He didn’t even smile, but instead swung his blade harder at me. I dodged it and then kicked him with my good leg. He stumbled back a step before he raised his sword again. I leaned forward and grabbed his legs. He tumbled beside me and his blade grazed my shoulder.
I reached for the knife from Imogen and stabbed Roden’s thigh. He yelped and leapt away. “Those leg wounds hurt, don’t you think?” I said.
Roden caught me on the jaw with his fist, but as I fell back I kicked him in the neck. And because I thought his punch was a dirty trick, I kicked him extra hard again. This time, as Roden reacted, his grip on his sword loosened. I dove for it, but he recovered and scooted away, then stood.
“Get up,” he said, heaving gasps of air. “This is a sword fight, not a wrestling match.”
I held up a hand while I caught my own breath. Roden lowered his sword and took my arm, helping me up.
“Why me?” Roden asked. “There’re others you can choose, men of experience, warriors.”
“Anyone fierce enough to threaten an attack on Carthya is fierce enough to defend it.”
“But how could you ever trust me?” Roden asked. “After everything between us.”
“Because you could’ve killed me just now.” I locked eyes with him. “I know everything about how to make an enemy but very little about friendship. Still, I think we were friends back at Farthenwood, until Cregan poisoned your mind.”
“Cregan only wanted me to become the prince.”
“But that’s the problem. If you accept that you never had a chance to become the prince — never — then you can start to look at everything you could become.”
“You always were Jaron,” Roden mumbled, as if this was the first time it had occurred to him.
“And you are Jaron’s friend. I have so few friends I don’t say that lightly. You don’t belong here. You never did.” Roden looked at me and something changed in his eyes. I wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but at least he was listening and not trying to stab me. I continued, “You want to be someone who matters to this world. If you want to make a difference, then let it be a difference for good. In Carthya, you will stand at my side and we will fight together. And that matters.”
Roden faltered a moment, then called out, “He needs a sword. I can’t defeat him honorably unless he’s armed.”
Someone tossed a sword into the ring, far from where I stood. I cocked my head toward it and arched a brow. “That doesn’t count as my being armed. Not if it’s over there.”
Roden groaned, then walked to get the sword for me. The instant it was in my hands, he struck again.
With a real sword I could fight in a more traditional style, minus the obvious complication of a broken leg. I kept my right foot touched to the ground to steady my weight and grimaced each time I needed to use it. Roden’s hits were harder than mine, but I was faster. Except Roden had figured out that all he had to do was rotate a little, which slowed me down, so our blades held each other in a sort of dance.
In their enthusiasm, the crowd of pirates gradually tightened around us, condensing our circle. This seemed to frustrate Roden, who could have used the space to increase the leverage and strength of his swings. It was an advantage to me since the less movement I made, the better. My leg screamed in protest of each step, and it was getting harder every second to ignore it.
I edged Roden toward the thicker part of the crowd. Because of its size, it was slower to react and had the effect of cornering him until the space gradually widened again.
Our blades clashed and parted, then I raised my sword for an attack. He put his blade in position to stop me and got an inadvertent shove from someone too close behind him. He turned his head, very briefly, to yell at everyone to get back.
I swung my blade onto his hand rather than his sword. He yelped as blood trickled down his arm. He tried to swing again, but with the injury to his hand his grip failed and he dropped his sword. I grabbed Roden’s shirt, using his weight for balance as I pressed my blade to his neck.
“Let go of your anger,” I said to Roden. “I became who I was meant to be and you should do the same. You can be so much more than this.”
The hard expression on Roden’s face did not change.
I inched the sword away from his neck and added, “You are not meant to be a king. But you are meant to lead the king’s armies. You are my choice, my guardian, and my protector. Roden, I need you as my friend.”
Something flickered in his eyes again. Roden opened his mouth to say something. Whatever it would have been, he didn’t get the chance. I heard only the hard footsteps of a pirate behind me as he jumped into the circle. Before I had the chance to turn to him, he thrust out a foot and kicked me directly on the calf of my wounded leg. I screamed and fell forward, my entire body consumed in pain. My sword fell far out of my reach, and I landed face-first on the ground.
All around me, the pirates laughed and congratulated their comrade. But with his sword in his hands again, Roden widened the circle and yelled, “Stop it! How dare you interfere with my fight?”
The pirates fell silent. The man who had kicked me snarled, “He was about to kill you.”
“If he was, then it was a fair win. I’m not fit to rule anyway if I needed your help to defeat a one-legged opponent.”
Roden glanced down at me. I’d managed to roll to one side, but the pain in my leg suffocated me with nausea and dizziness. My vision had blurred so that I couldn’t tell for certain whether Roden was standing crookedly, or whether the ground where I lay had somehow tilted.
“Get your sword,” Roden said. “Get your sword and fight me.”