The Death Wish

by Jules Marks

  Akimba seemed a bit flustered as well. “Well, when I was told that Sir Hugh had arrived…well, I had no idea he had such an important personage with him…” Akimba turned and looked towards the doorway. “I should summon Nordz; we must arrange for you to have a suite of rooms next to Hugh; we can…” He stopped speaking, because Ioan was shaking his head.

  “Lord Akimba, I thank you for your generosity, but I prefer for things to remain as they are. For my own safety I travel incognito, and I hope that you will honor this decision.”

  Akimba nodded. “Of course. Still, if there is anything you require, you have only to ask it.”

  “And I thank you.” Ioan tilted his head towards Larkin. “Here’s a young lad who has been eager to make your acquaintance.”

  Akimba looked to Hugh to make the introduction. For his part, Hugh was standing to the side, smiling, apparently enjoying the little secret about Ioan he’d managed to keep until now.

  He beckoned to Larkin.

  “Come forward, lad.”

  Larkin obliged; he not only stepped forward, he knelt, his head bowed low, at Akimba’s feet.

  Akimba raised his eyebrows, looked at the rest of us, and smiled.

  “Now, this boy makes me feel like royalty.” He tapped Larkin’s head with his fingertip. “Rise up, and tell me your name.”

  Larkin stood up. He looked into Akimba’s eyes, and in a shaky voice he answered: “I am Larkin of Tolmund, at your service, my lord.”

  “So, young Larkin of Tolmund, are you ready to fight the Uplanders?”

  Larkin’s nostrils flared. “After what we found yesterday, I will kill as many as I may, Lord Akimba.”

  Akimba immediately turned to Hugh. “Yesterday? What happened?”

  Hugh proceeded to tell him what had transpired at the cave, deferring to Ioan regarding the details. Akimba stopped Hugh a time or two to ask a question, and he directed more queries to Ioan before he was satisfied that he’d heard enough.

  “I will speak to Lady Rebeccah of these things, but for now I tell you truly that though I hated the wretches before, they knew not the full extent of my wrath.” He looked around distractedly and rubbed a hand over his brow. “Yes, I must speak with Rebeccah.” He looked back at us once again. “If you will excuse me, I shall have Nordz give you a tour, show you the training grounds and the like. You all will be my guests for supper, for I want to hear more of your journey.” He nodded to me and then to Larkin and then tapped at his skull. He’d obviously noticed our injuries. “By the looks of you two, you have had some adventures on the road, and I want to hear all about them.”

  Nordz gave us a general tour of the castle, showed us gardens and grounds, and then left us at the armory to “sight-see” at will. The armory was vast and well equipped, like nothing I’d seen in all my days. Hugh and Ioan were busying themselves examining the swords and armour when Larkin pulled me aside.

  “Might I have a word, Gael?”

  “Certainly, Larkin.” I’d noticed he still looked a bit peaked, even after our interview with Lord Akimba was over. “What is it, lad?”

  “Back there…in his lordship’s chambers, Lord Akimba referred to Lord Geoffrey and Llewellan as a place familiar to himself and to Sir Hugh…” He paused, and absently rubbed at the sore place on his skull.

  I prompted him: “Yes, Lord Geoffrey and Sir Hugh are brothers, both sons of Lord Denholm of Llewellan, God rest his soul. Didn’t you know?”

  He shook his head. “How would I?”

  In turn, I scratched at my whiskers. “Well, I suppose you had no means of knowing. Still, what does it matter?”

  “My father had a comrade who knew Lord Geoffrey, and spoke highly of him. I believe he fought with him in the Franconian wars. He told me I could serve no better man than Lord Geoffrey.”

  I held out both hands and pantomimed balancing them. “Lord Geoffrey…Sir Hugh. It would be a close call as to who would be better to serve. In the past, I have always been Lord Geoffrey’s man, but this journey has been an education.”

  “You, too, then served Lord Geoffrey?”

  “I just said so, didn’t I?” I was getting frustrated with Larkin’s line of questioning; I wanted to know the point of it.

  “Did you know a servant named Galen?” Larkin paused, and decided to elaborate. “This knight…I’ve forgotten his name…told of Lord Geoffrey’s servant…a man who fought by his side. I was told that he saved Lord Geoffrey’s life.”

  “No more than Lord Geoffrey saved his. That’s the way of it when men are in many battles together; after a time, one quits keeping count of saves.”

  “So you know him…Galen, that is?”

  I frowned at him. “What’s this about, Larkin?”

  Larkin shrugged, and seemed evasive. “It’s just that I didn’t know the connection, and now that I do, I am curious. This Galen character made such an impression on the knight…”

  “And you can remember Galen’s name, but you cannot remember the knight who told you about him?” It sounded like a false tale.

  “Do you know him?” he persisted.

  “In a manner of speaking. Galen is my proper name.”

  Larkin’s eyes grew wide. “Then you are Lord Geoffrey’s Galen?”

  “I prefer ‘Gael,’ but yes, I am Lord Geoffrey’s man, Galen.”

  For some reason, this inconsequential bit of information again sent Larkin into a funk. As we continued our tour, he paid little attention to the viewing of the armory until we came to the bows, and the sight of them triggered another question.

  “At some time may I watch you at practice?” he asked. “I could use more instruction,” he offered in explanation of his request.

  “Certainly…perhaps on the morrow,” I answered. I was still confused by Larkin’s curious behavior. There was something going on with the boy, but I just couldn’t fathom what it might be.

  Chapter Eight

  The surroundings for the meal may have been lavish, but the food was simple…and I was in a position to know because I had Lord Geoffrey’s standard of fare to compare it to. It was obvious that times were hard at Beckman; there were too many people in the castle and town that didn’t belong, and those very people who were eating the extra food were the ones who normally were growing it.

  Still, the plain food notwithstanding, the meal was memorable for the conversations we enjoyed.

  Lady Rebeccah did not join us; Lord Akimba explained that her grief was still too great, that she didn’t want to make a spectacle of herself in front of guests. She sent private words of greeting to Sir Hugh, saying that she would see us all on the morrow.

  Akimba was a fine and solicitous host. He asked many details of our journey; the story of the wolves and my first meeting with Ioan he found particularly interesting. He treated Larkin and I as if we, too, were honored guests, and though I believe we both felt a bit awkward at first, by evening’s end we were feeling our cups and enjoying ourselves immensely as Akimba regaled us with tales of growing up with Halwick. Though in mourning, Akimba couldn’t resist telling humorous stories about his adopted father. He had us all laughing at his anecdotes, and I regretted all the more that I’d never had the opportunity to meet the inspiration for those entertaining tales: Lord Halwick. I must admit that I was quite taken with our fascinating host, and I could tell that my comrades shared my feelings.

  When we returned to our rooms late that evening, Hugh told us that we would have the next day to rest, investigate more of the town, and/or train at arms. On the following days we would ready ourselves to go with Akimba on an expedition. He wanted to see the cave we’d found, and if we had the opportunity to engage and kill some Uplanders while we ventured outside the castle’s walls, all the better.

  The weather was fine, and as I had no burning interest in looking around the town, a practice session seemed a fine way to begin the day. Per his request, I asked Larkin to join me. Hugh and Ioan told me they would find us later.

  Beckman Cas
tle’s archery range was well designed, tucked between high stone walls near the cliff-side of the castle. We’d brought our own bows, but the armourer had given us practice arrows to shoot into the targets at the far end of the range. We were alone on the range; apparently, Halwick’s men had gotten enough practice on the Uplanders of late.

  Larkin was visibly nervous, so I shot first. I nocked the arrow, drew, and let fly a shot that did hit the target, but not its center. I started to mumble a curse, but then thought better of it. I took careful aim on my next shot, and hit quite near the middle of the target. My next three shots hit in much the same area, so I thought it was time for Larkin to give it a try.

  He still looked tense, and I tried to reassure him.

  “It’s just the two of us here, lad. No need to feel any pressure.”

  He looked at me sideways in such a way as to tell me that my words of encouragement hadn’t worked. After a deep breath, he took aim and shot. His form was good, as were the results: he hit near center. He turned to me and offered a surprised smile.

  “Was that luck or skill, boy? Can you do it again?”

  His smile slipped into a comical grimace. “It was a bit of both, Gael, but I shall try again.”

  Larkin’s next shot went a bit wide and hit near the target’s edge.

  “Watch that right elbow; it’s a bit low,” I urged him.

  He nodded, followed my instructions, shot again, and hit dead center.

  We both whooped.

  “That wasn’t luck, lad; your form was perfect. Come…let’s see you do it again.”

  Larkin raised his eyebrows and sighed, and then turned to go at it again. That arrow ended about a finger’s width from the last, and I couldn’t help but whistle in admiration.

  “You’ve no need for my advice, Larkin; you’re a fine marksman.”

  Larkin’s reaction to the compliment was to blush to the tips of his ears. “I had good teachers,” he offered in explanation.

  “Good teachers aren’t much help if you don’t have a good student to begin with. I’ll warrant those Uplanders are going to regret the day you ever picked up a bow.”

  A sudden look of concern was Larkin’s response to the compliment. “Do you really think so? Is it not so different from shooting at a target?”

  I had to think on that a moment, and then came up with a question. “Have you shot game…at any moving targets?”

  His head immediately bobbed up and down. “Surely…lots of times.”

  I clapped him on his slim shoulder. “Then you will be fine. When you realize that your comrades’ lives depend on your actions, you quit worrying ‘bout who you’re shooting, and worry more about not lettin’ those fellows across the way shoot you and your friends first.”

  Larkin looked thoughtful and nodded his head. “All right, I understand.”

  It seemed there was something I could teach him after all. We each shot a quiver-full of arrows, and then, satisfied that we were in good form, we sat in a sunny corner of the range and talked for a bit. Though I didn’t understand Larkin’s curiosity about life at Llewellan, I was willing to answer his questions. His interest in Lord Geoffrey seemed passing; instead, he asked me about my work there, about family—he seemed genuinely saddened when I spoke about Sarei’s death—and about my life in general. I’d never considered my daily routine worthy of conversation, but Larkin seemed to think I’d had an interesting life. In retrospect, I realized that he was right in thinking so. Yes, I’d suffered misery and sadness during certain dark times, but up to the time of Sarei’s death, I had had a good life, with balanced portions of adventure and tranquility, happiness and sorrow. Telling Larkin those stories gave my spirits a lift, and I couldn’t help but appreciate his interest. I asked him about his own childhood and subsequent travels, but he wasn’t as forthcoming, saying he’d rather hear about what it was like growing up at Llewellan…that he would rather listen than talk. (…Not what I would consider a typical youth.) Later, we decided it was time to stretch our legs; we walked to the training arena in search of Hugh and Ioan.

  We found them, along with Akimba. They were at the arena with no one to attend them but Nordz; apparently Akimba had closed the practice out of deference to Ioan’s wish to remain inconspicuous. It seemed some discussion had just concluded regarding the order of those to spar. I don’t know if Hugh contrived it or not, but Akimba and Ioan were to be paired first. I cast Hugh a knowing grin, and we settled back in the stands to watch the two men prepare to train. Though I expected Akimba to wear armour of some kind, I was a bit surprised to see Ioan don mail. Hugh enlightened me in this regard.

  “He’s never trained with Akimba, after all, and, not knowing Akimba’s skills, it is best that he be careful. Once Ioan has measured his form, he’ll probably call to have the mail removed.”

  “Is Akimba any good with a sword?”

  “Is Akimba any good?” Hugh guffawed. “Does the sun rise every morning?” He shook his head and gave a low whistle. “I’ve been hoping to see this match-up for years.” He leaned across me, and thumped Larkin on the shoulder. “You’re in the classroom now, boy. Watch and learn.”

  Early on in the match I was torn between watching the swordsmen, and looking to see Larkin’s reaction to them. However, it was soon apparent that there wasn’t much point in looking to see what Larkin thought of the fight, because his expression didn’t change much after the beginning. His eyebrows were raised, his eyes wide, and a look of absolute wonder was written all over his open face. I didn’t doubt we’d be dealing with a bout of hero worship after the training…but Larkin might have a hard time picking which hero to worship.

  As for the swordsmen themselves, I had thought never to see a better match than Ioan and Hugh’s, but there I was, seeing it before my very eyes. Akimba had the advantage of being the stronger, more powerful opponent. For his part, Ioan was lighter on his feet, faster. Each man had strengths that offset the others’; it was a marvel to watch such gifted swordsmen compete.

  They went at it for more than half an hour, trading points and complimenting one another in turn on some particularly amazing swipe, parry, or lunge. They leapt, they dove, they even rolled. They were using techniques I’d never seen…and never imagined were possible.

  Just as Hugh had predicted, Ioan broke away to remove his mail. Before we could move down to help him, Nordz was at his side, urging him to retain the protection…even as he was, at Ioan’s insistence, assisting in its removal. Akimba stayed to one side; he watched Nordz help Ioan, and then beckoned to have his mail removed also. I looked to see Ioan’s reaction: only a raised brow indicated his surprise at Akimba’s order. Nordz’ protests continued in earnest, but Akimba waved away his objections.

  “Why are they disarming?” asked Larkin. “They aren’t finished, are they?”

  Hugh smiled and shook his head, and then explained about the advantages of fighting unencumbered. Larkin remained skeptical, and the look of wonder was exchanged for a miserable expression of worry.

  It wasn’t long before the exercise resumed. The match proceeded in much the same manner as before, but both men looked even more agile; they were moving faster.

  As thrilling as it was to watch, and as skilled and controlled as the combatants were, there was an element of danger involved in the match: both men were incredibly competitive, and they were taking chances they shouldn’t be taking. More than a time or two I thought one might have actually killed the other…they came that close to chopping off heads and skewering each other. There were rents in their clothing to indicate the hazards to which they were subjecting themselves.

  Larkin occasionally reacted to these close calls. Several times I turned to look at him when he gasped, winced, or actually put his hands to his eyes…but only for a moment.

  The weather was relatively pleasant for we non-combatants, but it was getting warmer all the time. I could see both men were dripping with sweat. After another incredible stretch in which the contest appea
red to swing to and fro regarding who had the win, the exhausted men broke for a breather and water. Akimba, being host, offered Ioan the bucket first. Ioan drank a dipperful, and then poured a couple more dippers over his head. Akimba did likewise, and then stripped off his wet jerkin and shirt.

  I’d never seen a man with a more clearly defined musculature—it was as if a thin layer of black paint had been brushed over the powerful muscle and bone—and I couldn’t help but wonder if Ioan found the sight intimidating. Who, after all, could outlast and beat such a specimen of human strength and conditioning?

  My concern regarding Ioan was groundless: he chuckled, and then called out, “good idea,” before removing his own jerkin and shirt. Standing near Akimba, he looked all the more pale, and his wet skin shimmered the way it had when he’d been swimming. I could see Akimba notice this; his eyebrows were raised as he tried not to be obvious in staring. Ioan bowed, flourished his sword, and asked if Akimba was ready to continue. Akimba’s answer was to nod, salute, and stand ready. Within seconds, they were at it once more.

  It seemed to go on forever. I was to the point of joining Larkin in covering my eyes. There had simply been too many close calls. Even Hugh had had enough sport.

  “Can’t you stop them?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “I doubt that it would do any good, and there’s the possibility that I would distract one or both into causing injury. I wouldn’t want to try…would you?”

  I admitted that I wouldn’t.

  The fighters had slowed considerably; their exhaustion was evident by the wild lunges and strokes they were trading back and forth. Even the sounds the swords made had changed: when the bout had begun, the swords would ring and vibrate when they met. Now the sound was duller; it was obvious that less effort was going into each blow. Technique was fading, and stamina would be the winner. We could hear their heavy breathing from where we stood far back in the arena. Both men were groaning as they swung their ever-heavier swords, and sparkling droplets of water and sweat flew with every blade-stroke. I was wishing that one of them would yield…that someone would put an end to the misery.