LXVII. Upon hitting the road, the winds turned chill again, and they blew like whispers sharp as steel and the frozen tears that fell from above gusted against Edwald and his fellowship from the north. Though the horses were old, they proved to be worthy of their noble stock. Their gallop was swift like a rushing breeze, their aim, forwards fixed, was sharp and clear and neither unweathering storm nor killers of cold blood would drift them from their goal. But soon, as a mirage that befooled their eyes, they saw a lonesome wanderer walking his way to the north; he was no other than the very man, whom until some days ago, they had called friend though now they only thought of as a foe.

It had been well past a day, since sir Frann had left the crossroad nigh the tomb, and as he saw Edwald and his fellow men coming his way, he drew out his sword and wielded it like a rival that was forced to face a brother in oath. He had once more doned the King’s banner above his robes. For in his mind, he still thought he stood up for a noble cause, even though by fate’s cruel lot, he deemed it best to turn against his own.

Edwald was first to set eyes upon him, and it was if a fire burned hot within his heart.

-“You treasonous slug,” Edwald raged out, “You boast to be a knight of noble code. Yet, what honour is there in a man who betrays his own?”

-“You should be dead,” Sir Frann said both baffled and wroth, “I hoped those black-clad killers would be enough to outsmart your sword, but it seems I will have to fight you now myself, for no job is well done if one does not take matters into his own hand.”

-“Aye, I should be dead!” Edwald shouted at him, “But someone died in my stead, one so strong and brave with whom I would gladly switch fates.”

It was then that Sir Frann noticed, the fellowship was one man short. “Where is Sir Hans?” he asked realising, too late, his treason’s true extent.

-“He died in the fane,” Edwald said with the utmost regret, “And being so virtuous a gallant, he gave up his life when the butchers came so we might have a chance to escape. How can you even call yourself a knight, when you are not half the man he was? Do you see now what your betrayal has wreaked? Or were you otherwise too spiteful and vain you could not see beyond your pride and grudge?”

-“I will not be deceived by your telling!” cried out Sir Frann, trying to convince himself, he was not to blame, “For far too long, I had kept quiet as you neglected our quest, and since you have declared your true intent, I only did what I deemed best, that you should die for turning against your king and pledge. It is your fault that Sir Hans is now dead!”

-“His blood is not in my hands, Sir Frann,” Edwald coldly said, “‘Tis in yours, and if there is anything good about the fact that I did not perish along with him, is that now I’ll be able to kill you myself!” Thereupon, Edwald drew out Oakenjaw and with boiling hatred towards Sir Frann; he aimed it right at him.

-“This is no fair contest” Sir Frann replied aware of the power of his rival’s blade. “Do you so rely in your magic sword that you would not duel with me with common steel?”

-“This has been my sword long before it was enchanted by dwarves,” Edwald replied, “But to make this fight just I will blind my eyes with a fold.” He took a piece of cloth and wrapped it around his eyes without lowering Oakenjaw, and once tied behind his skull, he was ready for the brawl. He thought of taking his shield with him, but since Sir Frann did not have any of his own, he resolved to duel without it.

There was a silence all about, safe for thunder’s distant drums and the wind’s bitter strokes cooled the steel of their swords. The morrow was almost as dark as the eve before, and the tall hills and thick clouds of the morn loomed over them from high above. Asadue noted on his anguish during the fight, for Sir Frann moved in loops around his rival’s spot, hiding the sound of his steps behind the storm’s far off thud. Yet even with his blinding fold, Edwald’s aim did not avert from his foe; he spun about and followed his whirl.

Sir Frann moved sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, ring after ring, loop after loop, always fixed on his spinning opponent, whom after so much twirling, felt dazed and wobbly. And then, swiftly like a bolt’s flash, Sir Frann kicked Edwald in the thighs and he fell to the ground. In haste, Edwald got back on his feet, but he had lost track of the knight, so he spun left and right, his sharp ears searching for his feet’s scuffling sound. Yet once again, Sir Frann had outsmarted him, so he slashed Edwald in the arm from behind.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Master Asadue wished to intervene, for to see his beloved pupil, rendered dumb by the blinding of his eyes, was too sorry a view for his sight. Nevertheless, he withheld his hand from intruding, since this was a fair contest, and what is more, he fought for the honour of the one who had given his life for them all, so he kept his thoughts to his own, and let the fight carry on.

Edwald struggled to avoid Sir Frann’s strokes; for each swing of his sword, the knight’s blade twice was blown, lashing his back and torse, once from behind, once from the front. It had been over a month since last he engaged in a brawl, so he had almost forgot how to wield Oakenjaw. Now his vision had been removed, and without his eyes to see the enemy’s thumps, Sir Frann’s strikes were hard to dodge. This went on for a few more rounds, and Edwald’s gashes began to taint his clothes with blood. Despite the pain, he did not even fathom to take off the fold, for he were to die, at least it would be an honourable death.

Yet not all was forlorn. His cuts might have been too sore for him, and any man would have yielded in his place. Still, he had been given a mighty blade, which began to whisper things to him ere it was too late. He put his will to the test, and his sword regained a clearer aim. He was a wound too close to death, but before Sir Frann could strike again, he spun once more to the left and parried his blow instead.

Twice more, Sir Frann attempted to smite Edwald in the head, but as one who had been blessed with a sixth sense, he forsaw his intent and deflected Sir Frann’s thwacks one after the former. In his hurry, the knight forgot to mix his steps with the thunderclaps far away, and Edwald heard his enemy’s feet scuffling to the right and left. Without the guise to cover up his trail, Edwald knew where to strike next. He swung his sword against the wind and cutting sharp through the breeze, he smote Sir Frann in the heels.

The knight stepped aback, but he did not fall to his knees. He aimed his brand to Edwald’s heart, and with great speed he charged forth. Edwald heard Sir Frann’s strides coming his way, so rolling forwards to the right, he dodged the strike and smacked his rival in the side. This time, Sir Frann fell, indeed, on the ground, but he quickly stood again on his feet and blocked Edwald’s next thwack. Hence, it seemed the duel was evened out, for the might of each swordsman was at last on par.

Master Asadue noted on the pith of this single combat. Never before had he seen more thrilling a fight in his life, since the thew and wits of each man was an awful excitement to the sight. Many minstrels put to songs hereupon the nature of the fight, and every blow and parry was embellished in the prose of their hands. Oakenjaw glew blue and silver as it warded off the rival’s blows, and when steel clashed against steel, the blade sent out sparkles of red and gold. And the gods, from their halls high above, blew their horns of war as the battle raged on. Yet here we must diverge from their tales and lays, for they often told that Edwald’s magic blade found its way to finish off the knight, he had once called friend.

In truth, when Edwald’s fate seemed to turn, he made his final blow and so was the might of that smite, that Sir Frann fell with his back on the ground. And though his foe one strike away from the abyss of death, he could not find it within himself, to bring Sir Frann’s life to an end. Instead, he threw away his sword and began to beat him in the face with his very fist; punch after punch, he yelled at him as he battered and thumped. At first it was only a loud cry, shrieking with all his lungs at the man on the ground, for though his face was above his, their hearts were miles apart.

-“Damn you!” he yelled at him, spitting on his eyes. “How could you betray us after all we’ve been through? Had you kept quiet on your way to Culgarost, Sir Hans would still be alive!”

-“I did only what I thought was right,” said Sir Frann, his sweat mingled with blood from his mouth, “I regret nothing, but at least I get to die as befits a knight. So come on, now, blow your last strike. You said it yourself; I have his blood in my hands.”

-“You were never a knight,” Edwald replied, “You are only a lout who likes to guise himself as one. You are not even worthy to die in the same manner as did Sir Hans. Aye, his blood in your hands, but yours shall not be in mine.”

-“Nay, kill me! You must!” Sir Frann cried at him, as Edwald stood on his feet again, “I have betrayed you trust! I killed Sir Hans! I deserve to die!”

-“Let that knowledge poison in your mind, like a worm that grows within your insides.” Edwald replied, “For you don’t have the honour to die as a knight. Farewell, Sir Frann. May the Gods forgive you for what you are; a turncloak undone by his own pride.”

And so, Edwald and his fellow men got back on horse and left the disgraced turncloak to his own. The last thing Master Asadue ever heard him saying was “Kill me! Kill me!” as they rode to the north. And those dreadful last words, were marked in the minds of all. Yet no other memory they had of meeting him again thereupon.

There are some texts that convey, he lived until old age somewhere far away in a hamlet of no name by the shores. Nevertheless, there are some sources that tell us he died shortly after the fight. They say, he dug a hole under the shadow of a tree, on which trunk he hung the king’s banner he always wore. Therein he put himself to rest and burying his body with what little earth he could, he thrust his own sword into his heart. The site was somewhere near the road, and whenever farers walked past his grave, they said it had belonged to a knight who could not keep his word.