Page 34 of The Road to Avalon
Amhar stood his ground, feet braced, the wooden sword raised in front of him. In the expectant silence, I heard his every word. “You don’t walk away from me like that,” he snarled. “I’m my father’s heir, and if I challenge you to fight, then you’re obliged to do as I say.”
Uh oh.
He sounded like the spoiled child he was. But that didn’t make this any less dangerous.
I grabbed Merlin’s arm. “Stop them, can’t you?”
Llacheu rubbed his arm, flexing the fingers, and the anger left his face. “Don’t be so silly,” he said, his voice cold and measured, but with more than a hint of an adult addressing a child. “Go back to your friends and ask one of them to fight you. I’m busy at target practice.” A murmur of agreement rose from his companions.
Not good.
I made to get up, but Merlin’s fingers closed around my wrist. “No. Leave them to it. They only have wooden swords. The worst either of them can get is a sore head. This has been coming for a while, now. Best to get it over with. Hopefully once they’ve battered one another they can go back to being their old selves.”
I let him pull me down again, my lips compressed in a thin line.
Amhar turned toward his friends, a sneer on his face, but I could see that it was to Medraut he was looking. “He’s scared to meet me face to face,” he jeered, the anger in his voice barely hidden. “I’ve challenged him, but he refuses to fight.”
One of Llacheu’s friends, maybe Seisyll, leaned in close and said something with a laugh, and Llacheu nodded.
Amhar spun around again, probably driven by what he’d see as mockery. “Fight me, you coward. Fight me for my inheritance. I know it’s what you want. If you win, it’s yours. That’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?” The words shot out of him in bullets of venom.
Llacheu set his hands on his hips. “I don’t want your inheritance, Little Brother. I never have. And I don’t want to fight you.” His gaze settled on Medraut, standing at the center of Amhar’s so-called friends. “Nor any of you.”
Perhaps he wasn’t including Medraut in that, though.
Medraut, keeping his gaze fixed on Llacheu, leaned in to Amhar and said something into his ear, and Amhar gave the smallest of nods. Then, his face bright red, Amhar pointed his wooden weapon at his brother’s chest. “You’re no man,” he spat. “If Ariana were mine, she’d have a child at her breast by now. She keeps losing them because ofyou. Maybe she’d rather have another man. Maybe I’ll offer hermyservices.”
Medraut’s eyes flashed with unmistakable malice, swiftly veiled.
Oh no.
Llacheu’s calm face dissolved in fury. Seisyll made a grab for his arm, but Llacheu shook him off. “I’ll show you who’s a man, you little shit,” he growled. “Give me a sword.” He held out his hand as though expecting one to magically appear. It almost did. Someone thrust a wooden weapon into his grip. A good thing that was all they’d been practicing with.
“Fight. Fight. Fight,” chanted Medraut’s cronies, spreading out to form a circle, eyes alight with bloodlust. The other warriors, who’d been standing listening to the exchange, hurried forward to get a better view. For an instant, I had a good view of Medraut’s face, flushed with triumph, as though this was exactly what he’d wanted. As though, perish the thought, he’d engineered this showdown between the brothers– by feeding the flame of Amhar’s jealousy and telling him Llacheu wanted his place as heir.
Ignoring their audience, Llacheu and Amhar circled one another, their feet shuffling in the dirt. Only Amhar had a shield, and from the look on Llacheu’s face, he was going to need it.
“Amhar’s got no chance,” I said to Merlin, who still had my wrist tightly in his grasp. “Llacheu will best him in no time.” I’d never been the sort of mother to think my children perfect, and besides which, it felt liketwoof my children were in opposition here.
Height-wise, they were well matched, with Llacheu the heavier by a little thanks to the muscular development of increased maturity. But how alike were their manes of dark hair, their dark eyes and their loose-limbed bodies that made their wary shuffle almost a dance.
However, Llacheu possessed something Amhar didn’t– patience. His face redder than ever, Amhar charged in with a flurry of blows that his brother parried with ease, the wooden blades thudding together again and again, every time Amhar doing all the work with the heavy weapon. Llacheu didn’t bother to attack, but waited, playing the game of defense, letting Amhar tire, and tire he did.
The fight didn’t last long. As soon as Llacheu saw Amhar’s sword arm begin to flag, he switched to the attack, and in a moment had knocked the sword from his brother’s hands with a blow that must have stung. It flew across the dusty grass and landed by Medraut’s feet. He glanced down at it then across at Amhar, the faintest hint of a triumphant smile on his lips. Had hewantedAmhar to lose? In front of everyone?
“Told you they’d be fine,” Merlin said, sounding satisfied, as Amhar shook his right hand as though it hurt.
Llacheu turned away from his brother and took a step toward his watching friends.
The expression of humiliated fury on Amhar’s face warned me of what was coming next even before it happened. My hand shot to my mouth to stifle a cry as Amhar launched himself at his brother’s retreating back.
“You bastard,” he shouted, as the two of them crashed to the ground. The watching crowd closed in, shutting off our view and drowning out the grunts of their scuffle with shouts of encouragement coming from both sides. Young men always like a fist fight.
Wrenching my hand free from Merlin’s grip, I slid down the grassy rampart onto the training ground and ran toward the crowd. I had to shove my way between the press of hot bodies of the excited, cheering warriors. “Let me through,” I shouted, pulling at them. “Let me through.”
As they realized who was hammering on their backs, they parted before me, and within a minute, I was at the front of the crowd. My boys were rolling in the dirt, locked together and trying to hit one another but not really getting any decent blows in as they were so close. To be honest, it was more of a playground tussle than anything else.
Merlin appeared beside me, an unholy glint in his eyes as though he might be enjoying this spectacle. He was a man, after all. “Stop them,” I shouted above the encouraging cheers of the crowd.
