Free Igraine the Brave by Cornelia Funke

your skill with the sword against weaker opponents, use it only in self-defense — and never use it to enrich yourself.”
    “Of course not,” said Igraine, sitting up again.
    “Good,” said the Sorrowful Knight, and he looked at her thoughtfully. “Then let me tell you two more rules that you may not have heard before. Always remember that your opponent may not be keeping to the rules himself, and remember,” he added, bending his head, “that you will never be as good as the knight who does nothing, day in and day out, but practice fighting.”
    Igraine looked at him, taken aback. “But I want to be the very, very best knight of all,” she said in a low voice.
    “And spend the rest of your life practicing fighting? Every hour of every day?”
    Igraine stroked her gleaming armor. “Well, perhaps not every hour,” she said.
    “But that is what some knights do,” said the Sorrowful Knight. “I myself once knew such a knight….” And he drove his sword into the ground.
    “I bet that Iron Hedgehog practices all day, every day!” said Igraine. “He has iron spikes all over his armor, and his face is as white as snow. As if he never takes off his helmet.”
    The Sorrowful Knight looked at her in astonishment. “What are you saying? What knight do you mean?”
    “He’s Osmund’s castellan.” Igraine knelt down by the bank of the river, cupped her hands, and filled them with cool water. “It gives you goose bumps just to look at him. Well, not me. I’m not afraid of him, I mean …” She cleared her throat, embarrassed. “I mean, the only thing I’m really frightened of is spiders. I know it’s stupid, but — is there anything you’re afraid of?”

    The Sorrowful Knight didn’t answer. He took his sword out of the ground, wiped it clean, and put it back in the sheath. Then he sighed.
    “I am indeed afraid of certain things, noble Igraine,” he said at last. “But I fear nothing in the world more than the knight of whom you spoke just now. His name is Rowan Heartless. He is the man who robbed me of my honor. I have challenged him to joust three times since then, and each time he defeated me with his first lance-thrust. I will keep my word and escort you back to your parents’ castle, but I can’t help you against Heartless. No one can.”
    “Well, we’ll see about that,” said Igraine, straightening up again. “How did he rob you of your honor? Not just by defeating you?”
    “No, a knight does not lose his honor when he is defeated in a fair fight. He did worse, much worse, and I became the Sorrowful Knight of the Mount of Tears.”
    “Oh, come on!” Igraine reached for his hand. “It can’t be as bad as all that. But you don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to. Just come to Pimpernel with me and you can watch my parents turn Osmund and the Spiky Knight into tadpoles or wood lice. They need the giant’s hairs for that, however, because they’re pigs at the moment, I’m afraid. Very pretty pigs, though.”
    A tiny smile appeared on the Sorrowful Knight’s lips.
    “I suppose magic isn’t allowed in chivalry, is it?” asked Igraine.
    “No. That would be dishonorable,” replied the knight.
    “Well, never mind.” Igraine went over to Lancelot and put his bridle on again. “I’m very bad at remembering magic spells, anyway. Let’s ride on, and you can tell me what else is dishonorable.”
    “As you wish, Brave Igraine,” said the Sorrowful Knight, mounting his horse. “Do you know, I am sure you will be an excellent knight someday.”

15

     
    I graine dared not ride past Darkrock carrying the precious giant’s hairs. So they turned west, where the One-Eyed Duke ruled the land and its people. Neither Igraine nor the Sorrowful Knight had ever ridden this way, but Igraine knew that the Elfin River would lead them to the Whispering Woods.
    Soon dense woods came down to the banks of the river. They offered protection from prying eyes, but progress was slower