn’t want to cause him any more embarrassment. Everyone has their hour, her adoptive father had told her, and she hoped that Bryant’s was yet to come.
Marius continued to walk away, his pace quickening.
“At least Bryant is honourable,” she persisted, speaking loudly. “And he is brave, Marius—braver than you, for he is not afraid to acknowledge his weaknesses.”
Marius stopped in his tracks and turned to face Kara, his face contorted in anger.
“Please, Lady Kara.” Bryant said as he struggled to his feet. “You mustn’t.”
“Shut up!” Marius shouted, seizing a training sword from the closest boy.
“Marius! Kara! This cannot be allowed to continue!” Theodore cried out. “I forbid it.” He stepped between them, his hands outstretched. But his rival shrugged him off.
“The girl’s brought it on herself, Theodore. I am not interested in what you have to say.”
“Theodore, please stand aside.” Kara’s voice was hard.
“Kara. Please—this is madness,” Theodore said.
“She must learn her place, Theodore—women do not fight,” Marius declared. He pointed his training sword straight at her. “They should be at home, scrubbing the hearth and nursing children.” When he saw her anger at his insult, a look of smug confidence crossed his face.
“Let us see, Theodore,” she said. “I wish to compare myself to the fabled Knights of Falador, and see how I fare.”
Theodore knew then that he had lost the argument.
“Very well then, but it ends when I say it does. The first to draw blood is the victor.” He retrieved Bryant’s sword and handed it to Kara. He then clapped his hands and the peons withdrew, giving the combatants plenty of room. All looked on with a growing sense of unease.
And they were not alone, for their shouting had attracted the attention of many in the castle. From high windows, faces gazed down in silent watchfulness.
“You cannot allow it to proceed, Sir Amik.” Bhuler pleaded.
“I need to see what this girl can do, Bhuler,” Sir Amik said.
“But Squire Marius will injure her.”
“I will not let it go that far, Bhuler,” the knight replied. “And neither will Squire Theodore.”
Marius was confident—she could see it clearly. He had spent years fighting in similar circumstances, training against other peons and then other squires. Now he was fighting a girl who could barely walk!
Perhaps he will be overconfident?
Marius laughed for a second, then struck first with a swift lunge. His feet were a blur on the stone as he launched himself forward. Confident his lunge would strike home, he went in low to stab her stomach.
But Kara moved with equal speed, dancing back a brief step, keeping herself only an inc
h from the reach of his wooden practice sword. She laughed now, and chopped down with her blade just as he began to withdraw it. They connected with a satisfying clack.
“Well done, Lady Kara!” Bryant called from the crowd and a murmur of agreement rang out from the spectators—even from some of Marius’s own peons.
Kara ignored them. Her mind was focused entirely on Marius, above all on the way his feet were spaced, for his movements there would dictate his actions.
He closed in again, this time lunging and cutting several times, moving with swift intent. He was not inexperienced. He knew how to fight and how to hurt. But his leather armour slowed him, and each lunge was met by a parry from Kara’s training blade.
Marius’s breath came in gasps now as he forced her back.
“Do you not attack?” he cried breathlessly. “Is it all you can do to run?” He pressed her once more, his attacks still skilled despite the fact that he was showing signs of fatigue. Her best strategy was to let him exhaust himself, she knew.
With each step he advanced Kara took another back, keeping him at a suitable distance.
“The girl intends to tire him,” a grizzled veteran observed from the onlookers. “Marius can’t keep it up in his armour.”
“Her speed is surprising,” the man’s companion replied. “And she hasn’t even broken a sweat yet. Nor does she even appear out of breath. It is unnatural.”
Marius made a sudden lunge for her, his face twisted in anger.
And Kara smiled.
Reaching out with her free hand she seized his wrist and twisted. At the same time she lashed out with her foot, kicking his ankle and forcing him to the ground.
Marius gave a startled cry as he dropped the training blade. Then he swore loudly as Kara shoved her open palm into his forehead, putting him flat on his back at her feet.
A cheer went round the courtyard as Marius lifted his head in surprise. Kara stepped away from him, quickly picking up his training blade as she backed away, her eyes shining fiercely.
“It is done!” Theodore shouted, stepping between the combatants. “I declare Kara the victor!”
The peons clapped and shouted, their applause echoed from many of the windows that had opened high up in the castle.
“It is not done!” Marius shouted angrily as he stood. “The victor was to be the first to draw blood. Neither of us is bleeding.”
“That is true,” one of the onlookers remarked cautiously.
“Do you wish to resume Kara?” Theodore asked.
She looked at Marius contemptuously.
“I am happy to, Theodore.” She nodded in her opponent’s direction. “But the boy should note that I’ve taken one weapon off him already. If he wishes to lose another, it is no trouble to me.”
“You dare to mock me?” Marius shouted, enraged, his fists clenched.
“Calm yourself Marius” Theodore advised.
“Squire Marius!” one of his peons shouted from the crowd of onlookers, tossing a training blade to his teacher. Marius grasped it firmly.
Kara saw the hate in his eyes and knew that he perceived her not just as an enemy that day, but as a threat to all he had become amongst the knights. If he were to lose, it would severely damage his standing in the order.
He ran at her, his speed catching her off guard. There were no thrusts or parries this time, for her wooden blade was no deterrent to Marius’s attack. A single cut would not stop him.
Kara’s blade bit into the leather armour at his shoulder as he drove his fist into her stomach. She doubled over, falling to her knees in pain and surprise as Marius triumphantly stepped away from her. He raised his arm and pulled the training blade from his padded shoulder, ignoring the groans of disapproval.
“No blood! The contest is still in progress.” he roared defiantly. “And I have taken my weapon back.”
Kara rose to her feet slowly, her breathing sharp and painful. She had not expected Marius to behave like that. For some reason, she thought that the rules of this game of skill would prevent such brutal assaults. He had not even used the training blade in his attack.
“Are you all right, Kara?” Theodore asked. “You don’t have to continue if you don’t want to.” He stretched out a hand to help her up.
“Do not touch me, Theodore,” she said through gritted teeth. “I just didn’t know Marius was allowed to do that.”
“You can’t play the same game as him, Kara. Marius’s armour will cut your knuckles if you try to hit him—and you have no armour to impede his blows.”
“I am not going to play the same game as him, Theodore.”
“Are you rested enough yet?” Marius sneered. “Or perhaps you would like to return to the ward and your sick bed.” Kara sensed his renewed confidence. She knew he had strength on his side, and she was certain he was going to use it.
With a final deep breath, she readied herself.
“When I am done with you, Marius, it will be you who sleeps in the ward, not I!”
Her words goaded him and he charged once more, his training blade held before him to parry any counter-attack that she might make. But she was not going to let him hit her again. As he swung his arm back, Kara ducked out of his way, getting behind him before he could correct his stance. She ran her foot into the joint behind his kneecap and with a cry Marius fell once more to the ground.
But he would not linger this time. With a roar of animal rage he stabbed back behind him in a wild thrust of desperation.
Again she seized his wrist as she had done before and he tried to push up, opposite to the direction in which she was twisting.
“Do you wish me to end it, Marius?” she taunted. “Or would you like another chance?” She drove her knee into his stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs as he had done to her only a minute before, and at the same time she increased the pressure on his wrist. The training blade landed with a clatter and immediately Kara kicked it away. “That’s both of your weapons I’ve taken, squire!”
She released him with a smile and Marius fell back to the ground, his breathing loud and quick, his face red from exertion. Kara turned and walked away.
“Don’t you dare turn your back on me,” he cried, standing up, his voice trembling with rage.
She was several yards from him now and she made no effort to turn around.
“Look at me,” he demanded. “I am a squire of the Knights of Falador, and you. You are nothing. A nobody.”
His words stung Kara and she stopped in her tracks.
The courtyard was silent.
Kara turned to confront him, her face ashen. There was a truth in his words that hurt her. She didn’t know who she was.
“Marius. Behave yourself,” Theodore shouted. “Those words are beneath you.”
“She cannot hide behind you, Theodore,” Marius roared, laughing savagely as Kara’s face fell. “But the contest isn’t finished yet,” he pressed. “Neither of us bleed.”
Kara raised her head once more to peer intently at him, and for an instant his mocking expression faltered.
When she moved, she did so with unexpected speed, her hand bent back over her shoulder, and in a single movement she threw the training blade at Marius, slicing the air in a path directly toward his face. Only his swift reaction saved him.
He caught the blade in his hand and staggered back, laughing as he felt his fingers close securely on the wood.
“I have taken your weapon from you. Now I will draw your own blood with your own blade.”
“It is over, Marius,” Kara said, her eyes misting from the tears that his words had provoked.
Preparing to stride forward, Marius raised his hand to point the weapon at her.
Then, with a startled grunt, he stopped. For his hand was bleeding. The wooden blade had cut his fingers in several places, and wooden splinters had shredded his skin. Theodore stepped closer to investigate.
“The contest is over. Kara is the victor,” he declared.
There was n
othing else to be said. By all their laws Kara had triumphed. The actions of the onlookers prevented him from retaliating as the peons, without exception, swarmed to Kara, clapping her victory and shouting her name. Soon the chant, led by Bryant, could be heard from the courtyard, in celebration of the “Lady Kara”.
Theodore fought his way to her, pushing the more eager peons to one side.
“You must shake hands with Marius, Kara,” he said hurriedly. “The contest is over. There can be no ill thought between you.”
She looked at Marius, standing alone, staring down at his hand as if it had betrayed him. She hadn’t wanted to demean him so much, nor reveal her combat prowess to the knights. The contest had gone too far, but there was nothing to do about it now.
She nodded firmly.
“Very well.”
She strode forward, her eyes still tearful. Marius had hurt her more than he knew, but peace between them was something she wanted.
She presented her hand to him, and waited.
But Marius did not move.
“If she were one of our order I would have no objection in taking her hand, Theodore,” he said darkly, looking past her as if she wasn’t even there. “But she isn’t—she is no more than a feral cat.”
And in the shocked silence that settled over the courtyard, Marius turned and marched away, leaving his bitter words to haunt Kara.
TWENTY-THREE
Darkness settled over Falador, bringing with it a vengeful rain that lashed against the windows of Sir Amik’s high room.
“I am certain of it,” Sir Tiffy Cashien said. He spoke as if he feared even the walls might be listening. “I have spent the last few days reviewing the records of the Temple Knights, translating the code that keeps them secure.”
Sir Amik nodded in understanding. The Temple Knights were answerable to Sir Tiffy and charged with gathering intelligence concerning their enemies. Their secrets were impenetrable—or so he hoped.
“And have you identified the knight who went north with the Ring of Life in his possession?” Sir Amik asked. Like Sir Tiffy, he kept his voice low, despite the fact that they were alone.
“I believe so. I have recorded my findings for you.”
