The Born Queen - J. Gregory Keyes [50]
Neil lifted himself from bed after the midnight bell tolled. He put on his gambeson, took up Battlehound, and made his way back down to the great hall and through its doors to the dark street. He took the sword and made a few passes, trying not to wince at how weak the arm felt. An arrow had struck him from above, piercing bone and muscle, and even after the head finally had been withdrawn, fever had nested there for more than a nineday.
Experimentally, he shifted to a left-favoring hold, but that was worse, because the muscles in his upper arm seized into a ball of pain. He’d taken a spear there, and the blade had cut one of the tendons that attached muscle to bone. Apparently those didn’t grow back.
He saw something move from the corner of his eye and found a silhouette watching him. Not surprisingly, the shadow had a familiar hulking shape.
“Good evening, Everwulf af Gastenmarka,” Neil said. “Come to do your master’s dirty work again?”
He couldn’t see the face, but the head moved from side to side.
“I’m much ashamed of that,” the man growled. “You taught me a proper lesson that night. You could have killed me, but you didn’t.”
“You were never in danger of that,” Neil said.
“Ney, nor was I ever in danger of beating you,” the fellow said, “not even with my friends to help me.”
“I was lucky.”
“Oh, no. I was there. And who hasn’t heard of the battle on Thornrath? You butchered our men there, and one of them was Slautwulf Thvairheison. You’ve made a large reputation in a small time.”
“It’s the past, Everwulf. No need for you to worry over it.”
“Oh, but there is. My lord sent us after you, do you understand? To punish you and affront Sir Fail de Liery. And when you beat us, two of us quit him and went in search of more honorable masters. That’s the humiliation that stings him now, that forces this fight, even with you injured.”
“What makes him think I’m injured?”
“The battle for the waerd is famous, Sir Neil. And the tale says that you were bleeding from six wounds and lay three months abed. That’s not long enough, Sir Neil. You can’t be fully mended.”
“It is if I didn’t really bleed from six wounds,” he replied.
“His squires watched you approach. Do you really think he would fight you if he didn’t think you were infirm?”
“I think he thought I would back down, and now he isn’t sure I’m injured at all.”
“Yah. I’m sure you’re right there. He’s trembling. But he’s challenged you in public. He’ll fight you.”
“There’s no talking him out of it?”
“No.”
“Well, I’ll fight him, then.”
Everwulf’s voice dropped a bit lower. “Rumor is your legs are good, that your worst injuries were to shoulder and arm. If that were me, I would choose to fight on foot. Quick feet can make up for a slow arm, and I know you have quick feet.”
“Thank you,” Neil said.
“May the Ansus favor you,” Everwulf replied, taking a step back. He paused, then turned and walked quickly off.
“Well, that was interesting,” another voice murmured from the darkness, this one feminine. Heat flashed through Neil’s veins, and he lifted his blade before recognizing the voice.
“Lady Berrye,” he acknowledged.
“You might as well call me Alis,” she replied softly.
“You were here for all of that?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Shouldn’t you be guarding the queen?”
“I am,” she replied.
“By watching after me?”
“I never thought she ought to be on this fool’s errand in the first place,” Berrye said, “and I think it was a mistake to bring you. The embassy is hardly under way, and already you’ve endangered it just by being who you are. Every knight between here and Kaithbaurg is going to want to fight you.”
“I know,” Neil replied.
“Well, then put a stop to it now. Admit your injuries and withdraw.”
For a moment Neil honestly thought she was joking, but then her tone registered.
“That’s impossible,” he said. “That’s what Sir Alareik wants.”
“Yes. It’s what I want, too.”
“Is this the queen’s word?”
“No.