by Troy A Hill
“Then perhaps we can find more time for conversation before your brother takes his leave from us,” she said.
I gave a nod that turned into a respectful bow as she turned to exit. The other ladies in the hall also took their leave, until only the men were left. Servants cleared plates, then the tables. Two of the four priests excused themselves. Only Adda the Witch Hunter and Father Diuma elected to remain with Paeda. The Middle Anglian king strode towards our end of the hall, and servants hurried to bring more chairs for him and his priests.
“Please sit at my side tonight,” Penda said to Bleddyn and I. Penda sat in the most ornate chair of the bunch. Cenric was already standing by the chair to Penda’s right. To the Mercian king’s left side, more chairs stood. Each cushioned and laid with decorations similar to, but not as grand, as Penda’s chair.
“Do you mind if your sister takes the place next to me?” Penda gave Bleddyn a smile as he waved me forward.
“Mair is at least twice the warrior I am,” my brother said. “And tonight is a warrior’s night, my friend.”
By now, other men were entering. Ludló’s men, each wearing their blades. But they removed their baldrics and hung them from pegs set into the far wall. Ludló himself still wore his, as did Lord Lazlow. Two of the guards kept their blades on and took positions near the Mercian king.
“Did you enjoy your time not eating with my queen?” Penda asked once he had taken his seat. The rest of us sat right after him.
“A most enjoyable evening, Your Grace,” I said. “Your queen is both wise and witty.”
“I would like to encourage you to pass along her request to Lady Gwen,” he said. “My daughters have selected her god to follow. They may have to marry for political reasons, but their desire is to devote some portion of their lives to their church.”
“Funny how many royal sons and daughters end up serving the church,” I said.
Penda grinned and waved towards Bleddyn. “So true,” he said. “Your brother has half of his wife’s family nestled within his lands.”
“Only a third, Your Grace,” Bleddyn interjected. “My lady wife has a multitude of brothers. One of them is building an abbey in the Fadog lands we gained. He has a grand task in front of him, though. Fadog’s yeomen are in poor shape and cower before their lords.”
“Perhaps we can negotiate with Oswiu for Fadog’s return to Penllyn,” Penda said with a sly smile. “After my son returned with four of Oswiu’s priests in tow, I should have added Fadog’s return to our bargain for Paeda’s betrothal.”
“No need to sully such a happy occasion as your son’s marriage with a Fadog.” Bleddyn grinned. “Although Fadog has a knack for arriving uninvited at wedding feasts.”
“If Fadog attends my son’s wedding,” Penda added, “I shall trust your sister to deal with him.” Penda cast a sly glance at me. “You will come to the wedding feast with us?” He included Bleddyn with his nod. I glanced at Bleddyn, ready to follow his lead.
“Perhaps,” Bleddyn said. I could still detect faint traces of Lady Rothaid’s rose soap in the air. “Although I need to return to visit the Penllyn landholders this spring.”
Ludló approached Penda and cut off any further conversation.
“We are awaiting your command to begin, Your Grace.”
“Very well,” Penda said and motioned towards Cenric, who was talking with some of his own retainers.
A moment later, Cenric stood before Penda.
“What business brings you before us, Lord Cenric?” Penda asked, his tone formal.
“Matters of the Brothers of Blood and Battle. Three of my men have earned their swords and seek a place in Mercia’s royal guard, Your Grace,” Cenric replied.
“Blood and Battle!” the cry rose from the men in the hall.
“Is there a witness to vouch for the candidates?” Ludló asked.
Bleddyn stepped forward and gave the men a nod.
“My sister and I both witnessed the final test,” he said, his own tone echoing the formality set by the other. “I will attest that they passed the conditions set before them.”
“Well said, Lord Penllyn,” Ludló said. “Lord Cenric may present his men. If His Grace finds them acceptable, we shall allow them to apprentice in our ranks for a year.”
“Hereweald, son of Hrothgar,” Cenric called. The young man who had held the candle as they went into Penllyn’s cave stepped forward. Shoulders back, head upright until his eyes met Penda’s. Then he dropped to one knee before Penda.
One of Cenric’s men stepped forward with a sheathed sword. The sword bore a triangular pommel of polished brass and cord wrapped the hilt. From a single loop of metal on the butt end of the pommel hung a silver ring about as large around as the end of my smallest finger. Silver, I surmised, from the glint it gave. As long as it was on the back end of a blade, I wasn’t worried about it.
Penda took the sheathed sword and held it along his right forearm, pommel towards the man on his knee. The Mercian king kept the hilt in between his fingers, and the candidate before him laid his hand on the pommel. Not to draw the blade but to swear his oath upon it and the silver ring he was being gifted.
“Hereweald, son of Hrothgar, do you give your allegiance to His Grace Penda of Mercia, King of the Midlands?” Cenric’s voice was loud, authoritative.
“I do,” the young man replied.
“Will you serve faithfully in his werod? Will you give your best to any task laid before you, and will you fight at all costs for your king and the people he protects?”
“I will, milord,” Hereweald intoned.
“Will you stand fast as an apprentice in the Brotherhood of Blood and Battle? Will you protect their backs, while they protect yours?”
“Blood and Battle!” cried the other men in the hall.
“I will, milord.”
“Stand proud, good man,” Penda intoned.
Ludló stepped in and draped a leather baldric across Hereweald’s shoulder and chest. Cenric slid the scabbard through the leather frog at the end of the baldric, and Penda’s newest man adjusted it on his hip. He took a step backward, then bowed.
“Urthbert, son of Wigmund,” Cenric called. They repeated the entire ceremony, and Urthbert stepped back beside Hereweald.
“Blood and Battle!” echoed through the hall once more.
“Dunstan, son of Cenric.”
The young man knelt before Penda and his father. Penda took the sword from Cenric and paused before holding it towards Dunstan.
“I honour both you and your father with this blade,” Penda announced. “This blade has been quenched in the blood of one of our own. It has a history that must be reforged with honour. Will you take on this burden and quench Baldwin’s blade anew in the blood of Mercia’s enemies when the time for battle comes?”
“I will, Your Grace,” Dunstan said. His eyes had widened at the mention of Baldwin.
Penda held forth the pommel again, and Dunstan laid his hand on it and the fresh silver ring that had replaced whatever ornaments Baldwin had earned.
“Blood and Battle!”
They repeated the rest of the ritual, and Dunstan stepped back and joined his compatriots. Rather than going in order of being called and stand next to Urthbert, Dunstan took the other side of Hereweald, forcing the other two to step sideways and make room for him. Urthbert grinned. He had forced a reaction from Dunstan. Score one Urthbert for the bully.
“Hang your blades with the others,” Ludló said. The new guards did, then returned.
“We need a show tonight,” the guard captain called to the room. Which two should face off in combat?”
Two other guards were holding wooden wasters, practice swords, along with padded leather helms and shields.
“Dunstan can,” Urthbert said and chortled. “Let him face Lady Mair, so he learns some fighting skills.”
Ludló stepped in front of Dunstan’s tormentor and stood silent for a moment. Urthbert’s grin faded. He bit his lip and stare
d at the floor. The other guards who had been shouting names shifted to laughter.
“I believe we have a volunteer,” Ludló exclaimed. “While I won’t presume to volunteer Lady Mair of Penllyn, I ask if she believes her apprentice is skilled enough to handle a bout before us all.” He turned towards me. Talian was looking at me. He had a look of panic about him for a second, then sat straighter in his chair.
I stood and stepped forward. I would take on Urthbert and teach him some manners. Before I could speak, Talian stood.
“I will do so, milord,” he proclaimed. His eyes were on me. I gave him a nod, then stepped in to assist him with the equipment. Not that he needed help.
“Are you sure you’re comfortable with this?” I asked, my voice barely loud enough for him to hear above the raucous conversation and wagers of Penda’s guards.
“Lord Emlyn has me spar against the other guards every week,” he said as he settled the helm on his head. It was a leather cap that came down to his ears, with wide metal bands crossed over it.
“You’re doing well with sword and small shield,” I said. “Stay defensive for a few blows and try to read his style. Watch out for repetitions, then change-ups.”
“Just like you’ve been teaching me.” He smiled and took the shield.
“Care to wager on your man?” Cenric asked as I stepped back to my seat next to Penda.
“What did you have in mind?” I asked.
The way his eyes slid up and down my body implied one thing, so his words weren’t what I expected.
“Sword lessons for my son,” he said.
“And if Talian wins?” I asked.
“The same,” Cenric said. He grinned. “I was going to ask you no matter what.”
“Not much of a wager, then. I would be happy to help your son. I’m not sure he’s ready for my aid.”
“He’s been friendly with your man, there,” Cenric said.
On the floor in front of us, a guard had taken a knee with a wooden staff across his leg. A boundary marshal, to keep the fight in the centre of the floor and away from Penda and his guests.
Dunstan and Hereweald also kneeled along the back wall and held staffs. Dunstan was closest to the action, right across from the main entry doors in the opposite wall. Pegs to either side of the door were where the guards had hung their weapons. All of them crowded against the long back wall opposite the doors and into the far end of the room where they had shoved their stools and benches. Many stood on the benches to watch the fight.
Talian looked across at Dunstan. I suspected that Dunstan would have welcomed the opportunity to bash his tormentor a few times. Talian would have to be his surrogate tonight.
“I will offer again,” I told Cenric. “Let Dunstan choose for himself. Forcing someone to train, especially when he’s getting teased about it, doesn’t make for a good student.”
“First to three strikes,” Ludló called out from the floor. “Each strike, step back and acknowledge it. I will call start again once you do.”
Talian nodded, then stepped back and saluted as I had taught him. Ludló raised his own staff, similar to the one the man kneeling in front of Penda held. Urthbert ignored the gesture and gave a short bow to his new captain.
My friend swooshed his sword out and down to complete the salute. But Urthbert didn’t wait. He must have taken the motion as an attack and stepped into Talian’s measure. He swung his wooden sword at Talian’s unguarded head.
27
A Friend Returns
Talian snapped his shield up to block and launched his own attack against Urthbert’s knees.
“Wait for the call to start,” Ludlow called, but he didn’t stop them.
Talian kept his shield in front of him and edged around his opponent. Urthbert powered in another blow, this time a side swipe with the wooden sword, followed by a shield punch. He was an aggressive fighter.
Talian blocked the sword and shifted a few inches back. Urthbert overextended. I smiled. Talian did what I would have and smacked his wooden blade onto Urthbert’s shield arm, now almost straight out in front.
“Hit for Penllyn!” Ludlow called and thrust his staff between then. “Step back and acknowledge the strike.”
Urthbert’s eyes blazed with an inner fire, but he took a step back. He nodded once at Talian, then pounded his wooden pommel against his shield until Ludlow called “Begin!”
The Mercian fighter was back into the melee in a beat. Shield punch, slice, slice. He was a fury of attacks. Talian held his own, blocking each blow and either stepping out of line of the shield punches or launching a counterattack to redirect the shield.
Urthbert tried repeating blows, then changing after the repetition was routine. Talian did well and reacted to the change. But Urthbert’s next blow was a repeat of the change. Talian misjudged and took a blow against his shoulder.
“Hit for Mercia,” Ludlow bellowed.
Talian had already stepped back. He saluted by bringing his blade vertical in front of him, flat towards his opponent. But this time he moved into his ready stance, shield centred in front and blade next to it, pointed towards his opponent.
Urthbert was first in again. Talian stayed a beat ahead of Urthbert’s attacks. After a moment, Urthbert tried the routine of repetition again. This time Talian let him go three times, then interjected his own strike and shifted to attacking. He, too, repeated his strikes. Sword slice, shield punch. Over and over. But the next set was out of sequence. He finished his shield punch, then stepped into measure against Urthbert’s shield and angled his blade at the man’s backside. Despite the panicked twist his opponent made, Talian sliced his wooden sword into his opponent’s arse.
“Strike for Penllyn,” Ludlow called.
Urthbert refused to back away. He launched an attack against Talian, then another.
“Hold!” Ludlow bellowed. Urthbert paid no heed and barrelled into Talian. My friend held him off, but his footing was too narrow. Urthbert dropped low and launched a leg sweep. Talian hit the floor with a thud. His breath whooshed out of him.
“Idiot!” Ludlow cracked his staff into Urthbert’s head. “I said HOLD!” This time he used his staff and caught his man in the belly. Urthbert doubled over.
“Winner by default, Penllyn!” Ludlow said. He offered an arm and pulled Talian to his feet.
“Now you,” Ludlow said, towering over Urthbert. “You’ll spend your first month in the kitchens scrubbing pots.”
The doors behind the guard captain crashed open, and everyone jerked their gaze towards the sound. A lone figure entered, and we all gasped. Ludlow, his eyes wide, swung his staff, which thunked into the figure’s flesh. Teeth bared, the figure smashed its hand palm first into the guard captain’s chest. Ludlow flew a dozen feet and crashed into his own men.
The figure snatched at the wall behind it and pulled two swords, one for each hand, from their sheaths. It turned towards our end of the room. I was already on my feet when I saw Baldwin’s eyes.
They were black. Jet black, all the way through. Dried blood still drenched his tunic, and I glimpsed the jagged hole in his chest where the werebeast had inflicted the killing blow. Whatever this was, it wasn’t Baldwin.
A sharp intake of breath sounded beside me. Penda must have recognised the dead guard as well. Beyond him I heard prayers beginning. Must have been Father Diuma. A second later, Father Adda screeched out a single word.
“Demon!”
Then a body thudded to the floor where Father Adda sat. Father Diuma kept muttering prayers. The Ave Maria rolled off his tongue.
Panic gripped my belly. I knew of only one person who could make the dead walk. He couldn’t be back. Talian had killed him, and I had broken his staff. The blast had stripped his flesh from his bones. Cadoc and Caerwyn’s men had burned everything they could find of every witcher. Lecerf couldn’t have returned.
Baldwin gazed at where I stood next to the Mercian king. My cold steel was already out. I couldn’t let whatever this thi
ng, this undead thing, was get to Penda.
“GWEN!” I screamed mentally and shared my vision with both her and Seren.
Baldwin’s face split into a grin, and he advanced towards me. Talian stepped in front of him. Dunstan was there and tried to smash his staff into the dead man’s side. Baldwin caught Talian’s practice sword with one of his steel swords. He stopped Dunstan’s strike by letting it hit him, then wrapping his arm around the wood. He surged against the staff and flung Dunstan into Talian. They both crashed back into the guards along the back wall of the feasting hall.
Urthbert was the only guard left standing, and the only one with any kind of weapon. The man in front of Penda surged to his feet and rushed Undead Baldwin. Urthbert slashed his wooden sword at the creature.
Baldwin’s corpse didn’t block against either blow. Instead, one of his blades slid into the youth’s chest. He twisted the steel and slashed it to widen the gash. Baldwin turned towards the man with the staff. Another sword flashed. The guard gasped as it erupted from his back. Baldwin jerked it out and slashed it across the man’s neck. Blood fountained, and the smell of it made my demon stir.
Deodamnatus! This wasn’t a shambling undead like we had faced at the abbey. I wasn’t even sure there was anything left of Baldwin’s skill. Whatever that thing was, it knew how to fight. How to kill. And it was fast. Shifter fast. My kind of fast.
I sensed Seren gasp.
“Oh my!” Gwen’s thought came into my mind. “Be careful, dearest.”
I pumped energy from my connection to the goddess into Soul and stepped forward. I spun the blade once to get Undead Baldwin’s attention. With those black eyes, I wasn’t sure who he was looking at. His face crinkled into a grin. Then he turned and darted out of the hall.
28
Into the Night
“My armour!” Penda bellowed.
“Lady Mair, to me,” he added.
I froze misstep. I could pursue and try to keep whatever that was engaged. Or I could follow the request of the king.