You are thirty-six years old, he reminded himself. Soon you’ll have to retire – or endure the indignity of some young, strong challenger beating you to your knees.
Why now? The question came back at him. It was seeing Gorain in the company of the fat lecher, and realizing that Gorain himself was little better. He was a braggart and – like most braggarts -filled with fear. Some men fought because they loved winning. Others because they feared losing. Gorain was in the latter group. He would never be champion.
I’ll fight on for a while, Chain told himself. And when some young bastard sinks me he’ll at least know he beat the best.
CHAPTER FIVE
TAYBARD JAEKEL DID NOT ENJOY FEAST DAYS, THOUGH HE PRETENDED to. Sometimes he could almost convince himself. Today was not one of those days. Dressed in his best shirt and breeches and an old coat of his father’s, he joined with others from Old Hills on the two-hour walk to Eldacre. The threadbare white wig had belonged to his grandfather, and he could feel the sweat prickling his scalp as he walked.
The day was fine, but there were rain clouds in the distance, and the air was still chill with the memory of winter. Some way ahead he could see Kaelin Ring, walking with Chara Ward. She looked beautiful in a simple dress of corn yellow, and a pale blue shawl. Taybard watched her closely. Every now and again she would reach out and touch Kaelin’s arm as she chatted to him, or lean in to whisper something, allowing her shoulder to brush against his. Taybard tried not to stare. He transferred his gaze to Kaelin’s aunt Maev. She was strolling beside the huge, one-eyed clansman Jaim Grymauch. Everyone said he was little more than an outlaw, destined for the rope, but Taybard had a sneaking admiration for the man. Last summer he had fought three tough men in a tavern brawl, emerging victorious. Behind them came Banny and his mother, Shula. Taybard liked Banny. There was no malice in the boy, and Taybard had stopped Luss Campion and Kammel Bard from tormenting him. For some reason Luss hated Banny, though when pressed could not explain why.
There were maybe fifty people on the road now, with more joining as they passed the outer houses of the village. Slowly they trooped up the hill, cresting it to see the distant castle and the sprawling town below. The wind was picking up. Taybard was relieved to see the rain clouds being pushed back over the mountains.
Luss Campion and Kammel Bard emerged from the last house, saw him and strolled to join him. Both young men were wearing black coats and sporting ill-fitting wigs. ‘Looks like the rain will keep off,’ said Luss.
‘Aye.’
Luss and Kammel were also wearing their best clothes, though as in Taybard’s case best meant least mended. There was a patch on Luss’s coat and Kammel’s breeches were thin, the original black now showing as powder grey. Taybard’s polished shoes had holes in the soles, and had been packed with paper.
True, they were smarter than most of the clan folk, but once they were segregated at the feast all three of them would look exactly what they were – ‘kilted Varlish’. All around them would be the citizens of Eldacre in their finery, spending silver money at the many stalls. Taybard had three copper daens in his pocket. Enough for a jug of ale and a piece of pie in the Varlish area.
‘Have you heard about Grymauch?’ asked fat Kammel Bard.
‘What?’ enquired Taybard.
‘He’s entered the bouts.’
Luss laughed. ‘He obviously hasn’t heard about Gorain Wollam and Chain Shada. Either one will rip his bald head from his ugly shoulders.’
‘Chain Shada is going to fight?’ asked Taybard, astonished. The man was a legend.
‘So my father says,’ Kammel replied.
‘Varlish against clansmen? Is it allowed?’
‘Maybe our boys will fight with one hand tied behind their backs,’ said Luss. ‘Make it more even.’
Taybard said nothing. Chara Ward had linked her arm with Kaelin Ring. The sun was glinting on her golden hair, and Taybard felt as if someone was slowly twisting a knife in his gut.