where to find him!”
Kendrick listened and found himself a prisoner to the one shred of hope given him by the wild-eyed cooper of Bel Lione. By midday, Kendrick had set his course for the Northern Mountains.
LOYALTY’S COURAGE
The Northern Mountains lay a two days’ ride to the northwest—a far more rugged range than the gentler peaks surrounding Bel Lione. Morley the cooper had insisted that Kendrick make his search on foot, so he found a small farm at the base of the range to quarter Pilgrim. Then he began the arduous climb, following the directions the wild-eyed Mr. Morley had given him.
By the day’s end, Kendrick was partway up one of the peaks, high enough to feel the bite of snow on his feet. His breath swirled up as white vapor in the evening mountain air as he stopped to look around him. He was sure that he was at the place Morley had told him of, for the landmarks matched the description perfectly, but there was no evidence of the dwelling Morley had described.
He traversed an area of snow-covered rocks and then passed through a stand of pine trees that released their burden of snow when he jostled the branches. When the pines thinned, he spotted a high ledge and decided to climb toward it to gain a better vantage point. As he stood there plotting his course, he heard a familiar sound, the creak of leather binding upon itself.
Someone close behind was recoiling for a strike with a weapon.
The next instant, Kendrick heard the tightened leather clothing of his attacker release and realized he could not escape the blade. Assuming his attacker was right-handed, Kendrick quickly withdrew his sword from his scabbard and inverted it, holding it vertically along his right shoulder with the hilt raised slightly above his head. He braced his shoulder against the flat of his own blade just as the sword of his unseen foe slammed against it.
Angry with himself for being taken by surprise, Kendrick whirled to face his opponent. But before he could fully position himself, he had to thwart another slice and then a thrust. Kendrick countered the blows and then attacked, hoping to bring a pause to the brief but intense fight and get a better look at his unknown enemy.
The man before him was at least twenty years his senior. His closely trimmed beard was white, his flowing hair nearly so, but his body was well muscled, and he possessed the fierce demeanor of an experienced fighter. His purpose seemed singular—to kill Kendrick quickly.
“I come in peace!” Kendrick exclaimed as the blades flew.
The man didn’t seem to listen. He just used the pause to recover and then launch another furious volley of cuts and slices. Kendrick matched his opponent’s attack, realizing the engagement might well end with someone’s blood staining the white snow beneath their feet. He settled into the fight and searched for the rhythm of this man’s battle.
It was a masterful duel. Soon both men were breathing hard, and the thick white vapor of their breath testified to their exertion. After a lengthy time of fighting, Kendrick was able to take advantage of a split-second break in the man’s defense. He thrust through the opening but pulled up short before his sword could pierce the man’s side. Then he retreated and paused once again.
The man hesitated, for it was obvious to a swordsman of such expertise that Kendrick had purposely held back from drawing blood.
“I do not come to harm you,” Kendrick said, “but to ask for your help.”
This time the man replied not with his sword, but with a skeptical look. “Vincero Knights do not ask for help. They come only to kill.” Without warning, he launched another attack.
Kendrick defended and countered. “I am not a Vincero Knight,” he shouted above the clash of swords. “I am a Knight of the Prince.”
The fight paused again. “I know of no such order,” the man said.
Kendrick thought of Duncan and felt the urgency of his mission again. He looked the man in the eye.
Kendrick listened and found himself a prisoner to the one shred of hope given him by the wild-eyed cooper of Bel Lione. By midday, Kendrick had set his course for the Northern Mountains.
LOYALTY’S COURAGE
The Northern Mountains lay a two days’ ride to the northwest—a far more rugged range than the gentler peaks surrounding Bel Lione. Morley the cooper had insisted that Kendrick make his search on foot, so he found a small farm at the base of the range to quarter Pilgrim. Then he began the arduous climb, following the directions the wild-eyed Mr. Morley had given him.
By the day’s end, Kendrick was partway up one of the peaks, high enough to feel the bite of snow on his feet. His breath swirled up as white vapor in the evening mountain air as he stopped to look around him. He was sure that he was at the place Morley had told him of, for the landmarks matched the description perfectly, but there was no evidence of the dwelling Morley had described.
He traversed an area of snow-covered rocks and then passed through a stand of pine trees that released their burden of snow when he jostled the branches. When the pines thinned, he spotted a high ledge and decided to climb toward it to gain a better vantage point. As he stood there plotting his course, he heard a familiar sound, the creak of leather binding upon itself.
Someone close behind was recoiling for a strike with a weapon.
The next instant, Kendrick heard the tightened leather clothing of his attacker release and realized he could not escape the blade. Assuming his attacker was right-handed, Kendrick quickly withdrew his sword from his scabbard and inverted it, holding it vertically along his right shoulder with the hilt raised slightly above his head. He braced his shoulder against the flat of his own blade just as the sword of his unseen foe slammed against it.
Angry with himself for being taken by surprise, Kendrick whirled to face his opponent. But before he could fully position himself, he had to thwart another slice and then a thrust. Kendrick countered the blows and then attacked, hoping to bring a pause to the brief but intense fight and get a better look at his unknown enemy.
The man before him was at least twenty years his senior. His closely trimmed beard was white, his flowing hair nearly so, but his body was well muscled, and he possessed the fierce demeanor of an experienced fighter. His purpose seemed singular—to kill Kendrick quickly.
“I come in peace!” Kendrick exclaimed as the blades flew.
The man didn’t seem to listen. He just used the pause to recover and then launch another furious volley of cuts and slices. Kendrick matched his opponent’s attack, realizing the engagement might well end with someone’s blood staining the white snow beneath their feet. He settled into the fight and searched for the rhythm of this man’s battle.
It was a masterful duel. Soon both men were breathing hard, and the thick white vapor of their breath testified to their exertion. After a lengthy time of fighting, Kendrick was able to take advantage of a split-second break in the man’s defense. He thrust through the opening but pulled up short before his sword could pierce the man’s side. Then he retreated and paused once again.
The man hesitated, for it was obvious to a swordsman of such expertise that Kendrick had purposely held back from drawing blood.
“I do not come to harm you,” Kendrick said, “but to ask for your help.”
This time the man replied not with his sword, but with a skeptical look. “Vincero Knights do not ask for help. They come only to kill.” Without warning, he launched another attack.
Kendrick defended and countered. “I am not a Vincero Knight,” he shouted above the clash of swords. “I am a Knight of the Prince.”
The fight paused again. “I know of no such order,” the man said.
Kendrick thought of Duncan and felt the urgency of his mission again. He looked the man in the eye.
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