Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [96]
Skylan turned to face his opponent. He held his shield in front of his body, his sword ready to knock aside Horg’s axe. Skylan was dressed in tunic and trousers and boots, his silver armbands, and of course, the amulet of Torval. Horg was dressed much the same. Neither man wore armor or a helm. Each was supposed to rely on his wits, his courage, and his skill with weapon and shield to win the contest.
Skylan braced himself. As the one challenged, Horg had the right to make the first attack. He was a big man, and he moved slowly, conserving his strength.
Standing unmoving, waiting for Horg to attack him, was the most difficult thing Skylan had ever done in his life. He gripped shield and sword and spread his feet and softened his knees to absorb the shock. He watched Horg’s eyes, hoping for some indication of where Horg would strike. He could not attack with his sword, but he could use his weapon to deflect the blow.
Horg held his own shield in front of him to ward off just such an attempt by Skylan and raised his battle axe. The blade of the axe trailed fire in the sunlight as it came sweeping down. Horg was clever, his eyes gave away nothing.
Skylan lifted his shield as Horg’s axe thudded into it. Splinters flew. The powerful blow bruised Skylan’s knuckles and jarred his arm. The axe bit so deeply into the wood that Horg had to expend some effort to yank it free, which gave Skylan an opening. He brought up his sword, only to hear Garn yell out sharply.
Seething, Skylan lowered his weapon. He could not attack. He could only defend.
Horg recovered his axe and walked back to his place on the cloth. Skylan investigated his shield. The blow had split two of the planks. The shield would fall apart at the next hit. Skylan walked over to Garn and flung the worthless shield onto the ground.
“That could have been your skull,” Garn pointed out.
“Just give me another rutting shield!” Skylan muttered.
Garn handed it over. “Remember what we practiced.”
Skylan nodded and went back to take his place on the cloth. Now Horg was on the defensive. His shield was swathed in leather, which would help protect it from splitting. A shield like that was more expensive than the wooden shields Skylan used, which had leather binding only around the rim. Such were the benefits of being Chief of Chiefs.
Horg was hoping for a quick end before he ran out of strength. Skylan hoped for a quick end before he ran out of shields. He walked forward swiftly, his eyes fixed on the shield, seeming to aim for it. At the last moment, still keeping his gaze fixed on the shield, he aimed his blade at Horg’s unprotected right arm.
Horg was far too skilled to fall for the feint. His battle axe connected with Skylan’s sword, nearly knocking it from his hand. Horg pivoted, slammed his shield into Skylan’s, and shoved him backwards. Skylan’s feet slipped, and he fell, landing on his rump.
Horg laughed uproariously, jarringly.
The blood rushed to Skylan’s face. He had been made to look the fool in front of all the Clan Chiefs and the best warriors of the Vindrasi. Garn and his father were both yelling at him, but he paid no heed. Furious, he scrambled to his feet, raised his sword, and rushed at Horg.
“Stop!” the Kai Priestess called, adding sternly, “Return to your place, Warrior, or forfeit the contest!”
“Yeah, go back to your place, boy,” Horg jeered.
Skylan skidded to a halt. He cast Horg a baleful glance, then turned and walked with what dignity he could muster back across the cloth.
Ordinarily, the crowd would have found the sight of a warrior falling on his backside hilarious. They would have laughed or groaned, depending on whom they favored, freely expressing their opinion of the fight and shouting out advice. On this occasion, though some men exclaimed and