The Badgerbane
part II
The two were evenly matched, and by the standards of rough men, it was a good fight; for every swing missed, two others made contact, and the water splashed about whilst one man gained on the other.
Scarlock was reasonable in fist fights, being a veteran of many nights turned merry; and so it seemed was his opponent, who more than equalled him swing for swing. Scarlock's fists rose and fell twice as hard with all the force of a bowman- but he was answered twice as fast by the swordsman, and neither man looked set to yield.
Then a fist connected straight into Scarlock's jaw, and he staggered onto the wet pebbles. He rolled over onto all fours, shaking his head rapidly to regain his wits, and the cool water rushed over his smarting knuckles. The swordsman stood over him panting, wiping the back of his sleeve across his bloody lips.
'You northerners could do with a good wash,' he quipped.
But Scarlock was not yet done for. Up he rose, and suddenly spun round for a hay-maker. Beads of water flew in its wake, and he hit his mark, sending the swordsman careering back with a splash.
'Not today!' he threw back with a hearty laugh, and he flexed his hand from the sting of success.
The swordsman groaned and sat up as the water swirled around him, and he frowned through his now damp curtains of hair.
'Why are we even doing this?' he asked, massaging his cheek.
Scarlock paused and looked at him blankly.
'Because we're men?'
The swordsman chewed on that for a moment, and then he shrugged and nodded.
'It makes sense,' he said wearily, rising again.
And so they resumed the folly of their pride, and each gave as good as he got. Time wore on until their swings became sloppy, and their breathing ragged. Soon their knuckles were riddled with cuts and bruises, and their noses streamed with blood; and yet still they fought, bout after bout, until the brook was tainted red beneath their dancing feet.
Finally the last blows were thrown down, and both men were brought to a kneel. They panted in mutual silence.
'You know,' gasped the swordsman, 'this all feels very pointless.'
Scarlock couldn't disagree with the man. He started to laugh in exhaustion through a red smirk.
'I think this contest is ending in a d--,' but in that moment his words were cut short as the swordsman charged into him.
'You cheat!' gargled Scarlock, as the brook washed over his face. The swordsman pinned him down.
'Sorry,' he said, and he meant it; but then he drew back his fist to finish the job.
Suddenly a queer sound rent the air, like that of a small beast screeching. Both Scarlock and his opponent looked up, frozen in the act. There upon the opposite bank was a badger, and to say it was rabid would be an understatement. It screeched again, whether in threat or fright, neither could tell.
The swordsman immediately recoiled, letting go of Scarlock.
'What is that?' he said, looking comically alarmed. Then he stood up and nearly fell over as he repeated himself. 'What is that thing?'
Scarlock rolled over into the water with a splutter, and then he rose up.
'The badger?'
'Is that what it's called?' said the swordsman, and he stared at it doubtfully.
Scarlock washed his beaten face and flung the water from his hands. Then he gave the man a look of askance.
'You've never seen a badger before?' he asked incredulously.
The swordsman gave him an evasive look. Scarlock stared at him for a moment and then burst out laughing.
Suddenly the mad badger tore over the brook, straight towards them, and the laughter changed into a yelp of panic from both of the men. They fell into the water with a tremendous splash, and the badger leapt over the bank and deep into the trees, never to be seen again.
Coughing and spluttering the two men sat up, sodden now from head to toe. Then they looked at each other, and their quarrel was at an end. They laughed wearily at one another, and then rose as friends, dripping wet.
'What is your right name?' asked Scarlock amid shallow breaths.
The man picked up his sword and flicked the webs of wet hair from his face. Then he surveyed Scarlock, as if weighing up the man.
'Jorich,' he answered. 'And you?'
'Scarlock,' said the other, smudging his damp red beard.
Then they shook bruised and bloody hands, and Jorich looked at him in jest.
'You know I'll have to kill you now? I can't have it be known I was afraid of a badger.'
Scarlock returned the look.
'Something tells me you don't want to be known at all,' he said; 'at least not from whence you came.'
'Do not worry,' he added upon seeing Jorich's face, 'I have no quarrel now with you, whether the South does or not. You fought well, and equalled me; and together we were shamed by a badger. If that is not the making of friends, I do not know what is.'
Scarlock then waded back to the other side and retrieved his longbow and quiver. There he turned, dripping, and stood upon the north bank again. He looked down at Jorich thoughtfully.
'I wish to make you an offer,' he says. 'I am in need of able hands such as yourself, and if you accept, I offer you to join me and my men for a free life in the woods. And upon my word none shall learn that a badger bested us.' Here he paused, and then added: 'In fact I shall make it known that you slew the creature personally, and there will be the makings of your renown.'
Jorich considered his offer carefully whilst catching his breath.
'And what is the free life?'
Scarlock smiled.
'Whatever you make of it,' he answered, and here he offered his hand in symbolic gesture. 'So what say you?'
Jorich looked up at it.
'It can't be any worse than the south,' he answered, and he clasped the hand and hoisted himself up the bank.
Scarlock clapped him on the back with a grin.
'Your new life begins,' he says. 'And I think I prefer John. It's a good name, and it will blend you in. Yes, John it is then...John the Badgerbane. Welcome to the North.'
Jorich smiled, and they trudged away into the woods, drowned, battered and bruised, and their voices faded away.
'Say, Scarlock,' his distant voice asked, 'there aren't many of these badgers in the North are there?'
