Free The Sword of the Spirits by John Christopher Page A

hill’s top its grove of trees stood like mourners against the ashen sky. I thought of this place as I had seen it once, with the sun shining after rain on a spring day, and the whole city, it seemed, cheering the Young Captains as they led their teams in for the Contest.
    There had been something to win then, too, and against great odds. I remembered my young self. Had I fought so hard for no more than a jeweled sword?
    Edmund kept the silence. I said at last:
    â€œDo you recall the time we fought here?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œAnd how I beat you.”
    He smiled. “That, too.”
    â€œYou said once, when we watched another Contest together, that on a second chance you would have won.”
    â€œDid I, Luke?” He shook his head. “I do not remember that.”
    â€œDo you still think so?”
    â€œThat I would have beaten you? No. I knew that after you had killed the Bayemot. I have some courage but when the odds are hopeless I draw back. Youwould always beat me; not so much because you are a better fighter as because you will not accept defeat.”
    I paused before I said: “At least some good came of it.”
    â€œYes. You rule three cities, and will rule more.”
    I said: “Our friendship.”
    â€œYes. A better thing still.”
    â€œIt has meant much to me. I have Captains who serve me well, a dwarf warrior who would die for me, but those things are not friendship. There were three of us: you, Martin and I. Martin turned Acolyte and now has left us altogether, to go to Sanctuary. Only you and I remain.”
    There was a faraway honking and high up small dots trailed across the gray. Wild geese, on their journey to lands we would never know. I said:
    â€œLet us talk of Blodwen, Edmund.”
    Our eyes met. He said slowly: “What of her?”
    â€œI think you know.”
    He did not deny that, but said: “There has been nothing between us.”
    â€œNothing?” I spoke bitterly. “No looks, no touches of hands?”
    â€œNo more than that.”
    â€œListen,” I said, “she is mine. Cymru gave her to me at the banquet at which we both sat, after the killing of the Bayemot. Is this not true?”
    â€œYes,” Edmund said. “But she is a girl, not something to be given.”
    In the mind’s eye I saw Blodwen again, as she stood with me on the staircase above her father’s throne room, and heard her voice: “I am not an honor—I am Blodwen! I will be my own woman. Remember that, Luke of Winchester.” I said:
    â€œIs it the office of a friend to come between a man and his betrothed bride, even with a single look?”
    Then he looked ashamed. He said in a low voice:
    â€œIt was not meant. I promise you.”
    â€œYou could not help it?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œPerhaps you could not. I do not think I blame you. But you are a free man. You can make an end of it now.”
    He did not speak. I said:
    â€œI claim this for our friendship’s sake.”
    The wind blew cold down Catherine’s Hill andour horses stamped their feet. Edmund spoke at last.
    â€œI will end it.”
    I reached across and clasped his arm. “I will not forget this! And now, I have a mission for you.”
    He looked startled. “A mission?”
    â€œTo Oxford. To talk in public with its Prince; in private with its Prince in Waiting. I look for two alliances, one open, the other secret.”
    Edmund said: “How long will the mission last?”
    â€œI will expect you back in the spring. We will watch the Contest of the Young Captains together.”
    â€œAnd when would you have me go?”
    â€œToday.”
    â€œBe open with me,” he said. “It is because of Blodwen that I am to be sent away? Such a mission would be best in older hands than mine.”
    â€œYou have been too free with her. This you admit. You said you could not help it and I believe you. All things