Blood in Snow (18 page)

But somebody’s blood is going to be spilled, even if it’s just yours.

“Just mine …”

A thought started to germinate.

My blood, or Lionel’s blood.

Me versus Lionel.

He recalled the story of Lord Gail and King Hampton, how the two had fought for the woman they both loved. Ironically, she’d ended up marrying somebody else.

“Me versus Lionel.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

“You what?” King Lionel shouted up the slope.

In the middle of the night, Edmund stood on a rocky outcropping overlooking the King’s encampment, flaming branch in one hand, sword in the other. Two shivering guards stood before him, weapons drawn, though reluctant to test Edmund’s black blade.

Edmund called to the crowd below. “I hereby ch-ch-challenge, I hereby challenge you to a duel!”

“You versus me?” the King said. “Are you mad?”

“These are my terms.” Edmund kept his eye on the two guards he pointed his sword at. “If I kill or otherwise subdue you, you will officially recognize the Highlands as its own sovereign region.”

The King scoffed.

“You will allow us to rule ourselves however we wish,” Edmund went on, “governed by whomever the people of this region select.”

“And I suppose that will be you,” the King called up. “Do you know what it takes to be a king, you stuttering imbecile? It’s hard work!”

“We will not have a king, nor will we be ruled by any nobility! Everybody will have a say in how things are run!”

This caught the two guards’ interest. Their shaking swords lowered slightly.

But the King only laughed.

“The people can’t rule themselves! They are stupid simpletons, like yourself! Worthless for nearly everything except for working the land and doing what they are told. Why, without the nobility, there would be chaos—utter chaos! A kingdom without a king? That’s lunacy!”

“Maybe so. But that’s for us to decide.”

“If you win, that is.”

“Yes. If I win, you will allow us to do as we please. All lands north of the Stone Heights will belong to people willing to settle here and work for the common good!”

King Lionel hooted, slapping his knee.

“Oh!” he cried, nearly falling over into the snow. “You … you should be a jester!” He dabbed his eyes with the end of his fur-lined cloak. “Work for the common good!” He laughed. “Ah, that’s precious. Simply precious!”

The surrounding lords and knights laughed with the King, but many of the men-at-arms simply trembled in the cold.

“Ah!” the King said, his chuckles dying. “It’s a shame I have to kill you.”

“You haven’t killed me yet. Do we have an agreement?”

King Lionel turned to his courtiers in exaggerated puzzlement. “But you have not said what reward I would get for my effort. What does the King of the Highlands have to bargain with, pray tell?”

“The lives of your men.”

This got everybody’s attention, including the King’s. “What on earth do you mean?” he asked. “Do you honestly think you can kill all of us? The knights of Eryn Mas are legendary for their strength and skill in battle; they’ve never been defeated!”

A few men lifted their swords or beat them against frost-covered shields. Most merely hunched closer to their campfires.

“A storm is coming,” Edmund announced loudly, “one that will freeze all of you.”

The King waved his hand, scoffing again.

“They’ll all die,” Edmund said, “whether they have noble blood or not!”

The King spoke to his lords and knights as if uninterested in Edmund’s warning.

“How many of your men,” Edmund shouted, “how many of your trusted and loyal men have already died in the cold? How many?”

“Too many,” muttered one of the guards in front of Edmund.

“They deserve to be warm.” Edmund motioned to the hundreds of soldiers below. “They deserve to have thick clothes and hot food.” Several men-at-arms nodded. “They deserve to live! If we don’t stop this war, they’ll all freeze to death by tomorrow night.”

“So you say,” the King replied dismissively. Yet even as he rolled his eyes, fat snowflakes began to fall. His men watched them anxiously.

“What do I receive once I best you on the field of battle?” the King bellowed. “What do I earn for my effort, besides your gracious gift of my men’s lives?”

Make sure you sell it to him. Make him want it.

“You can have the Highlands and all its beauty and resources,” Edmund shouted back.

“Beauty? This is a hellhole! This miserable …? There’s nothing here but, but hills and …” He flapped a hand at the flakes gliding down from the dark sky. “This horrid snow! Nothing! There’s nothing here worth having!”

“Then why did you come?” Edmund yelled. “Go home! Go back to the warmth of Eryn Mas. Go home, and leave us alone!”

The crowd around the King muttered.

“I will not be talked to in that tone! I am a king!”

“You’re a coward!”

Lionel sputtered. “That’s it! Come down here right this instant so I can cut off that ugly head of yours!”

“Do we have a deal? If I win, you will recognize the Highlands as its own realm and leave this region and never return here again.”

“And when I win?”

“You can have the Highlands!”

“But I already have the Highlands!” the King cried. “You cannot steal what’s rightfully mine then offer it back with a price attached! It’s rude!”

“If we don’t settle this now, you’ll all freeze to death!”

“So you keep saying!”

Edmund jabbed his sword toward the King’s gathered crowd. “Look at your men! Look at them! They’re cold and tired and freezing!”

“Why do you care?” the King hollered.

“Why don’t you?” Edmund hollered back.

A murmur rose up in the camp as if Edmund had just scored a point.

The King tried to regain the offensive. “Your men killed nearly sixty of my men just yesterday, and you pretend to care whether or not they are cold and tired?”

Don’t mention the goblins! They won’t believe you. Don’t mention the goblins!

“If you force us to fight, we’ll fight! We know these lands and where we can hide. We’re well-armed and have supplies for the winter. But we won’t need to fight for very long. The storm—”

“Stop talking about the blasted storm! There is no storm!”

More snow drifted lazily from the darkness above them.

“I propose a deal,” the King said in a conciliatory tone. “Bring your men out of hiding and let us do battle! To the winner goes the spoils!” He shook his gem-encrusted sword in the air. “What do you say?”

“Why not just the two of us fight? Why risk everybody else’s life?”

“Because it isn’t as fun! If I fight you, it’d be over in two minutes. What fun is that? We should have our armies fight all at once rather than sneaking around, playing hide and seek. Think of the glory! Two armies, fighting to the death in the snow! Why, they’ll be songs about it for generations! I even brought the minstrels with me!”

A group of men with musical instruments huddled together under a single blanket.

“Come!” The King rattled his sword again. “Let us fight a real battle!”

He just wants glory. That’s all he cares about.

Then give him what he wants.

“You’re afraid!” Edmund shouted. “You’re nothing but a coward!”

“Now take that back! You men up there, kill him! Kill the accursed rebel! Kill him right this instant!”

The guards standing just out of Edmund’s sword reach didn’t move.

“Kill him, and you both shall have lordship over these beautiful lands!” the King declared.

“I’d rather have your cloak,” one guard called to him.

“And your hat!” the other said, sheathing his sword.

“What!” the King cried. “That’s treason! Draw your weapon and kill him right now, or I’ll have your heads!”

“I don’t s-s-suppose you have any extra cl-clothes,” one guard asked Edmund, shaking from the cold. “Anything at all?”

Pity welled in Edmund’s heart; their trembling blue lips had cracked and were now bleeding. He untied his blanket from around his shoulders and handed it to one of them.

“I’m sorry I don’t have more.”

“You can’t do that!” the King roared. “Those are my men! Leave them alone! Hey! Give him back his blanket. You don’t need it! I’m your King, damn it!”

“Thanks, mate,” one guard said, still shivering uncontrollably. “That helps.”

But Edmund noticed both men were already frostbitten—one on his left ear, the other on his right hand’s little finger.

“Head due west,” Edmund told them. “Go toward the smoke. If you give up your weapons, I’m sure some of my people will help you. They can give you warmer clothes and hot food at the very least.”

The men might have nodded, or it might have been their shaking, Edmund couldn’t tell.

“Go now. It isn’t far. You’ll be there within a few hours or so. Just make sure you approach with your weapons sheathed. I don’t want you to get shot by an archer.”

“Wh-wh-why, why are you doing this?”

“Because you deserve better.” Edmund stepped aside, inclined his head to the western hills. “Go. Our cook can make a hot soup that will warm you right up.”

“May the gods bless you,” one guard said.

“Yes,” the other agreed, “and your family.”

Edmund watched them descend the hill, fighting through the snow drifts as they headed west. He wondered whether they could make it to Rood before they died.

“Where are you going?” the King screamed. “Get back here this very second and slay him! Slay him, I say!”

But, wrapped together in Edmund’s blanket, the two men disappeared into the night.

Edmund faced the King. “You slay me!”

“Bring out your army!”

“You’re a coward!”

Even from a distance, Edmund could see the King’s face redden.

“You take that back!”

“Coward!”

“Stop it! I’m warning you! I will kill you if you don’t stop it! Do you hear me? I will cut your miserable head off myself and stick it on a pike! I will drag your short, stubby little body all the way back to Eryn Mas and have children kick it, do you understand? I am going to kill every single one of your men, do you hear me?”

You’d better win.

“Then accept my challenge!” Edmund called back. “Fight me in a one-on-one duel!”

“I accept! And I will not allow you to die easily. I will make you suffer like you’ve never suffered before!”

“Swear then,” Edmund shouted into the valley, now shrouded in falling snow. “Swear on your honor that if I win, you will leave the Highlands and let us be free!”

“I so swear!”

Edmund stepped back a pace, his body suddenly feeling the bitter cold.

You’d better win.

“Now come down here and die, you runt!”

“Meet me at the … the … Field of Death! Meet me at the Field of Death at dawn!”

The King straightened. “Field of Death?”

You should have thought of a better name!

It’ll do.

“Yes! Where Lord Iliandor single-handedly killed the Undead King in hand-to-hand combat.”

“Perfect!” the King called up. “And where is this Field of Death?”

“Two miles southwest of here. A broad valley, completely empty save for a grove of chestnut trees. In the center of this valley, a pile of stones serves as a marker where Iliandor slayed the Undead King! I will see you there at dawn!”

“I’ll be there, you miserable imp! Do you hear me? I’ll cut out your other eye! Then I’ll make you beg for mercy!”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Edmund stood in the valley he and Vin had gazed down upon shortly before they’d learned of each other’s secret. In the middle of the open area between the lofting hills, he’d heaped a great many boulders. From a distance, the pile would undoubtedly appear as a burial marker. King Lionel couldn’t miss it.

Edmund took off his snowshoes and jumped repeatedly, packing the snow firmer underfoot. If things didn’t go as planned, he’d need to be able to move as quickly as possible, and he couldn’t do that in snowshoes. He continued stomping in a wide circle around the stone mound, packing the snow as flat and as solidly as he could.

The eastern sky began to lighten to a pale blue and, strangely, seemed to promise a bright, sunny day.

So much for your storm.

Either way, this will be over soon, storm or no storm.

He picked up the long wooden staff he’d fashioned out of a tree branch and thrust it into the snow near the boulder pile. It sunk two feet in before thumping up against something hard.

Keep that staff handy. Without it, you’re probably going to die.

It doesn’t matter if I die or not, as long as I take Lionel with me.

He inspected his short sword. Its black blade was as sharp as any butcher’s knife, but it was short—much shorter than the longsword King Lionel would undoubtedly wield. Already outmatched in both skill and physical prowess, the last thing Edmund needed was to be outreached. He’d learned that lesson when he last fought Gurding.

Concealing himself as best as he could, Edmund cast his enlargement spell, doubling the blade’s length to resemble a longsword. He swung it about. Any longer and it’d be too awkward to use effectively.

A horse emerged on the valley’s easternmost hill. Then two others, followed by fifty more. Soon a couple hundred riders and their panting horses had lined the entire eastern ridge. King Lionel stood at the line’s center under his banner of red and gold.

“Beautiful spot for a battle,” he called down to Edmund. “Are you sure you do not wish to have our armies fight? It would be splendid!”

“Are you too scared to fight me by yourself?”

“Of course not!” the King shouted back, and then he added wistfully, “It’s just that you’re ruining all of my fun! I rode here with all these men and everything, endured these godless lands and its blasted weather. I want a big battle! Horses charging! Swords flashing! Wounded men screaming for their mothers! It would be glorious! What do you say? Maybe they’ll even sing songs about it. Did I tell you I brought my minstrels? I’ll make them promise to make you taller and better looking in their ballads!”