Two Heirs (The Marmoros Trilogy Book 1) (4 page)

“It's not a way of life I'm used to,” Held replied.

“So what is your way of life? You go round killing people from what I can see.”

“I'm not an assassin by trade. If men have died by my sword, they generally deserved it.”

Manny fell silent for a minute. “You never did finish your story last night. You've been travelling in the far south. I hear it's cold there. Is that why you came north?”

“No, not because of the cold. In fact it got a little too warm,” he smiled. “I upset a powerful
lord.”

“Tell me.”

“I was hired by a nobleman to protect his daughter.”

“Ah.” Manny gave him a knowing look.

“No, no. It wasn't that. I mean she was attractive enough but she just wasn't interested. She was madly in love with the son of another family. I had my work cut out keeping the two of them apart.”

“So what was the problem? They were both noble born. Why didn't they just get married?”

“Family politics. I don't get involved in politics. I have to be able to work for either side, otherwise I'm ruining my own business.”

“So what happened?”

“One night she gave me the slip. Should have been all tucked up in her quarters. Turns out she drugged one of the guards, bribed another one and legged it. By the time I caught up with her, she was twenty leagues down the road with boyfriend in tow, boyfriend's two brothers and three family retainers. Well it turned a little ugly. She refused to come quietly and boyfriend and his brothers thought they could take me.”

“So you killed them all?”

“Not all of them. I'm not a butcher. But six against one doesn't leave you much time for careful placement of hits. The boyfriend died. So did two of the retainers. And one of the brothers will never walk again. Understandably, their family were a little bit pissed at me.

“But what made it worse was, when I took the daughter back to her father,
he
was pissed at me because the family feud had just intensified. So I took my wages and decided a long vacation was overdue.”

“Politics,” Manny spat in the dust at the side of the trail. “Dirtiest business there is. I don't blame you for getting out.”

They rode in a companionable silence for a while. Then Manny spoke again.

“I lost my lieutenant last night. I need to replace him.”

“You've got some good men in this troop. Promote one of them.”

“Some of them are good enough,” he agreed. “But not one of them would stand against you in a fight.”

“Just because I can handle a sword, doesn't mean I'd make a good lieutenant. I told you. I don't take orders well.”

“You wouldn't have to. You've been around a bit. You know what needs to be done in any given situation. You wouldn't need me standing over you the whole time.”

“But how do you know you can trust me?”

“I don't. But as leader of the group, that's a risk I'm prepared to take.”

“I'm not sure it's a risk I'd be prepared to take on less than 24 hours acquaintance. And what about the men? How do you know they'd accept me?”

“I've seen the way you talk to them, they talk to you. They will accept you because they respect you. They obeyed Torsten because they feared him but they will obey you out of respect.”

“They're a good bunch of men but I don't know.”

“Will you at least think about it?”

Held nodded. “I'll give you an answer tonight at the camp.” He wheeled his horse and trotted away to gain a little space.

***

Midway through the afternoon, the scouts on point came trotting back to the column and Manny called a halt. Held and one of the archers, a man called Bern, rode over to see what the
problem was.

“No problem,” Manny said. “We'll make camp here for the night.”

“We've got another two or three hours of daylight yet,” Bern objected.

“I said we camp here. So you two… Make it happen.”

Bern wheeled his horse and started to ride off when Held caught his bridle and stopped him.

“Don't give me orders, Manny,” he said softly. “I haven't taken the position yet.

“Now, being the boss, you don't have to explain your decisions but it would take a lot of uncertainty out of the men's minds if they knew why we were stopping early.”

“Because the fucking village is only just over that fucking hill. That's why. So we camp here tonight and tomorrow we ride over that fucking hill and take our provisions. Is that all right with you two?”

Held released his hold on Bern's bridle. “Better go do what the man says.”

As Bern trotted off shouting orders to circle the wagons, Manny looked directly at Held. “Are you sure you haven't taken the position?”

“I said I'd give you an answer tonight,” he replied, turning his horse to trot after Bern.

The clearing was a similar size to the previous night but without the stream along the side. A patch of bare earth in the centre of the clearing showed that this was a regular stopping place for travellers. The camp was set up with the same efficiency that Held had observed the night before but, because there was still daylight to use, Bern, Ash and two of the other senior men organised a series of competitive events to keep the men occupied.

The archery contest was won by Bern after a rematch with Ash, pushing the targets back a further twenty paces. The spear throwing was won by a man called Jorgen, who out-threw everyone for both accuracy and distance. The foot race was won by Jaks and the sword fighting, using practice swords, was won by a man called Feynor. Held declined the invitation to compete in the sword fight but ended the session with another demonstration of his exercise programme, to the loud applause of all the watchers.

The slaves had carried Manny’s chair out and he sat throughout the competition, watching each of the competitors with interest. Now he rose and strolled across to where Held was towelling down.

“How about a practice bout? You and me?”

Held shook his head and indicated that they should move away, out of earshot of the men.

“I hear you're a top swordsman,” he told Manny. “But I haven't lost a swordfight in over ten years, whether in practice or for real. Maybe you could take me, maybe not. But if you challenge me now and I win, you will lose face in front of your men and I am not prepared to throw a fight, even a practice bout, to help you. So why don't you challenge Feynor instead and establish your position with your men?”

A flush of anger spread across Manny's face. “Torsten was right. You do think much of yourself. There will be a reckoning between us, swordsman.”

He spun on his heel and strode away. “Feynor, our guest is weary from his exercises. Will you fight me instead or are you too weary also?”

He snatched a practice sword from the rack and took guard. He still wore his chain mail although Feynor and the others had stripped down for the competition. Held could see from the first attack that, although Manny was furious, he controlled and directed his anger in a way that Torsten had been unable to do the previous night. That made him a very dangerous opponent and the lighter man had to use all his speed and agility to stay out of trouble.

Feynor had already fought three hard bouts and it was obvious that he was tiring under the constant barrage of attacks. In desperation, he launched a fierce attack himself, forcing Manny onto the back foot for a while but the end result was inevitable. A tired cut was knocked away and the
riposte caught Feynor under the ribs, causing him to stumble. With a cry of triumph, Manny brought the full weight of his sword down across the other man's shoulders forcing him down on hands and knees.

The circle of fighters watched in horror as a second blow landed full in the middle of his back and Manny raised the sword high above his head for the third blow which would surely have killed him, practice sword or no. When the third blow came, it was delivered with such force that it broke the shaft of the spear which Held thrust horizontally above the fallen man's back.

“It's over,” he said. “You won.”

The wild light of battle still flashed in the leader's eyes as they faced each other across Feynor's back. For a moment he thought that Manny would continue the fight with him but the moment passed. Manny looked at the circle of men surrounding them and threw the practice sword on the ground. Without a word, he turned and stalked off towards his tent leaving a stunned silence behind him.

“Help me get him into one of the tents,” Held ordered.

He looked round for Jaks. “Run and fetch my kit for me. There's some liniment in there which will help with the bruising.”

***

There was a charged atmosphere around the fire that evening. Feynor was popular with the other men and there was muttering around the circle as Manny seated himself in his chair. Feynor had a wife among the camp followers; Marta, a short, plump woman of irrepressible good humour and the unofficial leader of the other women. But tonight she glared at Manny as she collected food for herself and her husband and took it back to the tent where he was still stretched out.

There was an additional source of tension also. Manny had insisted that Lady Falaise join them for the meal and when she had refused, he had dragged her to the fire and forced her to sit on one of the camp stools. Leyla and Mo had apparently taken exception to this and were nowhere to be seen.

The slaves were bringing round bowls of stew; the remains of last night's venison to which a few rabbits and some root vegetables had been added. Lady Falaise sat bolt upright on the stool, staring straight ahead and refusing food and conversation alike. When Manny sent for a flask of wine from his private store, she refused that also and he was clearly becoming increasingly irritated by her attitude.

When the food was cleared and the pitchers of beer were circulating, he rose to his feet and called across to Held.

“Well, Master Swordsman. You promised me an answer tonight. What is it going to be? Will you join us?”

Held shook his head as he stood also. “No, I cannot do that.”

There were small sounds of disappointment from around the audience but both men ignored them.

“And your reasons?”

“They are many but essentially they all come down to one. I cannot follow a man I do not respect.”

This drew a gasp from some quarters and the flush of anger deepened on Manny’s face and neck.

“You accepted my hospitality. I offered you a position of honour and a lieutenant's share of the profits. I would even have offered you one of my women. And now you say you don't respect me. How dare you,” he roared.

“I am grateful for both the hospitality and the offer but you make my point for me. I do not
believe that women are objects to be traded. I do not like the way you degrade this noble lady who is your unwilling guest and I do not like the way you beat a defenceless man.”

“Noble lady! Hah! You are obviously a fool to be taken in by a pretty face. This slut is no more nobly born than I am. She just happened to marry the local headman.”

“Then I am afraid that it is you who are the fool, my friend. Nobility is not a matter of birth but of how one lives one's life.”

“You go too far, Master Swordsman. I revoke my gift of hospitality. Leave now while you can still walk.”

“I'm afraid I can't do that either.” Held indicated the circle of people around them. “These are good people. They deserve a better life than you offer them. They deserve a better leader than the one they currently follow.”

“A better life. A better leader.” Manny sounded almost apoplectic with rage. “You are challenging me for the leadership of this group?”

“A bit slow there, Manny but you seem to have caught up with the plot. Yes I am challenging you.”

“Hah! I see your plan.” A crafty look appeared on Manny’s face. “You think to provoke me into a rage as you did Torsten and have an easy victory. Well it won't work with me.”

He turned to the men nearby who had scrambled to their feet. “Clear these logs and prepare a fighting square. Build up the fire and light some torches. We need light to fight by. Tell me when all is prepared.” He strode into his tent and dropped the flap.

Falaise stood so that the men could clear away the chair and stools and looked over to where Held was standing.

“You take a great risk for us, my lord.”

Her voice was clear and carried easily across the bustle. Men stopped what they were doing at the sound of her voice. It had that sort of quality and not many of them had heard her speak at all during her time as a hostage.

“Why do you address me so, my lady?” Held replied. “I have no title.”

“You said yourself, my lord. It is not matter of birth but how you live your life.”

Held watched her as she walked away from the fire and climbed back into the covered slave wagon.

“She's a proper lady that one, milord,” Jaks spoke at his elbow.

“Oh don't you start. Run and fetch my gear for me, would you? I think I'd better wear some armour for this fight.”

“But you ain't
got no armour in your gear, milord. It
ain't 'eavy enough.”

“Just fetch it please, Jaks. And drop this milord nonsense.”

“Yes, milord.”

Held sighed. He was going to have trouble with that one. When Jaks returned, he opened the pack and spread it on the ground. Wrapped in a soft cloth at the bottom of the pack was a tight roll of something metallic. Held loosed the bindings and lifted it up to reveal a chain mail vest that glittered in the firelight and a pair of
vambraces made from the same metal.

“Cor
blimey. I
ain't
never seen nothing like that.” Jaks looked at the armour in awe and reached out a finger to touch it. “What's it made of?”

“Mithril.” The word leapt unbidden into Held's mind. “It's mithril.”

“Mithril. That's elven armour
ain't
it? I didn't think elves really existed. Where'd you get it from?”