Queen Of Knights (24 page)

The streets were quieter now, but still the people carried on the spirit of the tournament.  Everywhere she looked, Gwendolyn saw couples fondling each other openly.  The senseless bodies of those who'd drunk too much littered the ground, and while she walked, she could feel the eyes of the men mark her trail.  But something about her carriage stopped those who would, from following the dark form of her passage.

She kept up her fast pace until she reached the edge of the tent city.  She stopped there, closing her eyes and willing herself to feel Miles's presence.  Cautiously, she walked in the direction her senses led.  Moments later she found herself near a crumbling ruin.

It was an old place, probably the keep of whoever held the land before King Henry took it for himself.  But she felt no malaise about it and knew only that she had been guided here.  Stepping over a low pile of stone, she entered the ruin and froze.

Across from her, silhouetted by a shaft of moonlight, stood Miles.  He was gazing into the night, and his strong features were softened by the low wash of the moon.  As it had happened so many times since she'd first met him, she felt her heart flutter.  Quietly, she walked before him and knelt.  "My lord?"

"My lady," he replied, seemingly unsurprised by her presence.  "Why are you out in the night?"

"To find you."

"You have done so."

"To tell you Sir Eldwin has come to understand the meaning of knighthood, and to thank you, my lord."

Miles lifted Gwendolyn from her knees and drew her into his arms.  "How did you find me?"

"There is no place where I could not," she replied simply.

He kissed her then, a deep, loving kiss.  But as his hands tightened on her shoulders, she gasped.

Miles saw her wince of pain and released her.  "When we return, use the sword to heal your shoulder."

Gwendolyn sucked in her breath and slowly shook her head.  "I can't."

"The power did not return?"

"It returned, but that is not the reason."

"Then why?"

"You.  I used the sword once in that way and was wrong.  You, yourself, have taught me that.  Tomorrow I will trust in my body, as I did not today."

"You will not use the sword?"

"Not to heal the wound.  I will carry my father's sword if I face Morgan tomorrow, but I will not use it against the others."

Miles thought about her words, and nodded his head in agreement.  Her decision was the proper one.  He realized proudly in that moment, that his wife had truly become a knight.

The final day of the tournament arrived, but unlike the two previous ones, the sky was overcast, rife with dull gray clouds.  This did not dampen the enthusiasm of the people who eagerly awaited to cheer on their favorite knight and to see who would become the champion of the tournament.

Today the dueling was in two parts.  There were but four knights who returned to the field of honor: Morgan of Guildswood, Eldwin of Radstock, Hugo of Hereford, and Archibald of Corfe.  And so, after the first round there would be a rest before the final confrontation.

Because there were but four knights remaining, it was decided that lots would be drawn for the first pairing.  After the archbishop called out the blessings, and Richard spoke, the four knights, with their squires in attendance, drew their lots.

Morgan smiled when he held up the same length reed as Archibald, and Eldwin turned to face Hugo, who was slimmer, and shorter than the other three.  While she studied him, she recalled what she'd' heard.  Hugo, one of Richard's mercenaries, was a fast and wiry man who relied on speed more than the subtleties of the blade.  His swordsmanship was said to be good, but his weaknesses were in head-on conflict and a lack of self-discipline in single combat.  The trumpets interrupted Gwendolyn's thoughts and brought her attention to the king's stand.

"The field is narrowed to four," Richard declared loudly.

"These knights standing before you now represent everything that is great within our kingdom.  Sir Archibald, Sir Hugo, Sir Morgan, Sir Eldwin, upon your shoulders rests victory.  Let the tournament begin!"

The people shouted lustily, but unlike the past two days, their cries carried an undertone of fierceness.  Gwendolyn forced their bloodthirsty yells from her mind as James slipped her longshield onto her left arm and handed her the sword.

Like the battle-axe which Miles had designed, this longsword differed from others in several ways.  Although it was of the same length as a normal longsword, its blade was lighter and narrower than others, and its quillons were shaped differently than most handguards.  Instead of being a straight bar, the quillons curved slightly inward.  Because the sword was lighter, the curved guard would aid in deflecting a sliding blow, and allow her to spin from beneath it.

Throughout her training with the longsword, Miles had stressed speed and swift attacks to make up for the difference in strength between Gwendolyn and most men.  Although Gwendolyn preferred fighting two-handed, as she did with her father's sword, she was the equal of most with sword and shield.

Swinging the longsword gracefully, Gwendolyn stepped toward Sir Hugo.  When the four knights were prepared, they turned to Richard in salute.

Richard lifted his arm, and as he did the chamberlain's staff sounded loudly, signaling the start.

Sir Eldwin saluted Hugo and then came to the ready.  A second later the clash of blades rang out, and Gwendolyn heard nothing else as she deflected Hugo's first stroke.

He was faster than she'd thought possible, and at first Gwendolyn was hard pressed to do anything but defend herself.  Yet she did that perfectly.  Using her shield effectively to deflect Hugo's strikes, she gauged the knight's strengths and weaknesses.  A few moments later, Gwendolyn retreated from his assault, only to release her own attack.  Their swords met time after time, and the screeching of metal tore through the air.  But no matter what feints she tried, Hugo met them, his speed enabling him to catch even her swiftest strokes.

Gwendolyn, remembering the advice about his weaknesses, did not ease up.  When Hugo took the offensive again, his blade whistling through the air, she held under the assault and slowly advanced on him, pressing the fight forcefully.

Hugo seemed to sense what she was doing and, feinting toward her shield, he spun from her attack to step just out of reach.  Gwendolyn's breath was labored.  Her breasts pushed against their binding, and even in the coolness of the day, she sweated profusely within the confines of her leather mask.  She paused when Hugo did not attack and waited for his next move.  Staring into his eyes, she willed her body to separate from her mind, and react on its own accord.

Hugo moved and Gwendolyn's sword flashed at the same instant.  She leaned under his swing, lifting her shield to take the brunt of the heavy blow while her own blade reached under his shield toward his unprotected side.

The instant her sword passed beneath the rim of his shield, pain exploded in her shoulder, making her own strike ineffective.

His sword had struck her shield so savagely that it tore the leather straps from her arm, knocking her to the ground and causing a sickening rush of pain to claim her.

As she fell, she instinctively rolled, ignoring another lance of pain in her efforts, and before Hugo recovered to strike the fatal blow, Sir Eldwin was on her feet.  Shieldless, and banishing the pain from her shoulder with all her will power, she gripped the longsword in a two-handed hold and circled Hugo warily.  Gwendolyn's mind whirled, and relief flooded her with the realization that she had been able to recover.  Although she had lost the protection of the shield, it in no way affected her abilities.  Now, she knew, would be the real test of her agility and ability as a knight, and she welcomed it freely.

Gwendolyn reacted to the new situation by charging forward, her sword flying in the air, to meet Hugo's blade with jarring impact.

With the blades joined, Gwendolyn swiveled suddenly, slipping beneath the upraised steel to pull her sword free.  She spun again, before Hugo could react, her sword striking his shoulder powerfully.  His maille held, but she saw pain flash across his features.  Without letting up, Gwendolyn spun yet again, but this time Hugo was prepared, and he deflected the blow.

Gwendolyn stepped back when Hugo resumed attack.  She waited, her nerves racing as he pressed on.  Planting her mailled feet firmly and using her wrists and shoulders, she fought him, deflecting every blow with a simple twist of her wrists, making him expend his energy uselessly.  Suddenly Hugo gave vent to a war cry and his sword arced in the air.  As it descended, Gwendolyn moved.  She twisted under the coming blow, and when his blade met hers, and slid along the length of the shaft, she flicked both wrists in a full circle at the exact instant his blade touched the quillons.  The resultant shock tore the hilt from Hugo's gauntleted hand.

Without stopping her momentum, Gwendolyn swung again, striking his shield harshly.  Hugo back stepped, his shield held before him, but Sir Eldwin had already stopped the attack and stood waiting.

"I yield," Hugo declared in a clear, proud voice.  Gwendolyn bowed to the knight, and then surprising everyone, turned, bent, and lifted Hugo's sword.  Gallantly, as had marked all her bouts except those with Morgan, she returned the sword to its owner.

Sir Hugo, after accepting the sword, bowed.  "If ever you have need, call upon me, Sir Eldwin, for there is no shame in serving you."

Gwendolyn stared at him through the eye-slits for a long moment and then held out her gauntleted hand.  Hugo's hand joined hers, their thumbs interlocking, their fingers clasping the back of each other's hands, and together their clenched gauntlets rose in the air.

Voices cried out from the crowd, and the name of Sir Eldwin flew from a thousand mouths.  There was no longer any doubt as to whom the people wanted for their champion.

A moment later, Gwendolyn released her grip on Hugo and turned to see Morgan, victorious over a fallen Archibald, staring at her.  But unlike yesterday, his face was calm; no anger showed in it at all.

His only expression was a predatory smile, like that of a hungry wolf sensing its victim before it.

Chapter Fifteen

"
IT
has opened again," Miles said as he swabbed her shoulder with a clean piece of cloth and looked at the jagged tear in her porcelain skin.  "Use the sword."

"Not yet," she replied, gritting her teeth against a stab of pain.  "Bind it tightly."

"Perhaps it is your hands I should bind."

"Morgan would like that."

Miles's sudden laugh broke the tension, and Gwendolyn smiled, too.  "I can win as I am; you have taught me that."

Holding her gaze with his, Miles placed the mixture of herbs Gwendolyn had prepared on the wound and wrapped and bound her shoulder with a strip of cloth.  "Move your arm."

She did as he ordered, testing the mobility of her arm and shoulder under his watchful scrutiny.

"I can do no more.  James," he called, signaling Gwendolyn's squire within.  James silently began his duties, and twenty minutes later Gwendolyn was again dressed in full armor.

She had not yet put on her mask, and the coif-de-maille rested loosely on her shoulders.  "My sword."

James stepped back, and as he did, Miles and Arthur watched him lift the silver sword.  He settled the scabbard onto its hook and adjusted the sash across Gwendolyn's surcoat.  For this fight she had chosen to wear her gipon, the lightly padded armorial surcoat, to add to her protection.

"Morgan will stop at nothing; he will break every rule to defeat you."

Gwendolyn's eyes fastened on Miles's face when he spoke.  Slowly, she drew the sword.  A narrow beam of light filtered in through the small smoke-hole at the top of the tent, and as Gwendolyn lifted the sword above her head, the light struck it.

James and Arthur gasped.  The silver sword shone softly and Miles saw a change in Gwendolyn's eyes.  They glowed like the early morning sky, and within them, Miles sensed a renewal of all the power and strength Gwendolyn possessed.

For several minutes, while the sword was suspended above everyone's head, a calming silence bathed the four.  Then Gwendolyn lowered the sword from the shaft of light, sheathed it, and reality returned to the tent.

James recovered quickly, but his eyes were still wide when he slipped the mask over her head and placed the coif- de-maille atop it.  He adjusted her beaver, hooked and laced the coif securely, but when he reached for the helmet, Miles stopped him.

It was Miles who put Gwendolyn's helmet on, and as he did, he spoke in a low voice.  "Fight well, my love, my spirit and my heart will be with you on the field."

James lifted a new shield, but it was Miles not Gwendolyn who reacted.  "No shield," he said just as the trumpets blared their first call.

Gwendolyn's mind raced madly when she walked onto the field.  Behind her she sensed Miles's eyes following her every step, but she forced away all thoughts other than the coming battle.  She was confident, but not overly so.  Her sword would aid her, but she could not use its unlimited powers.  She must draw from her own reserves, yet she knew that she had some small advantage.  Gwendolyn's faith, almost shaken from her yesterday, had returned stronger than before, and that faith gave her belief in herself.

When she had held her father's blade to the light of the tent, she'd felt power build within her.  The pain in her shoulder had lessened even though she'd not consciously willed it.  Her breathing was deep and even, and the heaviness of the armor bothered her not at all.  Strength and power flowed into her arms, and knew that she was ready to face the next step in her destiny.

At the same time Gwendolyn started onto the field, Morgan crossed from his position.  He timed his steps to match hers so they would reach the king simultaneously.

Stopping four feet from the stands where Richard sat, Gwendolyn knelt and bowed her head, fully aware that Morgan had done the same.

"Rise, Morgan of Guildswood.  Rise, Eldwin of Radstock." When both knights were standing, Richard rose and gazed at each in turn.  "Of three hundred, only you remain.  You have fought well, we commend you.  Now, for England, for God, and for victory, we declare the final match begun!"

The trumpets sounded in response to his words, but beneath their call, Richard spoke in a low voice meant for the two knights only.  "I charge you both to see that this fight is not to the death.  We are aware of your feud and will not have it!"

The two knights walked to the center of the field where their squires waited.  Tension swirled thickly in the air, and the thousands of people watching all held their breath at the same time, waiting expectantly for the first clash of metal.

Morgan's squire held out his shield, and Morgan slipped his arm through the twin leather straps.  But his eyes widened when Eldwin motioned his squire from the field.  It was only then that Morgan noticed the squire held no shield.

"You want this to end so swiftly?" he mocked in a voice that carried to the people.  Without waiting for an answer, Morgan stepped back, his hand on the hilt of his sword, and bowed gallantly for the first time in the tournament.

Gwendolyn was not surprised by either his words or his gesture as she returned the bow and drew the silver blade.  She saw Morgan's eyes widen at the sight of it and smiled behind the mask.  No blade like hers had ever been seen in a tournament.  Its width was wider than Morgan's, its length longer, and its gleaming surface unmarred.

Through her gauntlets, through the maille beneath them, and into the flesh of her hands, Gwendolyn felt the sword come to life.  Yet it did not glow as it always had, it did not hum or vibrate; rather, it joined with her, the silver blade's weight seeming to become even lighter.

The chamberlain's eyes went from Morgan to Eldwin before he raised his staff of office.  The instant the staff struck the ground, Morgan's sword blurred in the air.

Giving herself up to her instincts, Gwendolyn let the sword and her mind come together.  Morgan's sword reached toward her, and with the barest of movement, she deflected it.  He spun, his mouth curved in a leer, as he came on again.  Gwendolyn settled herself to his attack and, once again, deflected his blow easily.

But then Morgan, sensing his opponent to be better than he first thought, began to draw on his expertise.  Tricks that were only learned on a battlefield began to emerge, and slowly, Morgan forced Gwendolyn to lose ground.

After the first few strokes, Gwendolyn held herself back.

She knew that by opening the channel in her mind, she could easily defeat Morgan.  But she stayed herself, as the need to prove her abilities returned.  It was not a foolish decision, but one of necessity.  No power on this earth could keep her alive if she did not have the ability to do so herself.  On the field of honor, fighting against the man who had once claimed her as his own property, Gwendolyn again found a new realization.

The sword, used properly, made her not greater, but the equal of any.  She did not need to use its unearthly powers to win; just become part of it, and use her own strength to wield the blade.

All of these thoughts flashed through her mind in the space of a breath as Morgan stepped back and assessed his opponent once more.

"You are better than I thought, but you are still dead," he whispered.  He lunged suddenly, taking Gwendolyn off guard, and the tip of his sword struck her shoulder.  For the first time since stepping onto the field, pain lashed out.

Laughing, Morgan drew back before Gwendolyn could strike.  She stared at him, again seeing the dark aura encompass him like a malignant cloud.  But the aura did not distract her; instead, it lent power to her anger, and swiftness to her hand.

She charged Morgan, rage directing her swing, and suddenly, the tip of the silver blade ripped through his shield, passed through his maille, to taste of the flesh and blood of his shoulder.  Pulling back harshly, Gwendolyn freed the blade as if it had only been in a straw sack.

Morgan's scream of enraged pain shook the air around him and, as he glanced at his shoulder, he attacked.  His blade moved like lightning, but with each stroke, Gwendolyn deflected the blow, and to add insult, struck his shield with the flat of her blade.

Then she saw his eyes change.  They narrowed into slits, red rims turning bloody against black pupils.  Setting herself for what she knew would be a killing assault, Gwendolyn released the hold she had placed on her mind and, again, blended with the sword.  Her blood rushed within her body, and she could hear its singsong rhythm in her ears.  Her breathing steadied and renewed energy flowed to every muscle in her body.  Calm fell over her mind, and she cast all thoughts away, giving herself up to the sword, and uniting with its power.

Morgan's eyes flickered for a bare second as he watched Eldwin.  The knight stood his ground, awaiting the attack, but Morgan sensed strangeness about Eldwin, a calmness that should not be there.  While his anger at being blooded held him fast, he heard the cries of the people for Eldwin.  Still he did not move as he watched the leather-masked face, and the gauntleted hands which held the overlarge sword.

Suddenly, he flung his arm outward, casting his shield away and gripping his own sword in two hands.  The spectators cheered this new move, and Morgan realized he'd won back some support.

Gwendolyn watched Morgan throw his shield away and face her with his blade in both hands.  She saw the stain of red on his maille, but knew it would not affect him.  He was a bull of a man, and only the severest of blows would stop him.  Then he moved, and Gwendolyn's body flowed to meet him.

Their blades met in the air, and sparks of metal flew.  With an easy flick of her wrists, she deflected his blow.  But Morgan came on again, attacking in a mad rush.  Gwendolyn stood her ground, her sword moving so fast it was almost invisible, the air whistling with its passage.  Her arms seemed to grow lighter, and her body vibrated with unseen powers as she held off Morgan's charge.

Then she spun from his next swing, and its force carried Morgan past her, pulling him off-balance and sending him crashing to the ground.  A loud cry filled the air, and the blood lust that held so many people exhorted her to end the fight, but Sir Eldwin did not take advantage of Morgan's fall.

Gwendolyn glanced behind her when Morgan fell, and saw Miles standing relaxed, his face showing no sign of tension.  He knew, she saw, and he approved of what she was doing.  Then Morgan was on his feet, rage bellowing from his mouth as he lifted the sword high above his head.  He ran at her, charging like the mad animal he resembled, and Gwendolyn saw in his attack all the hatred and greed of one who must have everything.

She stood her ground, and only when his blade swung did she move.  His sword hissed through the spot she had just left, but before it completed its arc, Gwendolyn had turned completely around, and her blade and his rang out again.

Morgan recovered quicker than she expected and launched a side stroke.  Reversing her wrists, she deflected the blow neatly.

"Face me, coward!" Morgan roared, his chest rising and falling with the force of anger and pride.

Gwendolyn nodded her head, accepting the challenge, and when Morgan raised his sword, Gwendolyn set herself.  He swung just then, bringing the blade in a half arc over his head and putting every bit of strength he possessed behind the blow.  As he did, Gwendolyn, moving swiftly, brought the silver blade in a full circle over her head, lifting herself onto the balls of her feet.

In that instant, her masked head was a foot above Morgan's.  The crowd screamed as one at the blur of silver lashing forward.  When their blades met, the very air seemed to explode.

The blades held, and four gauntleted hands were separated by inches.  Eyes stared into eyes as Morgan and Eldwin held their blades tightly.  "Die!" Morgan screamed and for the first time in the duel, he spun.

Gwendolyn was again caught off guard, but instinct, and the sword, saved her.  She whirled in the opposite direction, and again the blades met.  Morgan's eyes widened for an instant before they returned to their snakelike slits.  "First you, then Delong, and then all of Radstock," he threatened.

Rage and denial flared through Gwendolyn's mind, and she tore her blade free.  Then she attacked, swinging mercilessly, letting not the power of the sword but her anger direct her.  She attacked, trying to strike through his defense, as a red rage filmed her vision.  Mercilessly, she went after Morgan, her only thought to wipe his image and body from the face of the earth.

She beat at him, her blade moving faster than anyone had ever seen before, forcing him back and back, until they were at the very edge of the field, fighting before Richard himself.

Morgan's back hit the wood of Richard's stand, and he could retreat no further.  No thought of yielding entered his hate-maddened mind, but he knew the end was near.  He had never faced a man like the one before him.  His own arms were screaming in pain, and he was barely able to deflect the unending blows that rained upon him.  But he would not give up, and he summoned his anger and hate to help him.

"Yield! Yield! Yield!" cried the crowd, but their calls only added weight to his rage.  The dark mask of Eldwin loomed near, and he could almost feel the heat from the other's body.  Then Eldwin's blade descended again, and tensing, he met it with a side stroke that deflected the ominously shining sword.  Eldwin's blade struck the wood of the stand, and splinters flew, but Morgan saw it not as he jumped away and drew the fighting dagger at his waist.