The Void of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood Book 3)(43)

“And who are you?” Hove said derisively. “Another lackey sent to challenge me?”

“I am the Earl of Forshee, whom you claim to serve,” Dodd replied, his voice and temper controlled. “Lay down your arms. You won the duel fairly. I will grant you that, even if Carew had too many cups. Put down the sword, man.”

“I serve the true Earl of Forshee,” Hove said angrily, stepping away from the writhing captain and facing Dodd with a martial stance. “Our true king to be. The Medium has chosen him to rule over us, and he will purge the realm of traitors. The coronation today was a sham. Our true king comes even now.”

Dodd met him in the center, holding his axe blade down and away. “You are deceived, friend. The true ruler of Comoros is the king’s heir, his lawful daughter. Kranmir overstepped his authority, so the High Seer has deposed him. You know not what you are doing.”

Hove’s face twisted with resentment and anger. “The High Seer? She is corrupt. She has fallen into the shadows.”

Dodd shook his head. “She is the true High Seer. If you would meet with her, you would—”

“Risk being deceived myself?” Hove challenged. “I pity your lord father and brothers, Dodleah Price. Truly I do. But they died in accordance to the laws of the realm. You cannot wrest my lord’s earldom from him out of revenge.”

The young man’s words pained Maia. She could see he was sincere. He truly believed she was a hetaera, controlled by a being beyond her. He had come into the heart of Comoros to challenge her right to rule, knowing that he would likely be killed. Perhaps Kranmir had even knowingly sent him to his death in the hopes it would help support his cause. The machinations of men sickened her. Hove did not look malicious, she thought, but he was clearly proud. His views were probably much like his tunic and cape—he saw things in black and white. He trusted his Aldermaston and obeyed him. She had to respect him for that, even if he had been misled.

The pressure on her heart grew stronger. Something was going to happen, something awful. She sensed it, though she did not understand what she should do to stop it. She only knew that the young maston should not be killed in the great hall on her coronation day. That would be awful. It would grieve the Medium further.

“I do not wish to fight you, but I will if you force my hand,” Dodd said, still keeping his axe pointed away.

Hove brushed his arm against his mouth, wiping away the sweat. “How gracious of you,” he said with disdain.

“We are brothers,” Dodd said, opening his arms wider. “We are both mastons. Cannot we resolve this peacefully?”

“You, a true maston?” Hove snorted. “I heard you were allowed to pass the test so you could remain sheltered at Muirwood instead of facing your fate with your father as a man.” His words were meant to provoke.

Dodd frowned, but his expression was smooth. “Well said. You will not yield then. I arrest you in the name of the queen. Lay down your arms or I will compel you.”

“There is no Queen of Comoros,” Hove replied bitterly. He struck out at Dodd, slashing his sword down and across in a series of swooping circles.

Dodd did not retreat from the slashes. He brought up his sturdy axe haft, using it to block the attack, and then kicked Hove hard in the stomach. Hove was knocked backward, but he recovered quickly and started a series of feints and thrusts toward Dodd.

It was axe against sword.

Maia squeezed Suzenne’s hand and reminded herself that Dodd had been trained to use an axe by Jon Tayt, who was an Evnissyen—the royal protectors of Pry-Ree. They were cunning in battle. Lia’s group of protectors had disarmed Maia’s father and all his men with efficiency. She felt a spark of hope, but it did not counter the feeling of doom that had seeped into the hall.

Dodd whipped up the flat of the axe head and blocked a blow and then jabbed the butt of the axe into Hove’s chest. The two continued to strike at each other, but the effort was mostly one-sided. Hove kept pressing the attack; Dodd kept defending against it. When an opening came, he took it and delivered a kick or an elbow to the other man, but he never used the axe blade itself for harm.

Before long Hove was panting with the exertion, but although Dodd’s brow glistened with sweat, he did not look winded at all. She realized now that all the hours he had spent chopping wood by Jon Tayt’s shed had served more than one purpose. He had a familiarity with the axe and he had the endurance to outlast his opponents. Dodd was not trying to hurt the black-and-white knight. He was wearing him down.

Those in attendance gasped and cheered every time a blow was dealt or missed. The emotion of the moment seared into the onlookers, making the fight at the center of the room the focus of all eyes. Some cheered when Dodd landed a blow against his enemy. Others booed at Hove, the sound rising and growing louder and louder.

Hove’s face grew more frantic as his strength ebbed and the crowd began calling for him to fall. Every thrust, every move was easily countered. The two were not the same size—Dodd was bulkier than his adversary, his arms more accustomed to the rigors of labor. He had a solemn look on his face, even as a ball of sweat dropped from the tip of his nose. Hove’s attacks were growing less and less intense, his legs starting to tremble as he shuffled one way and then the other. Carew had scuttled away from the fray, and now he stood watching the fight with some of his guardsmen on the fringe. His eyes were savage and full of hate toward the intruder, but she detected some grudging respect for Dodd. The captain held a bloody napkin to his nose.