Michael Spradlin - Orphan of Destiny

Robard and Maryam both looked crestfallen. I mouthed the word Angel, and Robard shrugged. He didn’t know what had happened to her. Why had she not warned them of Sir Hugh’s approach?

The mounted knights sat six to a side beside the prisoners. Some of them carried lances, and most held swords across the pommel of their saddles. They blockaded the path leading from the high ridge down to the river. There was no escape for me. This was the end.

And in truth, I was ready for it. Sir Thomas could ask no more of me. He had given me an order and I had followed it as best I could. I would not let Sir Hugh kill my friends. Not for anything. But I also would not give up without a fight.

“Where is it, boy?” Sir Hugh asked.

“Where is what?” I replied.

Sir Hugh drew his sword with blinding speed and held it out so it sat poised, just inches from Maryam’s neck.

“Who dies first?” He smirked. God himself could not imagine how sick I was of his face. How I wished to crush it beneath my boot.

“Don’t tell him, Tristan,” Maryam said. “You can’t let this swine-” Her words were cut off by Sir Hugh deftly slashing at her with his blade. A small cut opened on her neck. Maryam did not flinch, but Robard went mad. He shouted and tried to dismount his horse, and the knight next to him clubbed him hard across the face. Robard rocked back, nearly tumbling from the saddle, but remained upright, stunned but still cursing.

“Leave them alone, you miserable wretch,” I said. I dropped Charlemagne’s reins and grasped the strap of the satchel in my right hand. If ever I needed the power of the Grail, it was now. But there was no hum, no vibration or song that I had come to recognize in times of danger. Somewhere along the way I must have sinned, and God had deserted me.

Slowly and with great deliberation, I dismounted. Sir Hugh sat still on his horse, watching me intently, but with a small measure of confusion in his eyes.

“All right, Sir Hugh,” I said as I removed Sir Thomas’ battle sword from its familiar place across my back and tossed it aside. Never tearing my eyes from him, I drew my own sword. “Let’s end this.” I took my stance and waited.

Sir Hugh’s eyes grew wide first in fascination, then amusement.

“Tristan, no!” Maryam shouted as Sir Hugh leapt from his horse.

The knights moved from their straight line facing me to form a crude circle around us, with two of them remaining beside Robard and Maryam. I never took my eyes off Sir Hugh, ignoring the wind and snow beating at my face. My hand gripped the hilt so tightly that I thought it would burst. Rage boiled in my stomach as I stared at Sir Hugh like a hawk might study a field mouse. Be ready, I told myself.

“This must be my lucky day,” Sir Hugh taunted me. “I get to kill you, and your friends, and take the Grail.” He tried to draw me in with feints and thrusts, but I was patient. I would not let him goad me into attacking him with blind rage.

“Tell me, squire,” he said. “How does it feel to come all this way, to get so close only to fail? I find it quite humorous. Sir Thomas should have been more careful picking his squires.”

“Are you hoping to talk me to death?” I asked. “Or are you going to fight?”

Sir Hugh’s face turned crimson and he attacked with fury. He swung his sword in a vicious downward arc. His blade crashed into mine and sparks flew into the winter air as our blades locked together momentarily. The force of his blow nearly drove me to my knees, but I managed to push back and gain space between us.

Bad enough I was dueling a superior swordsman, but as the snow gathered at our feet, the ground was becoming wet and slippery. Sir Hugh lunged with the point of his sword coming straight at my chest. I pushed it to the side and dodged away.

“You can’t win, squire,” he sneered at me, plunging forward again. I blocked, but he was too strong, and his blade grazed my sword arm where it met the shoulder. I felt nothing for a brief second, and then pain raged through me. He laughed as blood darkened my tunic. Some inner will prevented me from showing my anguish. He would get no satisfaction from me.

We traded blows and I swung savagely. I knew I should remain calm, but I was finding it more difficult to contain my rage. My swings rained down on Sir Hugh, but he easily parried every one.

Already my breath was coming in ragged gasps. We circled each other. Sir Hugh darted at me again and I danced out of the way, spinning around and slashing him across the arm of his empty hand.

He jumped back, looking down at the wound in shock.

“Apparently we both bleed, Sir Hugh,” I said.

He came at me in a flurry of blows. All I could do was hold on to my sword with both hands, keeping it in front of me, trying to sweep his blade away. He cut me deeply on the left forearm, and I cried out this time. Then another slash nearly took me in the chest, but I jumped back just enough, and instead his sword sliced neatly through the strap on the satchel and it fell to the ground.

I struggled to get clear of it, afraid of stumbling. My arms were suddenly weak, and it was difficult to lift my sword. Maryam and Robard were yelling instructions to me, but I could not focus on what they were saying.

Sir Hugh stood perhaps six paces away from me, the satchel on the ground between us. He circled to my left and I countered, moving to his right. Despite the cold, I was sweating. I felt weak. He came at me again, and I was so exhausted that I could not lift my sword in time and he opened a vicious slash on my chest. He laughed, and then his foot kicked out at me, landing in my stomach, and I flew backward to the ground. I was down and barely able to struggle to my knees. Sweat poured into my eyes, and the whipping wind and snow made it difficult to see.

Sir Hugh appeared in front of me out of the snow with his sword raised over his head. I don’t know where I found the strength, but as he whipped it downward, I lifted my sword over my head with both hands. His blade was blocked, but with a sickening crack my sword broke in two. I swung at him with the broken blade as I tried to stand, but Sir Hugh stepped well back out of reach.

Then as the wind blew fiercely across the hilltop, I spied Sir Thomas’ sword on the ground a few feet away, nearly covered in snow. I dropped forward to my hands and knees and crawled toward it.

“Look at you! Crawling along the ground like an animal, knowing I have bested you. Though I’ll give you some small measure of credit, squire,” he said. “You’re not quite the worthless, puny weakling you once were. In a few more years you may have become almost a worthy adversary. And what makes this so enjoyable for me, besides the fact that you are about to die, is how I managed to destroy everything in your life. You’ve been to St. Alban’s, no doubt. You know I had it burned to the ground. Since I couldn’t give a whit about Eleanor or her desires anymore, I’m just going to kill you. It doesn’t even matter who you really are.”

“Less talk, more fighting,” I said wearily as I scrambled along the ground. But then I decided that if I could get him talking, he might grow careless. He did love to brag, and I needed only a few more feet to reach the sword.

“How did you know to come here?” I asked.

“Ha! You worthless fool! How did I find you in France? I have spies everywhere, especially within the Order. I hear and know everything! Sir Thomas thought he could keep the Grail from me. He was more stupid than you. He never knew I was three steps ahead of him the entire time. It was no trouble at all to find the place he’d ordered you to go. You evaded me in Dover, but I knew you’d come here eventually. I only needed to wait.”