Hugh clutched his sword’s hilt in both hands and dipped the tip into the hard earth, so he could lean on it. Stupid, when he knew how to treat his weapons—knew he’d have to clean and sharpen it again. But if he didn’t his buckling legs would give away how close Eldric had come to defeating him.
He’d won, but didn’t feel like a victor. Hugh’s body quaked, and he could barely breathe, but that restlessness underneath it all was barely quenched.
‘Let’s swim,’ he declared.
‘Are you joking? It’s mostly frozen.’ Eldric pointed to the small lake.
‘And I’m mostly mud, thanks to you who led us to this delightful patch of ground.’
‘I did, didn’t I?’ Eldric smiled as he wiped the hair off his face. ‘Since it was you who suggested such a folly, I thought to give myself as much advantage as possible.’
It had worked, but not enough. Hugh pulled off his tunic, his arm shuddering at the full stretch.
‘Good God, you’re serious. I can barely stand up, and I know you are no better.’
‘The cool water will wake us up.’
Eldric yanked off his boots. ‘Cool?There is ice floating along the edges!’
‘We’ll be quick.’
‘I’m not competing in this, too,’ Eldric said, but he was quicker to the water, his large frame diving under before rising to the surface.
Hugh shouted when the water hit him, but he welcomed the numbing flow against his skin as he swum out to Eldric’s depth.
Despite the cold, both men trod water, letting the mud and the blood swirl away.
‘Don’t care if I win or lose this round—I’m heading back before my ballocks is smaller than berries,’ Eldric said.
Hugh followed, noticing for the first time the markings on Eldric’s right arm.
‘I didn’t take you for the decorating sort,’ Hugh gasped through the water.
Eldric’s stopped mid-stroke, surprise lighting the determined look on his face. ‘Decorating?’
‘On your arm.’
Eldric lunged abruptly ahead again. When he suddenly stood, Hugh, breathing hard, pulled up next to him. Still in the water, still surrounded by ice, he was ready to return to the shore. His friend looked ready to swim to France.
Despite Eldric’s countenance being suddenly blacker than the water they swam in, Hugh prodded. ‘There are three stripes evenly spaced on your left arm. What’s the anger about? Are you embarrassed? You wouldn’t be the first to hold still while someone sliced your arm. If you wanted to look fierce, you should have practised your sword skills.’
‘Do theylooklike clean knife-cuts?’ Eldric bit out.
They didn’t. But then he didn’t expect Eldric had got purposely tribal cut. ‘So you got drunk, and the man who did it had a few more cups than you.’
‘They’re slices fromarrows. I got them in battle. Two battles.’
Hugh sluiced the water off his face. ‘Are you saying those were done by some bowman...on purpose?’
Eldric cursed and surged forward again. Hugh followed. Fast and sure strokes until he reached the shore and heaved himself to the dry hard ground.
Hugh battled his thundering heart and shaking limbs. The restlessness in him was appeased. He didn’t know if it was the exercise or his friend’s tumultuousness.
‘Yes,’ Eldric said, pulling himself up. ‘And by the same archer.’
Winter air slashed against his bare skin, and Hugh scrambled for his clothes. Eldric seethed with emotions he recognised, but didn’t understand.
‘Not a very good archer. He missed you three times.’
