Decisions

‘Please, don’t do it.’ Luthar begged, eyes dancing nervously from Edryg to Connell.

‘He attacked a sworn knight of Peccothia, Lord Wedderburn’s court mage, and two squires whilst preaching heresy. He deserves to die.’ Sir Connell replied, face set with the grim determination of a man about to do terrible things.

Flint stepped forward and stood shoulder to shoulder with Luthar, sword in hand. Luthar was grateful for the backup, Connell was a fearsome fighter and had proved himself during their days on the road together.

‘As far as I recall, he never pointed a weapon in the direction of either of you two. He merely made a lot of noise and tried to run when we fought back. The lad deserves another chance to right his wrongs I reckon.’

Faced with the two of them, Connell’s sword point dropped an inch, now pointing just below the man’s heart. It was his turn to look nervously between them, unsure of what course to take. Kill the man and face the two men of the guild, or let him live and face the wrath of his master? He turned his gaze to Edryg, looking for salvation from a choice he couldn’t get the better of.

Edryg looked from Connell to the snivelling man on his knees, to Luthar, and then Flint, mind working hard behind those old, grey eyes. Their journey had taken a lot from him, the lines in his face showed deeper and the vigour he displayed wrestling the snake-sword had drained away, little by little. Now, in the wooded area behind the Jilted Lover Inn at the Compass Crossroads, he seemed a little old man ready for nothing but his bed.

‘With the laws he has broken, he must die.’ Was all Edryg could muster, before fumbling his way down onto a tree stump.

With a swift nod, Connell raised his sword high in the air and steadied himself for a killing blow.

‘Stop!’ Luthar strode forward, setting himself on the grass between Connell and Edryg, ready to pounce if his last attempt at diplomacy failed. ‘He’s little more than a boy, fifteen I’d say. Is this how sworn knights of Peccothia behave, killing boys who can’t defend themselves?’

Connell let his sword arm drop to his side, and faced up to Luthar, their noses nearly touching. ‘And what do you propose? He committed a crime by attacking us, he is only defenceless since we dispatched his accomplices. Had they been here now, he wouldn’t be a snivelling mess on the ground.’

‘I understand Peccothia still allows wager of battle?’ Luthar questioned, turning to Edryg. Luthar waited for the old man to give a weary nod before continuing. ‘Sir Connell Waterman, as the accuser, you will fight this man to the death. If he is innocent, the warrior god Heldus will bless his blade and allow him victory and freedom. If he is guilty, Heldus will bless your blade with the righteous strength of the gods and allow you to strike down the guilty.’

‘Archaic and bloodthirsty, but legally a correct and proper way to prove a man’s guilt.’ Edryg glanced at Luthar. ‘Or indeed innocence.’

Luthar hooked his arm under the man’s shoulder and hauled him to his feet. Looking him up and down, he didn’t think that this would be much of a contest. He was ill fed, weak, and none too brave with it. Still, right was right, and good men stuck to it.

‘What’s your name?’ Luthar asked.

‘Rod.’ He mumbled in reply, staring intently at Luthar’s boots.

‘Listen to me Rod. There’s no ceremony here, and none of that noble flim-flam. I’ve done nothing but give you a chance, do your best to take it and if nothing else, die with honour.’ He thrust a sword they’d recovered from his gang of bandits into his hand and took his place at a safe distance with Flint and Edryg.

‘Begin!’ Called Luthar, as loudly and clearly as he could. His voice sent a few nearby birds fluttering from the trees and into the clear morning air.

Connell immediately took the initiative in the fight, launching a blistering attack that reminded Luthar of Leyton’s style. Very aggressive and fast, but without putting too much weight behind the thrusts, meaning he could change direction quickly and unexpectedly. His opponent, on the other hand was little more than a novice with a sword, holding the grip white-knuckle tight and constantly backing away from his better trained foe.

‘I don’t think this will carry on much longer.’ Flint muttered in Luthar’s ear.

‘Neither do I. But it’s right the lad has the chance to defend himself. I suspect he was caught up in the promises of people claiming to be revolutionaries, not realising what they would ask him to do. A shame really, with a bit of training I reckon he might’ve made something of himself.’ Luthar rubbed his chin with a gloved hand as he watched Rod ducking away from yet more of Connell’s blows.

Connell was beginning to pant, having chased the lad around the clearing clad in his heavy mail armour. No small feat for a man above forty who was fighting someone less than half his age. Luthar could see his patience beginning to wane as he stabbed again, hitting nothing but air.

‘Connell needs to calm down. He’s over committing and leaving his right side open.’ Flint pointed out as Connell hefted his sword in a high arc and struck the grass where his opponent had been standing moments before.

‘I thought Lord Wedderburn said he was one of his best men. On this evidence, he’d do well to fight in the squares on beggar’s day.’

Steel hit steel as one of Connell’s blows smashed against Rod’s sword and sent him reeling backwards towards the treeline. He only just managed to catch himself on a tree and duck away as a second strike sent bark flying. Connell tore off his helmet and threw it to the ground in disgust, revealing a snarl any wolf would be proud of.

‘Stand still and fight, yer little green coward!’ He taunted Rod as he advanced towards him, footsteps laboured and heavy.

‘Something isn’t right. That isn’t how a sworn knight goes about things.’ Flint hissed to Luthar, lips mere inches from his ear.

‘I know. But I can’t stop it unless someone dies or calls craven.’ He put his arm across Flint to stop him getting involved, noticing his hand gripping the pommel of his sword.

As Connell slowed, Rod became braver, even daring to try a few strikes of his own. One seemed to slice across a gap at the wrist of Connell’s mail, causing him to yell out and drop his sword onto the trampled grass. Rod stood panting a few feet away, not moving a muscle but just stared at Connell, who had slumped to his knees whilst holding his wrist.

Luthar turned to Flint, puzzled at the sudden cessation of hostilities. Flint returned his look, a glazed expression plastered over his face, as if he were seeing straight through Luthar and watching something intently in the woods behind him. Suddenly, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed forward onto Luthar, almost pulling him down into the dirt with him. He lay Flint gently on his back and slapped him around his face.

‘Flint! Flint! Can you hear me?’

His eyelids fluttered briefly before settling back to their slumber. No matter how much Luthar shook or slapped him, he couldn’t bring him around. He set Flint’s lifeless form gently on the ground and looked back to the inn, hoping to find some help. He felt his stomach drop like an anvil as the only person he could see was the stable boy, slumped against the wheel of a cart.

‘The great Luthar Shoresmith. Alone, without backup and scared like the little boy he really is.’

Luthar spun around to see a man striding into the clearing, swinging a sword like a pimp would swing his cane in his area of the docks. He couldn’t have been more than five and a half feet, slim with it and a noticeable limp on his left leg. Yet from his manner of entry, he boasted all the confidence of a champion knight.

‘And you are?’ Luthar responded, determined not to give an inch.

‘My name is not what matters; it is the group of people I represent that you should concern yourself with.’

‘The cult of Lazmurol by any chance?’

Luthar rolled his eyes as he appeared to have wrong footed the man, leaving his mouth hanging silently open for a brief moment; eyes narrowed to little black beads.

‘I see you’ve made contact with some of our number already. No matter, down to business it is.’ He beamed a crooked smile at Luthar as he removed the absurd three-pointed hat from his head and flung it towards Edryg’s lifeless form. ‘What my master wants with you, I simply can’t fathom. However, he commands, and I obey. You are to accompany me to our camp a few days north of here, for your initiation.’

‘I’m not going anywhere with the likes of you. Now undo whatever you’ve done to my friends.’ Luthar set his jaw and strode towards the man, eyes fixed firmly ahead. However, he looked untroubled.

‘Threats won’t gain you any friends here. You’ll serve your betters without question when you join us.’ A nasty smile danced across his face as he seemed to enjoy taunting Luthar.

‘I serve no one but the guild, and if you think you’re anyone’s better, you are sadly mistaken.’

‘Willingly or not, you’re coming with me.’ He stretched out a hand towards Luthar, face strained in furious concentration. Luthar felt nothing but a faint tingle in his fingers and toes. He raised a disdainful eyebrow in response.

‘And for your next trick?’

His face dropped in a sudden state of confusion. He looked Luthar up and down, as if he were some puzzle he had to solve. ‘So you choose violence.’ He shook his head. ‘A pity.’ Another shake.

He threw the sword he carried at Luthar’s feet, pommel facing him as if he offered it as a gift. ‘Defend yourself Luthar.’

Luthar recognised the show as the beginning of a duel. It was an old tradition, meant to ensure that you never attacked an unarmed man. Arm him yourself and you couldn’t go wrong, at least that’s what Chadwick had taught him as a squire. Considering the weapon briefly, he kicked it away to his left.

‘I have my own.’ He waited for his opponent to draw first.

‘Very well. I take no pleasure in hurting you Luthar, but your own inflexibility has led me to this.’ He placed his hands together, stretched out before him, and closed his eyes as if deep in prayer. His lips worked noiselessly as sweat dripped from his brow and onto his tattered jacket. He parted his hands, revealing a length of bright orange flame that burned merrily in the air, seemingly attached to nothing. The cultist set himself, holding the burning weapon as if it were any common sword. ‘So we begin.’

He charged at Luthar, burning sword flying as he sought to strike a killing blow in the first exchange. Time seemed to slow down, Luthar diligently took in every detail about how he held his weapon, how he angled his strike, and even his foot position. In a fraction of a second, he drew his blade and met the strike with his own black steel. Stunned, his enemy seemed to bounce off, and stagger backwards.

‘How?’ His disbelieving face stared aghast at Luthar as if he were some deity in the body of a man.

‘Black steel.’ He replied with a smirk, before taking the fight to his foe.

He could tell that he was clearly the better swordsman, this jester relied on the awe and surprise of his flaming sword. Luthar had got past that, and he was barely average, not good enough to stand across the square from a man of the guild. Only a few short exchanges passed before Luthar spied his chance and darted inside his guard and separated his hand from his arm. The flaming sword dropped to the ground and disappeared in a plume of smoke. Luthar kicked him onto his back and planted a boot in his chest, sword tip tickling his throat.

‘Undo whatever you’ve done to them, or your life ends here.’ He kept his voice calm, after all, a whisper was always louder than a shout.

‘You’ll join us one way or another Luthar. Mark my-’

Luthar pushed his sword into his throat, blood burbling through the wound and running down the sides of his neck. He shivered for a moment, then lay still, glassy dead eyes reflecting the bright sky above. Luthar cleaned the blood off his sword with the dead man’s jacket, once he was satisfied it was clean, he slid it back into his scabbard. Behind him, he could hear Rod stirring, he rushed over to him as quick as he could.

‘Take this and go. If you have nowhere, head for the guild to the east of Alargoth.’ He pressed a small wooden token into the lad’s hand.

‘I don’t understand.’ He replied, still groggy from his enforced nap.

‘Don’t ask, just go.’ Luthar hauled him to his feet and shoved him towards the trees. ‘Tell them Luthar sent you.’ He called to his back as he broke into a run.

The others were awakening too, Luthar could hear various grumbles coming from them as they stirred. To his relief, Flint got to his feet quickly, looking like he’d had a heavy night on the ale.

‘Are you ok?’ He asked his friend, grabbing him by the shoulder.

‘I think so, what happened?’ Flint looked slightly bemused as he looked around the clearing.

‘Some sorcerer showed up. I showed him what for.’ Luthar said with a grin.

‘Where’s the lad?’

Luthar leaned in close, so only Flint could hear him. ‘We might be seeing him again sometime.’