Blade of Champions

Chapter Six: Right of Way

        CHAPTER SIX

        RIGHT OF WAY

  The man was thin and wiry. Dark shadows marked his pale cheeks and when he lifted the sword, every muscle and tendon stood out with painful prominence. His pale yellow beard and hair were ragged, his tunic stained and torn. He looked wild.

Idon's hand went to his hip, fumbling for his long-knife. 'Stand aside, peasant,' he commanded. 'My champion and I require use of the ferry – at once.'

The man made no move to comply. He stood where he was, swaying slightly, as though a sudden gust of wind could knock him over.  'I cannot let you do that,' he said finally.

Hughell spoke up. 'Our business is of the utmost importance. We ride to save this man's fortune - and the honour of his name.'

A strange look came into the man's eyes. A look of disdain, pity even. But his stance did not change. 

'In all of Arrethtrae and beyond, there is no reason you could utter that would convince me to let you pass, not until every one of these men, women and children have safely crossed to this side of the bank.'

Idon's expression flamed into one of anger. 'Let us through, or see how safely they cross when I cut the ropes!'

The man's eyes flashed and his hands shook as he lifted the sword. 'Dare to touch a hair on their heads and nothing will stop me from killing you.'

Hughell looked into the man's eyes and felt his blood turn to ice. There was nothing in them that didn't mean to execute that threat.

Before Hughell could cry out, Idon sprang from the saddle, his long-knife sliding from its scabbard with a deadly hiss.

Without a second thought, Hughell followed suit. He yanked his knife free just as the unknown swordsman charged in to attack.

Two against one, Hughell thought. But his hope turned to shock as the sword darted from blade to blade with inhuman speed, vanquishing them at every thrust and cut. Even with the disadvantage of being outnumbered, the man's skills far outweighed theirs.

Hughell leaped backwards as another cut blasted across his hunting knife, nearly tearing it from his grasp.

The unknown swordsman lunged, pulling his blade back for what was certain to be a deadly thrust. Suddenly, the man lost his footing, staggering sideways to his knees. His eyes closed and opened in a daze, as though struggling to focus. Even as he tried to rise, the two blades pierced him at once.

A soft grunt, almost a sigh, escaped the man. He fell backwards onto the ground. Blood seeped across the pine needles, staining them dark red.

'Quick,’ said Idon. ‘Take the sword.'

Hughell stepped back, letting the knife slide from his fingers. The triumphant look on Idon's face only added to the horror that was boiling up within him. Numbly, he reached to recover the fallen man's sword, not pausing to study the distinct marking that was etched into the pommel. The mark meant nothing to him, but the look in the man's eyes as he wielded it had struck deep into his soul.

As the lord and his champion made their way down the steep bank and rode into view, Hughell fully expected to be challenged.

Instead, the peasants drew aside in panic, pulling their slower comrades with them. Up close he could see that many of the peasants were in worse condition than their would-be protector. Illness and exhaustion showed clearly on their faces. Even the children seemed aged beyond their years, with hollow eyes and ghostly, sunken cheeks.

Young or old, the peasants scattered, making way for the two mounted and armed figures. 

Idon ordered Hughell to wait while he made the crossing first with his horse. Fully laden, the small vessel rode deep in the water. Idon's arms strained to keep it moving forward. 

As the ferry bumped against the far bank, Hughell noticed how the peasants on the other side pressed forward toward the boat, with an air of desperation. Idon drew his knife and warded them off, waving for Hughell to start pulling. Without anyone in it, the ferry shot along the surface.

Hughell had some trouble convincing his horse to board. The peasants on his side watched, but said nothing. Their haggard faces condemned him.

With a final tug, the horse staggered onto the flat-bottomed ferry. Hughell stood in the prow and pulled with all his might. With Idon pulling from the other side whenever he could, this crossing went a little quicker.

As Hughell stepped from the boat and towed his stiff-legged horse onto the muddy bank, he caught sight of the ragged crowd, which Idon had managed to drive back. They huddled fearfully among the trees, watching. Always watching.

Who are these people? Hughell could not help but wonder as he mounted and nudged his horse into a stiff trot.

His last glimpse was of a little boy, staring after Hughell with his hands hanging limply at his sides.

It was Idon who broke the silence first.

'I value your loyalty, Hughell,' he said, turning in the saddle to fix his eyes on Hughell.

Hughell looked up. It was the first time the lord had called him by name. 

Idon kept talking, still watching him. 'When the grey is mine, you shall be rewarded richly; in silver or weaponry – whatsoever you choose. Accommodation will be found for you and my tailor will see that you are fitly dressed for your new status.'

He went on, describing the many benefits Hughell would expect as a member of Lord Keen's household. 

Hughell listened in silence. Somehow, each addition to the list of honours and rewards only added to the void he felt growing inside of him. I should be happy, he told himself. This is what I wanted. Isn't it? Silence was his only reply. He did not know.

The forest thickened as they rode.

A soft breeze wafted through the trees. Small brown birds flitted through the beams of sunlight, chirping softly to each other before darting back into the shade. At that moment, all the world seemed full of light. Idon's voice faded harmlessly into the background and Hughell tried to convince himself that the moment he forgot those desperate faces, the red stain of blood in the leaves, all would return to the way things had been. The peasant man had attacked them, after all. They had only been defending themselves.

Hughell was sunk so deep into his thoughts that he did not notice when Idon stopped dead in mid-sentence and fell behind. Only when his horse shied violently did Hughell snap from his reverie, to find himself hurtling toward the ground. 

More than a little shaken, he scrambled to his hands and knees, looking around to see what had happened. Then he froze, all thought of injury forgotten.

Not ten paces away, mounted on huge black horses, sat a trio of warriors. They were so massive, so dark and so unmistakably threatening that terror sucked the air from Hughell's lungs.