Sword of Camelot (7 page)

Elaine was with them. She stood beside him, her eyes pleading. “Reb, you don't know what a cruel man Sir Melchior is. For some reason he hates you. I could see it.”

“Shore, I could see it too,” Reb said slowly. “He hates all of us for some reason.”

Josh said suddenly, “I wonder if he could be in the service of the Dark Lord?”

His words brought a silence over the group.

Finally Reb said, “Well, Dark Lord or not, I'm going to stop his clock! We'll just see if he can put his money where his mouth is!” His words were bold, but inside he was beginning to feel a little queasy.

When the young men got back to their quarters, Josh and Dave tried to talk Reb into putting off the tournament. “Wait a week or two,” Dave said. “You could get in some more practice, learn more about his style.”

Josh agreed. “Yes, no one will think anything about that. After all, you're an amateur practically, and he's a professional.”

But Reb's pride had been stirred. He shook his head, his jaw set grimly. “No, I'm going to fight that beast tomorrow or know the reason why!”

Josh gave the boy a careful look and shook his head. “Someday, Reb, you're going to learn that sometimes wisdom is better than throwing yourself into a fight.”

T
he news of the contest between the young stranger Sir Reb and the mighty warrior Sir Melchior spread like wildfire. Long before noon the fields were crowded, and every knight and noble had packed himself into the stands. The gossip was that if Sir Melchior won the battle he would somehow make things hard for the king.

“It's gotten to be kind of a symbol,” Josh said in a puzzled tone. He was standing off to one side with Sarah and the others as the three foremost knights in King Dion's service clustered around Reb, giving him advice.

“I don't know about a symbol,” she said, “but somehow this joust has become more important than it should be.” She glanced toward Reb, who was looking from one knight to another, a confused expression spreading over his features. “Isn't there something we can do to talk him out of it?”

Wash shook his head. “You know what he says about himself. He says he's stubborn as a bluenose mule—whatever that is. I tried all night to get him to change his mind. He just flat won't do it.”

Abigail looked with apprehension down the field to where Sir Melchior was joking with one of his lieutenants. “It's just not fair,” she said, and then a light came into her eyes. “But wouldn't it be wonderful if Sir Reb beat that big bully?”

“Not much chance of that, Abbey” Dave grunted. “From what I hear he's
numero uno
when it comes to
jousting. I talked to Sir Gwin about him. Gwin says he wasn't sure that even
he
could give him a tumble.”

* * *

Sir Gwin was saying something like that to Reb at that very moment.

“Now, my boy, it's not too late to back off.” He had grown to like and admire the young man, one of the finest horsemen he had ever seen and full of courage as well. “After all, it's not really right, don't you know?”

Reb was pale, so much so that his freckles stood out. He had seen men maimed in jousts much less serious than this one. But he only shook his head stubbornly “I'm gonna do it, Sir Gwin, and that's all there is to it.”

Sir Elbert's large, round face was gloomy. “You'd best fall off as soon as his lance touches you, my boy. No sense getting killed in a lost cause.” Sir Elbert always took the pessimistic view of things. Looking at Sir Melchior, he measured the knight and said, “You're too young to die, my boy. Better just fall off your horse.”

Sir Nolen knew Reb the best. This small, muscular man was the best horseman in King Dion's court. “Here, you two stop pestering the lad!” he snapped. He put his hand on Reb's shoulder, having to reach up to do it. “I always say a good horse is half the joust. Right?”

“That's right.” Reb grinned suddenly. “And Thunder here is as good a horse as that old Melchior's likely to have.”

“Well, his is larger,” Sir Nolen said, “but he is slower too and won't respond as quick. Now, have you got your mind made up as to how to fight him?”

“Well,” Reb said slowly, “he's bigger than I am, got more weight, so if he hits me square, he'll knock me off the horse. That's all there is to it. Somehow, I've got to make him miss.”

Gwin nodded eagerly. “You could try the trick you used before. Aim for the head—that'll bring his lance up and make him duck. Then smack him right in the belly.”

Reb looked across the field, thinking hard. “I don't think he's stupid, Sir Gwin. I'll bet he's heard all about that. I'll bet he'll be looking for exactly that kind of trick, and if I try it he'll nail me sure.”

Sir Gwin scratched his head. “You may be right about that.” He looked puzzled, then defeated. “Well, I don't know what to say, my boy Just trust your good right arm and your horse. That's all a man can do anyway”

“No, it's not.” Reb had a sudden thought that reflected in his eyes. His lips grew tight. “Somehow, in a mess like this, I always know that Goel is watching. You wouldn't believe how many awful predicaments he's gotten my friends and me out of. So I guess he'll just have to do it again.”

“But he's not here,” Sir Elbert protested.

“That don't seem to matter. He seems to be able to take care of things even when he's not around.”

A silver, snarling trumpet began to chide the afternoon air.

Sir Gwin said, “All right. Time to go. Come along. We'll put you on your horse.”

They moved to where the horses were waiting, and, as always, Reb was a little shocked at how an armed knight got on a horse. He was accustomed to just stepping into the stirrup and throwing his other leg across. But weighed down with armor, that would be very difficult! So a hoist of sorts had been constructed.

Now a rope was slid under his arms, and he was lifted in the air. Then Thunder was led under him by the groom. When he was lowered into the saddle, he looked down and shook his head, “Sir Gwin, I never thought I'd have to get hoisted on a horse.”

“The best of us do it, my boy.” Sir Gwin tried to smile. “Now, here's your lance.” He handed Reb the wooden spear.

At the same time Sir Nolen came with his shield. “Here you are, Sir Reb.” He watched as the boy secured the shield to his left arm. “Remember, you've got the best horse, and you've got the best cause.”

“You're right about that, Nolen,” Sir Gwin said. His jaw tightened. “I wish I were riding against that villain. I'd like to see him tumbled in the dirt!” He looked back to Reb and said, “Give it the best you've got.”

“You can bet on it!” Reb muttered. Guiding Thunder with his knees, he guided the strong animal to the south end of the tilting field, turned him around, and marveled at the horse's obedience.

Lifting his eyes, he saw the black horse of Sir Melchior and then the man himself. A flash of sunlight touched the dark knight's visor, and Reb murmured, “Well, if Goel don't help me, I'm sure in a mess.”

He had been over and over that matter all night long. It was true that the men of Camelot were small, smaller than the average men of Oldworld. He himself was taller than most of them—was as tall as Melchior for that matter. But Melchior was thick and strong and had years of training. He could do this sort of thing in his sleep.

A worried frown crossed Reb's face as he pulled down his visor. Now he could see only through the slits in the armor, but he heard the words of the warden announcing the battle and the rules that governed it. Reb paid no attention to this. He had heard it before. Sir Melchior, he knew, would probably smash him from his horse with all the force he could muster.

“How can I do it?” he muttered desperately. “I can't let everybody down. They're all expecting me to do something to pull this thing out.” Then, as the warden's voice
fell away, he waited for the signal, another blast on the trumpet. “Got to think of something!” he said desperately.

And just as the trumpet sounded, a thought came to him. He did not have time to analyze it. Only for one blinding moment did the idea flash into his head. But in that instant he knew exactly what he could do—and he realized that the thought had come from Goel!

At the trumpet blast Thunder lunged forward. Down the field Sir Melchior leaned over his saddle, making himself a smaller target, his lance leveled.

It was for that brief time as though everything else had faded away. Reb could not hear the cheering crowd or the crying trumpets as he raced toward his opponent. All he heard was the sound of Thunder's hooves and the creaking of his armor, and all he saw was Sir Melchior. It was as if he were looking through a tunnel, and there, facing him, eyes blazing through his visor, Melchior seemed to be laughing at him.

Reb suddenly felt that the whole world had stopped and that he and Melchior alone were moving, and slowly at that. The horses were galloping, galloping, closing the distance, but all seemed to be happening very, very slowly. He was now close enough to see the fine scrollwork on Melchior's armor. He saw also the tip of the lance that was aimed directly at him.

“No time.” he gasped. “This will
have
to work!” Shutting out all thoughts of failure, he got ready to perform a movement that he never would have dreamed of and that no one in the arena had ever seen.

The point of jousting, he knew, was to put the tip of your lance into the shield of your opponent—before he put the tip of his lance into yours. Theoretically, if one man had a ten-foot lance and one man had a twelve-foot lance, the man with the longer lance would win the joust because his lance would arrive a split second sooner. However,
the art of jousting had evolved to such an extent that all lances were practically the same length.

Reb had already decided that he would have no chance whatsoever in a head-on crash, even if his lance reached the shield of Sir Melchior at the same instant that Sir Melchior's touched him. He knew that the heavier weight and skill of the older man would topple him. So he did what had come to him in his brief, flashing thought.

A split second before Sir Melchior threw himself forward—a shout in his throat and victory in his eye, with his lance piercing the air, headed straight for Reb's shield—Reb touched Thunder with his left knee.

Now jousting horses knew to keep straight on the track, but at Reb's touch the fiery stallion abruptly swerved to the right.

Melchior was not prepared for that—nor was he prepared for what Reb did next. At the same instant Thunder veered right, Reb moved his lance across his body—pointing directly to the left. The point was not aimed at Sir Melchior's shield or head at all.

What happened then was almost inevitable. Reb felt Melchior's lance graze his arm. Six inches farther and he would have been knocked off the horse. A split second later, as Reb braced himself, Sir Melchior ran into the lance Reb held in his path. It caught him right under the chin, and the force of his horse and the force of the blow worked together. Sir Melchior pitched backward and hit the ground with a clanging clash. His horse ran wildly on.

Thunder did the same.

As soon as Reb could get control of his horse, he whirled around. And now heard the screaming crowd.

“Why, I've never seen anything like it!” King Dion cried. “My, what a victory!”

As soon as the crowd saw the king's approval, they went wild.

Reb found himself surrounded by a cheering throng. His horse was led to the stand, and every hand wanted to reach up and pat him or Thunder.

Finally he stood before the king.

King Dion rose to his feet, a smile wreathing his face. “Sir Reb,” he said, “I have already knighted you, and I cannot do that again. I must then express my gratitude to you for upholding the honor of the court in such splendid fashion.”

Reb had pulled off his helmet. Now he handed it down to Josh, who took it, a grin spreading across his face.

“Aw, shucks, Your Majesty, I'm glad I was able to do so good, but it wasn't me.”

“It wasn't
you?
” King Dion's face had a puzzled expression. “Of course it was you!”

“No, not really” Reb said. He looked across at Elendar, who was smiling and whose eyes burned with a joy Reb had not seen. “Actually that happened was the power of Goel. He's the one that should get the glory for this, not me.”

A cheer went up from the Seven Sleepers. “To Goel! To Goel!” they all cried out.

And then the crowd took it up: “To Goel! To Goel!”

As Reb slipped from his horse, Elaine was there, and she pulled his head down to whisper, “I'm so very proud of you, Reb.”

Reb had learned a little of chivalry toward ladies and had sense enough to reach down and take her hand and kiss it. “Well, Princess, if you're happy I'm happy.”

He was pulled away, but before he left, she said, “Reb, next time I wish you would wear my favor on your lance.”

Reb's lips broke into a grin. “You can believe that,
Princess.” Then he was led away to be the chief guest at the celebration.

* * *

He did not look back, but if he had, he would have seen Melchior glaring at him with hate-filled eyes. And had he been close enough, he would have heard Melchior say to his lieutenant, Sir Baloc, “All right, they won this round, but there's another one to play”.

* * *

The boys awoke when a terrible banging sounded in their room. Josh was the first one out of bed. “Something must be wrong!” He opened the door and was amazed to see Prince Loren.

The prince's eyes were wild, and his hair was mussed. “Come,” he said, “there's an emergency meeting.”

“What is it?” Josh cried out as he scrambled for his clothes. “Is there a war?”

Loren gave him a hard look, and his lips were a thin white line. “There's probably going to be one before this is over.”

Josh pulled his boots on, then rose to his feet.

Reb was beside him. “What is it, Prince Loren?”

Loren's eyes were fixed on Reb. “You did a good thing putting Melchior down, but I think he's found a way to get some revenge on all of us.”

Reb stared. “What do you mean?”

Loren ground his teeth and slapped his fist angrily into his palm. “He's kidnapped my sister.”

“Elaine?” Josh cried out in alarm. “Why, that can't be.”

“But it is,” Loren said grimly “Come now, the war council is meeting. The king commands your presence there.”

The five boys hurried with Prince Loren down the corridor. On the way they were joined by Abigail and Sarah, both white-faced with anxiety.

“What will it mean, Josh?” Sarah whispered.

“Like Loren says, it'll mean war,” Josh said grimly “The king will never allow his daughter to be kidnapped.”

Sarah nodded slowly “Oh, I wish Goel were here to get her back.”

Josh thought about that. “You know Goel doesn't do things much by himself.” He looked over at the others. “He usually has someone do what he wants done for him—and this time, it's gonna be a real chore!”