Catherine Fisher - Corbenic

“Stop it,” he muttered, and banged the button again, then went and tugged the plug out, smacking it against the wall. But the music went on, it couldn’t stop, it would never stop till it reached the thundering crescendo of its chorus, and he didn’t know anymore if it was real or if it was in him.

He turned and stumbled outside, slamming the door. The night was frosty. Without a coat, shivering, he ran. Out of Otter’s Brook, down the dark, lamplit streets, fast, his footsteps ringing under the town arch, past the drunks on the post office steps, under the glitzy gold and red of the Christmas Santas and reindeer.

By the church he was breathless, and held on for a second to the railings. The dark bulk of the tower blotted the stars above him; gargoyles with grotesque outlines peered down. Above them a shadow flapped. Bats? The osprey?

But the music was gone. He had outrun it. Here he heard only his heart, thudding as if it would burst, and his footsteps, and as he swung into the castle car park and around the Dell he was praying, praying they’d be back, that someone would be there.

He slid and scrabbled down the mud bank.

The castle was black. But parked in front of it, with smoke coming from the jaunty tin chimney, and the sunflowers looking wan and ghostly in the starlight, was Hawk’s van.

He caught his breath.

He waited a long time, getting calm, getting clean, rubbing mud from his hands, letting the sweat that soaked his back turn icy, before he walked up to the door and knocked. He was shivering, but that was the cold.

When Hawk answered he stared. “Cal. Haven’t seen you for a few days.”

“Been busy.” He shouldered his way into the wonderfully warm interior, saw the cat on Shadow’s lap, the pieces on the chessboard, the dirty dishes in the sink, the extravaganza of fabrics. The mess that he had left at home hurt his memory.

“Hi,” Shadow said, surprised.

Cal turned to Hawk, urgent. “I need to train every night. I want to fight in the Christmas display. I need to, Hawk!”

Hawk folded his arms across his dirty vest. “All right. Calm down. What brought this on?”

Cal sank onto a chair and wiped the soaked hair from his forehead. “I need to be here over Christmas,” he whispered.

Shadow leaned over and moved the white knight. “What he’s not telling you,” she said, “is that it’s not that easy. You have to challenge someone first.” She looked up at him then, serious behind the web of lines. “A real contest.”

He shrugged, careless.

Until Hawk said, “With real weapons.”

Chapter Fourteen

There was not a more handsome knight in all the world.

Conte du Graal

“Are you sure?” Arthur said quietly.

Cal looked down at the cracked slabs of the farmhouse floor. The kettle was boiling; Arthur waited till it switched itself off, then leaned over and poured the steamy water into all the mugs. Odd herby smells mingled.

“I’m sure,” Cal said firmly.

“Is he ready?” The Company’s leader looked across to Hawk, who gave a short sigh.

“Probably.”

Arthur stirred his tea. “Yes or no, nephew mine.”

“Yes, then. He’s fast and has good control. Thinks on his feet. Parries well. Ought to build himself up more, though.”

A few men laughed. Through the open window the eternal thwock of arrows thudded into straw targets. One of the Sons of Caw drank noisily and muttered, “He could fight one of us. We wouldn’t hurt him too much.”

Cal frowned. He swallowed a burning mouthful of tea. Then he said, “I want to fight Kai.”

No one spoke. They were all staring at him. He had a sudden frisson of terror. Then Hawk said, “No way,” and Arthur, at the same time, “That won’t be necessary.”

“And why not?” It was Kai’s voice. Even before he turned Cal knew that the fight would happen now, that he had made the challenge in front of them all and Kai could not turn it down.

The tall man had come in through the door with Shadow and Teleri and Bedwyr.

Arthur said, almost sharply, “No. He’s young and foolish.”

Kai laughed, a dry chuckle. “All the more reason to teach him a lesson. You heard the challenge, brother.” He turned. “All of you heard it.” Then he looked at Cal, came up to him, close. “Why me?” he said quietly.

Cal shrugged. He wanted to say it was because they said Kai was the best, but that wasn’t the answer. And it wasn’t even because he was handsome, and arrogant, or because of the Armani coat or the spoiled T-shirt. It was for a reason Cal didn’t want to find. Instead he said, “Worried?” It was a mistake.

Hawk closed his eyes.

Kai’s smile did not change or flicker, but for an instant there was a look to him that came and went like a cold flame. And Arthur put the untasted tea down on the draining board and said hastily, “The challenge is given, and accepted. So be it. When do you want to begin?”

Kai turned and looked at him. “Now, brother,” he said mildly.

“I didn’t realize it would be today!” Cal let Hawk take his coat off him, blankly.

The big man looked grim. “God knows, Cal, what you think you’re doing.”

“I mean, I thought . . . a few days. A bit more practice . . .”

“Get that sweater off.” Hawk turned to Shadow who came running up with the sword, hastily unzipping its case. “Gloves.”

She pushed them into his hands and he shoved them onto Cal’s cold fingers; long, heavy gauntlets, tied tight. “Keep your guard up,” he said hurriedly. “Don’t relax. He’ll attack when you do. Keep a good distance; he’s tall. He’s fast too, so if you parry the thrust there’ll be another behind it, and from an angle you won’t expect. He’s heavier than you, so try and use his own impetus against him. Remember . . .”

“I can’t remember. Not all of it.”

Shadow put the sword in his hands and stood back. Cal glanced, wide-eyed, at Hawk. “Where’s all the protective stuff?”

Hawk shook his head, the bristle of red hair catching the low sun.

It took a second to sink in. Then Cal was appalled. “What! Nothing? That’s crazy . . .” He looked down in disbelief at his neatly pressed jeans and white T-shirt. He’d be cut to pieces!

Shadow said, “You’re the crazy one. Why did you have to pick Kai?”

“Because he’s so bloody full of himself.”

“He has every reason to be.” Hawk turned him around quickly. On the far side of the muddy field Arthur’s men used for jousting, an arena had been hastily cordoned off with tape. Around it the Company were gathering, running from the outbuildings.

In the middle of the space, Kai was already waiting, leaning on his sword, talking to Arthur.

Cal stumbled forward. Then he stopped dead. “What do I do? I mean, how do I win?” For a second a thought of pure terror swept over him like sweat. “Do I have to kill him?”

“You really are a fool.” Hawk was stalking grimly forward. “If you stay on your feet for five minutes I’ll be amazed. Get him down or disarm him. Shed blood if you must.” He turned then quickly and Cal’s heart sank like a stone as he caught his arm. “But listen. If it . . . if he gets ferocious, really dangerous, then throw your sword down and spread your hands wide. Back right off. Yell to Arthur that you want out.”

“You mean surrender.”

“That’s exactly what I mean. Believe me, you’ll want to.”

“I can’t do that . . .”

Hawk looked at him hard. Then he turned and walked on.

Cal whirled on Shadow. “I can’t! I won’t.”

She was uneasy, fingering the blue lines of the cobweb. Finally she said quietly, “Hawk knows them better than I do. Just . . . be careful. Don’t get hurt.”