Kings of the North - Elizabeth Moon [56]
“I’m Groj,” a voice said in front of him. “I’m one of the smiths. Marshal says I’m not to kill you.”
“I’d prefer not,” Stammel said.
“I’m a head taller,” Groj said. “He said I should tell you that.”
“I could tell from your voice,” Stammel said. He could feel his body’s adjustments, the same as always. For a taller man, this shift. Around him he heard other pairs moving into position.
“But I won’t let you win,” Groj said. “I told ’m I wouldn’t, and he said that was all right.”
“I won’t let you win, either,” Stammel said. Just as he wondered whether pairs signaled each other some way or the Marshal started it, he heard the command.
All the pent-up emotion of the past tendays exploded as he charged. He heard the rasp of Groj’s boots on the grass as the man tried to swing aside, but he was faster, and his arms, reaching wide, caught the man’s belt. Pivot, yank—Groj’s big hand touched his shoulder, but he already had the leverage, and Groj went down. He rolled up quickly, caught Stammel’s arm, and then they were in grip, hands and elbows and knees, struggling for mastery.
Groj was bigger and very strong, but Stammel had more speed and many more years of experience; he fought silently, exulting in the expertise he had not lost to blindness, feeling and hearing Groj’s surprise, the grunts of effort, the gasps as Stammel found yet another way to pin the bigger man. If demons could not defeat him, no big hamfisted smith—
“Hold!” came the command. Groj fell back, gasping; Stammel pushed himself away a little, only somewhat winded.
Footsteps on the grass. “Well,” Marshal Harak said. “What do you think now, Groj?”
“You’re right, Marshal. He’d have half-killed anyone else. I’m blown.”
“Sergeant, I expected you’d explode some way, so I gave you Groj. I didn’t think you could hurt him, but you’ve left marks on him will take tendays to vanish.”
He hadn’t realized that. He’d been so happy … “I’m sorry,” he said.
“No need,” the Marshal said. “You’ve been entirely too controlled since your ordeal; it had to come out sometime.”
Arcolin’s Camp
The messenger from Cortes Vonja carried two letters for Arcolin, one with the seal of Gird on the flap and the other addressed in Arñe’s writing, sealed in the same wax as the other but without a seal. Arcolin felt his heart sink. Good news would have been Stammel riding into camp with the others.
He slid his dagger blade under the flap of the Marshal’s letter first. Your sergeant lives, the Marshal had written.
But he is blind, and like to remain so. Despite this, he has been drilling with my yeomen, greatly to their improvement, I may say. The first time he attempted unarmed fighting, with the biggest in my grange, he threw him down. Though he is not yet recovered to his full strength, I judge his health improved enough to leave the grange, and so does he. The Council, at the urging of all three Marshals and the Captain of Tir whom you met, and also a Captain of Falk you did not meet, awarded him a small pension, enough to survive on if he chooses to stay. I understand he will have a pension from your Company as well. He knows of the pension but has said nothing to me. He wants to know your will in this and considers himself still under your orders.
Arñe’s letter was less formal:
Captain,
Sergeant Stammel is well and strengthening daily, but he is blind. We have all done what we can; Suli has a blind uncle and so guides him the most. We have been calling her Stammel’s eyes. I know—
That part was scratched out. Arñe added,
He wants to come back, but he won’t ask. He would do any work you gave him.
What work could he give a blind man when they might be in combat at any time? Yes, he had hired a half-blind captain, but the man still had one eye. Stammel … Arcolin squeezed his eyes against the thought of telling Stammel he must leave the Company. At least he must take Stammel back north, back to the stronghold, to safety. He called Burek into his tent and showed