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would not even make good raping. I doubt that Redbeard has an army of
perverts. So he will merely hang you, or cut off your heads, and content his
men with your women.
"You have heard that I am a wizard. It is true. I come from a far land, of
which you know nothing, and there is no time to tell you now. But I am a
wizard if being wizard means that I use my brains for something other than to
stuff my skull box.
"I can show you tricks of war that Redbeard never heard of. I can show you
skills and organization that you have never heard of. I can do all these
things, making victory over Redbeard certain, and I
will do them. After I kill this man I choose to face in single combat. But I
say this, King, that this fight is a waste of precious time and you are bound
to lose a good man. But you must have it, I see that, and so I say let us
begin now. No more fools chatter get on with it. I choose the man called
Horsa. And I ask Cunobar the Gray as second and companion at arms, or however
you call these things."
Silence. All were staring at him. Blade took a step toward Horsa and spat at
the man's feet. "I say I
choose you to kill! Unless your blood is white in which case I will choose
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another."
Horsa came up with a roar, pounding on the table with both fists, his broad
red face contorted in rage. "Spy! Slave and whoremonger! Father of lice son of
a whore who coupled with a goat! You dare speak me so? I, Horsa, champion of
all the Albs. Thunor strike me if I do not eat your liver this night."
Blade smiled coldly, having achieved his first purpose of baiting the man into
near senseless anger. "If you fight half as well as you talk, Horsa, I am a
dead man." He laughed and spat again.
The big hall was in tumult. Only the Dru was silent, rapidly stroking away
with her brush, and Blade found time to wonder, even in the midst of such
chaos, who would read of this strange and unlikely encounter.
Lycanto at last got order by pounding on the table with his beer horn. All sat
down again but Horsa, who remained standing and glaring at Blade, a line of
white froth visible around his mouth. Blade realized that Horsa had gone
berserk, and that it would be no easy matter to kill him.
Lycanto had to raise his voice almost to a scream to be heard over the din. He
shouted at Blade, but there was a new, and reluctant, respect in his tone and
glance.
"You have made your choice, stranger. So shall it be. Now, this night, you
will fight Horsa. But I
should tell you this " Lycanto's weak mouth smirked beneath drooping
moustaches. "Horsa spoke truth. He is champion of all Albs. He is Horsa the
Skull Maker. He has made more widows than Thunor himself."
"
And consoled them," said a voice from somewhere along the table. "A pity this
stranger has no widow to be. Poor Horsa must go to the whores afterward, like
any common knave."
A great roar of laughter went up. A score of good-natured gibes were flung at
Horsa, who at last grinned sourly and sat down without another glance at
Blade.
Lycanto pounded again with his beer horn for order. For the time Blade was
ignored again. As he listened, with wonder and some amusement, he realized
that this was not only a fight, but festival as well.
They were a feckless lot, these Albs, and meant to have their fun. Deeming
Blade as good as dead, Lycanto was ordering great quantities of food and beer
to be readied. Blade allowed his burgeoning plan to emerge a little further
into the light the more they ate and caroused, the heavier they drank, the
better for what he had in mind.
At last relative silence fell again. Horsa said, "As the rogue challenges me I
have choice of place. Not so, Lycanto?"
The King's nod was perfunctory. "We all know that, Horsa. What choose you?"
Horsa was on his feet again. He looked at Blade with contempt. He was calmer
now. "I choose the fire ring. Let it be prepared. I would see how nimbly this
bastard dances when his feet begin to burn."
Lycanto gave an order and a man at arms hurriedly left the hall.
Cunobar the Gray now stood and held up a hand. The King nodded and the talk
died away again.
Cunobar looked disdain at Blade, and his smile was something mingled of mirth
and malice, leavened with the smugness of a man who has accomplished precisely
what he intended. Blade, who had never counted the man as friend, and was
puzzled by his seeming advocacy, began to understand. Cunobar was pleased with
himself, and the why of it was plain enough. Cunobar wanted either Blade or
Horsa dead. Or both. At the moment Blade could not fathom the reasons, nor did
they matter. Cunobar could only win.
Cunobar nodded curtly in Blade's direction. "The stranger asks that I serve as
companion at arms, as second to see fair play. This I cannot do. You will know
the reasons, so I do not explain. I was right, I
am right, in that he stands and talks like no slave I have ever seen. It is
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fair that he be given this chance.
Yet there is no guarantee that he is a gentleman and I will serve no other.
Yet he must have a companion at arms, to abide by our law. Who among you
will serve him?"
Dead silence. None looked at Blade, who laughed and strode, arms akimbo, to
the foot of the table.
He did not force his laughter. He was genuinely amused and his deep voice
tolled in the chamber like a dark toned bell.
"So be it! I see that you gentlemen are too fastidious to serve a ragged
stranger. This speaks ill of your hospitality, of which you are so proud, but
I will let it pass. By your leave, then, I will choose my own man. His name is
Sylvo. He who stood watch over me in that miserable hut."
There was muttering, followed by questions among themselves.
"Sylvo? Who is he?"
"I have heard the name, and nothing good, but I cannot recall."
"Sylvo? I too have heard that name. Is he freeman or slave? Serf? Peasant?"
A thin-shanked man with a fringe of reddish hair stood up. He had a sour mouth
that matched his expression.
"He is one of mine, this Sylvo. I wish he were not. He is a very cock pimp and
a brawler, a drunkard and wencher, and as ugly as Thunor's ass. Yet he is
brave enough, and fights well though he steals too
much and were it not for this I would have hanged him long ago."
He looked at Blade. "If you would have such a rascal serve you I give my
leave. Watch he does not steal your single pair of breeches."
There was a roar of laughter. Blade bowed in mockery to the assemblage.
Lycanto made a sign and men of arms escorted him from the hall and back to the
dismal hut.
As he was leaving Horsa shouted after him: "Count your cods, stranger. I vow
you'll be short when you count them next in Thunor's dungeon."
Left alone, though he knew the hut well guarded, Blade paced impatiently until
Sylvo appeared. The man was slightly tipsy, his mouth smeared with some
whore's lip salve, but his beady little eyes were alive with intelligence and
excitement.
"Ar, master! You have set them on their ears and every tongue in Sarum Vil to
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