Both carried their shields on their left arms. Horace's was circular, made of steel fastened over toughened wood, painted white with the emblem of the sunrise depicted on it. Killeen's was kite shaped, with a rounded top. It bore the double circle emblem of Alseiass. Beside each strode anattendant. A white-robed acolyte flanked Killeen, and Will strode beside Horace, desperately trying to keep up. Compared to Horace and the huge figure of Killeen, he looked almost child-like.
The drumbeat came to a stop with one final ruffle as Killeen and Horace, flanked by their attendants, stopped in front of the royal enclosure, where Sean stood waiting for them. Below him, at ground level, a simple table held their chosen weapons. Horace's long-bladed, unadorned cavalry sword. Brass hilted and with a matching crosspiece, it was an unremarkable weapon. But it was perfectly balanced and razor sharp.
Beside it, massive and ugly, was Killeen's mace and chain. A thick oak handle some half a metre long, bound every ten centimetres with iron strips to reinforce it. Then the long iron chain, heavy and thick, attached to the fearsome spiked ball at its end.
It was a brutal weapon, lacking in all grace and finesse. But deadly. Horace pursed his lips thoughtfully as he studied it.
Halt's right. I'll need to stay away from that, he thought.
`Take your weapons,' Sean told them.
Horace took hold of his sword, spun it experimentally to make sure there had been no tampering with it. But its balance and weight were true. Killeen sneered at the graceful blade and took his own weapon, the chain clanking on the table as he picked it up. He hefted it, setting the cruel spiked ball swinging back and forth.
`Attendants, leave the arena,' Sean said quietly. Will ducked under the railing that marked the fighting area and joined Halt on the first row of benches. The two exchanged nervous looks. Killeen's attendant hurried across the field and took his place among Tennyson's group.
`Take your positions. Combat will begin upon the signal trumpet,' Sean told them. He glanced sideways at the trumpeter below him, making sure the man was ready. The trumpeter nodded, moistening his lips nervously. It was difficult not to get caught up in the drama of the moment.
Horace and Killeen marched to the centre of the field, where a lime-washed circle marked out their starting point. Instantly, Killeen tried to sidle to the western edge of the circle, so that the early afternoon sun would be in Horace's eyes. Sean, however, was awake to that trick. The combat would start with no advantage to either.
`Killeen!' his voice rang out. 'Move to the south side! Now!'
The massive helmet swung towards him and he imagined he could see the eyes through that slit, glaring maliciously at him. But the giant obeyed. Horace took up a position facing him.
Seeing the islander's ploy, Halt had come to his feet, his hand reaching to the quiver at his back. But as Killeen complied with Sean's command, he sat, a little reluctantly.
`Just let him breach the rules once,' he muttered to Will. `Let him look like breaching them, and I'll put an arrow in him.'
`That'll make two of us,' Will replied. He was half hoping that the islander would try some underhand trick. That would give him and Halt clearance to shoot him down.
Anyone who broke the rules of trial by combat automatically forfeited the bout and his right to life.
Horace and Killeen faced each other now. Killeen crouched, knees bent. Horace stood upright, balanced lightly on the balls of his feet. The mace and chain swung heavily and ponderously between them. Horace's sword moved as well, the point describing small circles in the air.
Suddenly, shatteringly in the stillness, the signal trumpet brayed its single note.
Killeen was big and clumsy. But he was fast, faster than Horace had anticipated. And his thick wrist had the huge strength necessary to flick the mace and chain up and over, so the spiked ball came arcing down in an overhead blow. As he did so, he stepped into Horace, forcing the young warrior to spring backwards, as he brought his shield up to ward off the blow.
Halt had suggested that the mace and chain would hit like a battering ram. To Horace, it felt as if a house had fallen on his shield. Never before had he felt such massive, crushing force behind a blow. Not even when he had faced Morgarath's huge broadsword, many years ago.
He grunted in surprise and was nearly caught by Killeen's follow-up, a flailing sideways attack that slammed into his shield again, as he managed to lower it just in time. Again, Horace backed away. Only his speed had saved him from those first two strokes and as he sought the eyes behind the vision slit in the helmet, he sensed that Killeen had hoped that his unexpected lightning attack would finish matters before they really got started. Killeen shuffled after him, wary himself now that he had seen the speed of his opponent's reactions. He swung again, this time another overhead blow. But now Horace was ready and he stepped lightly to the side so that the iron ball slammed into the turf.
He cut quickly at Killeen's forearm. The mace and chain had one disadvantage. Unlike a sword, there was no crosspiece to catch blows aimed at the hand and lower arm. But Killeen wore heavy brass-plated gauntlets and solid brass cuffs. The sword cut bruised him and made him jerk back hurriedly. But his armour held and it was far from a telling blow.
Horace began circling now, moving to Killeen's right to cut off the arc of the mace and chain. He frowned to himself. He could avoid Killeen's blows, or block them with his shield. But he could see no way at the moment that he could strike back. He had to keep away from the giant, to avoid having the chain hit the rim of his shield and whip over. Had he been facing a swordsman or an axeman, he could have moved in, crowding him and cramping his weapon. But the mace and chain was a different prospect and he had to avoid that whiplash effect at all costs.
Killeen stepped in with another overhead blow. Horace took it on the shield again, feeling the shock of the blow up to his shoulder. Before he could retaliate, Killeen whipped the heavy weapon back and in again, slamming into the shield a second time.
Horace heard something crack in his shield. He danced back to give himself room and looked down at the shield. It was rapidly becoming bent out of recognisable shape. The edges were crumpled and ragged and in the centre there was a crack where the steel had fractured, exposing the wood lining underneath. Much more of this and the shield would be destroyed, he realised. His mouth wentdry at the thought of facing that horrific mace with only his sword. For the first time, he considered the possibility of defeat.
Then Killeen was attacking again and Horace had no choice but to block with his shield. This time, the rent in the steel split further under the assault and the spiked ball bit deeply into the wood. For several seconds, it stuck there and there was a desperate tug of war between the two warriors. Then Killeen jerked it free and swung again.
This time, Horace ducked low and the iron ball whistled close over his head. But an idea was forming in his mind now. It was a last-ditch, desperate idea but it was the only one he could come up with. He laughed grimly to himself as he realised it was similar to the moment when he had faced Morgarath and hurled himself under the hooves of the warlord's charging horse.
Why do I always come up with low percentage ideas? he asked himself.