Sword of the Bright Lady (30 page)

“And you, priest?” Bart asked Christopher, with a casual glance at the glaring Svengusta. “Do you have secondaries to declare?”

“No,” Karl answered for them, “we also enter the field of honor unsupported. The Church of the Lady will only heal after the fact.”

“Then I declare no secondaries,” Bart intoned. “The terms are established.” He looked around and by chance and circumstance picked the very spot in the village square where the entire mess had started, then said, “That will serve as the field. I don't mind killing a Bright priest in view of his own altar. Within the hour, then.” And he rode away.

Christopher grabbed Karl by the shoulder, dragging him back into the chapel and beckoning Cannan to follow with an angry glare.

“By all means,” the red knight said, “let us discuss tactics.” He dismounted with a leap and strode into the chapel behind the other two men, shutting the door behind them.

“What is wrong with you?” Christopher hissed at his young friend.

“I'm not a coward,” Karl said stiffly, “but you're a fool. Consider this part of your training. I want you to see for yourself what I have been telling you, because you don't seem to believe me.
They are right.
”

“The only thing wrong with him,” Cannan said, catching up to them, “is that he lacks tael. He certainly doesn't lack courage.”

“Cannan, you idiot.” Christopher was so annoyed he didn't care about the flash of anger in the other man's eyes. “The sword isn't magical. It's just a piece of steel. It's not even properly made.”

The knight's eyes narrowed as if he suspected a lie before he finally settled for cynicism. “Then all this talk of magic is just a Church ploy? Some game played by you foolish priests?”

“Yes, basically. I'm not supposed to tell people it's not magical, but I'm not going to let you get killed over nothing. I'll give Bart the sword, he'll go away, and people will leave me alone.”

“I have already agreed to a duel,” Cannan said. “I will not back down. You gave me the right to champion you and paid me with imaginary tael. I mean to claim some of that, at the expense of the Dark. At least I'll have your man with me.”

Niona slipped in, shutting the door behind her.

“I risked a spell while you men were laughing.” A subtle rebuke. “And I must warn you that he bears some kind of protective device.”

“I suspected as much,” Cannan said, “which is why I was counting on the magic sword. But I have another string to my bow.” He gave Christopher a disgusted look. “So there is still hope.”

She misinterpreted Cannan's complaint. “Will you not fight with them, Pater?” she asked in alarm. “You can at least heal.”

“Something you need to learn to do,” Karl said casually. “Combat healing. We always lose a few men during the first battle, when the young priests are still trying to unpack bandages and wash out wounds.”

“Fine,” Christopher said, out of patience. “I'll fight.” He had no idea why he was agreeing to this insanity. Surely it could not be merely bravado, an unwillingness to appear less than manly in Karl's eyes. “For two reasons. First, because I have a spell in mind I think will be more helpful than a healing, and second, because I refuse to believe that one man can defeat three, if we work together.” No swordsman was that good, despite what you saw in the movies. He could not believe that Black Bart could defend against three competent attackers at once.

“Your confidence would be more inspiring if it did not sound so much like madness,” Cannan said. “But yes, we must work together, and here is what we will do.”

17.

FIGHT CLUB

The other two men dressed for battle while Christopher meditated. Then Christopher ran through a few kata, to loosen up his muscles and the knot in his stomach. Karl grimly followed along.

Cannan watched them silently until the end.

“Dance that well outside, and we may have a chance,” the big knight said. As rousing speeches went, it wasn't.

Christopher felt ridiculous, like he was participating in a World Wrestling Federation match. There was a noisy crowd, the smell of beer, contestants in funny costumes, and an absurd fight card of a tag-team of Good guys against one super-Bad guy. He stopped feeling that way when he saw Bart.

The dark knight was standing at the other side of the square, facing one of his men. The soldier had his glove off and was holding his palm up in the air. Bart shoved a dagger through the man's hand, pulled it out, and dropped it to the ground. The man winced silently, but not because tael blocked the pain. His hand was bleeding freely.

Bart raised the man's hand to his face, smeared the blood from his forehead to his chin. He smiled, if you could call it that, a rapturous demonic possession. He released the soldier, who let the priest bandage his hand, obviously saving the healing magic for their lord. Bart turned to the field of honor while another soldier placed a large black helmet on his head.

“It means nothing.” Niona tried to sound reassuring but lacked confidence. “There is no arcane or divine significance. He only seeks to frighten you.”

The way Christopher's knees went weak belied her words. It was plenty significant. “It means he's one twisted bastard.”

“You have no idea,” Lalania said with deep sadness. “I could tell you tales to curdle your blood. He rules absolutely in his own land, save for the edicts of the King. But edicts only reach where officers of the crown go, and they don't go into dungeons or villages.

“This is a heroic contest,” she told the little group. “I foresee many profitable nights recounting the story. But happy endings are always more popular, so please try to win.”

“You'll make me famous?” Cannan grinned. “I've always wanted to be famous.”

“I'll try,” she said, “but it will be hard to compete with the valorous Goodman Karl. His presence here is inexplicably courageous. To follow his master into battle when he is so utterly outclassed is loyalty beyond measure.” Christopher was going to object that he was the one following Karl, but she wasn't paying attention to him. Karl was doing his thing again, where all other men turned invisible. “It is a crime that such a man should be unranked,” she said softly.

“I agree,” Cannan said. “These lands have become corrupt when such bravery is not rewarded.”

“It was rewarded.” Christopher felt compelled to defend his new homeland. “Karl turned it down.”

Cannan was surprised. The troubadour wasn't. She'd already heard the tale. “Which makes him even more inexplicable.”

“I can explain it,” Christopher said, since Karl wasn't saying anything. “He's insane.”

Karl barked a laugh. “It's true. The Pater and I are brothers in madness.”

Lalania stared hard at both of them. Obviously her intuition told her there was more than battle humor here, but she was out of time.

The three men faced Black Bart from twenty feet away. Karl's boys held back the crowd on one side, and Bart's men held back the crowd on the other, although they didn't actually have to hold anything, since no one would get near them. Bart held his side of the field alone, radiating doom and destruction like a pillar of death.

Niona approached Bart, bowed, and began a spell. Bart's priest, an ugly, fearful man, approached the other combatants and started casting his spell.

Bart boomed out, “Priest, swear you and your party are clean of aid. I don't trust my lackey's competence as much as I trust your holy word.”

“We are, right?” Christopher asked both his teammates. They nodded, so he called back, “I swear.”

Niona came back to them, whispered her findings. “His device maintains the protective field. I still do not ken it, but it lies on him like armor. His blade is enchanted, though no more than the first rank. But these are items and if he stakes them, we cannot object. At least I see no other spells upon him.” She tried to kiss her husband. He stopped her, saying roughly that Bart would suspect assisting magic. She retreated to the sidelines with tight lips and clouded eyes.

“Priest,” Bart called out, after conferring with his own, “Where is my sword?”

Obviously the magical inspection had failed to detect magic on the non-magical sword.

“Right here, Ser,” Christopher called back, drawing the blade and displaying it.

“You swear that is the sword you dismembered Ser Hobilar with?” Bart demanded suspiciously.

“I solemnly swear it. The magic isn't on. Do you want me to turn it on?”

Bart nodded, staring intently. Christopher called out to Marcius for his blessing on the sword, casting the spell that enchanted it. Bart belatedly realized he'd been tricked, and Christopher had gotten a spell off for free. He wasn't amused, though. He was incensed.

With a growl he charged across the short space between them. There was a flutter as the crowd instinctively recoiled, Bart's priest hiking up his dingy yellow cassock and running for the safety of his comrades.

Bart wielded a bastard sword in one hand, like a longsword on steroids, and a large steel shield in the other. He was covered in plate armor from head to toe, not the price-conscious half-plate that lesser knights like Hobilar and Cannan wore, but the real deal. He was also left-handed, which Cannan had explained wasn't as much of an advantage as it might have been, since both he and Christopher were fighting with two-handed weapons. “Still,” he'd said, “I'm used to smashing through people's shields. With his blade on my side, he might be able to parry more effectively.”

Cannan was on Christopher's right, Karl to the left. The plan was that they would flank Bart from both sides if he charged Christopher. If he turned to face the greatest threat, Cannan, then Karl would have his back. If Bart did the smart thing and eliminated the two lesser threats first, that would give Cannan several free attacks. They were hoping that, and the size of his greatsword, would be enough.

Christopher was already casting another spell, calling down Marcius's blessing for the men fighting on his behalf. Chanting the words helped to ward off the crushing despair that Bart projected. He wanted to prod Bart into recklessness by casting beneficial spells, forcing Bart to advance on him while Cannan and Karl struck from the flanks. But Cannan was fooling around with his sword instead of leaping to the attack, and Bart charged without danger.

As the spell finished and bright winking lights briefly filled the area, glistening off the three men, Bart bore down on Christopher like a freight train, his glowing black sword lashing out, unopposed by the distracted Cannan. Christopher brought his sword up to parry. The dark blade jigged impossibly at the last moment, skimmed over his defense as if it had been rehearsed that way, slammed into the side of his head like a home-run batter, and the world went away.

Cannan bellowed in exploding rage and swung at Bart like he was aiming at a tree trunk. Bart edged away from the blow, just barely. This exposed him to Karl, who brought his sword down like a crowbar squarely on top of Bart's dull black helmet.

Bart didn't shrug the blow off: he didn't even notice it.

The dark knight advanced on Cannan, his blade on his shoulder like a batter about to swing. Cannan held his ground, brought the two-handed sword whirling around in another swipe. Neither man wanted to get hit; they both tried to dodge or parry to some extent. At the same time they weren't terribly worried about it. Like two prizefighters they traded blows to see who could take the most punishment. They just delivered their strikes with gigantic razor-sharp glowing metal blades instead of boxing gloves. Cannan fought with a berserk fury that was awe-inspiring, though it left even less regard for defense. Bart stood like a fortress but never gave up an opening merely because it would leave him exposed.

The black sword smashed into Cannan's shoulder while the greatsword sank into Bart's thigh. Both men shrugged off the blows, shedding little blood, and kept going. Cannan risked a blow to the head, which Bart ducked, and while he was spinning through the stroke Bart stabbed him in the back. It wasn't a total loss, because Cannan made use of the opening once he'd spun all the way around and caught Bart across his exposed left side. The armor squealed as the blade crunched through it. The tall man made no sound. He just hit Cannan again, hacking away with his long black sword. Both men's armor plate was rent in various places, but the bodies underneath were only scratched. The mundane metal was not as resilient as the tael-bound flesh.

Karl had dropped his shield and taken his sword in both hands. Operating freely behind Bart, he laid into the man's back like a sledgehammer. The sword rebounded as if he'd struck a statue.

It was evident that Cannan was losing. Although he was doing tremendous damage to Bart, he was taking almost as much, and it was clear who was going to run out of tael first. Bart seemed unusually outraged with every blow, as if the idea that Cannan could hurt him at all was personally offensive. Perhaps he had expected to be invulnerable to the greatsword, like he was to Karl's thin blade.

Bart whittled away at the red-clad knight, whose costume was now flecked with the red of his own blood. Cannan fought furiously, without concern for his own imminent end, on the constant attack. Bart was damaged, but not enough. Tael still bound the dark knight's wounds. Cannan had begun to bleed freely from the latest cut, and it was clear that he was down to mere flesh and bone. The next strike would be the last and might even be fatal. The terrible power and sharpness of the weapons could kill an ordinary man instantly.

Karl approached again, all but forgotten by both combatants as utterly irrelevant. He raised up high for another two-handed stroke. Something was different. He had traded his sword for the katana left lying on the ground. Still glowing its bright silver shine, the light seemed to prod at Bart, who paused, confused and defensive for the first time, made hesitant by the unseen threat behind him. Cannan threw himself into one last attack, dropping exhausted to his knees to plunge the sword in Bart's chest, a solid blow, but a foolish one, for now he was totally exposed, winded, and immobile, with no defense at all. The black blade rose, its fall and Cannan's death inevitable.