The Crimson Shadow, Page 3

  “We are pressed for time,” Aubrey added sharply. “I wish to see a fight, a single fight, among the best warriors Bedwydrin can muster. Surely that task is not beyond the understanding of the eorl of Bedwydrin.”

  Gahris verily trembled, and it took every ounce of control he could muster to hold him back from throttling the skinny Aubrey. But he nodded his head and signaled to the marshal once more, calling out that it was time for Luthien and Garth Rogar.

  On the tiered steps behind the eorl’s viewing box, Ethan looked upon his cowed father and the pompous guests, his expression sour.

  Both women simultaneously cooed when Luthien and Garth Rogar walked out of the tunnel, side by side, wearing little more than sandals, mailed gauntlets, loincloths, and a collar and bandolier device designed to protect their vital areas.

  “Is there a bigger man alive?” Elenia gasped, obviously taken with the flaxen-haired barbarian.

  “Is there a handsomer man alive?” Avonese retorted, turning her glower on her companion. She noticed Gahris then, took a deep look at him, then turned back to Luthien, intrigued.

  “My son,” the eorl proudly explained. “Luthien Bedwyr. And the giant is a Huegoth who floated to our shores as just a boy, as honorable a fighter as any. You will not be disappointed, Viscount.”

  It was obvious that Avonese and Elenia were in full agreement with the last statement. They continued to gawk and to toss snide comments back and forth, quickly drawing lines.

  “The barbarian will crush him down,” Elenia remarked.

  “Those eyes are too wise to be caught in the primitive webs of a savage,” Avonese countered. She jumped up from her seat suddenly and moved to the rail, throwing out her fine cambric handkerchief.

  “Luthien Bedwyr!” she cried. “You fight as my champion. Fight well and you will savor the rewards!”

  Gahris looked over to Aubrey, stunned by the woman’s blunt forwardness and fearing that the viscount would be boiling with rage. It seemed to the eorl that Aubrey was more relieved than angry.

  Elenia, not to be outdone, quickly rushed to the balcony and threw out her own kerchief, calling for the Huegoth to come and champion her cause.

  Luthien and Garth Rogar walked over and took up the offered trophies, each tucking a kerchief into his belt.

  “It shall not be so much as soiled,” cocky Luthien said to Avonese.

  “Bloodied, yes, soiled, no,” Garth Rogar agreed, turning away from giggling Elenia.

  Luthien quickly caught up to his opponent as Garth Rogar moved back toward the center of the arena, both of them putting on their helmets. “So the stakes are raised,” the young Bedwyr remarked.

  Garth Rogar scoffed at him. “You should not be thinking of pleasures with a fight before you,” the barbarian said, and as soon as the marshal clapped his hands for the fight to begin, the barbarian charged forward, his long spear thrusting for Luthien’s belly and a quick victory.

  Luthien was taken off guard by the bold attack. He fell to the side and rolled away, but still took a stinging nick on the hip.

  Garth Rogar stepped back and threw up his hands, as if in victory. “And so it is soiled!” he cried, pointing at Avonese’s kerchief.

  Elenia squealed with joy, oblivious to the dart-throwing gaze Avonese had turned on her.

  Now Luthien went on the attack, scrambling forward in a crouch so low that he had to use his shield arm as a third support. His sword whipped across at Garth’s legs, but the barbarian hopped back quickly enough. On came Luthien, knowing that if he let up the attack, his opponent, standing high above him, would surely pound him into the dirt.

  But Luthien was quick, snapping his sword back and forth repeatedly, keeping Garth Rogar hopping. Finally, the barbarian was forced to stab his spear straight down to intercept a cut that would have cracked his knee. Up came Luthien fiercely, and though he could not realign his sword, he swung hard with his shield, slamming the barbarian in the chest and face.

  Garth Rogar staggered backward; lines of blood ran from his nose and one side of his mouth. But he was smiling. “Well done!” he congratulated. As Luthien took an appropriate bow, the barbarian howled and charged back in.

  Luthien was ready for the obvious move, though, and his sword flashed across, turning the spear out wide. The cunning Bedwyr rolled in behind the wide-flying weapon, again scoring a hit with his shield—just a glancing blow against Garth Rogar’s powerful chest.

  The barbarian countered quickly, though, hooking his free arm around the young fighter and driving his knee hard into Luthien’s thigh. Luthien stumbled past, and Rogar would have had him, except that the young man was quick enough and wise enough to slice across with his sword, nicking his opponent’s knee and stopping the charging giant short.

  They squared up again and rushed right back in, fighting for pride and for the love of competition. Sword and spear crossed and parried; Luthien’s shield rushes were countered by Rogar’s punching fist.

  Gahris had never seen his son, and especially Garth Rogar, fight better, and he was positively beaming with pride, for both Wilmon and Aubrey were fully entranced by the action, shouting out cheers for every cunning counter or last-second parry. The men could not match the squeals of Avonese and Elenia, though, as each cheered her champion on. These two were not as familiar with fighting styles as the others and many times thought the fight to be at its end, thinking that one or the other had gained an insurmountable advantage.

  But these two fighters were well matched and well trained. Always the appropriate defenses were in place, always the men were balanced.

  Garth Rogar started with a spear thrust, but as Luthien’s sword parried, the barbarian unexpectedly heaved his weapon up high, taking Luthien’s sword with it. Following his own building momentum, Garth lifted a foot for a well-aimed kick, slamming Luthien in the midsection and doubling him over, gasping for breath.

  Luthien’s shield came up at the last moment to stop the spear’s butt end, aimed for his head, but he took another kick, this one on the hip, and went scrambling away.

  “Oh, good!” cried Elenia, and only then did Gahris notice the scowl Avonese threw the younger woman’s way, and he began to understand that there might be serious trouble brewing.

  Sensing the advantage, Garth Rogar roared in, hurling himself at his winded opponent.

  Luthien’s shield took the spear up high, Luthien ducking underneath and snapping a quick sword cut into the barbarian’s lead hand. The mailed gauntlet allowed Garth Rogar to keep his fingers, but he howled anyway for the pain and let go with that hand.

  Now Luthien pressed forward, keeping his shield in line as he charged so that Garth could not retract his spear for any parries. His sword cut in from the side, pounding hard against the barbarian’s leather bandolier. Garth Rogar winced, but kept his focus, and as Luthien brought the sword back out, then reversed it for a second cut, Garth caught the blade in his mailed fist.

  Luthien pressed forward, and Garth got his feet under him enough to press back—just as Luthien had anticipated. Suddenly, the young Bedwyr stopped and backpedaled, and Garth found himself overbalanced. Luthien fell into a backward roll and planted his feet in the barbarian’s belly as Garth tumbled over him.

  “Oh, send him flying away!” screamed Avonese, and Luthien did just that, pushing out with both feet so that Garth Rogar did a half somersault, landing heavily on his back.

  Both men were up in an instant, weapons in hand, eyeing each other with sincere respect. They were weary and bruised, and both knew that they would be wickedly sore the next day, but this was competition at its finest and neither cared.

  Across from Gahris, it was Elenia’s eyes that were now throwing darts. “Crush him!” she cried out to Garth Rogar, so loudly that her call temporarily halted all the other cheering in the arena, and all eyes, Luthien’s and Garth Rogar’s included, turned to her.

  “It would seem that you have made a friend,” Luthien said to the barbarian.

  Ga
rth Rogar nearly burst out laughing. “And I would not want to disappoint her!” he said suddenly, and on he came, thrusting his spear. He pulled it up short and whipped it about instead, its butt end ringing loudly off of Luthien’s shield. Luthien countered with a straight cut, but the barbarian was out of range. A second spear thrust slipped over Luthien’s shield and nearly took his eye out, nicking his helm as he ducked, and the butt end whipped about again, banging both shield and Luthien’s back.

  That hit stung, but Luthien ignored it, understanding that he had to go to the offensive or be buried under the powerful man’s attacks. He started to run with the momentum of the spear, then ducked under it and pivoted about, coming up under Garth’s swinging arm. The edge of Luthien’s shield hooked under the taller man’s armpit, lifting him off balance. Again, Garth Rogar caught Luthien’s swinging sword in his hand, but this time, his feet were tangled. When Luthien heaved suddenly, arms and legs wide, the barbarian’s spear went flying and Rogar himself fell heavily to the ground.

  “Get him! Get him!” Avonese cried.

  “Fight back, you oaf!” screamed Elenia.

  Luthien was just settling into his stance when Garth Rogar jumped up. Luthien thought Rogar would go for the fallen spear—and he would have let the worthy opponent retrieve it—but Garth, savagery coursing wildly within his barbarian blood, charged instead. Surprised, Luthien got his shield up, and then his whole arm fell numb under the sheer weight of the Huegoth’s tremendous punch.

  Luthien bounced back a full step, looked in amazement as his shield, one of its straps snapped by the blow, fell from his arm. He just managed to duck a second punch, one that he figured would have hurt him more than any spear could, and leaped back from a third, swinging his broken shield at his opponent as he went to keep the man back.

  Garth Rogar smacked the metal shield away and came in, slowing only to dodge a short thrust from Luthien’s sword. A second thrust turned him to the side, to Luthien’s left, and Luthien’s free hand was waiting, snapping a punch into the barbarian’s already broken nose.

  Garth Rogar tried to fake a smile, but he had to shake his head to clear away the dizziness.

  “Do you yield?” Luthien politely asked, and they both heard Elenia’s protesting scream from the stands, and Avonese’s howls of victory.

  Predictably, Garth Rogar charged. At the last instant, Luthien tossed his sword up into the air, right in the barbarian’s face. Garth flinched, then jolted to a stop, his own momentum used against him, by a left-right punch combination that would have felled a small bull.

  Luthien caught the sword in his left hand, moved it to Garth’s neck to force a yield. Ferocious Garth caught its tip, tossed it out wide and clamped his hand on Luthien’s forearm.

  “Rip his arm off!” Elenia cried. Avonese leaned right across Gahris’s lap to hiss at her.

  Luthien’s muscles flexed as he fell into a clinch with the larger and stronger man. Wilmon, and even Aubrey, scowled a bit at the ensuing sighs of their obviously enchanted consorts.

  Luthien held well against Rogar, but knew that the man’s sheer weight would soon overwhelm him. He pushed forward with all his might, then took a quick step backward, breaking one hand free, though Garth stubbornly held his sword arm. The combatants exchanged punches; Garth Rogar took a second, and a third, willingly, as he bent to clamp a hand under Luthien’s crotch. A moment later, the young Bedwyr was rising helplessly into the air, the angle all wrong for him to get any weight behind a punch—and Garth Rogar’s grip on his sword arm remained unrelenting.

  Luthien head-butted the barbarian instead, forehead to face. The stunned Garth Rogar heaved him ten feet away, then focused on just keeping his balance. For the barbarian, the world would not stop spinning.

  Luthien pulled himself up from the ground and cautiously stalked back in, looking for a clean opening between Garth’s wild swings. Luthien was on the verge of exhaustion and feared that a single hit from his powerful enemy would send him spinning to the ground.

  He waved his sword all about as he came in slowly, forcing the dizzy barbarian to keep up with its tantalizing movements. The thrust was a feint—Garth Rogar knew that—but so was the following right cross. Luthien pulled up short and fell to the ground, his legs sweeping across, kicking out both of Garth Rogar’s knees. Down went the barbarian hard on his back, his breath coming out in one profound blast.

  Luthien was up, quick as a cat, but Garth had not the strength to follow. Luthien planted a foot on the fallen man’s chest, and his sword tip came to rest on the bridge of Garth Rogar’s nose, right between his unfocused eyes.

  The screams of Elenia and Avonese were surprisingly similar, but the expressions that each wore after the initial outburst certainly were not.

  Gahris was truly pleased by the appreciation, even admiration, stamped upon Aubrey’s face, but the eorl’s smile disappeared as Avonese again leaned heavily across his lap, looking at the pouting Elenia with sparkling, wicked eyes.

  “Pray offer the down-pointing thumb, Eorl Bedwyr,” Avonese purred.

  Gahris nearly choked. A down-pointing thumb meant that the loser should be killed. That was not the way on the islands: the fights were for sport and training alone!

  Elenia cried out in outrage, which only spurred on the evil Avonese.

  “Thumb down,” she said again, evenly, looking to protesting Elenia all the while. It wasn’t hard for Avonese to figure out what Elenia had in mind for the barbarian, and stealing her younger rival’s pleasure felt wonderful indeed. “Your son was my champion, he wears my offered pennant, and thus, I am granted the decision of victory.”

  “But . . .” was all that stammering Gahris managed to get out before Aubrey reached across and put a hand on the eorl’s shoulder.

  “It is her right, by ancient tradition,” the viscount insisted, not daring to displease his vicious companion.

  “Garth Rogar fought valiantly,” Gahris protested.

  “Thumb down,” Avonese said slowly, emphasizing each word as she shifted her gaze to look right into Gahris’s cinnamon-colored eyes.

  Gahris looked past her to see the viscount nodding. He tried to weigh the consequences of his actions at that moment. Avonese’s claim was true enough—by the ancient rules, since Luthien had unwittingly agreed to be her champion, she had the right to decide the fate of the defeated man. If he refused now, Gahris could expect serious trouble from Montfort, perhaps even an invading fleet that would take his eorldom from him. Ever was Morkney looking for reasons to replace the often troublesome island eorls.

  Gahris gently pushed Avonese aside and looked out to the arena, where Luthien was still poised above the fallen Garth Rogar, waiting for the signal to break and the applause both he and the barbarian so richly deserved. Great was Luthien’s astonishment when he saw his father extend his hand, thumb pointing down.

  Luthien stood confused for a long while, hardly hearing Avonese’s calls for him to finish the task. He looked down at his friend; he could not comprehend the notion of killing the man.

  “Eorl Gahris,” prompted an increasingly impatient Aubrey.

  Gahris called to the arena marshal, but the man seemed as transfixed as Luthien.

  “Do it!” vicious Avonese snapped. “Aubrey?”

  The viscount snapped his fingers at one of his cyclopian guardsman behind him, the one with the curious crossbow.

  Luthien had stepped back by this point and extended his hand to his friend. Garth Rogar had reached up and taken that grasp, starting to rise, when there came the click of a firing crossbow. The barbarian jerked suddenly, clamping tightly on Luthien’s hand.

  Luthien did not at first understand what had just transpired. Then Garth Rogar’s grip loosened, and time seemed to move in slow motion as the proud barbarian slowly slipped back to the dirt.

  CHAPTER 3

  FAREWELL, MY BROTHER

  LUTHIEN STARED AT GARTH ROGAR in shocked silence, stared at the surprised expression on the flaxen-haired
barbarian’s rugged and bruised face. Surprised even in death or, perhaps, because of his death.

  “Fly, Death!” Luthien wailed, throwing his sword aside and diving down to kneel beside the man. “Be gone from this place, for here you do not belong! Seek an aged man, or an infant with not the strength to survive in this cruel world, but take not this man, this boy, younger than I.” Luthien grabbed up Garth Rogar’s hand in his own and propped the barbarian’s head with his other arm. He could feel the heat leaving Rogar’s body, the sweat the barbarian had worked up in the fight becoming clammy. Luthien tried to stammer more protests, but found his tongue caught in his mouth. What might he say to Death, that most callous of spirits which does not care to hear? What use were words when the heat was fast leaving Garth Rogar’s young and strong body?

  Luthien looked back helplessly to the box, his expression a mixture of confusion and boiling rage. But Aubrey’s party, Gahris included, was already gone from sight; further up the stands, Ethan, too, had fled the scene. Luthien’s gaze darted all about. Many of the spectators had departed, but some remained, whispering and pointing incredulously to the man lying in the dirt, and the son of Bedwyr leaning over him.

  Luthien turned back to Garth Rogar. He saw the back tip of the crossbow quarrel protruding from the man’s side, between two ribs, and reached for it tentatively, as if he thought that pulling it free would give Garth Rogar back his breath. Luthien tried to touch the metal shaft, but found that his fingers would not close about it.

  A cry made him lift his gaze to see the other warriors fast exiting the tunnel, led by Katerin. She skidded to her knees before the man, and after just an instant, reached up and gently closed his eyes. Her somber gaze met Luthien’s and she slowly shook her head.

  Up jumped Luthien, roaring, the cry torn from his heart. He looked around wildly, hands clenched at his side, then found a focus to his rage. He tore Avonese’s kerchief from his hip and flung it to the ground, then stamped it into the dirt.

  “On the death of Garth Rogar, friend and fellow,” he began, “I, Luthien Bedwyr, do vow—”