The Bastard, page 21
It was all I could do to keep the man’s manic blade away from me. I used my club like a sword and like a shield, blocking for all I was worth, stepping back, twisting out of his way, and doing my utmost just to survive.
I blocked one swift attack, then another, slipped past a third and fourth, and almost managed to completely deflect the fifth as well. But the sixth got through. Not fatally, not yet, but the very tip of Rolf’s sword cut a stinging line just above my left eye.
As if that was enough, Rolf stepped back, allowing me to stumble out of his reach.
“You are not going to survive this,” Rolf said. “But before you die, I’m going to cut you again and again. The looks that have served you so well in this world will not serve you in the next. When you are reborn, you will be ugly.”
I was puffing heavily, and knew that the club was not the right weapon with which to face a man like Rolf. It was too heavy, too cumbersome, and while it would be satisfying to smash it into his skull, his skill was too great.
So I dropped it on the ground and drew my sword once again.
“It isn’t my looks that let me do what I do,” I said. “It’s that I talk to people. I listen to them. They like me.”
Even as I spoke, I knew Rolf would never truly understand. He was a bully, a man who used others to get what he wanted. He had no use for people except as tools, and while that would work for some things, it would never give him what came naturally to me.
Rolf had needed my help with Anwen. He couldn’t have lured her away from the market by himself. And he would never understand the difference.
I’d grown tired of this game and wanted to end it. At the same time, I was eager for Rolf to complete his tale.
“That’s a nice-looking sword,” Rolf said. “Tell me, who made it? Because there are some on the market that are notoriously brittle. Will yours survive the first cross, do you think? And if not, will you?”
“Why don’t you try it and find out?” I asked.
Rolfs wolfish grin was still in place. I thought he might do exactly that, saw him tense to begin, but he held back at the last instant.
“The surviving bastard son of King Arthur was born to one of his courtesans, a beautiful but fragile woman who died not long after the boy disappeared. From all accounts, her features were similar to your own. Right down to the emerald green of her eyes. Why do you think that might be?”
I took half a step forward, feinted with my sword, drew him into the response that I wanted, and attacked in earnest. But Rolf’s reply proved quick enough, and his counterattack was enough to test the metal of both my sword and his.
As the sound of high-quality steel rang out in the dragon’s chamber, we stepped apart once again.
“The name of the boy, King Arthur’s only surviving bastard son, is Mordred,” Rolf said.
47
I was stunned. Was this truly the secret Meghan had been hiding from me all along?
Could I really be the bastard son of the King?
It hardly seemed possible. And yet… Everything seemed to fit. My early memory of escaping through the marbled hallway. My affinity with rat dragons, and in fact all things dragonish in nature. Even the resonance I felt now in the presence of the dragon in the chamber.
It all seemed to make sense.
I didn’t know what to say. What to think. Rolf had turned my whole world upside down in a moment. Now I understood why Meghan had insisted I was meant for more than simple revenge. Now, it seemed, I understood everything.
It was a coming together of massive proportions. From that moment, everything changed.
Or did it? Being a King’s bastard didn’t mean all that much, and indeed, it could prove deadly. What if he still wanted to experiment with my blood?
And what kinds of experiments was he already doing on the dragon in this chamber?
If Rolf had chosen to attack me just then, I might not have been able to react quickly enough to stay alive. But if Rolf had a weakness, it was that he preferred to gloat, to show how superior he was.
Whereas I just wanted to live.
Fight to win, I said to myself, adding it to my list of rules. Use what you’ve got.
Once more, the air itself seemed to cry out in pain as the dragon gave voice to another mighty roar. I felt the creature in my very blood, and knew that somehow, the dragon and I were kin.
And, all at once, I knew also that I had found my true purpose.
At least, some of it.
I was a thief, a small-time criminal, a nobody. But I was also the King’s bastard and had the blood of dragons in my veins.
My purpose was nebulous, difficult to pin down, but whatever it turned out to be, I knew it would be far greater than simple revenge.
At the same time, that revenge was still important.
Rolf was still looking at me with a superior smirk, and it needed to be wiped off his smug face.
“Look at you,” the man sneered. “Dumbstruck by a simple truth you should have figured out for yourself years ago. As if any of that it even matters. Having the blood of a King running through your veins won’t help you. You’re going to die here tonight, never knowing what has become of your sweet, precious Anwen.”
I had a moment to think that perhaps I’d underestimated Rolf’s cunning. I’d thought him a blunt instrument, capable of only the most ham-fisted plans. Yet there was subtlety in bringing me to this location after all.
He was trying to use the very blood in my veins against me.
Then the battle was joined in earnest.
This time, Rolf held nothing back. He launched himself at me with a flurry of powerful blows, beating at my sword with his own, and I had to call on every move Emmeline Hemonnet had shown me just to survive. The blood from the wound on my forehead began to drip into my eye, and I had to wipe it away to see clearly. Even so, I knew I was not Rolf’s match in this kind of fight.
The powerful Blackcoat forced me back step-by-step, and I knew I was getting dangerously close to the dragon’s range. But there was little I could do about it. Rolf’s power was just one of his weapons. He also had speed, ferocity, and a mind for tactics.
He didn’t give me the chance to return his attack. Just kept attacking, the point of his blade seeking my face, my chest, anything within reach.
I did the best I could, but it wasn’t enough. Rolf’s blade pinked the skin on my forearm, my thigh, and just missed ending my life more than once. Rolf beat my own blade aside again and again, slashing left and right, cutting the air with wide swings that were under his complete control.
I continued to duck, parry, and to step back, sensing the dragon behind me as I drew closer, acknowledging the feeling of rage mixed with incredulousness as I entered her domain.
But I was fighting to win.
I caught Rolf’s blade on my own and stepped forward, close enough to smell his stale breath and see the contempt in his eyes. For just a brief moment, we stood chest to chest, each of us straining against the other’s weight, swords crossed between us. Then Rolf took one of his hands away from the hilt of his sword and smashed me in the side of the face with his fist.
The blow was staggering, but I’d been expecting it. At the same time, I reached into my coat pocket and brought out the last of Meghan’s gifts.
It was the small package of powder, and as soon as Rolf’s fist connected, I slapped it against his face hard enough to burst the packaging.
I went down in a heap and rolled away, holding my breath. I thought that at any moment, I would feel the steel of Rolf’s blade slipping into my ribs, but when I looked at him, I saw it wasn’t about to happen at all.
Rolf had inhaled the powder, just as I’d hoped, and his expression was one of horror.
He looked deathly ill, as if he was about to throw up.
“What have you done!?” he demanded.
I jumped to my feet with a grin. “Played by my rules,” I said, not caring if he understood or not. “Not yours.”
With that, I stepped forward to attack, but I felt something that made me hesitate. The dragon’s rage was building to a crescendo. I knew what was coming, as did Rolf. Both of us threw ourselves away from the dragon as fast as we could.
Rolf went one way, and I went the other. Despite Meghan’s powder, Rolf was still swift on his feet. He made it to cover just before I did, and the dragon’s flame billowed around a column just as he hid himself behind it.
I was a fraction late, the flame catching my left side just as I reached cover. It felt impossibly hot, and I dropped my sword for a moment to pat out the flames on my coat. The odor of burning wool filled my senses, but I’d escaped the worst of it, and in moments, my coat sleeve was out.
Then I picked up my sword and waited for the flames to dissipate.
As soon as they did, I looked to Rolf, only to see that he was trying to flee.
“No!” I bellowed, and gave chase.
But he wasn’t as fast as he should have been. The powder must have worked. I caught up to him quickly, ducking a wild swing from his sword that sailed over my head. But I could tell by his expression that he knew he was done.
His face was green. He looked deathly ill. And he barely tried to defend himself as I lashed out with my foot, catching him in the back of the knees.
Rolf went down in a heap, and that was the end. I aimed an almighty kick at his sword hand and smiled in grim satisfaction when the weapon clattered over the stone floor. Then I dropped one knee onto his chest and aimed my sword at his throat.
“Don’t move!” I said.
I was ready to kill him. Ready to drive my sword through his throat, severing the artery that fed blood to his brain. Or to alter the angle of my thrust and jam the tip of my blade into his brain. Or I could have done a number of things, all of which would have been fatal.
But I didn’t.
Rolf’s words had been a revelation. My purpose had changed from revenge to something greater. Something more profound.
Something that had to do with who I was.
And there was more to it than that. Anwen, for example. He knew something about her.
I grinned at him.
“I’m not going to kill you,” I said. “Not unless you force me to. But know this. Your time is done. The life you once led here in Camelot is over. From this point in time, you owe me every breath you take, and you are going to pay me in full. You are going to tell me everything I want to know, about Anwen and more, or you are going to live the rest of your moments in such agony you will beg me for death. Do you understand?”
As I waited for Rolf to reply, the familiar weight of Sir George landed on my shoulder, and the rat dragon let loose an indignant chirp and puff of smoke.
The thought of the rat dragon being somehow distant kin to myself made me smile, and the sight of that grin was too much for Rolf. He quailed, his color going even greener, and he slumped as if he’d given up.
Glancing back at the dragon, I nodded to it, and seemed to feel some sort of return acknowledgment come back to me from the creature. My coat sleeve had burned away in the fire, but underneath, I was unscathed. I smiled. Yes, surprisingly, there was more to my story than I had previously thought, but I was going to use it to my full advantage, in whatever form that may take.
Sheathing my sword, I drew one of my poisoned daggers and hauled a green Rolf to his feet. He stumbled as I pulled him toward the tunnels that would lead back to the river.
This man’s usefulness was just beginning, and so was mine. Revenge could take many forms other than death, and I intended to make his life miserable while searching for more answers for myself. And anyone who stood in my way could be hanged, or worse.
Because I was going to make my own damn rules. And this was just the beginning.
~End Book 1~
Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this book. It’s hopefully the first of many about Mordie.
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Until next time,
Jack
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Jack Porter, The Bastard
