The Icebound Land- Character Reaction

36

"Ulf, it's your turn to read," Hal said as both twins opened their mouth. The book was passed to the two twins, and Hal had just breathed a silent sigh of relief when the squabbling started.

"Hey, it's my turn, not yours!" Oh, well, it has been a while, Hal acknowledged reluctantly.

"No, he clearly said Ulf, not Wulf! And we all know that I'm Ulf!"

"Actually," Gilan cut in, "we don't."

"You're lying, Wulf!" the other twin exclaimed.

"No, I'm not, it's my turn to read!"

"You're Ulf." Halt spoke just as the first twin opened his mouth again, pointing at the second twin. "Give it to him."

"And how would you know?" Ulf—or maybe it was Wulf—challenged.

Halt rolled his eyes and looked towards Hal. "How in God's name do you deal with this?"

Hal chuckled. "I don't know." Looking towards the two twins, he shook his head. "You heard him. Wulf, hand the book over."

Wulf scowled and shoved the book at his twin, who smiled smugly before beginning to read.

DEPARNIEUX'S MEN HAD BEEN OUT SINCE EARLY THAT MORNING, sweeping scythes through the long grass that covered the field in front of Château Montsombre. The Gallic knight was taking no chances on the planned combat. He had seen battlehorses brought down by tangles of long grass and he wanted to make sure that the fighting ground was clear of any such danger.

"Pity," Crowley remarked. "That grass would have helped."

Now, an hour after noon, he emerged from the sally port that he had used on the occasion of his last combat. He had no doubt that he would defeat Halt. Everyone snorted. But he also had no misconceptions about the small stranger. He had watched the constant practice sessions that Halt and Horace had been conducting and he knew the Araluen was an archer of rare skill. Halt smiled smugly. He had no doubt of the tactics that his opponent would be employing. The practice sessions had made them plain. Deparnieux smiled to himself. Halt's psychological tactics were interesting, he thought. The constant sight of an arrow slamming though the vision slit of a rapidly moving helmet might well be enough to unnerve most opponents. But, while Deparnieux had little doubt about Halt's abilities, he had even less about his own. His reflexes were as sharp as a cat's and he was confident that he could deflect Halt's arrows with his shield.

Halt smirked. "Of course you can, but what are you going to do when you can't see through your shield?"

"Halt, you're ruining the story!" Horace complained with mock irritation. The Ranger snorted, and the knight grinned.

The gray-haired Araluen seemed to have misjudged his opponent, he thought, and felt vaguely disappointed by the fact.

"I think you're the one doing the misjudging," Will pointed out.

He had expected so much of the stranger. Now, it seemed, those early impressions had come to very little. Crowley snorted. Halt was an expert bowman, that was all. He had no supernatural powers or arcane skills. In fact, thought the warlord, he was a rather limited, rather boring man with a high opinion of himself.

Horace laughed. "You're one to talk, Deparnieux," he said.

He doubted the archer's claim to royal lineage—Halt sniffed indignantly—but that no longer mattered to him. The man deserved to die, and Deparnieux would be happy to oblige him.

There were none of the usual flourishes of trumpets or ruffles of side drums as Deparnieux cantered his black charger slowly onto the combat field. This was not a day for ceremony. This was a simple working day for the black knight. An interloper had challenged his authority and his preeminence in the area. It was necessary to dispatch such people with maximum efficiency. Halt smirked.