Part 2 (1/2)
The man shook his head, smiling sarcastically. ”Hah!” he said, approaching Flor. ”I know that accent. It stinks of the scullery. Tell me, Serf, where did you steal that----”
He broke off, climaxing his question with an abrupt swing of the sword.
Then, he fell back in surprise. Flor had thrust a hand out to ward off the blow, and the sword had been thrown back violently. The rebound tore it from its amazed owner's hand, and it thudded to the ground. The man-at-arms looked at it stupidly.
Flor sprang aside, scooping up the weapon before the man could recover.
”Now,” he cried, ”stand quite still. I shall have business with you.”
The expression on the man's face told of something more than mere surprise which held him quiet. Here was proof of the powers of the coronet. Flor looked savagely at his captive.
”Take off your cap.”
Reluctantly, the man's hand came up. He removed his steel cap, holding it in his hand as he faced his captor.
”That is fine.” Flor pressed his advantage. ”Now, your garments. Off with them!”
The swordsman was nearly his size. Both of them had the heavy build of their mountain stock, and the garments of the free swordsman would do for Flor's purpose, even though they might not fit him perfectly. Who expected one of these roving soldiers of fortune to be dressed in the height of style? They were fighters, not models to show off the tailor's art.
Flor watched as his prisoner started to disrobe, then pulled off his own single garment, carefully guiding it through the belt at his waist, so as not to disturb the talisman's powers.
He threw the long s.h.i.+rt at the man before him.
”Here,” he ordered. ”Put this on.”
He sensed a feeling of deep resentment--of hopeless rebellion. He repeated his demand, more emphatically.
”Put it on, I say!”
As the man stood before him, dressed in the rough s.h.i.+ft of a serf, Flor smiled grimly.
”And now,” he said, ”none will worry too much about a mere serf, or look too closely into his fate. Here.”
He slashed out with the sword, awkwardly, but effectively.
”I shall have to find a new name,” he told himself as he dressed in the garments of his victim. ”No free swordsman would have a name like Flor.
They all have two names.”
He thought of the names he had heard used by the guards of the Earl.
Flor, he thought, could be part of a name. But one of the swordsmen would make it Floran, or possibly Florel. They would be hunters, or slayers of elk--not simply elk. He looked at the steel cap in his hands.
An iron hat--_deri kuna_.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
”So,” he told himself, ”I shall be Florel Derikuna.”
He inspected his new garments, being sure they hid the belt, and yet left the bosses available to easy reach. At last, he put on the iron cap. It covered the coronet, effectively hiding it.