Medieval 02 - Forbidden

with eyes of Glendruid green.”
    The word went through the knights like a fitful breeze through the marsh.
    Glendruid .
    “He has been bewitched!” Alfred said fearfully, crossing himself.
    Amber opened her mouth to deny it, but Erik was faster.
    “Aye, like enough,” Erik said smoothly. “It would explain much. But Amber is certain that whatever spell Duncan was under in the past, he is free of compulsion now. Isn’t he, Amber?”
    “Aye,” she said quickly. “He is not the devil’s tool, or he couldn’t wear the amber talisman at all.”
    “Show them,” Erik ordered.
    Without a word, Duncan unlaced his shirt and pulled out the amber pendant.
    “There is a cross on one side in the form of a knight’s prayer to God for safekeeping,” Erik said. “Look at it, Alfred. Know that Duncan belongs to God rather than to Satan.”
    Alfred urged his horse forward until he could see the pendant dangling from Duncan’s big fist. The incised letters of the prayer clearly formed a cross with a double bar. Slowly, painfully, Alfred spelled out the first words of the prayer.
    “As you say, lord. ’Tis a common prayer.”
    “The runes on the other side are also a prayer for protection,” Amber said.
    Alfred shrugged. “The Church didn’t teach me runes, lass. But I know you. If you say there is no evil in the runes, I believe it.”
    “Exactly,” Erik said. “So greet Duncan as your equal. Don’t fear him for what he has gone through. It is his future that matters, and that future lies with me.”
    There was silence while Erik looked from knight to knight. All knights save Simon nodded, accepting Duncan as Erik already had. Simon simply shrugged as though it were no great matter to him either way.
    Amber let out a long, soundless sigh. She knew that rumors of a strange man under her care had rippled through the countryside in the past twelve days. Still, Erik had taken a great risk in springing Duncan’s lost past on his knights so baldly. They might easily have turned against Duncan and driven him out as a tool of dark sorcery.
    As though hearing Amber’s fretful thoughts, Erik winked at her, silently reminding her that he was quite skillful at predicting how men would react.
    “Let us see what we have in the way of fighting men,” Erik said. “Alfred, have you tested Simon’s skill yourself?”
    “No, lord.”
    Erik turned to Duncan. “Would you like to hold sword in hand again?”
    “Aye!”
    “Nay!” Amber said just as quickly. “You are still healing from the sickness that—”
    “Leave off,” Erik interrupted curtly. “’Tis no true battle I’m proposing, but merely an exercise.”
    “But—”
    “My knights and I must know the mettle of the men who will fight by our sides,” he said, ignoring her attempt to interrupt.
    A look at Erik’s topaz eyes told Amber that arguments would be futile. Yet she spoke again anyway.
    “Duncan has no sword.”
    With a casual grace that spoke of skill and strength combined, Erik drew his own sword and offered it to Duncan.
    “Use mine,” Erik said.
    It wasn’t a request.
    “It would be an honor,” Duncan said.
    The instant Duncan grasped the sword, a subtle change came over him. It was as though a veil had been lifted, revealing the warrior poised beneath the richly dressed exterior of the man. The weapon gleamed and sliced through the air with wicked sounds as Duncan tried the blade’s balance and reach.
    Erik watched Duncan and wanted to laugh aloud with sheer pleasure. Amber had been right. Duncan was indeed a warrior among warriors, first among equals.
    “A fine weapon,” Duncan said after a minute. “Quite the finest I’ve ever held. I shall try to do it honor.”
    “Simon?” Erik asked blandly.
    “I have my own sword, sir.”
    “Then out with it, man. ’Tis past time to hear the music of steel on steel!”
    Simon’s blade-thin smile made Amber bite her lip anxiously. While Donald and Malcolm weren’t as skilled as some of Erik’s other knights, they were courageous, strong, dogged fighters.
    And Simon had defeated both of them with ease.
    “No blood, no broken bones,” Erik said abruptly. “I simply want to see what manner of fighter you both are. Do you understand me?”
    Duncan and Simon nodded.
    “Shall we fight here?” Simon asked.
    “Down there. And afoot,” Erik added. “Duncan’s horse is no match for yours.”
    The battleground Erik had chosen was a meadow whose autumn stubble had been softened by rain.