The Icebound Land

22

T HE BLACK-CLAD KNIGHT CURSED VIOLENTLY AS THE ARROW ripped his gauntlet from his grasp and thudded, carrying the glove with it, into a heavy oak beam. The solid impact of the arrow with the beam drew his eyes for a second, then he whirled suspiciously, to see where the missile had come from. For the first time, he registered the presence of a dark, indistinct shape in the shadows at the rear of the room.

Then, as Halt moved from behind the table and out into the light, he also registered the longbow, with a second arrow nocked ready to the string. The archer hadn't bothered to draw the bow, but Deparnieux had just seen an example of his skill. He knew he was facing a master archer, capable of drawing and firing in a heartbeat. He stood very still now, controlling his rage with difficulty. He knew his life might well depend on his ability to do so.

"Unfortunately for the dictates of chivalry," Halt said, "Sir Horace, knight of the Order of the Oakleaf, is indisposed, with an injury to his left hand. He will therefore be unable to reply to the kind invitation you were about to issue."

He had moved farther into the light now and Deparnieux could make out his face more clearly. Bearded and grim, this was the face of an experienced campaigner. The eyes were cold and bore no hint of indecision. This, the knight knew instantly, was a man to be wary of.

There was a subdued chuckle from one of the townspeople in the room and, inwardly, the Gallic knight seethed with fury. His eyes flicked to the source of the sound and he saw a carpenter, lowering his face to hide his smile. Deparnieux noted the man mentally. His day of reckoning would come. Outwardly, however, he forced a smile.

"A pity," he told the archer. "I had hoped for a friendly trial of arms with the young chevalier-all in the spirit of good fellowship, of course."

"Of course," Halt replied levelly, and Deparnieux knew that he wasn't for a moment deceived. "But, as I say, we shall have to disappoint you, as we are traveling on a rather urgent quest."

Deparnieux's eyebrows lifted in polite enquiry. "Is that so? And where might you and your young master be bound?"

He added the "young master" to see what effect it would have on the bearded man before him. It was obvious who was the master here, and it wasn't the young knight. He'd hoped that he might sting the other man's pride, and possibly goad him to a mistake.

The hope, however, was short-lived. He noticed a faint glint of amusement in the man's eyes as he recognized the gambit for what it was.

"Oh, here and there," Halt replied vaguely. "It's not a task of sufficient importance to interest a warlord such as yourself." The tone of his voice left the knight in no doubt that he would not be answering casual questions about their end destination, or even their intended direction of travel.

"Sir Horace," he added, aware that the boy was still within arm's reach of the black knight, "why don't you sit yourself down over there and rest your injured arm?"

Horace glanced at him, then understanding dawned and he moved away from the knight, taking a seat by the edge of the fire. There was absolute silence in the room now. The townspeople gazed at the two men confronting each other, wondering where this impasse was going to end.

Only two people in the room, Halt and Deparnieux, knew that the knight was trying to gauge his chances of drawing his sword and cutting down the archer before he could fire. As Deparnieux hesitated, he met the unwavering gaze of the Ranger.

"I really wouldn't," said Halt mildly. The black knight read the message in his eyes and knew that, fast as he might be, the other man's reply would be faster. He inclined his head slightly in recognition of the fact. This was not the time.

He forced a smile onto his face and made a mocking bow in Horace's direction.

"Perhaps another day, Sir Horace," he said lightly. "I would look forward to a friendly trial of arms with you when you are recovered."

This time, he noticed, the boy glanced quickly at his older companion before replying. "Perhaps another day," he agreed.

Embracing the room with a thin smile, Deparnieux turned on his heel and walked to the door. He paused there a moment, his eyes seeking Halt's once more. The smile faded and the message he sent was clear. Next time, my friend. Next time.

The door closed behind him and a collective sigh of relief went around the room. Instantly, a babble of conversation broke out among those present. The musicians, sensing that their moment was over for the night, packed away their instruments and gratefully accepted drinks from the serving girl.

Horace moved to the beam where Halt's arrow had pinned the knight's gauntlet. He wrestled the shaft free, dropped the glove onto a table and returned the arrow to Halt.

"What was that all about?" he asked, a little breathlessly. Halt moved back to their table in the shadows, and leaned his longbow against the wall once more.

"That," he told the boy, "is what happens when you begin to acquire a reputation. Our friend Deparnieux is obviously the person who controls this area and he saw you as a potential challenge to that control. So, he came here to kill you."

Horace shook his head in bewilderment. "But:why? I don't have any quarrel with the man. Did I offend him somehow? I certainly didn't mean to," he said. Halt nodded gravely.

"That's not the point," he told the young apprentice. "He doesn't give a toss about you. You were simply an opportunity for him."

"An opportunity?" Horace asked. "For what?"

"To reaffirm his hold over the people in the area," Halt explained. "People like him rule by fear, for the most part. So, when a young knight comes into the area with a reputation as a champion, somebody like Deparnieux sees it as an opportunity. He provokes a fight with you, kills you, and his own reputation is enlarged. People fear him more and are less likely to challenge his control over them.

Understand?"

The boy nodded slowly. "It's not the way it should be," he said, a disappointed tone in his voice. "It's not the way chivalry was intended to be."

"In this part of the world," Halt told him, "it's the way it is."