Wallen lifted his fist to strike, and I was pushed from behind to the floor. Charles stepped over me, caught his lord’s wrist, and quickly twisted the man around. With his free hand he trapped Wallen’s other elbow.
I scrambled out of the way and prepared to guard the knight’s side.
"What are you doing?" his lord hissed between clenched teeth.
"My lord has sworn me to protect this man from all harm," Charles stated. "I cannot let you hurt him."
"And just who is your lord?" Wallen’s hand clenched, unclenched, then clenched again.
"I serve Lord Reinard."
Wallen smiled tightly at Charles, then opened his mouth to speak.
"The Bard-killer?" shouted the dark-haired journeyman who had started all the trouble. "You serve the Bard-killer?"
"As long as the Bard-killer lives, I serve him. And then I shall serve his son for as long as he lives."
"The fruit is no better than the tree that bears it," the Journeyman snarled. He pulled his sword, and others followed.
Wallen’s eyes widened. He must not have realized how the Bards would blame him for his father’s works.
Charles let Wallen drop to the floor, then laid his hand on his own sword hilt. He looked straight at the Journeyman. "Do you mean to fight me because of my obligation?"
I held my breath. Charles had the skill to defend himself against one, two, or even three Bards, but the room was filled with men anxious to exact revenge. The Journeymen pressed forward, like a crowd at a cockfight, and even the Masters looked torn between their own anger and fear of a riot. Charles stood steady, like a stone monument, while Wallen lay on the floor in the center of it all, his hands open in fright.
"SIT DOWN!" Grandmaster Meiltung shouted, his face deep red with fury. "Or you will all be cleaning the Bardhall, every plank, stone, and rafter, before you sleep tonight!"
The anger flowed off, like demons on the rout. Chairs scraped back into place and Bards sat down, silent. The Grandmaster gestured curtly for us to leave, and we needed no other invitation.
Friday, October 30, 2009
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