Page 18 of Keeper of the Flame: Orrick

“I can see there is no use in me trying to talk you out of this.”

“Don’t even try.” Orrick stepped onto the practice field and the crowd cheered. He wasn’t sure if they cheered for him or for Irwin, but neither did it matter. Once he took the man down on the first swipe, there would be no doubt they were cheering for him.

Well, things didn’t go quite as planned. The first swipe of his sword proved he was a little rusty. Lord Irwin got the better of him, nicking his sword hand. The crowd oohed and aahed.

“The first point goes to Lord Irwin,” shouted the herald.

“That’ll teach you,” sniggered Lord Irwin. “I drew first blood.” He held up his sword above his head and the crowd cheered.

Orrick looked down to the trickle of blood on his hand. The wound didn’t hurt. They never did. And the blood would be gone in a matter of minutes. He was immortal and a mere human like Lord Irwin couldn’t hurt him.

“I’m just a little rusty, that’s all,” said Orrick.

“Rusty?” Irwin made a face and shook his head. “I heard you just got back from campaigning for the king overseas. What kind of warriors does Richard have that they’d be rusty so soon?”

Orrick realized he had to watch what he said. He also knew that Lord Irwin wouldn’t stop taunting him unless he taught the man a lesson. There were three rounds in the fight, and the first was awarded to Irwin, but Orrick was determined that the second would be in his favor. If it wasn’t, the competition would be over and Irwin would be the victor. Orrick would never allow that!

When they met in the practice field once more, Orrick was ready for the fight this time. Their swords clashed and Orrick felt as if it were all coming back to him after a hundred years. He used to be one of the fastest and most accurate warriors with a sword. He’d fought many times on the battlefield for Edward Longshanks, King Edward I, and was even one of the king’s favorites. Of course, he was admired since he’d always come off the battlefield alive and unharmed. If he hadn’t had his magic, Orrick wasn’t sure he wouldn’t be dead right now for all the silly risks he’d taken in the past.

Self-confidence flowed through him in the olden days but that is what immortality did to a person. However, sometimes mistakes were made when fear was absent. Orrick made a mistake in his younger days. By accident, he killed off one of his fellow Englishmen on the battlefield one day, turning around too fast and being too eager to take down a Scot. He’d watched the man die by his blade to his chest, the poor soul’s eyes staring into Orrick’s as his life left him that day. It was a look filled with disbelief, sadness, and also vengeance, since the man stuck his sword into Orrick’s side as a last attempt for justice.

Orrick never told anyone about his mistake, living with the regret of acting too pompous and, because of it, killing the soldier. It was a long time ago, and Orrick couldn’t even remember the man’s name.

Slashing out at his opponent, Orrick gladly repaid Lord Irwin the favor, taking a chunk of flesh out of his sword arm.

“Arrrgh,” cried the man, dropping his sword, his hand covering the wound.

The crowd cheered this time for Orrick but, for some reason, he didn’t feel victorious. He couldn’t stop thinking about his fellow comrade he’d killed so many years ago.

“The second point goes to Sir Rick,” shouted the herald.

“Well, one more round and we’ll see who wins.” Orrick held out his hand to help the man up. “Let me help you . . . old man.” He chuckled at his own jest.

Sir Irwin pushed his hand away and got to his feet. A squire ran over to wrap up the man’s wound to stop the blood flow.

“That’s a nasty gash,” said the squire, tying the strip of cloth over Lord Irwin’s wound.

“I left a pretty good gash on my opponent as well,” boasted Irwin. “You might want to wrap his wound as well since it’s probably going to leave a nasty scar.”

“Aye, my lord.” The squire walked over and surveyed Orrick. “Where are you hurt?” asked the boy.

“His sword hand,” said Irwin, walking over. “I took out a good chunk of flesh.” His eyes dropped down to Orrick’s hand and he shook his head when he realized there was no cut and no blood. “Mayhap it was his other hand I hit and I’m mistaken.”

“Nay,” said the squire, inspecting Orrick’s other hand. “There doesn’t seem to be a scratch on him.”

“That’s impossible,” blurted out Irwin. “I saw the blood.”

Corbett rushed over and, thankfully, broke into the conversation. “I think we should move on to the next set of competitors.”

“Nay! I want to find out who will win,” shouted Irwin. “The score is tied. Now let’s finish the fight.”

“Sir Rick, I don’t know about this,” mumbled Corbett, wanting Orrick to stop fighting.

“I say, what’s stopping us? I’m curious as to who will be the winner as well,” agreed Orrick.

Corbett shook his head and stepped back, letting the fight continue. “No killing and I mean it,” he called out. “Now, wait for me to call out to start.”

“He’ll have to beg for his life if he wants me to spare it,” boasted Lord Irwin.