Free Blood and Dreams: Lost Years II by Richard Monaco Page A

or slain one of their mothers. Helping people, you see, can be two- or three-edged.
    I mulled over his last suggestion. How had I managed so long without this advice? “Who are you?” I demanded.
    But he angled away, closing rapidly with the lead, outside pursuer.
    “You breakwind!” I yelled.
    I saw the corn stalks flap and leaves fly; a flick flash of sword, crash, rip and a moment later my mount jerked, avoiding a fallen man. The shattered trail veered away again.
    I reined up and dismounted. This knight was in blue and silver steel. One arm hung limp. Blood drops spattered the polish.
    He groaned. The others passed wide of us, chasing in full fury. The fallen man sat up on crushed stalks. He had a lap full of corn. His horse had run off at an angle. I sighed.
    Then I recognized him: the lord who held the manor next to mine. He was blinking hard, sitting up. Trying to get his legs under him. I knew how he felt.
    He licked the blood from his lips. His eyes came into focus. Raging focus. “You …” he more or less snarled. Spat a gob of crimson spit.
    “Parsival,” I said, helpfully. “I know you, Sir —”
    “You bastard …” He struggled. Almost made it up this time. Tipped sidewise and hit with a hollow bang. I decided to wait before helping him up. “I think that’s wrong,” I told him. “I knew both my parents.” He lifted his sword; which meant almost nothing in his position.
    “You … and your murderous spawn …”
    “Excuse me,” I said, “but I have no quarrel with —”
    I didn’t like that part about “spawn.”
    “You’ll never escape with your loot.” Pure outrage got him to his knees as he tried to lever himself with his sword. The rich earth was soft here so the blade went deep as if he wounded the ground. “Your sacrilege will avail you naught …” He was cut inside the mouth.
    “I don’t understand.” My whole life has been like this.
    “Ahh … bastard knight, you and your sneaking son …” Wobbled to his feet, tugging the sword from the ground. A hot breeze swayed the stalks and flicked golden light and green shadow over him.
    “What about my son?”
    “Hah …” He raised the blade. Pathetic. Ten of him might have been a bother. “You’ve covered his escape but you’ll not —”
    “What escape?” I was starting to worry. The muffled voice in the helmet had had a familiar something about it. “Was that Lohengrin?” I blurted. Even my skull can be penetrated in time.
    “As though you knew it not, false neighbor,” he snarled, stabbing at me. He was still too shaken to make a full swing. I just deflected the blade but didn’t hit back.
    “I knew nothing,” I told him. He’d gone to one knee again. “And I was happy in my ignorance. Good God, man, why would I perch here and justify myself when I could dispatch you with ease?”
    “I don’t pretend,” he gasped, “to know your dark mind …” He was up again. “And twisted thoughts. I’m glad I don’t. My soul is at peace.”
    “Why were you chasing my son?” I sighed inside myself. My son … He squinched his eyes at me. I beckoned him to speak. The others had crashed out of hearing across the huge field.
    “You happen here by chance, Parsival? Am I expected to believe —”
    “You waste good air. Answer me straight. “
    He puffed out his cheeks. The sun beat down. I was starting to broil in my suit, sitting still like this. I was irritable and tired. Consider the past week. My life was a spider’s web of madness and violent nonsense.
    He puffed and reddened with fury. He had temper for brains.
    “I’ll tell you this much, sir, your fine bastard offspring will be found by his stink alone, like a dung-lump in a kitchen garden.”
    Between rage and hard breathing, he found enough reserve to charge me and make a fair cut for my bare head.
    It was kill him or withdraw. I sighed. I couldn’t go home now. I never could go home, it seemed. I steered my horse away and left on a crest of his