Chapter 20: The Ring

The Ring is a circle of spears driven point-up into the ground, forty paces across.

The old law says anyone who steps inside it to help a fighter forfeits the fight, and the crown with it.

The two armies drew back, and the Alphas of the Moon Court came out of the gate in their furs to stand around the spears.

Jorund came to the edge, and a Redmoor elder put a hand on his arm.

"Don't," the elder said.

"If you cross, she loses."

Jorund's whole body was strung.

"Brenna."

"I know."

"You can't use the voice on him.

"He's stopped his ears."

"I know that, too."

"Then go for his legs first."

"Jorund."

"I'm only saying."

Caelan was grinning, white in the face, at the spears.

"I'll hold your coat," he said.

I gave him my coat.

Poynings took off his plate and his chain and stood in black wool with a plain sword in his hand.

He was fifty-eight and thin, and his shoulders were still square.

He walked into the Ring like a man walking into his own study.

"You have your father's stance," he said, pleasantly.

"Your real father's.

"He held his sword just so, right before I disarmed him once, at a hunt."

He did not say when.

I understood that he wanted me to ask.

I raised my sword instead.

He came in fast.

His blade was quicker than anything I had faced in six years on the border, and he never wasted a stroke.

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