The Apprentice (34 page)

“Aaarrrrrrrrgh.”

Erik’s
shout caught Rowan by surprise. He knew he hadn’t caused too much damage with
his blow, and it did not seem as though Erik’s arm pained him any more than it
had before. Rowan was confused.

Erik
suddenly lashed out wildly, all style and form gone as he repeatedly swung his
sword with both hands.

“Fight
me, Rowan! I want you to fight me for real,” Erik screamed as he pressed
forward. Though Rowan was the better swordsman, he was hard pressed to defend
himself against Erik’s wild attacks. His arms grew numb from the constant clash
of blades as he retreated.

“Fight
me as you do when we spar together, Rowan!”

“I am
fighting against you,” Rowan said as he continued to retreat. He didn’t know
how much longer he could fend off Erik’s attacks. His friend was fighting like
a wildling and with a fury that Rowan had not known he possessed.

“No, you
are not. You aren’t taking this seriously. You are holding yourself back
whether you know it or not.” Erik punctuated each sentence with a blow, ending
with a vicious downward slash. Rowan saw him grimace in pain as the blade
struck ground and the shock went up his arms. Erik released the blade with his
left hand and renewed his attack using only his right. This gave him a greater
reach and more maneuverability, but the power behind his blows began to fade.

“I know
you, Rowan. You and I both know that you are the better swordsman.”

Erik
swung again and forced Rowan to deflect the blade. Both boys were sweating and
breathing heavily by now. Erik halted his attack and Rowan took his distance.

“On any
other day you would have killed me already. And you would have done it without
so much as a second thought. You are not one to take advantage of another’s
weakness, but this is not the time for that. There is a fine line between honor
and pity, Rowan. I am trying my best to win and if you don’t try your best then
you’re only making my defeat more humiliating.”

“I
am
fighting against you with everything that I have,” Rowan said, but the words
sounded false even to him. He had been holding back on account of Erik’s
injured arm and now he could see it was paining his friend, even more so than
the injury itself.

“Fine. I
won’t hold back against you anymore.”

“Good,”
Erik muttered. A momentary silence passed between them and Rowan seized the
opportunity to attack. He stepped forward and made a thrust-lunge which he
quickly followed with a spin that allowed him to strike at Erik with his shield
hand. The second blow caught Erik off guard and Rowan’s blow connected and sent
his friend sprawling to the ground. Rowan waited for Erik to rise before he
continued, but he was relentless in his attack. Erik was only using his able
arm at this point, but his advantage in both height and weight gave him an edge
that made the fight close to even.

The
clanging of their blades echoed loudly as they fought, trading blows with one
another. Rowan was now giving as good as he got, and for every blow that he
received, he was able to strike Erik twice. He
was
the better sword. But
his reluctance to strike Erik’s weak side held him back and was allowing Erik
to get away with a great number of attacks that would normally have left him
open to an easy counter.

Erik
noticed Rowan’s hesitation to strike his injured side and began to take
advantage of that. Rowan was hard pressed to keep Erik from maintaining the
upper hand. Even though his friend was only using one arm, his size advantage
coupled with Rowan’s hesitation to further injure his friend’s left shoulder
allowed him to slowly gain ground and gain the advantage.

The
shouts and cheers from the crowd were deafening as their fight became the
center of attention. Rowan forced himself to tune those sounds out and focus on
Erik’s blade.

Block,
parry, strike head. Sidestep and strike chest, retreat, recover, advance-lunge.
His body moved through a series of steps and motions, acting and reacting.

His mind
was focused and he was filled with adrenaline as his friend began to push him
to his limits. He quickly realized that if the fight continued the way it was
going, he did not know if he would win. Erik had given up all pretense of defending
his left side, making it much harder for Rowan to find an opening. He continued
to score touches against Erik but the boy refused to give up. Driven by a need
to win and prove himself, Erik had long since exceeded his normal battle
endurance. His friend would not fall unless he was struck down, and Rowan was
only humiliating both Erik and himself by giving his friend an obvious
handicap.

He knew
what he had to do.

As Erik
closed the distance between them and made a thrust-lunge, Rowan swept the blade
to the side and feinted at Erik’s head. As his friend brought his blade up to
block the blow, Rowan quickly shifted into a different stance and brought his
blade down in an arc, striking the upper left side of Erik’s chest. Rowan held
nothing back, but he made sure to avoid hitting Erik’s injured shoulder
directly.

The blow
struck clean and sent Erik reeling backwards. Rowan did not hesitate. He
followed up on his attack by advancing and striking again while Erik was off
guard. His second blow hit but Erik recovered before Rowan could make a third.

Despite
the situation, Rowan would have sworn that he saw a grin on Erik’s face.

The bout
continued but Rowan’s advantage quickly became obvious. It was not long before
Erik fell to the ground, taken by exhaustion and unable to continue. But even
though Erik lost, he had fought admirably and the crowd applauded him as he
walked himself off the field, insisting that he was unhurt and refusing to let
the trainers take him away to the healers.

Rowan
was kept in the ring to be declared the winner of the match. The trainer held
his sword hand high in the air and proclaimed him the winner. The crowd cheered
for him wildly. He received an approving look from Baird.

He
walked off the field filled with energy, his head in the clouds. Then he saw
the look on his friends’ faces. Erik stood among them, his tourney blade gone
and a stunned look on his face.

“Andrew
lost his match. You will be fighting Byron for victory in the swordsmanship
competition.”

Chapter 30
                     
 

Rowan still did not know what to
say. He stood beside Erik as he waited for the resting period to end. Soon the
final match of the swordsmanship competition would begin.

Andrew
lost
.

Rowan
couldn’t get over that fact. He had been so sure that Andrew would win. The boy
was gifted in the art of swordsmanship, he focused all of his effort and
training on that single skill. In contrast, Byron had never displayed any
exceptional proficiency with a blade. In a battle between skill and brute
force, Rowan would never have expected Byron to triumph. Especially after
Andrew’s speech on the first day of the Revel.

Andrew
had come to congratulate Rowan on his victory a short while ago. He had been
bloody and bruised, the wounds still fresh from his duel. He walked with a
slight limp, but as the swordsmanship competition was his only event, his
injuries would have time to heal. “Do not hold back,” Andrew had told Rowan.
“Byron caught me off guard. I underestimated him and lost my chance at honor.
Do not make the same mistake.” He had turned and left without another word.

Afterwards,
Rowan had told Erik of his conversation with Andrew. His friend nodded and told
him that the advice was good. Now Rowan stood, waiting to face Byron in the
final match. His stomach was knotted with apprehension but he also felt an
eagerness to fight. Byron was an intimidating figure, but Rowan did not fear
him. As an opponent, Byron would be strong, but he had no intention of losing.

The
bully deserved to fall and Rowan would be the one to push him. Deep down, he
knew that he would take a certain satisfaction in doing so. The Gods knew that
he deserved it and the thought made Rowan smile to himself. Byron would not
take defeat very well.

But this
was a public event of honor and Rowan would not act in a shameful way. He would
duel with all of the honor that Baird had instilled in him and conduct himself
in a manner befitting the apprentice of a great knight.

Horns
sounded over the clamor of the crowd and the tournament, announcing the finals
of an event and drawing the attention of the crowd. It was the signal that
Rowan was waiting for. His match would begin soon.

“Good
luck,” Erik told him.

Rowan
thanked him. Not wishing to waste time, Rowan grabbed his blade and made his
way to the dueling circle. Darius stood alone in the center of the ring. When
he saw Rowan, he beckoned him over. Rowan strode forward and gave the trainer a
polite bow.

“Will
you be officiating this match?”

Darius
nodded.

Rowan
was glad to have Darius officiating. The head trainer would be able to keep the
fight clean. Rowan wondered if perhaps that was why he was officiating.

“I do
not see Byron yet, so you will have a few minutes before you must be ready to
begin. Once he gets here, I will present the both of you to the crowd and then
I will begin the match.”

Rowan
nodded and made use of the time to check over the bindings on his armor. He
stuck the blade into the ground and laid down his helm while he did so. His
gloves made it difficult to make adjustments, but Rowan did not want to remove
them. They were difficult to secure quickly and he would need to be ready the
moment Byron arrived.

Byron
arrived as Rowan was finishing making the adjustments to his chestplate. The
older boy strode across the field quickly and with an air of haughty arrogance,
but Darius intercepted him before he reached the center. The two briefly
exchanged words. Rowan was unable to hear what was said. He had just enough
time to quickly tighten the bindings on his armor and don his helm before the
two finished talking.

It was
time to begin.

Darius
brought the two boys together and raised their hands in the air, presenting
them to the crowd as the finalists in the swordsmanship competition. Their
names and victories were announced and Darius made them shake hands.

“Good
luck,
lolfar
.” Byron squeezed Rowan’s hand, hard, his knuckles turning
white.

Rowan
said nothing. He did nothing. Byron’s taunt, his cheap attempt at rousing
Rowan’s anger would not bait him. He would save his energy for their duel.

Rowan
broke Byron’s grip and stepped back. He grasped his sword in both hands,
holding his blade steady towards his opponent. The crowd roared as the two boys
faced each other and took ready stances.

There
was a brief lull in the shouts of excitement and encouragement. Rowan tensed
and in that moment, even as Darius was signaling for the match to begin, Byron
made his move. But Rowan was ready for him. He deflected the larger boy’s blow,
shifting into a defensive stance and retreating. Rowan would allow Byron to set
the pace while he waited for an opening. Byron was large and unwieldy, and he
had a tendency to react slowly.

Rowan
parried the next several blows and made several strikes of his own. His first
two blows landed clean, but they had little strength behind them. Byron blocked
the rest. Rowan allowed the fight to continue in this manner, dodging and
parrying while matching Byron blow for blow. They continued their exchange.
Byron eventually landed a blow and a second was close to follow, each one
hitting him like a war hammer.

But Rowan
pressed on, unyielding and determined as he fought.

Byron
was slower than Rowan, and Rowan used this to his advantage. He gave Byron a
false opening and when Byron made a hasty lunge, Rowan seized the opportunity
to strike at the neck where the armor was weak.

Byron
stumbled forward, almost dropping his blade as he fell. Rowan watched as his
opponent scrambled in the dirt to get up, allowing the bully to do so. There
was no honor in striking an opponent’s back while he was down. He could
practically hear the words coming from his master, and he could feel Baird’s
gaze from where he stood in the stands. So he allowed Byron to regain his feet,
though it was an undeserved courtesy.

The duel
resumed and it was at this point that Rowan noticed the look in Byron’s eyes.
They were filled with a burning fire that betrayed the boy’s bloodlust. Rowan
had seen that look on Byron many times before, most recently in the fight with
Erik. He suddenly realized that this was no competitive duel. Byron was out for
blood.

Each
strike became a threat. The tourney blades were meant to prevent killing or
maiming, but they could break bones and cause serious harm if used with enough
force. It would not take much effort for a boy of Byron’s build to shatter
Rowan’s leg, or to break an arm, or crack a rib.

Rowan
understood now how Byron was able to beat Andrew, and why Andrew had walked
away from that fight with a limp. Knowing that an opponent meant to harm you
and that they were not holding back, it was a frightening mindset. Fear infected
your actions and the tension doubled.

He
parried a blow and struck back, landing a clean hit that knocked the breath
from his opponent.

This
fight is getting dangerous
,
Rowan thought. He pressed forward, hoping to end it quickly, but he took a blow
to the head that somehow drew blood. The force of it threw him sideways and he
hit the ground hard, his vision blurred and his mind reeling. He lay
momentarily dazed before he felt a jarring pain and knew that Byron had struck
him while he was down.

There
was a shout from Darius, but he couldn’t understand what was said. Thankfully
no second blow came and Rowan was slowly able to regain his wits and his feet.
The wound to his head was shallow but the blood flowed down his brow and over
his left eye, threatening to obscure his vision.

He wiped
away the blood and sweat and adopted a ready stance. Darius was standing
between him and Byron. The head trainer would not, or could not, intervene
unless the fight had ended or one of them had given up. Still, he was glad that
Darius had stepped in while he was down.

Once
Darius saw that Rowan was up, he moved aside to let them continue. As Rowan
expected, Byron immediately lunged forward to press his advantage.

Baird’s
words flashed through Rowan’s mind. His master had told him that an opponent
can be stronger and faster, but skill was the most important factor in a fight.
Skill is what gives one man an advantage over another, and it goes beyond
simply knowing how to wield a blade,
Baird had said.
True skill is
knowing how to read your opponent’s moves, how to know what he is going to do
before he does it. If you can read your opponent, then you can anticipate and
you can manipulate the flow of the match and throw him off balance
.

Knowing
that Byron was going to press the attack, Rowan had adopted a more defensive
stance and was ready when the blow came. He blocked and he parried, retreating
backwards while leading Byron forwards in a deadly dance around the ring.
Byron’s anger and his bloodlust made him dangerous, but it was also making him
easy to predict and manipulate.

He
continued to lead Byron on, blocking and dodging every attack.

Several
hits landed but Rowan ignored them, pushing past the pain and focusing on
maintaining his defense and his footing. If he were to fall, then everything
would end very quickly.

The
crowd hooted and cheered as he continued to defend himself. He heard the voices
of his comrades as they shouted encouragement from the sidelines. He also heard
shouts of derision and cries for him to stand and fight, taunts that called him
weak, but he ignored them all. A true warrior would not be goaded so easily. He
would attack when he was ready, not before.

As the
thought came, an opening appeared. Byron overstepped for an attack, leaving him
off balance when Rowan blocked it. It was the moment that Rowan had been
waiting for.

Swift as
the wind, Rowan advanced and struck a hard blow to Bryon’s chest. Even with the
armor, he knew that the blow would leave a painful bruise. The crowd cheered as
the action picked up, but Rowan wasted no concentration on those surrounding
him. He continued his assault without letting up or offering a chance for
submission. He had watched what had happened to Erik. He was better than Byron,
but he would not give his enemy the chance to back out.
Not that Byron would
take it anyway,
Rowan thought.

He
landed a flurry of well aimed blows to weak or unarmored areas and he finished
with a smack across the face. The steel of his blade struck Byron’s helm and
caught the boy’s nose with a sickening crunch as it swung sideways. Byron fell
and Rowan knew that the match was over.

The
crowd, stunned into silence as one of the champions fell, erupted into a
frenzy. Rowan heard his name chanted and he felt elated in a very detached sort
of way. It began to dawn on him that he had just won the swordsmanship
competition. He had known that he would do well, but he had not expected to
win. It was not that he did not have faith in himself, he just hadn’t thought
of victory.

Rowan
could feel a goofy grin on his face and he gave a wordless cry of victory. He
felt hands clasping him and slapping him on the back.

“You did
it!”

“You
won.”

“Congratulations.”

The
other boys had taken to the field and surrounded him, congratulating him. Erik
gave him a punch on the arm that almost knocked Rowan down. From the sidelines,
Andrew caught his gaze and gave him a slight bow of the head.

At some
point, Darius made his way through the throng of boys and paraded Rowan back to
the center of the ring to declare him the victor of the match. Rowan’s arm was
held up and his head was held high. A small part of him wondered where Byron
had gone but Rowan pushed the query to the back of his mind. This was
his
moment of glory and Byron had no place in it. Once more he tilted his head back
and gave a cry of victory.