by Garth Nix
One of the urthkin left the circle and strode in towards Odo. She was slighter than the leader, but perhaps a little taller. As she faced him, Odo saw with surprise that the visible blood vessels under her incredibly pallid skin shone in the moonlight, as if quicksilver moved through her veins.
She was unarmored but carried a larger, curved version of the knives all of the urthkin wore. It was a much lighter and thinner weapon than Biter and looked like it might snap at a single blow. But Odo reminded himself that it had likely been forged by Fyrennian in dragon’s fire, and told himself not to take anything for granted. She might well be an expert warrior, and even with Biter’s help Odo knew he was far from being that.
“I am Euphe,” the urthkin said, bowing so low she touched the earth with her hands. “Greetings.”
Odo bowed in return, hoping it hid the flutter of nerves in his chest. He too touched the earth.
The urthkin backed off five paces and raised her slender blade. A hush fell upon the crowd, and all Odo could hear was the thudding of his own heart.
“To the death,” said Euphe.
Odo knew a trial by combat was often to the death, but hearing the words said was almost like a blow in itself. So it wouldn’t be a taken drop of blood he’d have to give to the earth if he lost. It would be his life. He shifted his feet farther apart and loosened his knees and elbows, trying to stand as Biter had taught him.
He was still doing this when Euphe struck with a loose-limbed grace, rushing forward to one side while swinging her sword-knife in a long arc as she passed. Biter flung himself around almost without Odo’s help, parrying the blow that would have cut Odo’s hamstrings and toppled him to the ground, crippled for life.
The blades rang with the impact, and the urthkin’s did not shatter. She disengaged at once and stepped back. So did Odo, even as Biter tried to move forward, resulting in a clumsy shuffle that Euphe took advantage of at once, lunging with a savage cleaving blow at Odo’s knees.
Biter only just parried it, the enchanted sword driven back to touch Odo’s leg, so that for a moment he thought he’d been hit. He jumped back, and Biter moved to block yet another blow. Some impressed memory from training took over and Odo managed to half complete one of the Five Lethal Forms, Parting the Angry Waters, rolling Biter under the urthkin’s blade and striking up towards Euphe’s left hip.
She twisted aside, bent almost double, and riposted very low. Again only Biter’s inhumanly fast reflexes and movement saved Odo’s life, the tip of his enemy’s blade sweeping the air an inch in front of his ankles.
Eleanor, watching anxiously from the human side of the ring that had formed around the combatants, bit her knuckles and gasped. Euphe was clearly a very skilled swordmistress and even Biter might not be enough to save Odo.
Eleanor held her breath through another sudden flurry of quick slashes, parries, and thrusts, only exhaling when the combatants moved apart again and warily circled each other.
Each had landed a blow, though both were only minor. Odo was cut on the calf, a thin line of dark blood showing through his sliced breeches. Euphe had been cut too, on the back of her right hand. Her blood was indeed silvery and seemed to shine of its own accord as it dripped down her fingers, not just reflecting the moonlight.
Odo felt the sting of his wound, and noted the blood on Euphe’s hand. That would make her grip slippery, he knew. He had a better chance of winning now.
He didn’t want to kill the urthkin. Or even hurt her more than he already had. But he had to win or else everyone would be killed.
The small part of Odo’s mind that wasn’t completely caught up in swordfighting wrestled with this conundrum.
Euphe attacked again, once more going low, stabbing at Odo’s knee. Biter moved, as fast as ever, trapping the urthkin’s blade against the ground.
In that moment, Odo found a solution. Even as Euphe slid her sword out from under Biter, Odo let go of his weapon. Biter, as surprised as anyone, continued to hold Euphe’s sword-knife down as Odo wrapped his great arms around the urthkin and hoisted her above his head.
The sudden move and the slippery blood on her palm worked together. Euphe let go of her sword and cried out in surprise as Odo lifted her high, spun her about twice in his favorite wrestling move — the waterwheel, he called it — and threw her down at the far end of the circle, where she skidded across the bare earth, sending dust flying.
Odo put his foot on Euphe’s blade and picked up Biter, hoping no one noticed that the sword had continued to press down on his enemy’s weapon after he’d let go.
Euphe slowly sat up, holding her head, silver blood from her hand now staining her translucent hair.
The urthkin made their deep, rumbling noises.
Odo stood panting, and tried to work out how he could tell the urthkin he wasn’t going to kill Euphe, that even though this was a trial by combat it shouldn’t have to end in death. But before he could speak, the urthkin leader began.
“You are the victor,” she said. “We declare this fight over, with honor to both sides.”
“You mean we don’t … I don’t have to kill … ?” sputtered Odo.
“The earth has spoken. The matter is dead. Did you think I meant the death of our champion?”
“What? It was to my death, but not your —”
“No, that’s not what we thought,” interrupted Eleanor, hoping the urthkin couldn’t read the disbelieving expression on her face. “Not remotely, I promise.”
Relief flooded Odo in a powerful wave. He bowed low to Euphe, who picked herself up and returned the bow, once more low enough to touch the ground. Odo picked up her sword and handed it to her, hilt-first.
“The grievance of the broken firestarter is settled,” said the urthkin leader. “But even with the firestarter lost, we have other business, orders to place and knives to collect and pay for. May we attend to this now, scortwisa?”
“Oh, right, yes,” said Eleanor. “Of course. But I’ve decided to stand down as the … mouthpiece of the scortwisa.”
She pulled Toland forward. “Here’s the new speaker for the scortwisa. He speaks for the smiths, in fact. All right?”
The urthkin leader bowed to Toland.
“But … wait!” protested Toland. “I’m not … I’m not sure I’m allowed —”
“Cease your drate-poking,” Eleanor hissed in his ear. “You’re the right height, and this all started with you, remember? Just listen to Master Thrytin and you’ll be fine. And if you could spare us some light armor in thanks, that would be uncommonly kind of you.”
“Of course … I think … Wait, are you going somewhere?”
“This has been fun, but we’re on a quest. Isn’t that right, Sir Odo?”
Odo was dabbing the hem of his tunic against the cut on his leg and only slowly recovering his wind and some sense of calm.
“Yes,” he said. “I suppose we have done what we set out to do here. We must go on.”
“You’ll wait for sunrise, at least?” asked Toland.
“Our business?” reminded the urthkin leader.
“Yes!” replied Toland. “I must just consult my … ah …”
He was looking over the crowd toward a minor commotion where a large man in a dirty smock was shaking hands with many of the other smiths as he walked towards Odo, Eleanor, and Toland.
“Master Thrytin!” called out Toland in relief. “Over here!”
The master smith shook a few more hands, slid between two urthkin, and looked Odo and Eleanor up and down.
“Well,” he said, with a knowing smile, “I didn’t expect a … a knight … with such a sword … and a squire to come to my aid, but I am very grateful that you did. How are you, young Toland?”
“I’m fine, thank you, Master,” said Toland. “But I’ve become the speaker for the scortwisa to the urthkin. It wasn’t my idea.”
“It seems a good one,” said Thrytin. He bowed low to the urthkin leader and Eleanor noticed that when he straightened u
p, it was not to his full height. “You’re a smart lad, if not the best smith, but perhaps you will make the best trader, in time.”
“What will you do with Fyrennian and Ramm?” asked Eleanor.
“I’ll let them cool their heels for a few days in the cellar,” said Thrytin. “Then send them on their way. Fyrennian was a traveling smith before he came upon the firestarter and used it to challenge me. He can wander again. But I will also spread the word about his practices to prevent him making trouble elsewhere. Unless you want to pronounce some other judgment, Sir Odo?”
“No, no,” said Odo, waving his hand. “Right now, I just want to go to bed and sleep.”
“After I’ve cleaned that cut,” said Eleanor.
“You won’t go without saying good-bye?” asked Toland.
“No, we won’t,” said Eleanor. She paused and added a bit awkwardly, “That armor I mentioned … and maybe a sword?”
Toland looked at Thrytin. The master smith smiled.
“I am sure we can equip you as befits your station,” he said gravely. “After sunup, when our other guests have departed.”
“Thank you,” said Eleanor. She suddenly felt very tired herself, even though she hadn’t been the one fighting. All that adventuring in the middle of the night, she told herself. Nothing to do with being frightened that Odo would be killed, and herself, and all the inhabitants of Anfyltarn. Nothing to do with that at all.
“Good night,” Odo said to the urthkin leader. “I’m happy we didn’t all have to fight.”
“You have the beginnings of wisdom,” said the urthkin. “May the earth speak to you, Sir Odo.”
She bowed once again. Odo staggered as he bowed back, suddenly so weary he could barely stand. Eleanor helped the exhausted boy stumble back towards the smithy, and the waiting bed within.
“Our first trial,” Eleanor said as they stepped inside. “A triumph! The firestarter destroyed, Master Fyrennian deposed, the urthkin threat turned aside, armor obtained, or will be soon. You really are becoming a knight, Odo!”
Odo nodded slowly because she wanted him to agree. How many knights were forced into battle by the actions of their swords, unwilling and unprepared as he had been?
Not many, he thought, but he was definitely too tired to argue.
Next morning, weary after only a few hours’ sleep and still unsettled by how everything had almost gone hideously and terminally wrong, Eleanor, Odo, and Biter left Anfyltarn and descended the hill to retrieve their packs.
They wore armor now, Odo in the full hauberk he had bartered with Fyrennian to buy, a coat made of hundreds of interwoven steel rings that stretched down to his knees, and had full sleeves and a plate gorget to protect his neck. It was very heavy and hot, particularly with the thick felted undergarment he had to wear as well so as not to be chafed.
He had a conical steel helmet too, but he wasn’t wearing that because it was also very heavy and sweaty, and it made it hard to see. Biter told him knights usually didn’t put their helmets on unless there was a risk of ambush, or battle was clearly imminent. So he’d tied the helmet to his belt for now, where it was annoying him as they walked downhill.
Eleanor had a similar helmet tied to her belt, and wore a short-sleeved mail shirt that extended to mid-thigh. It was made from lighter rings, and was neither as well made nor as heavy-duty as Odo’s hauberk. But she could move more easily.
She was much more captivated by another weight at her side, as she kept her hand on the hilt of her new weapon. It wasn’t precisely a sword, as the smiths had not had one of a suitable size for her, but to her mind it was almost as good: a long, curved sword-knife identical to the one the urthkin Euphe had used in the duel, with a belt and scabbard to match. Deep down she had hoped for a true sword of her own, even though it wouldn’t have been magical, but all she had to do, she told herself, was bide her time until Odo retired …
The packs remained where they had left them, tucked up in the crook of an alder near the gorse bushes where they’d had their hasty conference the previous day. Eleanor and Odo checked them over, and tied their helmets to the tops.
“We could change back to our normal clothes,” said Odo before he swung the pack on his back. Overbalanced by the unaccustomed weight on his shoulders and hips, he missed entirely, very nearly flinging the pack into what remained of the river.
Eleanor chuckled, fetching the pack for him. In the process she tangled sword-knife in her mail shirt so she almost fell face-forward into the mud.
“Normal clothes, definitely,” she said, accepting Odo’s help to stand upright.
“You must grow accustomed to armor!” protested Biter, shooting several inches out of his scabbard. “A knight in full mail with shield must be able to vault a low wall, mount a charger without difficulty, and march in mud for a full day and fight at twilight.”
“I guess we leave the armor on, then,” said Eleanor with a roll of her eyes.
Odo sighed and nodded. It wasn’t just the weight of the armor, as he could carry far more once he grew used to it. It was the discomfort. The weather was warm for autumn, and they had a long way to walk. He knew he would be very sweaty, and with the river so low, there was no prospect of a cooling swim ahead.
But more than the discomfort, the armor constricted his every move. He couldn’t swing his arms normally, or bend down, or even breathe in as easily as he was used to. Everything just felt too tight, like he’d been tied up with rope. Every movement took more effort, and then half the time he overdid it and ended up tripping, or lurching, or almost straining a muscle.
But Biter did say he would grow accustomed to it, and Odo still remembered how he had found the big sacks in the mill almost impossible to lug about when he’d first started, and now he could pick up two at once. So he supposed he would get used to the armor as well, in time.
And, he reminded himself, he looked considerably more knightly than before, and his new appearance would surely dissuade casual bandits and the like.
Eleanor consulted the map that Master Thrytin had given them with the armor that morning. The next village along the river road, called Scomhylt, was several leagues away. The map was rather more vague beyond that, and after the half dozen or so closer villages along the river, the rest of it was simply marked as The Upper Valleys. This was where the river rose, and where Quenwulf was reported to be.
“Let me check those cuts and grazes before we go,” said Eleanor as she fished around among her father’s salves. It would be terrible if Odo survived his first fight only to succumb to infection.
First sword fight. First tyrant deposed. First encounter with the urthkin. First injuries.
None of it seemed entirely real to Odo, who was as weighed down by the memories as he was by the armor. He hadn’t killed anyone, but he might have, and he too could have died. Victory was supposed to be sweet, but he didn’t feel it. All he felt was relief, and a kind of creeping dread that he would have to do something similar again.
“Are you going to mope all day?” Eleanor asked him.
Odo forced himself out of his thoughts.
“No. I’m sure Biter won’t let me anyway.”
“Indeed, Sir Odo,” said the sword. “We have new forms to learn and many old ones to practice!”
Odo nodded. He was coming to accept that this was his lot, at least for the immediate future — and besides, the exercises had definitely come in handy during the fight with Euphe. He had no doubt they would come in handy against a dragon.
With packs much heavier than before, stomachs full of a hearty smithy breakfast, and a clearer sense of where they were going, Eleanor and Odo set off again. Both paused when they saw the river, but did not speak, simply sharing a concerned look. It was lower than ever. The trickle in the middle was no wider than Odo’s hand.
As they marched, Biter called out moves and made Odo practice. He was soon sweating indeed, as he had to take three or four steps to every one of Eleanor’s, going on and off the path a
s Biter dragged him this way and that to perform various actions.
After a league of this, Odo had to call a halt. Unlacing his hauberk, he leaned against a willow, red-faced and panting. He was used to hot, hard work in the mill, but this went far beyond that.
“Biter, don’t you ever get tired?” asked Eleanor. She’d been following along, watching everything, practicing in her mind.
“I will not flag until Sir Odo is in peak condition —”
“That’s not what I mean. Do you ever become too weary to continue? Do you ever … stop?”
Biter made Odo’s arm fling about, executing one of the Nine Deadly Strikes, and then came to rest on the boy’s shoulder.
“One day I will die, like all things, if that is what you are asking, squire.”
“No. I want to know if you could keep doing this all day, if Odo would let you.”
Odo shot her a “what are you doing to me?” look. He was still panting for air, and felt as though he could drink what remained of the river in one gulp. Was she trying to kill him?
“I have never had a knight whose endurance exceeded my own,” said the sword, after some consideration.
“All right, then.” Eleanor felt she was getting somewhere, finally. “What do you do when your knights sleep?”
“I watch over them, as you have observed me doing.”
“So you yourself don’t sleep?”
“No.”
“But you did in the river,” said Odo.
“I am … unsure what I was doing in the river,” said Biter. The only time he ever sounded puzzled was when he talked about those times, and the times immediately before. “I was ensorcelled. My mind was not my own.”