Creusus's Arc

Chapter 7 of 21

The knight lifted the sword again and cut. Creusus rolled out and came up on the balls of his feet. He no longer watched the blade. He watched the shoulders. The knight moved the same as the last pass, and the one before, and Creusus began to think the older face had not brought older habits with it. Then the sword came faster. The next cut arrived before Creusus had set his weight, and he barely turned his hip in time to let it pass. The one after that whistled where his ear had been. Whatever the boy had lost in years, the man had gained in speed. High above the sand, in the shaded box that overlooked the field, the marshals leaned together. Sir Syble stood at the rail with his cape gathered in one fist. He had watched the helm come off. He had seen the face inside. He knew the boy who wore that face three bouts ago, and he knew a boy did not age six years between horns. He spoke low to the men beside him. One shook his head. Another pointed at the sealed paper on the table. Sir Syble looked down at the stone tiers, at the banners hung along the rail, at the two figures in the sand, and gave the sign to blow the horn. The bout would end now. Nothing here was clean. The horn blew. The sound rolled across the arena and hung there. Creusus dropped his fists and stepped back, breath sawing. The knight did not step back. The knight raised the sword, turned the point down, and drove it into the sand at his own feet. Then his gauntlets went to the belt and unbuckled the scabbard and let it fall. He came at Creusus with bare fists inside black steel. Creusus laughed. One short bark. He had asked the tournament for this and the tournament had given it. He set his stance and threw the first punch he trusted, straight from the hip, into the side of the knight's jaw. The head barely moved. The knight hit him back in the ribs and the ringing came up through his body like a struck bell. Creusus staggered. The ring was not in the sword now. It was in the man. Every knuckle that touched the black plate poured the same drain into him that the blade had, and the plate was everywhere. He swung again and took another to the ribs and felt his legs go warm and loose beneath him. Above the rail Sir Syble was shouting at the marshals and no one was moving to the sand. The horn had blown and the fight had not ended. Creusus lifted his fists and stepped in anyway, because the bout was his to finish, and the burning under his skin climbed toward his heart.