Read Online Igraine the Brave by Cornelia Funke - Free Book Online Page B

close up. But the knight just sighed, murmured sometimes “Yes,” sometimes “No,” and now and then simply “I forget.” Igraine, however, had dreamed for so long of riding beside a real knight one day that she went on asking questions. What did the coat of arms on his shield mean, she asked. Did he prefer fighting with a sword or a battle-ax; was the King really as useless at tilting with a lance as people said? That question made the knight laugh. And finally he began talking.
    By the time they left the Giant’s Hills behind and reached the marshy plain that stretched all the way to the Whispering Woods, the sun had risen and Igraine had learned quite a lot about the knight’s adventures. But she hadn’t yet found out why he was so sad.
    “How much farther is it to your parents’ castle?” asked the Sorrowful Knight as they watered their horses at the Elfin River, which was said to flow all the way to the sea.
    “Oh, it can’t be much farther now,” Igraine said, yawning. “If we don’t stop to rest, we can be there just after sunset.” Her stomach was rumbling, and she was dreadfully tired after the long, endless ride, but she couldn’t wait to be home again.
    “We should rest our horses,” said the knight, and slipped out of the saddle. “Nothing hostile has met us yet, but it still may, and in that case our horses had better not have weary legs.”
    Igraine could hardly disagree with that, and Lancelot was obviously pleased when she let him wade in the clear water of the river. But Igraine herself could think of nothing but Pimpernel Castle. Had Osmund attacked already? Suppose she came too late?
    “I am rather worried, you know,” she told the Sorrowful Knight softly.
    “And I fear you have good reason,” he said. “Tell me more about this man Osmund.”
    “He’s our new neighbor. His castle is east of Pimpernel. In fact all our neighbors are horrible now, because to the west there’s the One-Eyed Duke, and he has a bad reputation, too.”
    “Yes, I have never heard anyone speak well of him.” The Sorrowful Knight drew his sword and ran his finger over the blade. “Well, what do you say? I see you carry a sword. Would you care for a little passage at arms to loosen up our weary limbs?”
    “Really?” Igraine leaped to her feet.
    Swordplay with a real knight! So far she had never fought anyone but the leather dummy, the grooms at Darkrock, and Bertram — and Bertram wasn’t exactly quick on his feet. She drew the sword she had brought. It was short and not too heavy, as if made for Igraine’s hand. The words engraved on the blade said that it had been a present to her great-grandfather on his thirteenth birthday.
    “If you will allow me,” said the knight, “I’ll choose a long dagger as my weapon. My sword is clumsy and awkward compared to yours.”
    “Of course, whatever you like,” replied Igraine, getting into position. “Shall I put my helmet on?”
    The knight smiled. “That won’t be necessary. You’re fighting a friend,” he said.
    Igraine’s heart was in her mouth as she countered his first attack. After she had parried his blade for the third time, the Sorrowful Knight stopped in surprise. “Well done!” he said. “My word, you’re not at all bad!”
    Igraine felt the blood shoot into her face. “Well, I’ve had quite a lot of practice,” she faltered.
    “Good. Then now I’ll show you a few things that you may not have practiced yet,” said the Sorrowful Knight — and he didn’t seem quite so sorrowful anymore.
    They fenced and fenced while the horses grazed by the riverbank and rested their tired legs. At last Igraine mopped the sweat off the end of her nose, gasped for air, and let herself drop into the grass. “I can’t go on,” she said.
    The knight sat down on a stone beside her and smiled. “You fight very skillfully for your age,” he said. “Even experienced squires are slower. But always remember the two rules of chivalry: Never turn