He landed badly, half on top of his shield, with his weapon arm twisted painfully beneath him. Noel dragged himself forward, knowing his time of advantage was short. Weaponless, save for his dagger, he drew it and struck.
Sir Magnin must have sensed the attack, for at the last second he rolled, bringing his shield up and over him. The dagger raked its hard surface harmlessly. Sir Magnin gathered his feet under him and launched himself at Noel, striking him with the shield in a short, savage punch that sent Noel reeling back.
Sir Magnin followed, his right arm dangling uselessly. Noel could hear the agonized wheeze of his breathing from inside his helmet. The fancy plumes were dirt-caked now and torn; his surcoat looked the same. He struck Noel again with the shield, this time knocking him down.
Tossing away the shield, Sir Magnin stamped upon Noel’s wrist to hold his dagger useless and drew his own knife.
“Now,” he said, panting heavily. “By means of force and lawful passage of arms, by night and by day, in secret and in open, I have shown my worth over you. I am ruler of this province, and I shall remain so as long as there is strength in my arms. Send your last prayer to God’s mercy, Lord Theodore, for I have none for you.”
He drew back his arm to strike the mortal blow. Noel braced himself.
“Wait!”
The hoarse cry was so raw with desperation it actually made Sir Magnin hesitate. Leon came running across the field, stumbling and staggering, his face drained of all color, his eyes wild.
“Wait, my good lord. I pray you, wait.”
Sir Magnin drew off his helmet and flung it upon the ground. His mail-coifed head whipped back as Noel made a feeble move.
“I wait for no one,” he said arrogantly. “I have won the right to dispatch this man. His life is forfeit to me.”
Leon stumbled and skidded on his knees the final short distance to Noel. He held up beseeching hands, while Noel could only lie there on his back, struck incredulous at this unexpected intercession.
A squire came up with Sir Magnin’s sword. He exchanged his dagger for it, wielding the broadsword awkwardly in his left hand. His eyes were dark with pain and battle lust. They held not one scrap of mercy.
As he swung up the sword, Leon snatched the helmet from Noel’s head.
“Look at him!” he cried. “This is not Theodore of Albania, but an impostor. The contest is invalid.”
Sir Magnin never swung. He stared openmouthed at Noel, and for once he had nothing to say. Others came up, circling them, and Sir Magnin’s foot came off Noel’s wrist. He backed away in sudden distaste, looking almost fearful.
“What magic is this, that a lowly varlet without name or training could fight me with such valor and skill?” he whispered hoarsely. “What ensorcellment has been cast here?”
Lord Harlan, the thin old councillor with the black hood tied beneath his bony chin, pointed an accusing finger. “It is said that twins are the sons of Satan. Burn them both before their evil falls over us all.”
Noel managed to reach up and grab Leon’s tunic in his fist. “The bracelet,” he gasped. “You-”
“Let it be done,” said Sir Magnin. “Burn them.”
His voice was harsh and final. Guards shouldered their way through the crowd to surround Noel and Leon, still crouched together. Without a glance back, Sir Magnin left the tournament field.
CHAPTER 16
Sir Geoffrey, his thin face set grimly, took charge of the guards who conducted Noel and Leon back to the dungeons. Although he was weak with exhaustion and had to be supported by Leon to even walk, Noel looked around in search of Frederick. He could not find the boy’s face among the crowd, which hissed and made signs warding off the evil eye.
Others ran ahead, gathering firewood, sticks, and dung-anything that would burn. By the time Noel and Leon made their slow, painful way to the town square, the bonfire was ready for them.
“Let us light it!” implored the crowd. “Sir Geoffrey, rid us of these evil ones now.”
An old woman crept up and spat upon Leon. He flinched and wiped off the spittle. Noel stared at him, wondering what had made him change.
“The bracelet,” he said beneath the noise of the crowd. “What have you done with it? Where is the LOC?”
Leon glared at him, still wild-eyed and frantic. “It doesn’t work, any more than mine works. It’s no good to us.”
“It’s isomorphic,” said Noel grimly. “It works for me.”
“Mine doesn’t work.” Leon was almost sobbing. “They’re going to kill us. We have to-”
“Where is it? Damn you-”
The guards shook them. “Shut up. Attempt to weave a spell on us and we’ll cut out your-”
“Hush there!” called Sir Geoffrey. “You men, line the prisoners by the fountain. Bind them. Sir Magnin is coming back from the palace to witness this. We shall await his pleasure.”
The crowd shoved a priest forward. The man’s cassock was rumpled as though he had been manhandled. He clutched his rosary beads, and sweat shone upon his brow. His reluctance to approach Noel and Leon was obvious.
The guards did as Sir Geoffrey ordered. With his hands bound behind him, Noel hunched over to ease the torment in his shoulder.
“It’s your fault this is happening to us,” said Leon savagely beneath his breath. “You caused this. You stirred them up with your boasts and your challenges.”
Noel looked at him in distaste. “Why didn’t you let him kill me? You hypnotized Elena so she would shoot me, didn’t you? Why not let Sir Magnin finish the job?”
“Don’t you know?”
“No,” said Noel blankly.
Leon glared at him in plain hatred. “Because I feel your pain. Because if you die, I shall die. Try as I might, I cannot be rid of you.”
Noel blinked, and found himself with nothing to say. It made sense. They were more than twins. Leon, however repulsive and twisted he might be, was somehow a part of Noel. The reverse must also be true. It was a disquieting thought.
He frowned. “I was hurt before. If you’re telling the truth, you felt that.”
“Of course I did.”
“Then why program Elena like a little killer droid to get me?”
Leon shut his eyes a moment. “I thought if I had your LOC it would protect me. But it doesn’t. Nothing does. Why can’t I be free? That’s all I want, to be free of you.”
“You must return the bracelet,” said Noel. The expectant rustle of the crowd wore on his nerves. It was all he could do to keep his voice low and calm. The varlets still stacking wood on the bonfire were going at the job with an eagerness he could not admire.
The tournament was over. Were the people already so hungry for the next amusement they had to stage a public execution? He stifled his black thoughts about their lack of gratitude. The citizens of Mistra did not understand what he had tried to do for them, would never understand, even if he could explain.
“It’s almost the end of the time loop,” said Noel. He squinted at Mt. Taygetus, where the sun had already sunk, casting the craggy peak into dark silhouette against a golden blaze of coral and pink. “I am implanted with a command to keep the LOC on me at all times. It’s a feature that keeps a traveler from going rogue and staying in the past. That way history is protected-”
“I know what it is,” snapped Leon.
“Then you know that by nightfall, one of us will go back.” Noel stared into those silver-gray eyes so like his own, yet unlike them. “One of us has to.”
“Neither of us is going. It doesn’t work.”
“It does! Unless you’ve tampered with it-”
“I didn’t. But you failed today, remember? The LOC won’t send you back because there’s nothing to go back to.”
Noel felt sick. “And you’re proud of that, aren’t you? You fool!”
They glared hotly at each other while more townspeople crowded into the square and came out onto balconies on the buildings surrounding the space.