by Flora Speer
Only then did Emma look around, searching for Blake. She quickly saw that he hadn’t been thrown. He was riding as fast as he could, but not in the direction of the castle. Blake was galloping for the cliffs, where Hermit had just appeared at the top of the path, and where both of them, man and boy alike, were certain to encounter the murderous Wade.
“Oh, no! Blake! Hermit! Run to the castle!”
She wasn’t sure they could hear her warning, and she feared she wasn’t strong enough to capture Wade again by magic, when he was protected by his talisman. She could think of only one way to stop Wade. She’d have to chase him toward Penruan and trust Sloan to act quickly.
As she leapt onto her horse, Emma noticed a movement near Rough Tor. A moment later she was able to make out the shapes of a mounted band of men who were galloping toward her, and knew them for the outlaws to whom Wade had planned to consign her.
“That’s why he left me so easily,” she muttered. “He knew they were on the way. Well, they’ll have to catch me first.”
Then, to her despair, she recognized Dain and Vivienne riding along the road from Trevanan to Penruan with just a few men-at-arms for escort. She didn’t think Wade had noticed them yet. He was still following Blake.
With the brigands almost at her heels, Emma set out after Wade, heading for the spot on the cliffs where Dain and all the others were bound to meet and where, she knew, bloody violence was sure to occur.
Chapter 16
As she raced toward the cliffs, Emma spared a hasty glance for Penruan Castle, off to her left. She was greatly relieved to see the main gate wide open and the glint of sunlight on armor and drawn swords as mounted men poured out of the entrance and across the drawbridge.
“Bless you, Sloan! Please, intercept the bandits before they catch up to me. Dain and his men and I will stop Wade and protect Vivienne.”
Almost as if he could hear her murmured plea, Sloan led his men-at-arms directly toward the horsemen who were closing in on Emma. She needed only one look over her shoulder to know her pursuers were being neatly cut off, leaving her free to ride on unhindered.
She paid no heed to the sounds of battle rising behind her as the force from Penruan met the bandits. Her task was to stop Wade before he discovered his other intended victim, Vivienne, was on the road leading straight to him and drawing nearer with every moment that passed. Dain would fight to protect his sister, but Emma knew he wasn’t wearing his chain-mail armor, and Wade was sure to be an unchivalrous opponent. Therefore Wade must be stopped at once.
Ahead of her, Emma saw Blake pulling up his horse beside Hermit, and saw the boy waving his arm toward the pursuing Wade, who had almost reached the cliff road.
“Faster! Faster!” Emma urged her horse, though the steed was already flying over the dangerous moorland with Emma bent low at its neck.
Wade must have heard her coming, for he pulled his horse around to face her just as Emma also reached the road. She tumbled down from her mount, intending to use magic on her opponent, no matter the cost to herself. She planted both feet firmly on the solid earth and began to gather her forces.
Before Emma could work her spell, Hermit was there, too, reaching up to grab Wade by one arm and yank him out of the saddle. Wade’s reaction was rapid. He landed on his feet, sword in hand, and spun around to slash at Hermit, who leapt back just in time to avoid the killing stroke.
Emma sought deep inside herself, calling up reserves of magical strength, knowing Wade was going to use his talisman to oppose her magic. She had caught him by surprise once that day; he would not be surprised a second time. The pitted black stone swung back and forth on its silver chain, bumping against Wade’s chest each time he moved.
Snaring him hurt. Pain ripped through Emma, but she was determined to defend those she loved. She told herself she only had to hold Wade for a little while. The men-at-arms who were riding with Dain would arrive soon, and they would be strong enough to stop Wade by sheer force of arms before he could harm Blake or Hermit and, she hoped, before Dain became embroiled in the fight. And Vivienne would sense that Emma was relying on magic and be warned in time to protect herself by the same means. Emma exerted all her strength to bring Wade under her control.
She should have known Dain wouldn’t send his men-at-arms ahead of him to see what was happening. He rode up leading his troops and took immediate command of the strange little skirmish that was going on in the middle of the cliff road. He wedged his horse between Emma and Wade, the combined interference of human and horseflesh making it even more difficult for Emma to hold Wade fast.
“In heaven’s name, stand back,” Dain ordered his wife. “I’ll see to this villain. He’s thoroughly outnumbered.”
The sound of Dain’s voice broke the last strands of Emma’s magical connection with Wade. Freed from her control, Wade lifted his sword and slashed at Dain’s horse. An instant before the blade made contact, Hermit seized Wade’s sword arm.
“Halt!” Hermit ordered, and it wasn’t clear until he spoke again just who it was he meant to stop. “Dain, this is my battle to fight. Blake tells me this villain has threatened both Emma and Vivienne.”
“If he has threatened my wife and my sister,” Dain responded, “then it is my fight.”
“There’s no need to fight,” Emma cried. “Dain, let your men-at-arms take Wade back to the castle and hold him prisoner there till you decide what to do with him.”
“I’ll never be a prisoner,” Wade shouted, wrestling against Hermit, who was still holding onto his sword arm. “Nor will I be taken by magic, not while I have my talisman.”
“You are right about that,” Hermit told him. “No one will use magic against you. Dain, let me put an end to this man’s villainy in my own way.”
“He is my prisoner,” Dain said.
“Not so,” Hermit objected. “I captured him; I pulled him from his horse. He is mine. Please, Dain! I must do this.”
“You are hardly fit for combat,” Dain said, eyebrows raised in surprise at Hermit’s vehemence. “Why are you so determined?”
“Once I was trained to use both sword and lance. In those long-ago days I knew the rules of chivalry, but I betrayed them, to my eternal shame,” Hermit said. “Give me a sword and let me fight this battle as a man ought to fight. Let me earn the right to call myself an honest man again, before I die.”
“Hermit, no!” Vivienne cried. “Your ruined arm—”
“Is growing strong again, thanks to you and Agatha,” Hermit interrupted the protest. “I warn you, Vivienne, and you, too, Emma, I want no magic employed here. It must be a fair fight of man against man.” Hermit released Wade and stepped back, awaiting Dain’s decision.
“Well, Wade,” said Dain, looking down from his high seat astride his horse, “will you accept Hermit’s challenge?”
“Him? That weak, bearded pilgrim?” Wade responded, laughing at Hermit, who, in his wide-brimmed hat, tattered cloak, and worn boots, appeared to be anything but a fierce warrior. “What reward do I get when I kill him? For if it’s a man-to-man challenge, then you cannot charge me with murder after it’s over.”
“Fair enough,” Dain said. “Ill not imprison you if you win the fight. If you survive, you may leave Penruan lands a free man, provided you promise never to return. But if you lose the fight, you lose your life.”
“Either way,” Emma cried, knowing Dain would not change his mind now that it was made up, “you must hand over the talisman that Lady Richenda gave you.”
“What, lose my security against magic?” Wade exclaimed. “Ill not do it.”
“My mother gave him a talisman?” Dain asked, looking at Emma.
“To protect him against my magic, and Vivienne’s, so he would be able to kill us,” Emma explained. “He’d have killed Blake, too, because the boy got in his way. He used Blake as a hostage against me.”
“You make me wish I had not offered him the chance to fight for his life,” Dain responded, his mouth tight. “Unfort
unately, I cannot renege on my word. For honor’s sake I must allow the combat, so long as both men agree to it. Ill have that talisman now, Wade.” He stretched out his hand.
“I’d rather put it in your lady’s hand,” Wade said, his mouth curling into a grim smile when Emma gasped.
“Give it to me,” Dain ordered. “However the battle ends, be assured I will return it to its rightful owner.”
“If I hand it over, can you prevent those two witches from casting spells against me?” Wade asked.
“They will obey my orders,” Dain said. “No magic will be used. You have my word on it. Give me the stone.”
Instead of handing it up to Dain, Wade tossed the stone and chain at him. Dain caught it easily and tucked it into his tunic.
“Someone provide Hermit with a good sword,” Dain commanded. “Everyone move well away from the cliff. The combat will take place here, on the road, where the ground is level and hard-packed.”
He turned in his saddle to look back over the moor for a moment, to the place where Sloan was leading Penruan men to victory against the bandits.
“You’ll get no help from your friends,” Dain said to Wade.
“I have no friends,” Wade responded, shrugging his shoulders to indicate that it mattered not to him whether the outlaws lived or died. “Let’s get on with this.”
While they spoke, one of the men in Dain’s escort had offered his broadsword to Hermit. Blake, acting as squire, had taken Hermit’s hat and was assisting him to remove his cloak. Hermit stood attired as Wade was, in tunic, breeches, and boots, though Hermit was a good deal shabbier than Wade. Hermit’s tunic was roughly patched in several places, there was an unrepaired tear at one knee of his hose, and his long, untrimmed beard gave him a striking similarity to the outlaws who lived around Rough Tor.
Yet there was a quiet dignity to Hermit’s stance, and a natural courtesy in the way he accepted the sword from Dain’s man-at-arms with words of thanks worthy of the grandest noble. He hefted the broadsword in both hands, testing its weight and balance, and his teeth flashed in a pleased smile that showed his approval of the weapon.
Then Hermit stepped to the exact middle of the road and silence fell over the group gathered there. From the distance, where the battle was winding down, came the faint sound of weapons clashing, and of a man’s voice calling out an order .
Hermit looked directly into Emma’s eyes and raised his borrowed broadsword straight up, saluting her. He turned a little to face Vivienne, who was still mounted, and offered the same salute to her.
”I am ready at your command, my lord Dain,” Hermit said.
Dain considered Wade, who stood in a languid pose, running a finger along the edge of his sword to test the sharpness of the blade.
“Wade,” Dain said, “give up your knife. Only swords are to be used here.”
“What, don’t you trust me?” asked Wade, with the unpleasant sneer that Emma was beginning to dislike intensely.
“No,” Dain said quietly, “I do not trust you.”
One of his men stepped forward and, with a look of disgust, Wade gave him the knife.
“Very well, then. Begin,” Dain said.
The signal was barely out of his mouth when Wade lunged forward toward Hermit, obviously thinking he could end the fight without much effort.
Hermit parried the blow, the edge of his sword slicing open Wade’s sleeve and leaving a bloody gash on his arm.
“I forgot to tell you,” Hermit said, his eyes never leaving Wade’s face, “lately, I’ve been practicing.”
“Much good it’ll do you,” Wade responded.
The two men circled each other, slashing now and then, each man parrying, while the tension between them grew stronger and the men and women watching became completely quiet, until only the panting breath of the combatants, the clash of blade upon steel blade, and the crunch of their feet on the surface of the road broke the stillness. Wade cut Hermit’s hand. Hermit opened another gash on Wade’s forearm.
The afternoon wore on. Both men were drenched in sweat, and both were clearly tiring.
Suddenly Wade altered the pattern of circle and slash and parry. He began to press forward, slashing wildly, his teeth bared and his face assuming a mask of impotent fury as Hermit warded off the attack. Then, in a series of fierce and rapid blows, he drew blood from Hermit’s left arm, sliced open his left shoulder, and tore a long wound in his left side.
“Now I’ll have an end to this!” Wade shouted, and lifted his broadsword to bring it down on Hermit’s neck, a blow that would surely sever Hermit’s head from his shoulders.
With a wrenching groan that stabbed right to Emma’s heart, Hermit raised his own sword and thrust aside the death that Wade intended for him. Then, before Wade could recover and come at him again, Hermit raised his own sword one more time, holding it in both bloodstained, sweaty hands, and struck Wade hard across his middle.
Wade stumbled backward, clutching at the wound with his left hand, trying to hold his ruined body together, though he must have sensed it was hopeless.
“You’ll pay for this,” Wade gasped, taking another backward step. “Lady Richenda will make you sorry.”
“Catch him,” Dain ordered his men, “before he goes over the edge.”
“Don’t – touch – me,” Wade said, his words a moan of pain and fury. In his right hand he still held his broadsword, and he lifted it as if to ward off anyone who dared to approach him.
“Fool,” he said to Dain, “to trust in magic.”
“It’s not magic that’s done this,” Dain said, “but hatred of magic.”
Still keeping his broadsword extended, though no man made a move toward him, Wade stepped backward again, groaning at the effort it required to force his rapidly failing body to obey his will. Without another word he took the final step and went over the cliff. He did not cry out as he fell.
In the protracted silence that followed, Hermit drew himself up, standing straight and tall in his tattered clothing.
”I thank you, my lord Dain,” Hermit said. “Today, at last, I am a true man again. My honor is redeemed. My loved ones are protected against evil.” He looked at Vivienne, and then at Emma. Wonder and a wild joy filled his eyes and shone on his dirt-streaked, bearded face.
Emma started toward him, wanting to help, both her hands extended in concern over his dreadful wounds. Before she could reach him, Hermit collapsed onto the road and lay there, facedown and unmoving.
“No!” Vivienne shrieked, flinging herself from her horse to run to him.
Her cry broke the unnatural silence that had held them all in place, and suddenly the air rang with commands as Dain ordered one of his men to ride to the castle for a litter and a supply of bandages, commanded two other men to descend the cliff path to discover the remains of Wade and return them to the castle for burial, and ordered a fourth man to ride to the battle scene on the moor and bring back word of the results.
“I want to know how many men are wounded, how many dead, and how many captured,” Dain instructed.
“Please,” Emma begged, catching at his stirrup, “send one of the men to Trevanan to inform Agatha of what has happened and bring her to the castle. We are going to need her healing skills.”
“Hermit’s wounds are grave,” Dain responded, dismounting as he spoke. “I have seen men die from lesser hurts.”
“We can’t let him die,” Emma said on a sob.
At Vivienne’s urgent call, she left Dain’s side and went to help with Hermit. He was unconscious, his face bruised and cut where he’d hit the rough stone and gravel of the road. His wounds from Wade’s sword were bleeding copiously. Blake was already at work, following Vivienne’s instructions to bind up the gash on Hermit’s arm using Vivienne’s white scarf, and to pull it tight until the bleeding stopped. Emma tried to stanch the shoulder wound with her hands, while Vivienne struggled with the deep tear in Hermit’s side. Though her face was white, Vivienne was amazingly calm, doi
ng with admirable efficiency whatever must be done to stop the bleeding.
“He will require sewing,” Emma said. “All three wounds need to be sewn closed.”
“There will be other wounded men coming in from the moor who will also want help,” Dain said, squatting beside Hermit’s inert form. “He’s still unconscious?”
“I’m glad he is,” Vivienne said. “He won’t feel the pain when we move him.”
In fact, the men who came with a litter moved Hermit gently and carried him with great care to the castle and into one of the guest chambers in the tower keep. By that time Agatha appeared, having ridden pillion behind the man Dain sent to fetch her. She watched Emma and Vivienne for a few minutes before nodding her approval.
“He will do well enough under your care,” Agatha said. “I’ll see to the other wounded, the men from the battle, so you won’t have to worry about them. Who can best assist me?”
“Hawise,” Emma said at once, “and Blake, too. He’s had a trying day, and helping someone else will be the best thing for him. Ask him to tell you how Wade misused him. He ought to talk about it, and I’m too busy here to listen just now.”
“I’ll see to the boy,” Agatha promised, and left to start tending to the wounded men.
“Sloan is wounded, too,” Dain said, hovering just inside the doorway. “That’s where Hawise will be. What of you, Emma? Your day has been no less trying than Blake’s.”
“I haven’t time to think of it just now,” Emma responded, and firmly shut all thought of Wade and his wicked plans out of her mind.
By nightfall Wade and several of the bandits had been buried in an empty field at some distance from the castle, and the wounded, men-at-arms and outlaws alike, were bandaged and dosed with herbal medicines. Those who were strong enough to cause trouble were under close guard.
Hermit was beginning to move and thrash about in his bed as he slowly regained consciousness. He was too weak to talk, but Emma could see that he did recognize her, and Vivienne. They each took one of his hands, and Hermit smiled and pressed their fingers. He obediently swallowed the spoonful of poppy syrup Emma offered to him, and a short time later he lapsed into a state of somnolence in which, Emma knew, there was no pain.