Over the rim of the. hill I mounted, and out into the angry red of a vanished sun. Streaks of scarlet and gold-laced clouds lay in the west and the heather moor lay about me. I stood alone upon it as if in a world newly born from the primeval darkness, or sinking again into that from which it came. And then they were coming at me. There were four of them, walking their horses toward me, led by the same big young man who had led them below. “See?” he was saying. “Did I not know where to come? Did I not tell you?”
The others divided, and slowly they surrounded me. My sword-cane was in my hand. They knew it only as a stick, so let them learn if they would. At least one of them would die before I was killed.
No use for me to run. On their fleet horses, on this almost level mountain top, I would be an easy prey. Could I kill all four?
“We have him now, and we shall have some sport of him.”
“Why not take him below?” one asked, “and let the law have him.”
“Don’t be a child!” the big one scoffed. “We will have him. The law can have what we leave of him.”
The youngest might have been no older than my fourteen years, but the others were two to four years older. At least two of them were larger than I, and at least one was stronger. All were armed with sticks, at least two had daggers, and the large one a sword. If I escaped the circle and ducked back over the edge where they were not likely to try and bring the horses, I might evade them for a time or until those came who would take me to prison. For vagabonds had no rights that anyone recognized.
To allow them to have their way and torture me was unthinkable, and during the more than two years I had been dodging, evading, and hiding from the law, my mind had grown quick with stratagems.
Their method was obvious. They would move in upon me, ringing me with their horses and themselves, and at any move I should make to escape, a horse would be put before me. I was trapped, and they knew it. Deliberately, I put my sword-cane in my belt and spread my arms as if surrendering.
The big one laughed. “See? He is a coward as well! He will not fight! Well, we will see.”
He thrust at me with his stick and I dodged. He . was too strong, much too strong. The others began to do likewise, and there was one who was astride a splendid sorrel gelding, a handsome horse, long-bodied and long-legged.
He thrust at me, almost got me, then thrust again. A stick caught my ribs and ripped my shirt, tearing a thin scratch along my ribs. I felt the sting of it, but dodged again, caught a short but ringing blow on my skull, and then the lad on the sorrel leaned far forward, thrusting at me.
It was the moment for which I had waited. Instantly, I grasped the stick and jerked … hard.
He was too far forward and off balance, and my jerk took him from the saddle. He fell, crying out, and as he hit the earth I ducked under a blow, grasped the pommel, and swung myself to the empty saddle.
Once again my horsemanship stood me in good stead, and the horse beneath me was quite the best of the lot. The big lad rode as good a horse, perhaps, but outweighed me by fifty or sixty pounds. I hit the saddle, clapped my heels to the horse’s ribs, and took the sorrel away on a dead run.
I had the start of them. Knowing what I planned to do gave me that start and my mount had three good jumps before they realized, and another before they straightened out to run. And I fled into the open land beyond, toward the still-distant sea.
They came after me. Their angry shouts rang in my ears and I heard the pound of hooves behind me, but the sorrel was a fine horse and it loved to run. A glance back showed me I now led them by at least five lengths and was gaining. They rode wildly, heedlessly, thoughtless of their mounts. I eased my speed a little for I knew not how far I must go and I chose the better ground. Hence despite easing the speed I held my lead, and darkness was close upon us. Once the dark came, I should have a chance.
Glancing back again, I saw that one of them had fallen out of the race, for what reason I knew not. Lack of will, perhaps, for it had been easily seen that he who led them drove them as well. Two only pursued me now, and one of those was falling back.
On into the gathering dark I raced, straight toward the place where the sun had set, and now only one horse was pursuing. Suddenly, I know not what devil possessed me, I slowed my pace and swung my horse around to face him. He came thundering on, realizing too late that I had stopped, and as he pulled up hastily, I slapped heels to my sorrel and charged him. My mount hit his at the shoulder as he was reining in and his horse staggered and went down.
He was quick, oh, so very quick! He leaped from the saddle as his horse fell, and sprang at me. I reined my horse away and thrust at him with the sword-cane, the blade still sheathed. It grazed the side of his head and staggered him and I pivoted the horse and came at him again. He lunged at me but I swung the horse away and drove my heel into the big lad’s shoulder.
It was a wrong move, for his hand grasped my leg and the next I knew I was sprawling on the earth and he was standing over me.
“Hah!” he said. “Now we shall see!” Having wrestled much, I did not try to escape but threw my weight against his legs. It might as well have been against the side of a barn, for he gave not an inch but stooped to grab me. Catching his sleeve, I jerked hard and he fell forward. I was the more agile and was out from under him and on my feet.
He came up swiftly but I struck him hard in the face as he rose. It slowed him not at all, yet I hit him again before he was up, then leaped for my sword-cane.
He saw me pick it up and drew his sword.
We faced each other on the moors in the half-light. Already the stars were out, yet we had been in the darkness and each could see plainly enough.
From the sheath I drew my blade. It was a small blade, as such sword-cane blades are apt to be, shorter by inches than the usual sword. He had the reach of me, anyway, by several inches.
He whipped his blade this way and that as if to show me he knew what he was about. I simply waited, trusting to my new skill to equal the reach he had. That I was good with a blade I well knew. It had been obvious that in our last few weeks I had been forcing Kory to his limit, so I stepped forward willingly enough.
High on the western moors of England, then, we fought by starlight, and within a matter of minutes I knew I had met my master.
It was not to be believed. Kory was good. All had said he was the best, and I was now as good, yet no sooner had we begun than I realized that this tall youth had skill beyond belief. Nor could I claim it was the length of his blade or his superior reach, for he was simply better.
“Hah!” he exclaimed. “So you have fenced? What are you then? Who are you?”
“It does not matter,” I said.
“No,” he agreed, “for when I have had my exercise I shall kill you. I shall spit you like a goose.”
He handled himself with consummate skill. He was casual with me, not careless, for he could see I was better than most. He handled my best with indifference, and I knew that unless I could think of some trick, some means of subtlety, I would be dead within minutes.
He was toying with me. Once he merely pricked my chest when he might have killed me with a thrust. He simply smiled tauntingly and said, “Next time!”
Back, back … I fought carefully, sweat pouring down my cheeks, a cold sweat, for death was very near. How could he be so great when I had learned so much? It was unreal. Yet even though death was near and I hated the man, I marveled at his skill. Despite his great strength he had the delicate touch of the master, and a strength in his wrist and fingers I could scarcely believe.