Maia squeezed Suzenne’s hand and reminded herself that Dodd had been trained to use an axe by Jon Tayt, who was an Evnissyen—the royal protectors of Pry-Ree. They were cunning in battle. Lia’s group of protectors had disarmed Maia’s father and all his men with efficiency. She felt a spark of hope, but it did not counter the feeling of doom that had seeped into the hall.
Dodd whipped up the flat of the axe head and blocked a blow and then jabbed the butt of the axe into Hove’s chest. The two continued to strike at each other, but the effort was mostly one-sided. Hove kept pressing the attack; Dodd kept defending against it. When an opening came, he took it and delivered a kick or an elbow to the other man, but he never used the axe blade itself for harm.
Before long Hove was panting with the exertion, but although Dodd’s brow glistened with sweat, he did not look winded at all. She realized now that all the hours he had spent chopping wood by Jon Tayt’s shed had served more than one purpose. He had a familiarity with the axe and he had the endurance to outlast his opponents. Dodd was not trying to hurt the black-and-white knight. He was wearing him down.
Those in attendance gasped and cheered every time a blow was dealt or missed. The emotion of the moment seared into the onlookers, making the fight at the center of the room the focus of all eyes. Some cheered when Dodd landed a blow against his enemy. Others booed at Hove, the sound rising and growing louder and louder.
Hove’s face grew more frantic as his strength ebbed and the crowd began calling for him to fall. Every thrust, every move was easily countered. The two were not the same size—Dodd was bulkier than his adversary, his arms more accustomed to the rigors of labor. He had a solemn look on his face, even as a ball of sweat dropped from the tip of his nose. Hove’s attacks were growing less and less intense, his legs starting to tremble as he shuffled one way and then the other. Carew had scuttled away from the fray, and now he stood watching the fight with some of his guardsmen on the fringe. His eyes were savage and full of hate toward the intruder, but she detected some grudging respect for Dodd. The captain held a bloody napkin to his nose.
“Are you getting tired yet?” Dodd asked the boy with a chuckle. “It looks like you would use a little rest.”
“You mock me,” Hove snarled. “If you were a man, you would fight me truly and end this!”
Dodd smirked but said nothing. The provocation clearly had not moved him.
Even though Dodd was winning, Maia still felt a growing sense of foreboding. She glanced at Suzenne, whose lips were pursed, her eyes riveted on her husband.
Hove stabbed at Dodd’s foot suddenly and then rushed forward to tackle him. Dodd planted himself firmly, legs bent in a low stance, and bore the brunt of the collision without giving ground. Hove heaved against him, trying—and failing—to throw Dodd down. Catching Hove’s foot with his own ankle, Dodd levered his adversary backward and slammed him into the ground.
Though Hove bucked and tried to get up, clawing desperately at Dodd’s shirt collar, Dodd easily shrugged off the blow and encircled the young man’s neck in a chokehold. Maia’s heart tremored with worry as she watched the boy’s legs thrashing.
“Enough! Dodd, enough!” she shouted as she finally pushed away from the tables and rushed off the dais to reach the center of the room. Gooseflesh crawled down her arms as she watched Hove’s eyes roll back in his head. He went limp and blood trickled from a cut on his forehead.
Dodd released his grip and rose, fetching his fallen axe. The hall erupted with cheers, and people surged to their feet, stamping their heels against the ground and thumping the tables.
Kneeling beside the unconscious young knight, Maia searched his sweaty face and saw the smudges of bruises already forming on his cheek.
“Fetch a healer,” she called, waving Suzenne over to join them.
“I did not kill him,” Dodd whispered with concern. “You knew I would not, Maia. He will be fine.”
“It is not that,” Maia said, hovering over the fallen knight. She felt the pressure around her heart releasing, the danger passing. Noise echoed throughout the hall, so she could not have heard anything. But she sensed it . . . a presence in the hall. Looking up, she slid some hair behind her ear and looked to the wooden struts and rafters supporting the roof of the hall. She saw him there in the shadows—the kishion—and his crossbow was aimed right at her.
For a moment, her heart spasmed with fear. He slowly lowered the crossbow and looked down at her, frowning with disgust at her efforts to save the very knight who had threatened her authority. She realized then why the Medium had been warning her. The kishion had planned to kill Hove regardless of the outcome. He would always eliminate anyone who threatened her. It was a loyalty she did not want.
“Dodd,” she breathed, trying to find the words, though they were slurred. “Dodd, he is here!”
The kishion slung the crossbow around his shoulder and then gracefully strode down the wide beam toward one of the upper windows in the hall. No one else had seen him. All eyes had been fixed on the struggle down below.