Blood in Snow (19 page)

“Come down and fight me, you coward!”

“If you call me that one more time …” the King bellowed.

Edmund took off his fur-lined cloak, scarf, and long, heavy coat and lay them atop his pack, next to a stack of firewood he’d piled well outside the ring of packed snow. Without his outer clothes, he was freezing, but his arms needed their full range of movement. Plus, he’d found his healing spell seemed to temporarily stave off frostbite. If he cast the spell right before the fight, he should be fine. Or so he hoped.

“Are you coming down?” Edmund yelled across the valley. “Or are you going to send your precious army to fight your battle for you, coward?”

“Stop saying that! I’m warning you! I mean it! I’m going to make you die slowly, do you hear me? Slowly! And not in a nice way!”

Edmund swung his sword in an effort to keep warm and make it appear as if he knew how to handle a weapon.

“Do you hear me?” the King shouted again.

Ignoring him, Edmund thrust and parried and moved about the circle of snow to get a better feel for his longer blade.

Lionel stomped away from the ridge. He soon reappeared at the bottom of the valley, emerging between the steep folds of two hills. He stormed toward Edmund, anger increasing each time his boots sunk into the waist-high drifts.

Edmund laughed. “I thought nobility could walk across snow!”

The King trudged forward, pulling one boot from the snow and placing it in front of the other, several times stumbling and falling to his knees. Cursing, he finally reached the trampled area around the pile of boulders.

For all of his intellectual faults, Lionel was an extraordinary man physically: he stood nearly two feet taller than Edmund, towering above him like a mountain, broad of frame and well-muscled without being bulky. Edmund could easily see how he’d gained his fame as a warrior.

“Is this it?” Lionel said, huffing after his arduous trek. He pointed the tip of his bejeweled sword at the boulders Edmund had stacked a few hours earlier. “Is this where it happened, the battle between Lord what’s-his-name and the other guy?”

“Yes,” Edmund lied. “Lord Iliandor chopped the Undead King’s head off and mounted it on a pole.” He patted the long staff he’d stuck in the snow. “I have one for your head.”

The King chuckled, his breath billowing in long grey streams.

“You are a confident little bastard, aren’t you? I like that. Shame I have to kill you and everything. Unless,” he said hopefully, “you’ve changed your mind about the big battle.”

Edmund leapt around, thrusting, parrying.

“Where are they?” The King eyed the surrounding hills. “My men scouted this area earlier and found nothing but you. Where are your men? Don’t you want them to see your glorious death?”

“They’re someplace warm.”

Lionel took off his cloak and outer coat as Edmund had done. Watching Edmund, he shook his head and groaned.

“You haven’t had any training, have you? I can tell. Your footwork is all wrong. And your defense has holes in it. Why, you aren’t even holding the weapon correctly!”

“Maybe
you
don’t how to fight,” retorted Edmund.

The King threw his hands up.

“Please reconsider—about the armies, I mean. This won’t be any fun for either of us, especially me!”

As Edmund danced and swung, one of his bootheels caught on a rough spot in the packed snow. He tripped.

The King sighed. “What a miserable battle this is going to be.”

Edmund hopped back to his feet and resumed practicing.

“Well, do you at least have some sort of hero amongst your men?” the King asked optimistically. He scanned the hills again. “Somebody who’s actually held a weapon before? I can fight him instead. Oh, I know! This is what I’ll do! I’ll fight each of your captains, one at a time, until they’re all dead! No! I’ll fight them all at once. Wouldn’t that be worthy of a song!”

“You’re f-f-fighting me,” Edmund said firmly, stammering in the cold.

King Lionel watched him leap and sidestep and swing his sword. He groaned again.

“I’m fighting a stuttering imbecile.”

Edmund ignored him.

“Well, you certainly are a brave runt,” the King said. “I will give you that.”

Edmund started to feel warm; he was actually beginning to sweat.

Don’t overdo it. Just keep warm and loose. And keep close to the stones.

The King studied Edmund’s sword as Edmund flailed it before him like a flyswatter.

“That’s an interesting blade you have there. Very interesting, indeed. Black as coal. I’ve never seen its like before. Where did you get it, pray tell?”

“I made it.”

“You made it?” Lionel cried. “Good God! You’re a skilled swordsmith? Now I shall really regret cutting your head off! Are you sure you don’t want to—”

“You’re fighting me.”

“Oh, very well! Have it your way.” The King started to warm up. In the growing morning light, Edmund could see his muscles shivering. “It’s your death and all that. It’s just a shame about the armies. I am thinking about them, you know. They came all this way for nothing. Bloody shame.”

Edmund muttered his healing spell again. It didn’t warm him any, but he knew he would need to be healed soon.

“All right,” the King said. “Let’s get this over with. This cold is miserable.”

He pointed his sword at Edmund and started a lunging swing.

“Wait!” Edmund cried.

The King stopped. “What?”

Delay him. The longer he stands out here without his coat on, the colder he’ll get and the better your chances will be.

“You need to make a speech.”

“A speech?” The King’s chilled face lit up. “What a splendid idea! Splendid! Might as well give the men something to remember.”

Lionel lifted his polished sword above his head and turned to address the eastern hill. Most of his men seemed to have gone, though a hundred knights and lords still stood within sight.

“Brave men of Eryn Mas,” he hollered to the hills, “today you will witness one of the greatest duels in the history of this continent! For today, you will witness my battle with the truly fearsome and hideous-looking villain, Edwin the One-Eyed!”

“Edmund.”

“What?” the King said.

“It’s Edmund, not Edwin.”

“No, no. That won’t do. Let’s go with Edwin. Sounds more fierce! Nobody will sing songs about Lionel the Fair versus Edmund the One-Eyed, trust me.”

The King turned back to his men.

“Here on the legendary Battlefield of Death,” he went on, “where ages ago somebody fought somebody else, and victory was his!” He paused dramatically. “Today I will selflessly offer my humble spirit and sword to stop the evil created by this foul creature! Let history show that it was I, King Lionel the Fair, who stopped Edwin the Evil! I do this for my kingdom, for my men, and for my gods!”

A smattering of applause pattered from the distant ridge.

“There.” The King turned to Edmund. “Not very good perhaps, but we’ll rewrite it once this is all over. My minstrels can do wonders. Have you met them?”

“I don’t g-g-give, give a d-d-damn about your minstrels.”

“Well, that’s not very polite. All right then, let’s get this over with before I turn to ice.” He leveled his sword at Edmund. It was quivering.

“Wait!”

“What now? It’s freezing out here!”

“Now I get to say something.”

“But your men aren’t even here!”

“Still, I want to say something in case you win. Last words and everything.”

“Oh, very well. Make it quick. I want to get near a fire.”

Edmund strolled forward.

“Men of Eryn Mas,” he called as a couple of the lords on the distant hilltop booed him. “Men of Eryn Mas, I fight for you!”

“What!” the King cried. “You can’t say that. They’re on my side! I already said
I
was fighting for them!”

“I fight,” Edmund continued, “so you do not have to!”

“Oh, I get it …playing it up for the history books. Well, it won’t work!”

“This war will end here. If King Lionel wins, he will be given the Highlands.”

“Which I already own,” the King muttered, polishing the diamonds on his sword’s hilt.

“If I win—” Edmund said this louder. “If I win, the Highlands will be free, free for all men who wish to live however they choose! Free to be their own lords, free from the oppression of the noble class!”

The nobles on the ridge booed even louder. Several threw snowballs.

“Wrong thing to say.” King Lionel chuckled. “First rule of speech-making: know your audience.” He leveled his sword at Edmund. “Now let us commence.”

He lunged.

Edmund skittered aside.

“Wait!”

“No more waiting!” the King said. He stalked after Edmund, shivering, as Edmund tried to scamper toward the mound of stones. “I know what you’re trying to do! You’re trying to play upon my sympathies! Well, this is your fault, you ugly little man! If you would just let my army fight yours …”

He swung his sword. Edmund leapt back, farther from where he needed to be.

“Just give me a second!”

Lionel feigned a thrust. Edmund parried but missed—miserably.

“Will you at least try to make a good show?” the King said, appalled. “Honestly! What’s the point of this, if not to make a good show?”

He jabbed again, forcing Edmund to spring backward.

They stood near the edge of the ring of trampled snow now. If Edmund retreated any farther, he’d be wading in hip-deep drifts, unable to dodge Lionel’s whistling attacks.

Edmund ran right, trying to return to the circle’s center, but halfway there, Lionel cut him off.

“Come on!” Lionel shouted. “Fight!”

Okay. Parry and then get to the stones.

Parry? He’s too fast! I can’t even see his sword when he swings!

The tip of the King’s blade swooped within an inch of Edmund’s midsection.

Edmund countered with a jab, but his own sword fell several feet short.

“What are you doing?” Lionel cried. “Parry, counter, move! Don’t you know anything about sword fighting?”

Edmund sidestepped. Lionel blocked his path to the clearing’s center.

“I, I thought”—Edmund faked left, dashed right—“I thought we could pray first. You know, at the stone monument!”

Again Lionel cut him off, lunged, and swung at Edmund’s head.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. We’ll pray over your body. I brought several clergymen who will say nice things. They do wonderful services.”

He swung again.

Come on! Parry! Chop his sword down to size!

Lionel drew his sword arm back for another lunging stab. Just as Edmund was about to hop out of its way, somebody far off screamed, “Ed!”

He half turned. Two figures stood on the northern ridge: one was Becky; the other was undoubtedly Abby, bundled in layers of clothing and furs.

Lionel’s sword skimmed across Edmund’s chest, ripping open his tunic. Edmund cried out. The torn fabric seeped bright red.

“First blood!” King Lionel raised his arms in triumph and paraded around the circle of trampled snow. The nobles along the ridge clapped and cheered.

Edmund quickly cast his healing spell.

“Ed!”

“Abby, stay there! Stay there! Becky, stay! Do you hear me?”

But they didn’t stay. Becky and Abby ran along the crest of the hill in search of a way into the valley.

You have to end this. If Abby comes out here, she’ll ruin everything.

King Lionel turned to Edmund, his smile sliding into a bewildered frown.

“I thought I marked you.” He pointed to Edmund’s chest where the tunic had been sliced open, yet there was no wound. “I drew blood, I know I did. It was right there. Where’s the … where’s the—?”

Get to the stones!

Screaming, Edmund drove forward, swinging his sword like a madman.

“Ah! That’s the spirit!” The King dodged the erratic blows. “Make it look good! Jab, then slash!”

Edmund swung and swung and swung again to force him back, but the King didn’t give ground; he merely sidestepped then repositioned himself before Edmund.

“Good!” The King laughed. “But put more anger into it! Make sure they can hear you all the way in the hills! Try shouting something that could be put in a song, something like this … I will kill you, you evil villain!” He swung his shining longsword just over Edmund’s ducking head.

“Ed!” Abby yelled behind him. She was getting closer.

You have to end this! Hurry!

“Try stabbing more,” the King suggested. “Don’t always—”

Edmund swung.

Lionel parried.

Blue sparks flew where the two swords clashed.

Both blades fell into the snow, sundered just above their hilts.

“You bastard!” The King shook his broken sword at Edmund. “This … this was my great-great-grandfather’s!” The King drew a long knife from his golden belt. “Now I really will kill you slowly!”

Edmund threw his hilt at the King’s face and darted around him to the pile of stones. He seized the long pole.

“You!” the King snarled. “You ruined a perfectly good sword! And it was my favorite, too! It had diamonds!”

Abby and Becky had reached the bottom of the hill.

“Stay there!” Edmund shouted. “Don’t come any closer!”

Lionel charged at Edmund, leaping over the pile of stones.

Edmund touched the boulders and cast his enlargement spell. In a flash, they doubled in size.

With a loud
crack
, water erupted as the ground under their feet gave way.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The enlarged boulders plunged through the hidden ice. Lionel disappeared with a shriek, but Edmund’s staff caught the hole’s sides before he became completely submerged.

As Edmund spit and sputtered, gasping through the shocking pain of the icy water, Becky sped to him, grabbed the staff in her powerful jaws, and pulled.

“Ed!” Abby screamed.

Shivering to near convulsions, Edmund dragged himself onto the trampled snow at Abby’s feet.

“T-t-t-take, take, take … m-m-my, my, my cl-clothes … take m-my my clothes off,” he told her.

She recoiled. “What?”