Page 27 of Stardust Child

He knew she meant the knights she knew, the Knights of the Brede.

“Yes. That’s why I don’t let him hit me anymore,” he said, without rancor. He sounded proud, like a teacher with a particularly exemplary student. “The first time he beat me in a bout, he was fifteen. He beat the old man—Duke Ereguil, that is—a year later. Some people are just born for a purpose. Oh, there he goes!”

Impatient with the strategizing among the survivors, Remin charged at the nearest knot of three men, who instantly dispersed before he could bowl them all over. The way he moved was incredible, an explosion of motion and then juststop,an agility that seemed almost supernatural. For an instant, he stood between the three men with his head cocked, as if he were assessing their individual merits. One corner of his mouth tugged up.

The men on the sides tried to collapse in to save the man in the middle, but it was too late. Remin went through his sword like it wasn’t even there, slamming into him with a shattering impact of steel, using his own massive, armored chest like a battering ram. The man didn’t even have a chance to hit the ground before Remin grabbed him by one arm andthrewhim at one of the others.

Distantly, she heard Sir Miche laughing. Remin turned to face the last of the three with the light of battle in his eyes and Ophele realized that he wasenjoyingthis. She had thought that men must hate each other very badly to fight, but there was no anger in Remin’s face at all. He shook out his shoulders as he advanced, immense and fearless as an Andelin bear, his teeth bared in a savage grin.

The third man put up a good fight. He looked like he was at least learning the rhythm of Remin’s attacks, the brutal efficiency with whichhe fought. Ophele thought she was spotting a pattern, too. A few smashing blows with his sword to get their sword out of the way, followed immediately by one of those shocking charges, so fast and backed by so much power that she didn’t see how anyone could stop him. She knew exactly how massively muscled he was, under that armor. She had just never imagined what it was…for.

The thought made her cheeks feel hot. Ophele lifted her fan to hide her face.

They attacked him all at once. They fell back and came in waves, two and three at a time, and the eel-like quickness of Sir Bertin and Sir Auber was nothing compared to the way he twisted between their blades and counterattacked. Only Sir Miche’s confidence kept her in her seat, one hand over her mouth as Remin spun and ducked and smashed his way through the line of his attackers again and again.

Ten knights became eight, became seven, became five. She would never have believed it if someone had told her, but it wasn’t even a fair fight. He was unstoppable.

But as the field dwindled, it seemed to her that one pair of men were working together. Again and again, they appeared, a medium-height knight with a falcon crest on his helmet and a tall man with ill-fitting and rather shabby armor, always there, constantly harassing, though they rarely attempted to confront Remin directly. Indeed, it seemed they weren’t reallyfightinghim so much as…

“They’ve figured out the game,” Sir Miche said approvingly. “It’s not about being the last man standing.”

“They saved him, didn’t they?” Ophele asked as the pair of knights interceded yet again, giving Remin’s latest victim room to roll out of harm’s way. “Why?”

“They know they’re meant to be guards, rather than knights,” he explained with a sharp smile. “And thattwomen are wanted. I’ll wager they made an agreement before they ever took the field.”

Ophele nodded, her eyes wide. Her heart was beating so fast as Remin ripped through his opponents, heaving knights in full armor off the ground as if they weighed nothing, tearing their swords from their hands. Sir Miche was still talking, but she couldn’t hear it. Her eyes were filled with this new Remin that she never knew existed, doing things she had never even read about.

The watching crowd was silent. Only the two men remained, the falcon knight and the shabby knight, and there was no doubt that Remin was attacking them rather than the other way around. The clash of steel echoed over the silent field as again and again Remin went after one man and then the other. It was as if the whole fight to this point had been to prove how unstoppable Remin was, and now these two men had to try.

It went on. And on. The afternoon sun hung eternal in the sky and Ophele distantly felt beads of sweat trickling down her own neck. Remin’s attacks never wavered, never slowed, never granted a moment’s mercy. At first, everyone was simply interested in the fight, but as the two men lunged to defend each other again and again, everyone began to remember that the purpose of this contest was not mere spectacle. These two men were fighting to become hallows, sacred knights sworn to give their lives to their charge.

They wanted it. No one would fight so hard if they didn’t. It was impressive that they just managed to hold onto their swords and keep on their feet, but several times they seemed to stumble into a deadly rhythm and actually managed to drive Remin back a pace or two, moving almost as if they were the same person. And if anything, that only made Remin look pleased. At last, someone was giving him a challenge.

There was no doubt of the outcome. Remin called a halt, lifting a hand and lowering his sword. His opponents were staggering.

“They’ll do, I suppose,” said Sir Miche with no sympathy at all, and stood to conclude the ceremonies.

For a few moments, he, Sir Bram, Remin and the two men spoke amongst themselves, and then the survivors—Ophele felt it was a stretch to call themwinners—took off their helmets. They were too far away for her to see their faces.

“Sir Leonin of Breuyir, and Davi Gosse,” Sir Miche announced. Rather than standing in triumph, the two men knelt on one knee facing the dais, holding their unsheathed swords before them. “The first hallows of the Duchess of Andelin.”

She had no idea why they would want to be. But Sir Miche was right; if they were willing to make such a sacrifice, then she should at least honor them for it. She rose and went to stand at the edge of the dais, gripping the railing. Everyone was looking at her again, but she tried not to feel it, searching for Remin’s eyes across the field.

“You have witnessed their effort under the sky, if not the stars,” Remin said, his voice flat and carrying. “I ask all of you to give them your prayers. Be blessed under the stars.”

The crowd murmured a prayer as Sir Miche and Sir Bram lifted Sir Leonin and Davi—was he not a knight?—back to their feet, and then dispersed, an unusually somber ending to a tournament.

“They asked to wait until tomorrow to meet you,” Remin said when he returned to the dais, taking off his gauntlets to squeeze her hand. “They would prefer not to do so before a crowd. And they’re not at their best, at the moment.”

Ophele nodded. Her eyes were fixed on his face.

“We’ll wait here until the crowd clears out,” he continued, thumping into his chair and running a hand through his damp hair. “They’ll do. I think you’ll like them, but tell me if you don’t. After tomorrow, if I’m not with you, they will be. Davi isn’t technically a knight, but he has four younger sisters…”

She nodded again. She should be paying attention. But all she could see was the shape of his firm mouth. Her eyes went to the strong brown column of his neck, his black hair clinging to it in damp curls, the taut muscle of his trapezius above the neck of his armor, starkly defined from the heavy work of the melee. He was magnificent.

“…in court,” he was saying. Something about etiquette? His head bent, his handsome face startling her as he loomed nearer. “Wife?”

Ophele lifted her fan to hide both of them from the passersby. She felt very peculiar.

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