The Dragon Hammer (Wulf's Saga Book 1) (8 page)

Chapter Eleven:
The Match

Hang the Fool was a card game with lots of strategy and bluffing. That was why Rainer liked it. It also had cutthroat action. You had to make quick decisions. You had to either keep a card or throw it down in a rush before the other player could take the trick. Wulf figured this was why Ravenelle was good at it.

You bid on how many tricks you thought you’d win and whether you could “hang the fool” and take all the discards. When you played with two people, the idea was to build up a valuable middle tower of cards between both players until somebody went on the attack to claim them all. Then the game turned into all-out card war.

They set up a card table in a corner of the dining hall after the midday meal was served. The table was below a window of red and blue stained glass. It was also in Wulf’s favorite spot near the huge fireplace. Logs the size of tree trunks burned in the fire on cold autumn days.

Rainer was right. She was here.

Saeunn sat nearby. She didn’t join the game, but put on a puppet show with a woman’s stocking that had holes in the toe for Wulf’s other sister, the youngest von Dunstig, Anya, who was eight. Saeunn had two fingers stuck out through the holes and was pretending they were the antlers of a deer that kept getting caught on things. Anya thought this was very funny.

Wulf quickly lost interest in the flow of the Hang the Fool game between Rainer and Ravenelle. He pretended to laugh with Anya at Saeunn’s puppet drama, but really he was taking the chance to gaze at Saeunn herself.

Saeunn was a castle fosterling, like Rainer and Ravenelle. Her presence was a sign of the alliance between Duke Otto and Saeunn’s folk, the elves of Amberstone Valley. “Elf” was the Kaltish word for Saeunn’s people. It was not one they used themselves. They called themselves “Saelith,” which meant “star-born.” Wulf had learned a little of Saeunn’s language—mainly so he could have her as a tutor.

Under her long, unbound blonde hair, Saeunn’s ears were pointed, and her eyes were slightly slanted. They were ice blue. She looked about sixteen or seventeen. She was the most beautiful thing that Wulf had ever seen. The problem was, she
looked
like a teenager, and, for an elf, she was still considered a teenager. But Saeunn was actually sixty-two years old.

“Full tower!” Rainer said after examining two new cards he had picked up. “I’m coming for you!”

Wulf tore his gaze from Saeunn and returned his attention to the game.

Rainer played a castle and a moat, two of the cards in the game deck.

“Really? You
meant
to do that?” asked Ravenelle.

“Sure did,” Rainer replied with a grin—a grin that quickly fell into a frown as Ravenelle played card after card on top of his two, literally crushing his hand under hers with better cards. He groaned as Ravenelle scooped up the tower and added it to her pile of already-won tricks.

“You thought you could beat me?” she asked him.

“I have before, m’lady,” Rainer replied moodily.

“You’ve only got a year left to come out ahead, Stope,” she said, tapping her growing set of tricks. “Better start winning.” Ravenelle liked to use Rainer’s last name. It was maybe a ploy to remind him of his commoner origin, Wulf figured. He couldn’t help thinking that Rainer enjoyed that she called him that, though. The two had an odd relationship. They were friends who were destined to become enemies one day.

Ravenelle Archambeault lived in the mark as a kind of royal prisoner. Twelve years ago, the army of Shenandoah had defeated Vall l’Obac at the Battle of Montserrat.

This ended the Little War. It was called “little” because the allies of Shenandoah and the Holy Roman Empire, to which Vall l’Obac belonged, had stayed out of the fighting.

Wulf had barely been born at the time of the Vall l’Obac surrender. Part of the peace treaty was an agreement that the daughter of Queen Valentine and Crown Prince Piet would be raised in Raukenrose. She would not be allowed to return to Vall l’Obac until she turned seventeen, although her mother, father, and other family members were allowed to visit once a year.

That daughter was Ravenelle.

Ravenelle constantly reminded everyone that she was not in Raukenrose of her own free will. She would be moving back home to Montserrat the moment she turned seventeen. Ravenelle considered herself Roman, not Kalte like Wulf, Rainer, and everyone else in Shenandoah. Her religion was Talaia. She got one whole day to herself a week for ceremonies with her priest. Ravenelle owned slaves, and she was allowed to keep three of them in Raukenrose, even though slavery was outlawed in the mark. She called them bloodservants.

Ravenelle was
also
a von Dunstig. Her grandmother, Crown Prince Piet’s mother, was Wulf’s great-aunt Sybille von Dunstig, who had married into the Vall l’Obac Archambeaults. This made Ravenelle and Wulf third cousins.

It was complicated.

Ravenelle’s hair was a tangle of coal black curls that she held in place with at least a dozen hairpins and, usually, a scarf of crimson or black. Her eyes were brown, and her skin was brown from her Affric ancestry. She dressed like a woman of the south as well. Today she was wearing a red silk dress with a black brocade of lace over it. What was more, the dress was held together in the back not with clasps or brooches like Kalte girls and women used but with something almost entirely missing on Kalteland clothing.

Buttons.

“Are you watching the match?” Rainer asked her. “It’s Hlafnest again. I’m on ax and he’s got sword.”

Ravenelle smiled wickedly, and looked over at Saeunn. “We women might happen to look out from the balcony during the boys’ afternoon exercises if we take a notion.”

Rainer gathered up the cards to put away. Wulf knew Rainer liked for Ravenelle to watch him fight, especially on days he lost to her in a Hang the Fool game.

“It will be interesting to see Hlafnest von Blau cut to pieces. One less knight of the mark to trouble with.”

“I won’t be cutting him to pieces,” said Rainer. “I thought I’d just knock him on his butt a few times.” Rainer shrugged. “Hlafnest is good. He’ll give me a fight.”

“Of course we’ll watch,” Saeunn replied quietly. “The other girls have been talking about the match all week.” Saeunn wriggled her fingers, and Anya giggled. “I hear that there have even been bets placed. Many silver thalers will be changing hands today.”

“Really?” said Rainer. “And did you bet on someone, m’lady?”

“No,” Saeunn replied. “But it was interesting to see who did.” Saeunn glanced over at Ravenelle. “Wasn’t it, Ravenelle?”

“They’re all betting against you, Stope,” Ravenelle said.

“That’s stupid,” Wulf put in. “Everybody knows how good Rainer is with an ax.”

“I guess they really believe highborn blood will win in the end. But that’s rather irrelevant considering it is
Kalte
highborn blood,” Ravenelle replied. “I imagine the girls also believe Koterbaum will fix the match for Hlafnest von Blau.”

“He won’t,” Wulf said. “Koterbaum’s a suck-up, but he’s fair.”

She turned to Wulf and smiled sweetly. “Yes. So I placed a thousand thaler wager on Stope, of course.”

“A
thousand
?” Wulf said. That was a lot of silver.

“Truthfully, I don’t much care whether Stope wins or gets his brains bashed out.”

Wulf knew she did care. She was lying to get a rise out of Rainer. This was practically impossible, though. Rainer knew Ravenelle’s ways too well.

“It’s the principle of the thing. I never bet on Kalte nobility,” Ravenelle continued. She gave Wulf an evil smile. “I’m very much afraid that sooner or later, you’re all going to be losers.”

Wulf was exhausted by the end of afternoon practice. The sun was blazing. Even though it was late fall, there was no way to stay cool when you were dressed in two stone of armor and had an iron bucket on your head.

He’d taken far more whacks than he’d given today. This nine weeks was short sword for him, so at least he hadn’t had to pull around a wooden mockup of a long sword. In two weeks, the schedule would swing around to hammer and ax. Rainer, being a year older, was in with the older boys working on broadsword.

He’s going to be pretty tired, Wulf thought. And then he still has to fight his match.

Wulf’s small shield, his buckler, felt like a lead weight on his arm. He made his way to get a drink of water and then got back to practice.

Forms and charges came first. This meant whacking on a partner using a set of moves both you and he already knew. The charges you made on a battering pole. On his first charge, Wulf missed the pole entirely. This was only the latest of the mistakes he’d been making all afternoon.

“You’re only good for sparring fodder, today, m’lord,” Koterbaum told him. “Go mix it up with the ten and elevens for half pikes, why don’t you.”

Wulf nodded and headed over to the other side of the yard to tutor the younger boys.

This change didn’t get Wulf out of the final exercise of the day, maneuvers. He trailed behind as the gang of boys climbed walls, walked logs, and crawled on their bellies under a small section of abatis. From bell to bell, practice took a three-watch. After that were the matches, which lasted till dinner bell.

Koterbaum could assign match partners, but usually the older boys called each other out. Sometimes this was because they had a score to settle. Hlafnest and Rainer didn’t have any particular gripe. Hlafnest just didn’t like that a commoner such as Rainer was allowed to act above his station. He’d called Rainer out a week ago over kicking dust onto his boots. Something like that. Wulf couldn’t remember the supposed offence.

Rainer, who never backed down, accepted. So today Hlafnest von Blau and Rainer Stope were the main attraction.

The fights were held in the castle bailey, and took up a good portion of the center. This was the same bailey that Wulf and Rainer had carefully skirted around the night before. The match area was marked with a circle of white lime. Stepping or falling over the lime meant you lost a point. Getting knocked down and dominated meant you lost a point. Three points against you and you lost the match.

In matches, the weapons were real. Blunted, but real. You fought in armor.

One of the younger boys served as squire and helped Rainer arm up in a corner of the bailey yard. Rainer had for torso protection his favorite hauberk underneath. This chainmail shirt was made with the six-hand ring weave he preferred. The mail shirt was belted and hung down over his thigh. On top of the hauberk, he wore a cuirass, a plate armor breast and back plate. He wore steel cuisses on his thighs. Greaves were attached to his shins, and these came down to cover the upper part of his armored shoes. The shoes were steel plate sewn onto leather. Steel brassarts covered his upper arms, vambraces covered his lower arms. On both hands, he wore gauntlets covered with mail sewed onto leather. These came most of the way up his forearms for protection there.

With the squire’s help, he put on a wool arming cap. He pulled up his hauberk cowl over the cap. Finally, over both of these, he wore a helmet of battered iron. The helmet was not a full steel casing with a bevor over his face. Rainer hated fighting when he could barely see. The helm came with a face protector called a grima hinged onto the front of the helm that covered eyes, nose, and upper cheekbones.

You were supposed to avoid blows to the head in match combat. Wulf knew that was easier said than done, even when you were trying.

Rainer’s buckler was oak. Rainer had no family crest. Instead, there was a red crow in profile painted on it. This was the symbol of Kohlsted, the township Rainer came from.

Wulf had on a mail shirt, and had a helm and scabbarded sword nearby as well. On the off chance Rainer had to bow out of the match, Wulf might have to fight. Rainer always chose Wulf as his second.

There was a short ritual before the match with each of the fighters’ seconds meeting in the center of the limed circle to go over the ground rules with Marshal Koterbaum. Wulf plopped on his helmet indifferently and went forward to listen to Koterbaum lay out the basics yet again.

“No eye stabbing. No neck hewing. No stepping on feet.”

Wulf still felt a bit woozy from the day’s exercise, and at first didn’t notice Hlafnest’s second approach. Then a shadow fell over Wulf’s face. It was a man nearly two hands taller than Wulf, and much broader in the shoulders. He was dressed in full armor, not in mail only, as Wulf was.

Wulf did not recognize the man until he reached the center of the combat circle and took off his helm. The man smiled.

It was Prince Gunnar of Sandhaven.

“You’re . . .” Prince Gunnar considered Wulf with a quizzical expression. “One of the von Dunstigs, aren’t you?”

“I am, Prince Gunnar,” Wulf replied. He did not volunteer his name to the prince, but Gunnar didn’t seem to care.

“Well then. Your servant,” the prince said, and bowed.

“And yours.” Wulf returned the gesture. “Seconds don’t usually come in full armor,” he said.

“They do in Krehennest,” Gunnar grunted. “Among men.”

They both bowed to Marshal Koterbaum, who looked very nervous.