The crowd drew breath as the Boar staggered, his knees giving slightly and Theodore remembered Lady Anne’s advice.
Attack him from his left. His eye is blurred and his ankle is weak.
Theodore ducked low and lunged with his blade at Lord Hyett’s kneecap. A blow connected with his shoulder and he fell forward, gasping in sudden pain, his lunge only managing a passing hit on the Boar’s leg greave.
But then the fighting opened up, and it was each man against another. Through his eye-slits, Theodore saw that still no one had yielded. He parried a thrust with his damaged shield, feeling it splinter under the impact. A second hack carried its remnants from his wrist entirely.
As he stood, his teeth gritted, the red shield of the Boar swallowed his view. He ducked as Lord Hyett’s sword flashed an inch from his gorget.
That could have killed me if it had struck.
Theodore went cold.
Maybe that is his intention. Here it will look like an accident. I humiliated him when I unhorsed him in the lists, and he is probably aware that Lady Anne and I…
A man in white armour came to Theodore’s rescue, his blow careening off the Boar’s chest plate.
Theodore stumbled backwards, painfully aware of the jeering crowds.
Castimir held his hand to his face. It was terrible to watch. He turned his head and winced when Theodore lost his shield, and he prayed when the giant advanced, hoping that Theodore might save himself. He sighed in relief when one of the squire’s men came to his rescue and gave him time to regain his balance.
The wizard saw William’s eyes upon him. The young noble pursed his lips and shook his head grimly.
Theodore isn’t finished yet, Lord William, he responded silently. He’s been through worse. Give him a chance.
Castimir remembered Lady Anne, and the dismissive laugh she had given after Sir Prysin’s eldest had been so gravely injured. He looked for her now.
To his surprise, the expression she wore was very different.
She looks afraid, he realised. Could she really be so attached to Theodore?
“The first man has yielded!” someone yelled from nearby, under the canopy. Castimir turned back to see that it was in fact two men who had left the enclosure, one wearing the white armour of Falador and the other the black of Varrock.
His eyes fell on Theodore. He gasped as he saw his friend rush in again to confront the strongest knight in Varrock.
Theodore’s saviour broke under the Boar’s relentless blows. The white-armoured man collapsed as his legs buckled, his weaponless hands palm up to show that he had yielded. Blood dripped from under his visor as the Boar gave three heavy blows with his edged sword, ignoring the surrender.
Theodore’s world went red.
Leading with his shoulder, he cannoned into the Boar’s legs from his enemy’s left. He felt the man stagger and then with a heave the squire sent him flying face down.
A sword smashed against his head as he crouched, but he ignored the blow, instead leaping forward to where he thought the Boar must be. He felt a man’s armoured body beneath him, face down, and with a shout he thrust his sword under his helm, pulling it back as he held the edge to the man’s throat.
“Yield!” he commanded as a roar arose from the spectators. “Yield or I swear I will cut your throat.”
The Boar swore in reply, his hand snaking toward his own sword, which had fallen from his grasp when the squire had barrelled into him.
Theodore increased the pressure on the blade, but too late he saw a Varrock knight appear beside him. This one wielded a heavy wooden mace, and Theodore knew he had to avoid it at all costs. With a cry, he rolled free as the mace sailed by.
But it was not a disaster. For his roll had taken him to within range of the Boar’s own weapon. He dropped his own tourney blade in exchange for his enemy’s, gripping the broadsword in both hands. At the same time he lashed out with his foot, his heel connecting with Lord Hyett’s helm with a satisfying crash that snapped one of the Boar’s tusks.
Now I have the edge, he thought. Your edge-and we will see what you think of that.
“He nearly had him!” Castimir shouted to anyone who cared to listen. “Come on, Theodore. Finish the brute off.”
And in fact, I thought you were about to kill him.
From his viewpoint the wizard could easily see the whole enclosure. At least five of the knights were down. From one- the man who had saved Theodore-the ground was soaked with blood. Six more yielded and left the enclosure to join the two who had already retired.
Which gave Castimir cause to smile, for now Theodore’s men had the advantage. Now, it was six against five.
“Come on Theodore,” he muttered. “You don’t need to be a hero today. Your men are doing you proud.”
Theodore fell as a man’s black gauntlet wrapped around his neck and pulled him backward. The Varrock knight fell beneath him, and as he landed Theodore thrust backwards with his elbow with as much force as he could muster.
He heard the man gasp through his visor.
Up! Up! Seize the advantage and force him to yield!
The squire made it to his knees and with both hands swung Lord Hyett’s sword, not bothering to stand, not daring to waste a single second that might endanger his advantage. The edged blade severed the top of the man’s finger and sent his weapon flying from the enclosure to the excited whoops of the crowds.
“I yield! Gods I yield!” the man roared as he crawled to the ropes to be dragged from the enclosure by the waiting stewards.
Theodore stood wearily, his body lurching from one side to the other. The weight of the weapon further threatened his balance.
I am exhausted. Can’t keep going for much longer.
But he knew that his enemies must be in a similar state, and in a rare moment of calm he had a chance to survey the enclosure.
We are winning! he realised then. We are two men up, six against four. But I need air, I need to breathe.
He opened his visor, thanking Saradomin for the wind that blew against his sweat-drenched face. He watched as Lord Hyett batted a man aside, still with his dented red shield. As the man fell, Theodore staggered forward to his aid while about him the four Varrock knights confronted five opponents.
The Boar had his back to him, yet somehow the knight turned in time to avoid a wild slash that would have smashed against the back of his head. Unbalanced again, Theodore staggered from exhaustion, drinking in great gulps of air, his visor still wide open. He stumbled to one side, crashing against one of the great wooden wheels used to divide the ground in the enclosure.
On the man came. Even now, the giant still possessed the strength to run and thrust. He was wielding the wooden mace which Theodore had only just avoided a moment before.
I am not sure if I can do it again! Too tired.
“You are mine, Falador,” Lord Hyett gritted. “You are mine.”
He swung the mace as Theodore collapsed, sliding backward alongside the wheel. His back throbbed with pain. He desperately attempted to parry, but the tip of the heavy sword went agonisingly wide.
Still, he kept himself out of the Boar’s reach.
“Open your visor, Lord Hyett,” he challenged, not entirely knowing why he did so. “Let me look you in the face.” Perhaps he could goad the man into making a mistake.
There was no reply, and Theodore had suspected he would be too canny to give in to such an obvious tactic. Behind him, on the opposite side of the wheel, a man screamed as the sound of armour crashing to the floor was drowned out by cheering shouts.
I don’t care if we win this match or not, he admitted to himself. Saradomin, just give me the chance to avenge myself against this murderous creature.