Crimson Fire by Holly Taylor Read Free Book Online Page B

fi gure of a boar at the top. His shield was painted with a boar’s head in the mid- dle, and four rays twisting out from the boar to the edge of the shield. He was wearing the Eorl’s colors of red and gold, while
    Wulf wore black and green. Havgan gripped his broadsword by the hilt, his elbow bent, letting the sword trail over his right shoulder in the warrior’s fi ghting stance.
    Wulf grinned again at Havgan. “Fisherman’s son, I hope you have said your prayers to the God. Today you will die, for I will take no pleas for mercy from a churl.”
    Havgan didn’t bother to answer. He would rather save his strength for the fi ght. And Wulf’s taunts meant nothing to him, for he had heard it all before.
    At last, the Eorl drew his sword and lifted the huge, scarred blade high. “Now do these two champions meet,” he bellowed. “These champions will fi ght until one is dead. Havgan, son of Hengist, and Wulf, son of Wulf bald, do you understand the terms?”
    Both men nodded. “Then,” the Eorl declared, “let the bat- tle begin.”
    Havgan and Wulf began to circle each other, looking for their chance. Both men held their shields close to their bodies, just under their eyes. Quick as a snake, Wulf feinted left, and as Havgan’s shield moved a fraction to counter, Wulf’s sword slipped under the shield, catching Havgan in the ribs with the fl at of the blade. Havgan leapt back, then moved swiftly for- ward again, grinding his shield against Wulf’s. Havgan moved his shield to the left, forcing Wulf’s shield to move away and swung his sword in low, catching Wulf in the leg. Immediately, Wulf pulled back, and the two men circled each other again.
    Wulf grinned again, though sweat left a sickly sheen on his face and his leg was bleeding. “It will soon be over with you, peasant. No mercy for you. I promise you that.”
    Again, Havgan said nothing. If Wulf wished to use his
    energy in talk, that was all right with him. He felt very strange, abstracted and detached from the business at hand, as though he watched the battle from far away. He knew he must concen- trate on the battle, but he could not. In his mind’s eye a cross- roads loomed before him, a curious picture of two paths coming together under a darkening, stormy sky.
    As Wulf opened his mouth for another taunt, Havgan moved in and caught Wulf’s shield with the edge of his own. Pulling with all his might, he fl ipped Wulf’s shield up and away from Wulf’s body. Even as he did so, his sword came down at an arc, knocking against Wulf’s helmet with a ringing sound. Wulf leapt back, shaking his head to clear it.
    “Time now for you to die, peasant,” Wulf spat and leapt forward, hammering with shield and sword, driving Havgan back with the fury of his onslaught.
    Havgan fell, tripped up by Wulf’s shield cutting below his knees. And Wulf stood over him, his sword rising, glittering balefully, beginning the deadly arc that would end with the blade buried in his heart.
    No! Havgan cried silently in panic. It must not end like this! And so he let the dark thing inside him reach up and out. Wulf’s blade stayed unmoving, high in the air, stilled for an all too brief moment.
    And in that moment, those watching the battle thought only that Wulf was playing with his victim, savoring Havgan’s moment of helplessness. They did not know that Wulf’s muscles had frozen. They did not know that, for all his striving, Wulf could not make the blade fall. And in those few seconds, Hav- gan rolled to his feet, grasped his shield and sword, and the dark thing receded, releasing Wulf from his bonds.
    Wulf’s eyes were wide and shocked. “You! How did you—” but it was too late to ask such questions. Havgan was upon him, pushing Wulf back, back, farther back with shield and sword. For now Havgan was well and truly focused on the battle. And now he showed himself as the great warrior he was.
    In the end, it was easy. Just his warrior’s training, no dark thing,