CHAPTER 849: AN OLD WARRIOR’S PRIDE

Sir Gilander leaned forward, setting his shield in front and resting the tip of the arming sword on his shoulder in a stance that was both an open invitation to attack and a challenge to withstand the counter he’d prepared. Against a man with a long-handled ax, it was a conservative, almost predictable move and one that even a squire could emulate.

For Bors, however, the weaknesses in Sir Gilander’s guard made it clear that the other man understood his instructions well, even though not a word of them had been spoken. Gilander’s lead foot was too far forward, his shield was angled poorly to receive a blow and while the guard he’d selected for his arming sword should allow him to attack from a number of surprising angles so long as he concealed his sword hand behind the shield, he’d actually positioned his sword hand to the right of his centerline, making his intentions obvious to a warrior as experienced as his opponent.

Indeed, Master Hess knew nothing of fighting and these subtle queues would mean nothing to the scholarly physician, but to the two men about to trade blows, they were a language all their own.

"For glory!" Bors shouted as he rushed forward, swinging his ax directly at Gilander’s shield.

"For valor!" Gilander replied, leaning further forward as if he was anticipating a heavy blow.

Bors, however, had no intention of striking the face of the shield. Instead, he aimed past the edge of the shield, hooking the head of his blunted ax around the edge and pulling sharply, forcing Gilander to overbalance and leaving him vulnerable to a follow up thrust with the leading point of the ax.

Armor clattered as Bors struck his old friend in the chest, and the sound of steel ringing on steel filled the air as Gilander recovered his footing and countered with a swing of his own.

The veteran knight put on a show of fighting aggressively, circling widely to attack Bors from his weak side, charging from behind his shield and using nimble footwork to overcome the reach advantage of Bors’ long-handled ax.

The Marquis, by contrast, fought like a bear beset by a wolf. He held his ground, blocking and countering smoothly and each time he lashed out with the ax, he landed a heavy, powerful blow that staggered Gilander or knocked him from his feet.

"One turn!" Master Hess called as he flipped the sand glass over. A single minute had passed but he saw no signs of fatigue in Lord Bors’ motions, and despite his exertions, he had yet to trigger a fit of coughing.

From the physician’s perspective, it was clear that each man had adopted a method of fighting that was suited to their preferred weapons. Bors used his ax well to both land powerful blows and to hook and catch at his opponent’s limbs and weapons. Sir Gilander relied heavily on his shield for cover but clearly struggled with the disadvantage of the shorter weapon against the Marquis’ ax.

Each man clashed again and again and while there was power behind their blows, the physician could see that there were smiles on their faces behind the cage of iron that formed the front of their training helms.

"Two turns!"

What Master Hess failed to notice was how conservatively Bors fought. Where Gilander circled wide, Bors remained at the center of the circle, taking smaller steps in order to realign himself with the more mobile knight.

Further, Sir Gilander telegraphed each of his swings, allowing Bors an extra heartbeat or two to position himself to receive the blow and respond to it. The knight’s swings lacked the sort of power required to truly stagger his opponent and he gave up multiple opportunities to knock his liege lord from his feet in favor of landing glancing blows to Bors’ breast plate or helm.

"Three turns!" Master Hess called, announcing the end of the fight as he strode forward to help Lord Bors out of his training gear.

"You danced with me like I’m a fair maiden," Bors said, moving his ax to his left hand as he stepped forward to wrap an arm around his old friend’s shoulders in a firm embrace. "Thank you, my friend," he said in a much quieter tone. "Now help me out of the armor and let the old buzzard do his work, then, you and I have important matters to attend to."

"If I don’t dance with you, your Grace," Gilander said, speaking loudly for Master Hess’s benefit. "You’ll cleave through my face-guard and ruin my good looks. I might not care for the young lasses anymore, your Grace, but it would make my Shandra very sad if I came home with a new scar at this age."

"Cad," Bors said as he stifled a belly laugh, letting out only a slight chuckle as Master Hess and Sir Gilander helped him out of the steel breastplate. "Still provoking your wife’s jealousy at your age. Don’t think I don’t know how you ’motivated’ her into giving you so many children."

"The child bearing might be over," Gilander said as he stripped off his helm and mopped sweat from his brow. "But that doesn’t mean the fun has ended. I know you’d be doing the same if Lady Isla was still with you," he said gently as he placed a hand on Bors’ shoulder, carefully watching the other man’s eyes for signs of confusion. "I know she’d be cheering from the side to see you still in fighting shape today."

"I have to admit," Master Hess said as he stepped back from his examination of the Marquis. "You were right when you said you were still fit enough to fight. Your breathing is heavy, but no heavier than Sir Gilander’s after three minutes of fighting. Your complexion is good, and your heartbeat is strong, your Grace."

"Good," Bors said curtly as he glowered at the slender physician. "Then leave us. I have important matters to discuss with Sir Gilander," he said firmly.

"As you wish, your Grace," Master Hess said with a deep bow before he moved to collect his implements and close up his bag. "I will visit you again this evening to ensure that all is well, but I believe that the worst has passed, your Grace. A few more days of medicinal tonics are in order, just to be sure but..."

"Yes, yes, your bitter brews, every morning and night," Bors said with a sour look on his face. "But enough of this bland food," he added sharply. "Now go, and tell the kitchens that I expect them to make up for the days of lean with something hearty."

Almost as soon as the doors of the Great Hall closed, Bors doubled over as a fit of suppressed coughs spilled from his lips. Gilander stepped in closely, his eyes widening as bright red drops of blood flew from Bors’ lips, but he said nothing, simply offering a steadying hand for his lord as the coughing fit drained blood from Bors’ face and left his body trembling.

"Thank you, Gil," Bors said roughly when the fit finally passed and he was able to stand. "Now, help me walk to my office. This may have been a sham," he said as he gestured to the training equipment. "But there truly are important matters to discuss."

"Are you certain, your Grace?" Gilander asked. "I can help you back to your rooms if you need to rest," he offered.

"No," Bors insisted as he draped an arm around the knight’s shoulders. "No, the place is just as important as the conversation. Come," he said as he guided his friend toward the door. "And while we walk, tell me how it is you convinced your Shandra to take on such an infamous skirt chaser in the first place..."

As the two men made their way through the corridors of Lothian Manor, their voices carried - just as Bors had intended. Servants sweeping the halls paused to listen, kitchen maids carrying trays slowed their steps, and guards at their posts straightened with obvious relief at the sound of their lord’s hearty laughter echoing off the stone walls.

For several days, rumors had circulated around Lothian Manor, some claiming that the Marquis was on his deathbed while others claimed that he’d been plotted against and poisoned. Each rumor was darker and filled with more uncertainty than the last until a heavy cloud seemed to hang over the entire manor.

Today, however, new whispers flowed through the halls and the servants chambers as people swore they’d seen the Marquis and one of his knights walking cheerfully through the halls, still sweaty and wearing training jackets from their morning session in the Great Hall. Different people reported hearing different conversations as the two men passed from the Great Hall to Lord Bors’ office with some claiming they were swapping stories of old battles fought while others said the conversation turned ribald with tales of their youth before either man was married.

One thing that everyone seemed to agree on however... Marquis Bors Lothian was hale and healthy, and in good enough shape to train with weapons. Perhaps, some said, he was preparing for war against the demons who were said to be attacking the edge of the march. Others believed that he was frustrated with the incompetence of the western barons in protecting their lands and intended to school them personally in the ways of fighting demons.

But all agreed, Lord Bors was back in fighting form, and any rumor of his impending demise was nothing but nonsense.