David Gemmell – Rigante 3 – Ravenheart

Call glanced around for sign of Chara. She was nowhere in sight. He looked back towards the great house, and saw her at an upper window. Call felt his stomach tighten. A few days ago he was a revered – aye, and feared – chieftain, with a doting son and a loving daughter. Now his son faced death, his daughter had told him she hated him, and the boy from the south was on the verge of damaging fatally the Rigante reputation.

A cry of pain sounded, jerking Call from his thoughts. Bael had taken a stab wound to the left shoulder, and had leapt back. Then he counter-attacked. Kaelin Ring stumbled, blocked a slashing blow and sent a riposte that Bael barely avoided.

Tiring now the two fighters circled, looking for an opening.

Call would have given ten years of his life to be able to turn back time, to accept the apology offered to him the night before, during the feast; to have embraced the young Rigante and made him a part of his clan. The apology had been gracefully offered, and Call had noted the approval on the faces of the men who heard it. What he had not noticed was the light of love in his daughter’s eyes as she gazed on the black-haired youth. When Kaelin had concluded he turned to Bael. ‘My apologies also to you,’ he said. ‘I am relieved that you have suffered no lasting hurt, and it is my hope that, as brothers of the Rigante, we can become friends. For it is the Varlish who should be our enemies, and it shames me that my recklessness endangered you.’

Bael had stood, and bowed to Kaelin Ring. ‘As you say, we are both Rigante. The matter between us must be settled in the Rigante manner. I see you have no sword. Tomorrow I will see that several are presented to you. You may then choose a weapon that suits you and we will meet in the warrior’s circle.’

Kaelin had stood silently for a moment. Call saw him glance at Chara. Then he returned his attention to Bael. ‘I do not wish to fight you,’ he said.

‘You have no choice,’ Bael told him.

‘Then so be it,’ responded the southerner. He swung to face Call Jace. ‘I had hoped to ask for your daughter’s hand this night. I fear it is now inappropriate. I doubt she will want to wed the man who kills her brother.’

With that he had left the table and walked from the long room. The silence that followed was intense. Bael looked shocked and was staring at his father. Call turned to Chara. ‘What in the seven hells was he talking about?’ he demanded.

‘I will hate you for ever for this day,’ she said. Then she too ran from the room.

The fight was entering its last stages now. One mistake would see a man fatally wounded or killed outright. Call could hardly bear to watch.

At nineteen, Bael had been a fighting man of the Rigante for four years. In that time he had led one of his father’s outlaw bands, and taken part in seven skirmishes with beetlebacks. He had fought sword to sword eleven times, and knew that he was as skilful as any man with the blade. But this southerner was like no-one else he had ever faced. His speed and aggression were inhuman. Only lack of experience had so far prevented him from finishing the fight. Bael parried and side-stepped, saw his counter-attacks brushed aside. Twice Bael had come close, once cutting the youngster’s left arm. A lightning thrust, partly parried, had also opened a long cut on the boy’s cheek. Bael himself was bleeding from several cuts and gashes to both arms, and a fierce blow had split his tunic shirt, slashing the skin of his shoulder.

Bael’s sword arm was tiring now, as indeed was that of his opponent. They circled warily. Bael leapt forward. Their swords sang together, the sound of clashing blades ringing out. Bael hacked and thrust. Kaelin parried and countered. Then Kaelin launched an attack. Bael blocked, spun on his heel and hit Kaelin in the face with the back of his left fist. The youngster stumbled, righted himself, and swiftly brought up his sword to parry what would have been a death thrust to the neck. His own riposte was sudden. Bael threw himself to his right. Kaelin’s sword sliced the skin above his left hip, bouncing off the bone. They circled again.