Free Betrayed by Christopher Dinsdale Page B

the weapon as if the boys were not there.
    â€œPerhaps he is hard of hearing,” suggested Connor. He stepped forward onto the wooden floor and banged his foot three times on the boards.
    â€œHello, are you Sir Wingard?”
    The old man shook his head as if he were coming out of a trance and glanced up. “Aye, just a moment.”
    He muttered something under his breath. Using the sword as a cane, he put the point to the floor and leaned his weight on the handle. He slowly straightened then staggered over to the boys. Connor couldn’t help but wonder what this old man could possibly teach him about sword play.
    That was the last thought he had before his world was turned upside down. His abdomen suddenly erupted in pain as his feet disappeared out from under him. His head hit the floor hard, and stars circled above him. He could hear Angus groaning as well. As he came to his senses, Connor felt a prick of cold metal against his throat. A glistening, razor-sharp blade rose from his neck up to the steady hand of the old man now grinning above him. Inhis other hand, a second sword was similarly pointed at his prostrate friend lying next to him. Staring down at the two boys, the old man shook his head.
    â€œI was expecting a little more from the son of Sir Rudyard,” he said with a heavy Nordic accent.
    â€œYou wouldn’t happen to be from Troy?” asked Connor hoarsely, his larynx rubbing up against the sharp point of the sword.
    A deep guffaw erupted from the wrinkled, blue-eyed knight, and the blade was lifted. “No, I’m Norwegian. But the story of Troy is indeed an important one. It’s good that you know it. Now follow me.”
    Grabbing their wrists, the old man helped them back up onto their feet with surprisingly strong arms. The humbled boys walked with Sir Wingard around the armoury, listening to his detailed description of the various weapons. The knight went to great lengths to demonstrate and explain the characteristics as well as the strengths and weaknesses for each one. The boys were greatly impressed with his depth of knowledge. Finally, the knight came to a stop in front of a protruding rack of thin, dagger-like swords. The old man removed the nearest one, checked the weapon for balance, then swished it in the air.
    â€œNow for you boys, I would suggest we arm you with a light Italian sword such as this.”
    Angus was disappointed. He continued to eye the massive swords to his left that were nearly as long as Angus himself was tall. “What about one of those broadswords? I’m just as strong as any other knight. Why should I start off with a light sword?”
    Connor could see a twinkle in the old man’s eyes, andhe was wary enough to take a step backwards. Shrugging, the old knight went to the wall, lifted a finely-crafted broadsword and tossed it to Angus. Catching the sword in mid-air with two hands, Angus looked his arms were being ripped out of their sockets as the mighty weight of the blade clanged to the floor. He sucked up the sharp pain and raised the sword to waist height.
    â€œPoint it at me,” said Sir Wingard.
    Angus did as he was told and lifted the tip until it was a foot away from the old man’s chest. The knight’s eyes hardened into blue ice.
    â€œDefend yourself!”
    The knight slashed at Angus’s neck. It took all of Angus’s strength to lift the broadsword in order to parry the blow. Lifting the blade to defend the attack opened up his flank, and Sir Wingard effortlessly spun and Angus’s side with a loud smack. Angus cried out and collapsed, dropping the sword. Connor jumped. Had the old man just run his blade through his friend? He ran over to Angus, still clutching his side, unable to breathe.
    â€œAngus! Are you all right?”
    â€œA . . . am I bleeding?” whispered Angus.
    Connor looked under his tunic, bracing for what he was about to see. Under his armpit, running parallel