Chapter Twelve:
The Prince
Chapter Twelve:
The Prince
Without giving a hint of his intention, Rainer suddenly charged Gunnar. With his battle-ax held crossways in two hands, he rammed into the prince’s chest and knocked the other backward. Gunnar, completely taken by surprise, stumbled back. Rainer pushed him again, and the prince tripped backward, falling onto his butt.
Rainer turned the battle-ax and pointed its tip at Gunnar’s face as the prince looked up, furious.
“Don’t you ever speak ill of Lady Ulla again,” Rainer said in a low, clear voice. “Do you hear me?”
“Think what you do, boy,” said Gunnar.
“Swear it,” Rainer shouted, poking the battleax closer.
Gunnar looked down at the point, as if this were a sight he had never expected to see for his entire life. After a moment, he laughed. He laughed loud enough for everyone to hear.
Wulf thought it the most faked sound he’d ever heard.
“I swear it because I have never done anything but uphold her good name,” he said. Then, speaking louder, he called out. “I wish only the best for Lady Ulla, as all know who know me.” After a moment, Rainer backed the ax head away. Gunnar took the chance to brush it aside. He quickly scuttled out from under it and regained his footing.
He cast a look of hate at Rainer and said in a low voice, “You are going to wish you hadn’t done that, boy.”
Rainer said nothing. Koterbaum, who seemed to have been frozen in place, suddenly moved. “Well, now that we’re friends, why don’t we—”
“Why don’t we get on with the match,” Gunnar said. “Why don’t you get out of the way and let us do so, Marshal.” Neither was a question.
“Yes, I suppose we could—”
Gunnar smiled at Rainer and raised his sword. “En garde,” he said.
Rainer raised his ax, and Koterbaum slowly backed away.
Rainer gave Wulf a quick glance. “Out of the ring, Wulfgang,” he growled. “Please.”
Wulf hesitantly stepped out.
That was when Gunnar charged. Rainer raised his buckler just in time to take the blow, and wood splinters shot in all directions. Gunnar yanked the sword free, pulling Rainer part of the way toward him in the process. Rainer stumbled to the side and scuttled away from another blow aimed at his head.
That shouldn’t happen, Wulf thought. How does a buckler splinter like that?
There was only one way it could happen.
Gunnar was using a sharpened sword.
Rainer quickly regained his footing and stood facing Gunnar. He was breathing hard. The prince moved in. Rainer drew him back, retreating slowly around the circle, while Gunnar probed with his sword tip, attempting to find a way through Rainer’s defense.
He’s good, Wulf thought. As good as Rainer. And bigger.
Fast as a cat, Rainer attempted another charge with his ax, but this time Gunnar was waiting. He turned it aside deftly, then brought his sword around to take a slice at the back of Rainer’s legs. A red line opened up across the back of Rainer’s thighs where the cuisse didn’t meet. Rainer spun about, blood dripping from his legs. Now Gunnar charged. Since he was without shield, he led with the point of his sword.
Rainer didn’t even try to get out of the way, and Wulf gasped. Gunnar was going to run him through.
But at the last moment, Rainer crouched under the path of the sword. Gunnar tried to correct, but too late. He missed, and his momentum brought his legs into the crouching Rainer full tilt. The prince went into a roll, his sword flying away as he fell. He recovered his feet quickly, but now Rainer was standing as well.
And Rainer had his battle-ax.
Hack him to pieces, Rainer! Wulf thought wildly. Off with his crap-filled head!
But Rainer didn’t do that. Instead he lifted his ax in two hands and—threw it to the side. He stood facing Gunnar weaponless.
“No, Rainer!” Wulf shouted. “He’s trying to kill you!”
The prince smiled, though he was breathing too hard to let out a laugh.
The two charged. They met in a clash and clang of armor near the center of the match ring.
Rainer, despite his great ability, was only seventeen years old. Gunnar was twenty-seven and experienced at Viking raids. He also had at least a stone in weight on Rainer.
Rainer tumbled over backward with Gunnar on top of him. In the jumble that followed, Gunnar managed to get his legs around Rainer. He sat up, straddling Rainer’s chest.
Gunnar put two gauntleted hands together and pounded down on Rainer’s face. His blow caught the facemask, the grima of the helmet, and broke it away. The next blow broke Rainer’s nose. Rainer let out a shout of agony and twisted his head away. He tried to raise his hands to defend himself, but Gunnar batted them away. He brought an elbow against Rainer’s temple.
This knocked Rainer unconscious. His head rolled to the side. Gunnar raised his hands to deliver another blow—
And Wulf was on him, hitting, biting, screaming at the top of his lungs, not caring how he stopped the prince. He caught a finger in his mouth and bit down. Gunnar jerked his hand out of Wulf’s mouth with a cry of pain, and Wulf felt skin strip away.
Good.
He spat it out in a bloody wad.
Then Wulf felt as if he’d run into a stone wall full tilt. His body shook. Gunnar had struck him, hard. Another blow to the head.
Wulf fell to the ground. He slowly rose to his knees. There was something dark in the sand. A form shaped like a person, almost like the dark thing from the night before. Could it be?
“Thou know’st,” came the nasty whisper again.
Wulf shook his head to clear it.
He reached out for the dark thing. His hand passed through it. His fingers touched only flint flagstones.
Gunnar’s shadow, he thought. I’m looking at Gunnar’s shadow on the ground.
“That will be enough,” someone said. The voice was commanding. He recognized it. Yes. He knew that voice. “Back off, sir, or I will make you back away.”
Wulf turned his head in the direction of the sound. There, standing a few paces away, stood Master Tolas. He had his walking stick.
“Beg pardon,” said another voice. “Are you speaking to me?” Accented. Not from these parts. Chesapeake accent. Oh. Gunnar. That was the name.
And then it all came flooding back to Wulf, along with a pounding ache in his head. He blinked, rose to one knee.
“I am speaking,” said Tolas. “The question is: Are you listening?”
Gunnar shook his head in disbelief. “Who are you? What are you?”
“I am a gnome,” Tolas said. “More importantly to you, I am Master Albrec Tolas, librarian and tutor to House von Dunstig. And these boys are my students.”
Tolas took a step toward Gunnar and pointed his staff at the man. “If you will not back away, I am afraid you leave me no choice.”
“No choice to do what?” asked Gunnar in amazement.
Albrec raised his stick. He scowled at the gathered boys who were clumped around the circle.
“Listen to me, you men of Shenandoah,” he said in a loud voice. “Do you think that line on the ground is something you cannot cross? Do you have any idea what ‘duty’ means?”
He pointed the stick at the chalk. Then he found a face in the group, Wulf’s cousin who was sixteen. “You, Atli von Dunstig,” he said. He turned to another of the boys, the son of his father’s thane Rokvi, who headed the tax collection service. “You, Vinnil Rokvison.” Tolas’s gazed passed around all the boys. “Kilmund, Beimi, Endil Haraldson.” His gazed lighted on Hlafnest. “And especially you, Hlafnest von Blau. The rest of you, all of you—Wulfgang von Dunstig is the son of your lord, your duke.”
Tolas pointed his walking stick at Gunnar. “Who is this person to you? What do you owe him?” Tolas brought his stick down hard against the flagstones of the courtyard. “Nothing! He is nothing. You owe him nothing.”
Gunnar straightened. “Now, just a minute, gnome—”
Tolas cut him off, continued addressing the crowd. “Are you going to call yourself maggots for the rest of your lives? Are you? Do your duty! Defend Lord Wulf!”
For a moment, there was stillness. Then the assembled boys moved as if mesmerized.
They moved toward Gunnar.
Gunnar looked at them a moment, then began frantically searching for his dropped sword. One of the younger boys, Harek, had already picked it up. He showed it to Gunnar with a sly smile. The prince tried for it, but Harek threw it away, behind the advancing boys.
“Stand back!” Gunnar said. He was holding the finger Wulf had stripped. Blood was dripping from his hands. “I command you to stand back!”
The boys did not obey. They moved forward, slowly closing in.
“Shenandoah scum!” Gunnar picked out a part of the encirclement and stalked toward it. The boys did not move.
“If you hurt those boys, you will pay a very high price,” Tolas called out after him. “Consider, Prince.”
Gunnar pulled up short just before he would’ve bowled over Audmund Ingvisson.
Audmund was only eleven. He was normally a timid little guy, but now he stood his ground bravely. Wulf was proud of him.
“Let me through,” Gunnar shouted into the boy’s face. Audmund didn’t move. Several of the larger boys came up behind the prince. Before he could do anything about it, arms were on him. These were the seventeen and eighteen-year-olds. Two of Wulf’s cousins Thrym and Skalli von Dunstig, who were even bigger than the prince. Plus, they were muscled from ten years in Koterbaum’s practice yard. Gunnar tried to shake them off. They held him firm, and others joined them.
“Let me go!” the prince shouted. He tried to twist away, but couldn’t break their grip. Then, as a group, they frog-marched Gunnar toward the courtyard exit that led to the castle gate. When they got to the stone columns of the exit, they pushed him forward. Gunnar stumbled into the path beyond. Wulf could not see what happened next, but heard shouting that had to be Gunnar. Wulf couldn’t make out the words from this distance, but it sounded like the prince was cursing them all. After that, Gunnar must’ve either gone to the guards for protection or left the castle completely. The group of boys, so unified moments ago, turned around and milled back into the bailey courtyard in groups of three or four. Gunnar did not follow them.
Tolas meanwhile hurried over and knelt beside Rainer. Wulf pulled himself to his feet and went to join him. “That one will be back, and with reinforcements. We have to get Mr. Stope to help quickly.”
“Should we send for the doctor?” Wulf mumbled. “I can—”
“The doctors be cursed,” Tolas answered with a dark laugh. He thought for a moment. “Our young elf,” he said. “She has training from her folk over the sea. They are known to be effective healers.”
“Saeunn?”
“Yes. Let us take him to quarters.” Tolas stood up, looked around, and called out. “Koterbaum, you fool! Get over here!”
The arms marshal stumbled toward them as if commanded by a lord.
“Get help to carry the boy inside,” Tolas said. “Two or three of the older lads should do it. Make that useless Hlafnest von Blau one of them, too.”
Koterbaum stood there, doing nothing. Tolas took the staff and whacked the marshal across the shins.
“Blood and bones!” yelled Koterbaum. “Curse it all!” But suddenly complete awareness seemed to flood back into him. “Yes, of course, Albrec. You’re right. I’ll do it now.”
Koterbaum called out a couple of names to bring help. He turned back to Tolas and shook his head. “They wouldn’t have done that for me, Albrec, ganged up on him like that.”
Tolas considered his staff. “Possibly not,” he said. “But there are always other options. You of all people should know that.”
Wulf didn’t listen to them anymore. He turned to his friend, cupped Rainer’s head in his arms. “Wake up, Rainer,” he said. “You can wake up now.”
But Rainer did not wake up. His head dropped to the side as three of the older boys, including Hlafnest von Blau, raised his friend and carried him into the castle. Wulf stumbled behind in a fog of worry and regret.