"Did you hear that sound?" Godwin asked the boy who was standing still in the centre of the square, waiting without pulling out his sword, "This is the sound of your end!" thundered frosty Godwin of the white tunic, assuming the battle position. It was nothing new and was very congenial to him.
The traitorous soldiers shouted and encouraged their Commander, calling, "Horos, get your sword!"
Others, "My Commander, take heart!"
The green crest suggested, "Horos, use the shield, as I taught you!" But the young Horos only heard his heart beat strongly in his chest and veins.
Godwin began a macabre dance around the helpless prince, provoking him by saying:
"You aren’t afraid of a knight in effeminate armour, are you?" He waited a moment then rubbed salt into the wound. "What is happening? Have you lost your tongue? Do the armigers make you so afraid?" But the boy stayed where he was, visibly trembling.
"Prince, I will hit you all the same, whether you fight or not! Your rudeness must be paid for with blood!"
As Godwin walked behind the boy but he was petrified like a marble statue. Godwin tried to get him to move by shouting:
"Turn around, Desecrator, that's your name, or I'm wrong?" but the Righteous did not wait for an answer. Moved by some a kind of rancour, he increased the accusations, "You should be called thief and rapist! Was it not by stealing from the tombs that you got your hands on the magnificent decorations, you were to showing off earlier?"
The God-Slayer's words were full of anger and resentment, revealing secret and hidden horrors:
"Didn’t you spend some time with poor little girls that lived in villages in the south during your last visit to the Sepulchre?"
At those revelations Armillus, knowing of the incorruptibility deep in Godwin's heart and of his incontestable sincerity, turned pale and desperate. He looked at High, who knew nothing about this, and shocked, was unable to speak. The King of Kitan cried out:
"Sire Godwin, you have my permission, punish the traitor!" Then he brought his hands to his face and sat down in the white, dusty gravel of the parade ground.
Those words at last managed to reawaken the young man. Horos came to s his senses, emerging from a parallel world, as if nothing had happened. Nothing that had been said had touched him at all.
The Desecrator shouted, pulling out his sword:
"You talk too much! Let's find out whether my father's awe and admiration for you is justified or not!"
The young man charged, protected by his green shield and his sword out, shouting evil words at the white knight:
"Until now you have spewed nothing but lies, it's time to die, disgusting worm!"
Swinging his sword he made a sudden thrust towards Godwin, who agilely and expertly took just one step back and avoided it.
"Swear before the One God, that you are innocent of raping little girls in the village of Abel Baran!" Godwin exclaimed, having a clear idea of the reasons for the confrontation.
"I do not care about your God, I do not have to explain anything to you. I am the Prince of Kitan!" the Desecrator answered in a deliriously, as he aimed a new sword thrust at his adversary.
Godwin showed no fear or uncertainty and dodged quickly. However, he was struck a glancing blow by a shield. The blow was slight but unexpected, enough to unbalance him. The Lord of the South, as a result, jumped to the right, lowering his guard, giving a chance of attack to the Prince. Blows and counter blows flew furiously from the young man who screamed all the while. But almost all missed their target. Only one shot reached its goal, but was blocked by the back of Godwin’s glove. He always made good use of his studded gloves in battle.
"You were lucky!" the arrogant young man exclaimed.
"Definitely! Luck in duels is also important, not just skill!" The Righteous said, "Your golden armour is beautiful, but the rhomboid plates tend to come off when they are hit hard.
Horos replied contemptuously:
"Your armour is neither useful nor beautiful. It's heavy and makes you slow. Not to mention the white colour. It reminds me of the underwear."
The young man was waiting for an eventual attack from Godwin. Turning round and round the dancing Righteous traced a hypothetical a circle around the young man.
Holaf stood on the nearby, ready for action should it be necessary because of interference from the traitorous soldiers. The soldiers loyal to the prince looked more like chicks than warriors, all piled up behind their shields, afraid of the arrows from the archers. High looked at Holaf and asked:
"My brother, what do you think about the accusation of rape?"
"Godwin never lies, even at the cost of seeming rude. And that's a fact!" exclaimed Holaf frostily, like the lands from which he came.
"There's no doubt about what you say, but I don't understand the motive," he stopped, jumping at yet another assault by the prince and then resumed: "I can't understand why he didn't talk about it, if not to us, then at least to the Emperor."
Holaf replied without ever taking his eyes off the duellers:
"I don't know him well, but I think his heart guides him, except in love and hate. The only way to revenge the abuses suffered was not to allow the arrest of the Desecrator." Long Sword grimaced, surprised by the sound of a blow, struck in anger by the prince, hitting King’s white armour. He was puzzled and commented: "I do not understand this! Godwin is only playing, he just dodges all the attacks!"
High nodded his head in reply, looking with admiration at the Lord of the South:
"Have you noticed, my brother, how Godwin manages to dance lightly and agilely, despite his heavy armour and helmet?"
Holaf couldn’t contain his words of admiration:
"He's really a formidable warrior! His fencing technique is perfect! He's giving everyone a wonderful lesson."
While the two great men watched Godwin’s style of fencing, which was so elegant that it could be compared with a dance or a painting as a work of art. Godwin dodged one blow after the other. The Lord of the South continued to float gracefully around the tired and angry prince.
"You are a coward, I don't understand why many people fear you," Horos commented with contempt, between one frantic breath and another. He spat on the ground scornfully.
"You don't fear me?" asked Godwin from his white and red helmet.
"Never, I fear no one, I am a Profaner!" Horos answered, using yet another phrase, taken from books or poems about great warriors.
"Not a good idea!" Godwin exclaimed, still intent on walking in circles, "I fear you, and even more I fear your sword! I would be stupid if I underestimated you," added the experienced warrior to the young man, with the false appearance of an inept apprentice.
Godwin was provoking Horos's self-esteem, treating him worse than an incapable novice. He had noticed that when he was angry his lucidity was greatly affected. This was the opposite of other warriors from the north.
"Attack me, you bastard!" exclaimed the prince, standing behind his shield in defence. Horos had tragically realized that he was tired. He felt his arms trembling, while his adversary, white and solid as a statue, showed no signs of fatigue.
Like a flash of lightning, a butterfly wing and a tremendous noise shattered the silence of the parade ground. No one dared to breathe. A solid powerful thud, like a wave breaking against the wooden side of a ship, reached the ears of the spectators.
It was followed by a loud dry sound, familiar to all. It sounded like a log being turned into firewood. The splendid princely shield was split in two. Shards of wood and embossed gold and green leather fell to the gravel leaving the prince with his body unhurt, but his pride in tatters. It took just one blow from Godwin to destroy his defence. In an instant he annihilated the morale of his enemy, who now lay stunned on the ground.
Godwin did not give the death blow. He stepped back five paces, and resumed his dance, without words or mockery. High, from his position beside the duelling ground, smiled pleased, and Holaf nodded slightly in approval
.
"Is my child dead?" asked desperate King of Kitan not having the courage to watch the duel.
"My King, your son is alive bodily. But his morale and even more his pride, are somewhat damaged I would say!" answered High with kindness.
"Get up, King Armillus, it doesn't suit your rank to sit in the dirt of the square!" reprimanded Holaf rather harshly.
The frantic father got up quickly and wrathfully looked at Holaf and said:
"What should I do, in your opinion? Watch my child being slaughtered?"
"If necessary, yes!" Holaf replied, not capable of making allowances for desperate fathers.
"Lord of the North, I hope you never have to witness a similar duel with one of your children as a duellist," added the good Armillus from his broken heart.
Holaf looked away from the duellists. Horos was still on the ground trying to catch his breath. Holaf spoke from his sincerely:
"If such a misfortune ever happened to me, I would watch until the end, as my son’s soul was destroyed, just as you must do now. But I would stand with my head held high," he added, as he turned back to the slow duel, "to tell you the truth, I don't believe it's Godwin's intention to hurt or kill Horos, but just teach him some good manners."
"Are you sure, King of the North?" asked his father, reviving.
"I'm sure! If he had wanted to kill him, the duel would have been over some time ago!" Holaf answered.
Everyone’s attention returned to the centre of the improvised arena. Horos, having recovered his breath and regained his strength, took his sword, throwing the shield, more or less where Godwin was dancing in circles, hoping to block him. Now he feared Godwin, as he should have done in the beginning. Only after the attack did he begin to understand and evaluate the possibility of being covered in glory, or more likely, being slit open and left bloody. Horos was trembling, not a little. His shivering could be seen by the naked eye, even from the distance where High and Holaf stood watching.
"Do you want to give up, boy?" Godwin asked in his singular voice, which did not seem human. "There is no disgrace in admitting defeat, no consequences and no blame on my part. Of course, you'll face the law of men for your crimes, but not my anger," Godwin added, rock-like to the eyes of viewers as he danced slowly and lightly around the confused prince.
The Lord of the South twisted his torso slightly and raised his arms towards heaven pushing his sword to cut the clouds, which seemed to have come to watch the duel. Godwin stood firm before the eyes of the prince. Then the unthinkable occurred. The God-Slayer gave a small leap sideways, bending his knee as if to climb a step. It was enough to make the cowardly attack miss its mark. It was the handiwork of the green crested soldier, whose spear landed in the gravel. This man without honour had treacherously and silently aimed his spear to give some hope to his young master. The Desecrator took the hint. He grabbed his sword and screaming, he ran towards the great knight, shouting unspeakable words.
Before the ambush could end, the spear was broken by a heavy kick from the God-Slayer. The Lord of the South, changing balance of his weight and carrying his splendid sword in his right hand, made a good stance in front of his opponent. Horos, pushing hard, managed to cross swords until the hilts touched. It was the mistake Godwin was waiting for, who, through his strength, sent the young man into the dust from which he came. In the blink of an eye the Lord of the South, swung round and gave a powerful backhand blow to the green crested Commander behind him. The green crest had taken out his sword to attack once more.
Nothing could withstand the impact of the sharp point. The noise of the blow was of death. The side of green crest’s helmet gave way and deformed, stuck on a spike of Godwin’s glove. Godwin pulled the helmet from his cursed assailant. The green crest’s injuries were severe. His entire left cheek was torn away; the copious flow of blood, the dangling jaw, which clung to fragments of flesh, and the tongue in an unnatural position. The unlucky knight flopped around on the ground, while the white knight with the helmet still stuck to his bloody fist, approached him mercilessly. The sword was lifted and the cold blow fell. The gold plates gave way and so did the heart of the traitor. One of the gold plates flew away crazily. There was a loud noise, the crack of broken ribs giving way to hard steel. Then Godwin, in order to free the blade from his vanquished foe, twisted the sword causing an abundant flow of blood, covering everything with its purple hue. Then placing his sword between his glove and the helmet, he levered and freed himself from the bleeding carcass. The young prince got up again, stammering the name of his faithful Commander.
"Do you want to concede defeat?" thundered Godwin from his helmet. He was now furious. The King of the Kings of the South threw out his arm towards the remaining traitors, sending an intimidating flow of blood onto their green shields: "You, wretches, do not interrupt us again! Show some dignity!"
The soldiers noisily dropped all their spears, swords and shields to the ground, and neatly lined up, and dared to do nothing else. Holaf stopped his marching and re–sheathed his sword smiling, as his intervention now was unnecessary. Behind Holaf, High and the red-faced father also put their blades away. Armillus cried out, something between an order and supplication:
"End it, son! This is madness, declare defeat!"
The Desecrator blinded by anger at the death of a friend, ignored the wise advice and launched himself into a new desperate attack. The force of the Southern Lord’s blocking blade was strong, but even more so Horos’s opposing blade fighting off Godwin's terrible sword strokes. The Righteous no longer danced in a circle, but stood still and motionless in front of the young man. The King's next attack aimed straight at the blade of the prince, who flexed his knees in effort, not even noticing the unnatural curve of his blade.
Horos launched himself in a last desperate attack on Godwin, who held his own blade strongly and pushed to bring the hilts of the weapons close again. Leaning towards each other their shoulders and helmets almost touched. At that moment the perjurer prince pulled out a short knife, thin and slender, and stuck it with all the strength he had in his body, into the left eye-slot of Godwin's helmet. The God-Slayer moved his head, giving a cry of pain, while the young man still pushed the blade inside the helmet with a sadistic smile and a look full of hatred.
"Now you are dead! My glory will reach the skies!" The young man cried triumphantly and impudently, just before succumbing to Godwin's blade, which flew like a shockingly fast to bury itself in the prince's soft belly.
There was nothing that could possibly have stopped the blow, neither leather, nor metal plate, let alone mail. The Righteous, screaming with wrath, lifted the agonized young man to the sky with only his right arm. He turned the blade and did not spare the opponent. He wanted to cause the maximum damage. At the sight of the warrior, lifting his son, all stained with the blood of his victim then, lifting his sword for the final lunge, the good King Armillus could not contain himself and weeping, cried out:
"Please, Lord of the South, hold your blade! That is blood of my blood!" The supplication had the desired effect and the Prince's body was thrown to the gravel without ceremony, as if it was a sack of flour in a storeroom.
The young man on the ground was spitting blood. His hands could barely hold back his entrails. He cried out, asking for help, lying in front of Godwin. The Lord of the South, removing the thin bloody blade from his helmet, turned to the young man saying:
"I tried to save your life several times, but you've been stubborn and unreasonable as well as absolutely stupid!" The short blade bounced back to the ground, thrown nervously by Godwin, who removed the helmet, touched his bloody face and gave a grimace of pain. The blood of the King gushed out rapidly mixing with that of the young man, dyeing the white tunic which was now all shades of red.
"Now you are in the hands of the One God. You had better decide to listen to him! I will pray for your soul," were Godwin's last words to the young man. Turning around he went back to his friends. While the Healers hurried to he
lp the princely heir. Godwin's concern now was his own state of health.
"I can’t see anything from my left eye, I only feel the blood run. Can you see what it is, my dear friends?" The Righteous asked his companions.
High took off his armoured gloves. Not worrying about getting blood on his hands, he removed a strip of dangling skin in front of Godwin’s eye, and to his surprise he exclaimed:
"But the eye is intact, how is that possible?"
"But I don't understand, you seem almost sorry!" Godwin exclaimed annoyed.
"No, of course not!" High hurried to answer. "Only I feared the worst for you. I was amazed to see I was mistaken."
"In the south we often fight protected by sandstorms, or in winds with less vigour. To avoid having our eyes filled with sand, we use helmets with narrow slits, and cover the slits with small pieces of dragon glass," Godwin explained, in some pain.
"Dragon glass, what would that be?"Holaf asked.
It is a crystal as transparent as glass, but much more resistant," Godwin said.
High was astonished again, not knowing of such a trick and commented while checking the wound:
"The material is known to me, but the use is brilliant!
"So, my dear Lord of the East, what evil afflicts me?" Godwin was a little anxious about it.
"My dear, nothing a good Healer can’t solve with needle and thread!" the relieved High, put his hands on the shoulders of the wounded man gave him a friendly shake.
"It will be my granddaughter Delia who will cure you, Sire Godwin!" said the good Armillus, who, approaching the winner, whispered to his ear, astonishing everyone: "Thank you for having tried several times to put a peaceful end to the duel. Today you have done me a great service by blocking the traitors." The sorrowful King, with a sudden movement, looked up at his faithful Commander in the battlements, raised his arm to the sky and then brought let it fall like a dead weight.
TRONDHEIM SAGEN: Earth Shattering Page 11
