In Which I Have My First Duel
In case you have never had the experience of waking up to find a weapon pointed at your face, let me walk you through it. In phase one, you are certain that you’re having a nightmare. You look around, hoping to see something bizarre to confirm this. When you can’t find anything else out of the ordinary, you try the classic “pinch yourself” method. Supposedly, you can’t feel pain in a dream. So you pinch yourself hard enough to leave a bruise and then mumble some choice words because that not only hurt, but it means you’re awake.
In phase two, you come to accept that there really is a man standing over you pointing a weapon at your face, and your body finally reacts. Your heart rate surges, you begin to sweat, and you start scuttling backward, wondering how your mortal enemy has tracked you down.
In my case, there were two problems with phase two. First, I ran into a rock. Second, I didn’t have any mortal enemies, at least not that I knew of. William didn’t count. If I was dead, he couldn’t torment me. I guess the dragon was technically my mortal enemy, since I was on my way to try and kill it, but this man was clearly not a dragon. I had to wonder if the dragon had some sort of arrangement with the local thugs. He agrees not to eat their daughters if they kill off any knights headed for his lair.
But this man didn’t look like a thug. For one thing, he was old, with gray hair and a wrinkled face. And there was something stately about him, as if he had once been a proud man. His clothes were well-made, and his beard neatly trimmed. He looked like a wild-eyed gentleman.
“Stand up and fight me, coward!” my non-thug opponent yelled. His voice and expression belonged to a man who had been seriously wronged.
I eased my way to my feet, wondering what I had done to him.
“Take up your weapon, Gordon. I will not give you a second opportunity.”
Now, this made no more sense to me than it does to you. Nowhere in my string of unfortunate names was there anything even close to Gordon.
“I-I think you h-have me c-confused with s-someone else,” I told him.
“Your fearful voice speaks of your weak heart,” he said and then took a swing at me with the sword.
I ducked low and moved right.
My father had been very enthusiastic about teaching my brother Edward to fight. He showed similar pleasure in instructing my brother George. But by the time I reached the age of ten and my lessons should have begun, Father had long since lost interest in direct instruction. He told me that my brothers would teach me what I needed to know.
What I learned from my brothers was simple. Do not stay in one place when someone is swinging a large object at your head, and don’t be above kicking and biting if you get pinned down in the dirt. So though I knew nothing about swordsmanship and didn’t have a sword to use anyway, I was not completely defenseless.
The old man swung at me. I ducked and danced. I had been hit by more than a few fists; but this was a sword. The sunlight seemed to make a point of shining on the edges, just to remind me how sharp the thing was.
My opponent was old and clearly not as strong as he had once been, but I could see glimpses of skill. This man had been a great swordsman in his day. Unfortunately, he didn’t need much expertise to spear me with the sharp point of a blade.
Suddenly, a large branch hit my arm. I was about to yell when I realized that Tate was handing me a weapon. The tree limb had knobs where he had torn off branches, but it still worked something like a staff The next time the gentleman swung at me, I blocked the blow. The impact seemed to startle him. He stumbled back. I took a step forward. He swung at me again, not as hard this time. Again, I blocked it.
The man was still yelling at me, calling me Gordon and going on about some despicable thing he was sure I had done. I tried to tell him I wasn’t Gordon. But he didn’t seem to hear anything I yelled back at him. I didn’t want to hurt him, but I didn’t want to die either.
So the next time he lifted his sword to begin the arc of a swing, I hit him square in the chest with the end of my branch. The old man fell backward, hitting the ground hard.
I walked cautiously toward him. Tate took the chance to run over and wrestle the sword out of the man’s hand. I was more concerned that his eyes were wide, and he seemed to be having trouble breathing.
I knelt down next to the old man and pulled him up to a sitting position. His chest seemed to work better that way. He took in a long, labored breath.
“Who is he?” Tate said. “I h-have no idea.”
I heard hooves striking the ground and looked up, half expecting Albert to be fleeing the scene. But my horse was only a few feet away, attempting to hide behind a boulder that was a third his size. The hoofbeats came from a large dark horse that was cantering toward us. It came to a stop, and I thought about asking Tate for the sword, but then I caught sight of the rider.
It was a girl who swung down off the horse. She looked to be about our age, with long dark hair and fierce eyes.
Her voice was sharp. “What did you do to him?”
“N-Nothing,” I said, suddenly realizing how bad this must look. “H-he tried to k-kill me. I defended myself.”
She glared at me as Tate nodded vigorously. “It’s true,” Tate said. “This old fellow came at him with a sword, yelling about Gordon.”
The girl’s features lost their sharp edges. “Oh. I’m sorry,” she said. “My grandfather gets confused.”
“Your grandfather?” Tate asked.
The girl nodded. “Sir Danton of Mortico.”
Tate and I both stared at her. We knew the name. Everyone did. Sir Danton of Mortico had been the king’s champion years before. Not a single person had asked for trial by combat during his time in office. He was that good.
Sitting on the ground, Sir Danton seemed to have collected himself. He turned to Tate. “My sword, lad,” he said.
Tate looked at me with uncertainty.
“It’s all right,” the girl said. “He’s calm now.”
I still wasn’t certain this was a wise plan, but Tate handed Sir Danton back his weapon. The knight slowly worked his way up onto his knees. He laid the sword blade across his hands and looked up at me.
“You have bested me,” Sir Danton said. “I present you with the sword Guardian.”
Was he serious? I waited, thinking that he would laugh and say that it had all been in jest. But he stayed there, holding the sword.
“I c-can’t accept it,” I said.
Sir Danton held the blade out to me anyway.
I turned to look at the girl, hoping that she could convince him. She was staring at me with her head tilted to the side and lines forming between her brows.
“You have a stutter,” she said.
The back of my neck felt hot, and my lips closed tight. I nodded, waiting for the mocking to start, but she made no other comment about it.
“Take the sword,” she said. “To not accept it would be to dishonor him.”
“But G-Guardian is a legendary blade.”
“Take the sword,” she said. “Let him keep his dignity.”
This still seemed wrong to me, but I accepted the sword. For a large weapon, Guardian felt incredibly light in my hand. The metal shimmered and glowed—as if a fire burned inside it—and a tingling feeling moved through my right hand and up my arm. I felt the sensation spreading through my body and wondered if I had just been poisoned. But I didn’t feel any pain or weakness. If anything, I felt stronger, almost powerful.
I looked back at the knight in wonder. He nodded, looking pleased, and then his eyes seemed far away again.
The girl reached down and helped her grandfather slowly back to his feet. “My name is Hero,” she said once his age-spotted arm was draped over her small shoulders.
On another day I might have thought it remarkably unfair that this girl had been gifted with the name Hero while I was stuck with Hobart, but in that particular moment, I was too filled with wonder to care.
“I am H-Hobart,” I told her. “And this is T-tate.” He nodded politely. “And Albert.” I gestured to the white stallion, who was peeking out from behind his rock.
“Are you traveling?” Hero asked as she slowly walked her grandfather back toward the dark horse.
“Y-yes, to Rona.” I put Sir Danton’s other arm over my shoulders. All of his strength seemed to have disappeared. “I would very much like for you to stay with us, then,”
Hero said. “Our home is on the road to Rona, and you both look as if you could use a bath and a hot meal.”
It seemed wrong to take anything else from this family, but her offer was very tempting. Tate and Albert were suddenly both walking along beside me, nodding eagerly. “We would be g-glad of your h-hospitality,” I told her.
And so, we traveled to Castle Mortico.