The knight rose to his feet, limping and holding his back. “You barbaric imbecile—pulling me from my horse! What has come over you?” The knight hobbled slowly toward the horse, casting a fleeting glance toward Flinn.
“Trying to see if the audience is watching, eh?” Flinn asked, sliding sideways until he was between Brisbois and his mount. Flinn’s eyes narrowed and the humor left his gravelly voice, “You’ll pay for burning my home—you and whoever sent you.”
Warily the knight drew his own sword. “Why, so there is a fire! So quick to blame, are we? Perhaps a log rolled from the hearth.” The two men began circling each other slowly, some ten feet apart.
“Who sent you?” Flinn growled. He leaped forward and swung his sword in a warning gesture. Brisbois flinched and raised his sword to block the move. Flinn smiled wickedly.
Brisbois circled slowly, his limp conspicuously diminished. “I’m here on behalf of Lady Yvaughan. She’s asked me to invite you to the christening of her child. A son.”
Flinn studied the knight’s eyes. Brisbois stared unblinkingly at him, as though daring him to disbelieve the story. The warrior smiled cynically, then raised his sword and charged. The blade met solid metal and not the flesh its wielder had sought. Flinn whirled, swinging his sword behind him in a wide cutting arc. Again Brisbois met the blow. Flinn would have to increase his speed to gain any advantage that way.
Brisbois lifted his own sword and struck for Flinn. The warrior easily avoided the blade. He and Brisbois went into a crouch and began moving in a steadily decreasing circle. Flinn edged away from the corral and barn, careful not to be run up against the wall. He shifted his sword higher, waiting for Brisbois’ next move.
Brisbois smiled evilly. “My dear Flinn,” he said sarcastically, “I’m going to enjoy this so much. I’ve wanted to give you your comeuppance for a long, long time.”
“Go ahead and try, Brisbois,” Flinn rejoined. “Your treachery was never a match for my skill.”
Brisbois leaped at Flinn, his sword singing as it whirled. Flinn blocked the blade, holding his own sword barlike before him. The force of the knight’s blow drove Flinn to one knee, his arms and shoulders aching. But Flinn rose instantly and delivered his own blow.
The two began to parry, each delivering a sword stroke and blocking the other’s in return. Occasionally a stroke would slip past an opponent’s guard. Flinn couldn’t see any harm done yet to Brisbois, for his strikes were only denting the man’s armor. Some of Brisbois’ hits, however, were finding flesh. So far they had only been glancing ones, but Flinn was bloodied in a number of places.
A sudden blast of smoke surrounded the two men as the wind shifted. Flinn coughed and saw that the cabin was now engulfed in flames. The fire had lapped through the log walls and was rapidly licking away at the outside. Ariac screeched in alarm, and even Fernlover brayed at the smell of smoke.
Flinn jumped forward, his anger fueled by the destruction of his home. He swung his blade with reckless fury, battering Brisbois as though his sword were a club. Brisbois deflected the blows, turning each with the flat of his blade, but the volley of steel did not stop. Flinn pressed forward, the rip of his sword striking ever nearer the man’s neck. Flinn’s eyes shone with rage and a strange, savage joy. His wild, reckless onslaught forced Brisbois back.
“My cabin will be your pyre, Brisbois!” Flinn shouted.
The knight’s hands shook as he turned his sword, blocking Flinn’s strokes. Beneath the dark helmet, his eyes showed fear. Flinn growled, slashing in a mighty arc that battered back the knight’s blade. Flinn’s sword sliced through the gap between the breastplate and shoulder-guard. A spray of blood spotted the knight’s armor. The sight spurred Flinn’s anger. His strokes forced Brisbois back against the side of the barn, but there the knight let his armor take the force of some of Flinn’s blows. Flinn smirked in disdain.
Abruptly, Brisbois leaped forward with his own savage blow. With a resounding clang, the knight’s blade bit into Flinn’s, notching it. Flinn wrenched his sword, pulling Brisbois’ weapon from his hand. The knight leaped upon Flinn, toppling him to the ground. Flinn’s sword tumbled loose. The armored weight of Brisbois knocked Flinn’s breath away, but Flinn pushed against Brisbois and twisted out from beneath the knight. Brisbois’ mailed hands seized Flinn’s unprotected throat and clamped tight. Flinn pried at the cold gauntlets, but could not pull them loose. He grew dizzy, and the strength left his hands.
Suddenly, water and hard pellets rained down on them. Flinn and Brisbois sprang apart, shocked by the cold dousing. Flinn lunged for his sword, coughing as he did. He rolled to his feet and turned in time to see Jo swing the ash yoke and bash the knight’s helmeted head. Brisbois staggered backward, one hand pulling an amulet from around his throat. Then the knight leaped for his blade lying in the snow.
Jo swung again, but Brisbois dodged the yoke and dissolved into a thin, wispy mist. The vapor disappeared even as Flinn swung at it with his sword.
“Coward! Coward!” he roared, his dark eyes searching the air above them. “Return and face me, Brisbois!” Rage had revived Flinn’s energy. He stomped about the yard looking for any sign of the knight. The warrior shouted curses for a few minutes more, then drew a deep breath. He turned his attention toward the blazing cabin, now an inferno.
Jo came and stood by him. She put her hand on his arm. “Your home, Flinn, your home. I wish Dayin and I had come back earlier. We might have been able to stop it, or at least salvage something.”
Flinn shook his head. “It’s not your fault, Jo,” he said quietly. “I have the crystals in my belt pouch, so they’re not lost. My breastplate’s in the barn, where I was going to fix it, so that’s at least a little armor. And as to food… well, there’s a bag of oats in the barn and some dried meat I had intended to feed Ariac—and all the berries you and Dayin picked.” Flinn’s eyes grew brighter, for he was very fond of the tart fruit.
“The, ah, redberries were part of our attack, Flinn,” Jo said apologetically and pointed to the smashed red fruit at their feet. “Dayin threw the berries while I splashed the water.” She shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Flinn laughed, albeit ruefully. “It was, Jo, it was.” He gave her a quick hug and turned to the barn. “Now, let’s see what we can do about making this place habitable for the night. We need to salvage what we can because tomorrow we have to go into Bywater. We need supplies, first and foremost. We won’t make it to the castle otherwise.” Flinn cocked an eyebrow. “It’s a good thing I hid my gold in the barn and not the cabin. I haven’t got much, but it’ll get us some things.”
“And then, we go to the castle?” Jo asked, her voice and eyes expectant.
“And then we go to the Castle of the Three Suns—” he paused for wry effect “—and beat Sir Brisbois into smithereens before we become knight and squire. There are rules against knights fighting each other, you know.”
Jo laughed, a happy sound in an otherwise dark moment. Fernlover brayed then, and Brisbois’ horse nickered in response. Jo looked toward the corral. “It looks like we won’t have to ride double on Ariac.”
Chapter VII
Yvaughan pulled back the blanket and bit her Up. Her brutally deformed infant son lay there in the white-and-gold crib. Four nights ago, after a long and difficult delivery, Yvaughan had given birth to the child. She had screamed upon first seeing her son—one half of his head missing along with one eye, the hands twisted and corrupted with lesions, and the stump of a third leg forming out of his back, almost as if it were a tail. His bluish skin indicated he had stopped breathing, and for one hope-filled moment she thought the baby was stillborn. But Maldrake roared, pushed through the healers, and grabbed his infant boy. He shook the baby, screaming that he must live. The infant gasped and drew his first breath, and Yvaughan sank into a miasma of pain and horror.