A Quest of Heroes (11 page)

On the far side, facing him, out walked a knight in the distinctive armor of the McClouds.

“MacGils versus McClouds,” Feithgold whispered to Thor. “We’ve been at war for a thousand years. And I very much doubt this match will settle it.”

Each knight lowered his visor, a horn sounded, and with a shout, the two charged each other.

Thor was amazed at how much speed they picked up, and moments later they collided with such a clang, Thor nearly raised his hands to his ears. The crowd gasped as both fighters fell from their horses.

They each jumped to their feet and threw off their helmets, as their squires ran out to them, handing them short swords. The two knights sparred with all they had. Watching Kendrick swing and slash had Thor mesmerized: it was a thing of beauty. But the McCloud was a fine warrior, too. Back and forth they went, each exhausting the other, neither giving ground.

Finally their swords met in one momentous clash, and they each knocked each other’s swords from their hands. Their squires ran out, maces in hand, but as Kendrick was reaching for his mace, the McCloud’s squire ran up behind him and struck him in the back with a mace, the blow sending him to the ground, to the horrified gasp of the crowd.

The McCloud knight stepped forward and pointed his sword to Kendrick’s throat, pinning him to the ground. Kendrick was left with no choice.

“I concede!” he yelled.

There was a victorious shout among the McClouds—but a shout of anger from the MacGils.

“He cheated!” yelled out the MacGils.

“He cheated! He cheated!” echoed a chorus of angry cries.

The mob was getting angrier and angrier, and soon there was such a chorus of protests that the mob began to disperse, and both sides—the MacGils and McClouds—began to approach each other on foot.

“This isn’t good,” Feithgold said to Thor, as they stood on the side, watching.

Moments later, the crowd erupted: blows were thrown, and it became an all-out brawl. It was chaos. Men were swinging wildly, grabbing each other in locks, driving each other to the ground. The crowd was swelling, and it was threatening to blow up into an all-out war.

A horn sounded, and guards from both sides marched in, and managed to split up the crowd. Another, louder, horn sounded, and silence fell as King MacGil stood from his throne.

“There will be no skirmishers today!” he boomed in his kingly voice. “Not on this day of celebration! And not in my court!”

Slowly, the crowd calmed.

“If it is a contest you wish for between our two great clans, it will be decided by one fighter, one champion, from each side.”

MacGil looked to King McCloud, who sat on the far side, seated with his entourage.

“Agreed?” MacGil yelled out.

McCloud stood solemnly.

“Agreed!” he echoed.

The crowd cheered on both sides.

“Choose your best man!” MacGil yelled.

“I already have,” McCloud said.

There emerged from the McCloud side a formidable knight, the biggest man Thor had ever seen, mounted on his horse. He looked like a boulder, all bulk, with a long beard, and a scowl that looked permanent.

Thor sensed movement beside him, and right next to him, Erec stepped up, mounted Warfkin and walked forward. Thor swallowed. He could hardly believe this was happening all around him. He swelled with pride for Erec.

Then he was overcome with anxiety, as he realized that he was on duty. After all, he was squire and this was his knight who was about to fight.

“What do we do?” Thor asked Feithgold in a rush.

“Just stand back and do as I tell you,” he answered.

Erec strode forward into the jousting lane, and the two knights stayed there, facing each other, their horses stomping in a tense standoff. Thor felt his heart pounding in his chest as he waited and watched.

A horn sounded, and the two charged each other.

Thor could not believe the beauty and grace of Warfkin as he watched him move. It was like watching a fish jump from the sea. The other man was huge, but Erec was the most graceful and sleek fighter Thor had ever seen. He cut through the air, his head low, his silver armor rippling, more polished than any armor he had laid his eyes upon.

As the two men met, Erec held his lance with perfect aim, and leaned to the side. He managed to knock the knight in the center of shield and at the same time, to dodge his blow.

The huge mountain of a man tumbled backwards, onto the ground. It was like a boulder landing.

The MacGil crowd cheered as Erec rode past, turned and circled back. He held the tip of his lance to the man’s throat.

“Yield!” Erec yelled down.

The knight spit.

“Never!”

The knight then reached into a hidden satchel on his waist, pulled out a handful of dirt, and before Erec could react, he threw it up into Erec’s face.

Erec, stunned, reached up and grabbed for his eyes, dropping his lance, and fell from his horse.

The MacGil crowd booed and hissed and cried in outrage as Erec fell, clutching his eyes. The knight, wasting no time, hurried over and kneed him in the ribs.

Erec rolled over, and the knight grabbed a huge rock, picked it up high and prepared to bring it down on Erec’s skull.

“NO!” Thor screamed, stepping forward, unable to control himself.

Thor watched in horror as the knight brought down the rock. At the last second, Erec somehow rolled out of the way. The stone lodged deep into the ground, right where his skull had been.

Thor was amazed at Erec’s dexterity. He was already back on his feet, facing this dirty fighter.

“Short swords!” the Kings cried out.

Feithgold suddenly wheeled and stared at Thor, wide-eyed.

“Hand it to me!” he yelled.

Thor’s heart pounded in panic. He spun around, searching Erec’s weapons rack, looking desperately for the sword. There was a dizzying array of weapons before him. He reached out, grabbed it, and thrust it into Feithgold’s palm.

“Stupid boy! That is a medium sword!” Feithgold yelled.

Thor felt his throat go dry, felt the whole kingdom staring at him. His vision was blurry with anxiety, as he spiraled into panic, not knowing which sword to choose. He could barely focus.

Feithgold stepped forward, shoved Thor out of the way, and grabbed the short sword himself. He then raced out into the jousting lane.

Thor watched as he ran, feeling useless, horrible. He also tried to imagine if it were himself running out there, in front of all those people, and his knees grew weak.

The other knight’s squire reached him first, and Erec had to jump out of the way, as the knight swung for him, unarmed, barely missing. Finally, Feithgold reached Erec and placed the short sword into his hand. As he did, the knight charged Erec. But Erec was too fast: he waited until the last moment, then jumped out of the way.

The knight kept charging, though, and ran right into Feithgold, standing, to his bad luck, in the place where Erec had just been. The knight, filled with rage at missing Erec, kept charging and grabbed Feithgold with both hands by his hair, and head butted him hard across the face.

There was a cracking of bone, as blood squirted from Feithgold’s nose, and he collapsed to the ground, limp.

Thor stood there, mouth open in shock. He could not believe it. Neither could the crowd, which booed and hissed.

Erec swung around with his sword, just missing the knight, and the two faced each other again.

As Thor stood there, he suddenly realized: he was Erec’s only squire now. He gulped. What was he supposed to be doing? He was not prepared for this. And the whole kingdom was watching.

The two knights attacked each other viciously, going blow for blow. Clearly the McCloud knight was much stronger than Erec—yet Erec was the better fighter, faster and more agile. They swung and slashed and parried, neither able to gain advantage.

Finally, MacGil stood.

“Long spears!” he yelled.

Thor’s heart pounded. He knew this meant him: he was on duty.

He spun and looked at the rack, and grabbed the weapon that seemed most appropriate. As he grabbed its leather shaft, he prayed he chose correctly.

He burst onto the lane and could feel thousands of eyes on him. He ran and ran, for all he was worth, wanting to reach Erec, and finally placing it into his hand. He was proud to see he reached him first.

Erec took his spear and spun, prepared to face the other knight. Erec, being the honorable warrior that he was, waited until the other knight was armed before attacking. Thor hurried off to the side, out of the men’s way, not wanting to repeat Feithgold’s mistake. As he did, he grabbed Feithgold’s limp body and dragged him back, out of harm’s way.

As Thor watched, he sensed something was wrong. The knight took his spear, raised it straight up, then began to bring it down in a strange motion. As he did, suddenly, Thor felt his world go into focus in a way he never had. He intuited that something wrong. His eyes locked on the knight’s spear tip, and as he looked closely, he realized it was loose. The knight was about to use the tip of his spear as a throwing knife.

As the knight brought down his spear, the tip became detached and went flying through the air. It tumbled through the air, end over end, and was heading right for Erec’s heart. In moments, Erec would be dead—and there was no way he could react in time.

In that moment, Thor felt his whole body warming. He felt a tingling sensation—it was the same sensation he’d experienced back in Darkwood, before the Sybold. His whole world slowed. He was able to see the tip spinning in slow motion, was able to feel an energy, a heat, rising within him—one he didn’t know he had.

He stepped forward and felt bigger than the spear. In his mind, he willed it to stop. He demanded it to stop. He did not want to see Erec hurt. Especially not this way.

“NO!”“ Thor shrieked.

He took another step, and held out his palm, aimed at the spear tip.

As he did, suddenly, the tip stopped and hung there, in mid-air, right before reaching Erec’s heart.

It then dropped harmlessly to the ground.

The two knights both turned and looked at Thor—as did the two kings, as did the thousands of spectators. He felt the whole world staring down at him, and realized they all just witnessed what he did. They all knew he was not normal, that he had some sort of power, that he had influenced the games, had saved Erec—and changed the fate of the kingdom.

Thor stood there, rooted in place, wondering what just happened.

He knew now that he wasn’t the same as all these people. He was different.

But who was he?

CHAPTER NINE

Thor found himself swept up, ushered through the crowd by Reece, the King’s youngest son and his newfound sparring partner. Ever since the jousting match, it had been a blur. Whatever he had done back there, whatever power he had used to stop that spear point from killing Erec, it had caught the attention of the entire kingdom. The match had been stopped after that, called off by both kings, and a truce called. Each fighter retired to his side, the masses broke up in an agitated stir, and Thor had found himself grabbed by the arm, and ushered off by Reece.

He’d been swept away in a royal entourage, cutting the back way through the masses, Reece tugging at his arm as he went. Thor was still shaking from the day’s events. He hardly understood what he had just done back there, how it had influenced things. He had just wanted to be anonymous, just another one of the King’s legion. He had not wanted to be the center of attention.

Worse, he didn’t know where he was being led, if he was going to be punished somehow for interfering. Of course, he had saved Erec’s life—but he had also interfered with a Knight’s battle, which he knew was forbidden for a squire. He didn’t know if he would be rewarded or rebuked.

“How did you do that?” Reece asked, as he yanked him along. Thor followed blindly, trying to process it all himself. As he went, the masses gawked, staring at him as if he were some kind of freak.

“I don’t know,” Thor answered truthfully. “I just wanted to help him and…it happened.”

Reece shook his head.

“You saved Erec’s life. Do you realize that? He is our most famed knight. And you saved him.”

Thor felt good as he turned Reece’s words over in his head, felt a wave of relief. He had liked Reece from the moment he’d met him; he had a calming effect, always knowing what to say. As he pondered it, he realized maybe he was not in for punishment after all. Maybe, in some ways, they would view him as a sort of hero.

“I didn’t try to do anything,” Thor said. “I just wanted him to live. It was just…natural. It was no big deal.”

“No big deal?” Reece echoed. “I couldn’t have done it. None of us could have.”

They turned the corner, and Thor saw before them the king’s castle, sprawled out, reaching high into the sky. It looked monumental. The King’s army stood at attention, lining the cobblestone road leading over the drawbridge, keeping the masses at bay. They stepped aside to allowed Reece and Thor past.

The two of them walked along the road, soldiers on either side, right to the huge arched doors, covered in iron bolts. Four soldiers pulled it open and stepped aside, at attention. Thor could not believe the treatment he was receiving: he felt as if he were a member of the royal family.

They entered the castle, the doors closing behind them, and Thor was amazed at the sight before him: the inside was immense, with soaring stone walls a foot thick and vast, open rooms. Before him milled hundreds of members of the royal court, rambling about in an excited stir. He could sense the buzz and excitement in the air, and all eyes turned and looked at him as he entered. He felt overwhelmed by the attention.

They all huddled close, seemed to gawk as he went with Reece down the castle corridors. He had never seen so many people dressed in such fineries. He saw dozens of girls, of all ages, dressed in elaborate outfits, locking arms and whispering in each other’s ears and giggling at him as he went. He felt self-conscious. He couldn’t tell if they liked him, or if they were making fun of him. He was not used to being the center of attention—much less in a royal court—and hardly knew how to handle himself.