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Sir Malek and two other knights of the king’s guard are standing in the middle of town. Sir Malek has his sword drawn on the blacksmith’s son, challenging him to a duel. The boy is only sixteen seasons, his mother’s pride and joy. There are swords spilled on the ground near his feet. Something is dreadfully wrong.
“What’s happening?” Jordy says, dropping my pouch and stepping closer to the street. “Why is he drawing his sword on Philip?”
“Jordy, stand down.” I clutch his arm and try pulling him back, but he’s holding firm. Jordy is twenty seasons, and twice the size of Philip. I fear what will happen if he draws Sir Malek’s attention.
“You soiled my boot, boy. Do you know the value of these boots, a boot belonging to a knight in the king’s guard?” Sir Malek lifts his blade to the young man’s nose. “They are worth more than your whole wretched life.”
Panic lines Philip’s voice. “It was an accident, Sir Malek. I didn’t mean to step on your boot. I was carrying a bundle of swords to the blacksmith—”
“And you would be wise to pick one up to defend yourself.” Malek lowers his sword and uses it to point to the swords on the ground. “Pick one up, now!”
The other knights are laughing. “He may soil himself worse than he soiled your boot.”
“Please, sir. I don’t wish to duel. I have no skill with the sword.” Philip is terrified, tears now filling his cheeks. “I’m begging you.”
“Never beg,” Malek replies. “It’s pathetic. Now everyone knows you’re weak, and a coward.”
Malek sweeps Philip’s legs in one swift motion and he falls to the ground. Jordy tugs away from my grasp and heads toward Philip just as Philip’s father runs up to Sir Malek.
“Here,” Philip’s father says to Malek. He drops a coin purse in his hand. “That is a week’s wages, and I am offering a new sword to each of you as well.” He nods toward the other guards. “But, please, don’t harm my son. He’s a good boy. He meant no disrespect.”
Sir Malek bounces the coin purse in his hand and then looks at the other knights. “You men interested in new swords?” They smirk and nod. He looks at the blacksmith again. “I would think a blacksmith would have a son more capable in the art of swordplay. What a pity.”
Sir Malek places his sword back in its sheath and turns as though he’s walking away, but then kicks a heap of dirt in Philip’s face. Philip coughs and rubs his eyes as Jordy and the boy’s father help him to his feet. Malek and the guards break out in raucous laughter.
“Aye, Sir Malek,” Jordy calls out, and I lose my breath. “I would think that the king’s guard would have better things to do than assault a boy of sixteen seasons. You have a kingdom to protect, no? And at this moment, you are protecting it from what exactly? The blacksmith’s son?”
Peals of laughter break out from the crowd that has gathered. Malek glances at the crowd as Jordy picks up one of the scattered swords that Philip and his father are frantically gathering.
“This looks like a good sword,” Jordy says, turning it around in his hand. He swings it a few times, swooshing sounds slicing the air. He points it toward Malek, then drops it to his side. “Yes, this is an excellent sword. Perhaps you’ll choose one like it for your repayment for not killing an innocent lad, aye, Malek?”
Sir Malek looks Jordy up and down from head to toe, his eyes resting on Jordy’s tall stature and muscled arms. “Who are you?” Malek asks, his hand across his waist and resting on his own blade.
“Merely a citizen of Timberness,” Jordy replies. “Nothing more, nothing less.” Jordy hands the sword to the blacksmith and nods his head toward Malek. “I’m simply a helpful neighbor.”
“Do not ever oppose me, lad,” Malek says. “It will be the last thing you ever do.”
Jordy makes his way back to me and takes my hand. He turns toward Malek again. “I would never dream of opposing you, Sir Malek. I mean, what match would a simpleton like me be against a knight like yourself?”
“Fire hands! Fire hands!” a couple of the onlookers shout in unison.
Sir Malek glares at Jordy, and then his dark eyes meet mine. I want to shrink behind Jordy, the weight of Malek’s stare as heavy as an anvil around my neck. Malek isn’t as tall as Jordy, but he is a hulkish man in his own right, with a bald head and neatly trimmed goatee. He is many years Jordy’s senior, and cruel to his very core.
“Let’s get to those swords,” the blacksmith says to Malek, doing his best to break the tension.
Malek looks at me again, his jaw clenching before he spits on the ground. “Mind your place, young man,” he says to Jordy. “The only reason you’re not dead where you stand is because I honor your bravery. But there is a fine line between bravery and stupidity. Do not err on the side of stupidity again. I would hate for something unfortunate to happen to you…or your fair maiden there.”
Jordy moves forward, but I put a hand on his chest to stop him. Malek chuckles and follows the other knights to the blacksmith’s shop. The crowd begins to disperse.
“He is a vile, evil dog,” Jordy says. “How can the king condone a knight like Malek? Wanting to duel with a boy? He has no honor in him, a complete disgrace.”
“I do not know,” I say, “but he’s moved along now. Shall we keep walking?”
Jordy picks up my pouch again, muttering about Malek the entire walk to the cottage. When we reach the door, he grimaces and then kisses my cheek.
“Milla, I’m sorry about what happened with Malek. Maybe I shouldn’t have interfered, but I couldn’t stand by and let him hurt Philip.”
“I know,” I assure him. “And you wouldn’t be my Jordy if you weren’t brave, or if you didn’t speak your truth. Those are the very things I admire most about you.”
