The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [78]
“What!?”
“You heard me.” Owaen touched the yoke of his shirt, which sported an embroidered falcon. “Those eagles look too much like my device. I want them gone.”
“Oh, do you now?” Slowly and carefully Branoic swung free of the bench and stood up to face him. Dimly he was aware that the hall had fallen silent. “I was born into that clan, you piss-proud little mongrel. I’ve got every right to wear that device if I want, and want it I do.”
Like dweomer Caradoc materialized in between them and laid a restraining hand on Branoic’s sword arm.
“Listen, Owaen,” the captain said. “The lad’s gear will get lost or broken soon enough, and the eagles fly away of their own accord.”
“That’s not soon enough.”
“I won’t have fighting in our prince’s hall.”
“Then let’s go out in the ward,” Branoic broke in. “Let’s settle it, Owaen, with a fistfight between the two of us, and the winner gets the device.”
“For a new man, you’re an insolent little bastard.” Then Owaen caught the grim look on Caradoc’s face. “Oh, very well, then. You’re on.”
Nearly everyone in the great hall trooped after them to watch when they went out. While a couple of pages ran off for torches, the combatants took off their sword belts and handed them to Maddyn. Wagers went back and forth between the onlookers. When the torches arrived, Branoic and Owaen faced off and began circling, sizing each other up. Since Branoic had won every fistfight he’d ever fought, he was confident—too confident. He plunged straight in, swung, and felt Owaen block his punch at the same moment that a fist jammed into stomach. Gasping, he dodged back, but Owaen was right there, dancing in from the side, clipping him on the side of the jaw. Although the blow stung more than hurt, Branoic went into a berserker rage, swinging back, closing, punching, feeling nothing but a swelling dizziness as Owaen blocked and danced and hit in return.
“Enough!” Caradoc’s voice sliced through the red haze surrounding him. “I said hold and stand, by the Lord of Hell’s balls!”
Arms grabbed him and pulled him back. With a gasp for breath Branoic tossed his head and saw blood scatter from a cut over his left eye. Owaen was standing in front of him, his nose running blood. He smiled as Branoic took a step back and felt his knees buckle under him. When the men holding him lowered him gently to the cobbles, all he could do was sit there, gasping for breath, feeling his face and stomach throb with pain and the blood run down his cheek.
“This had better end it,” Caradoc said. “Owaen gets the little chickens since he’s so fond of them, but I don’t want anyone mocking Branoic for this, either. Hear me?”
There were mutters of agreement from the other silver daggers. In a flood of good-natured laughter the crowd broke up, settling wagers as they drifted back to the great hall. Branoic stayed outside; he felt so humiliated that he was sure he could never look another man in the face again. Maddyn caught his arm and helped him stand.
“Now look, lad, I’ve never seen a man before who could give Owaen a bloody nose.”
“You don’t need to lie to spare my feelings.”
“I’m not. If you can keep Owaen from knocking you out cold on the cobbles, then you’ve won a victory of sorts.”
It was so sincerely said that Branoic felt his shame lift. Stumbling and staggering, he had to lean on Maddyn as they headed for the barracks. About halfway there they were stopped by the old man whom Maddyn had pointed out earlier as the prince’s councillor. Nevyn held up the lantern he was carrying and peered into Branoic’s bleeding face.
“I’ll tell Caudyr to get out to the barracks. This lad needs a couple of stitches in that cut over his eye. Make sure you get him to lie down, Maddo.”
“Oh, I’ll wager he won’t be wanting to dance the night away.”
Although Branoic tried to smile at the jest, his mouth hurt too badly. Suddenly Nevyn looked straight into his eyes, and the gaze caught him like a spear, impaling deep into his soul. In his muddled state, he felt as if he’d been trying to find this man all his life for some reason that he should