It was fortunate for the man that it was the wrong season for blue crabs to be moving down the Sasfras river, or he might have had his bones picked clean. They were hibernating, waiting for the warm season to pass into the hot season. Their six-inch claws would have torn the unresponsive muscles from the man's bones; they probably would have cracked the smaller bones to get at the marrow.
Instead, a couple of kids from Better found him. He was half buried in the mud, and they thought he must be dead. They ran to find the harbormaster, and soon the men of the village had dragged the body onto the shore, and with a couple of husky watermen working the pumps, sprayed him clean.
He was wearing auld boots, and at his belt was an auld knife. If there had just been a few present, these treasures would have disappeared and the man would have become all-dead, instead of just half-dead, like he was now. The harbormaster was enough of a deterrent, though, and the others looked to him for guidance.
"Look at the mark on his arm," said the harbormaster after a long pause, "I know that mark."
The others waited, excitement slowly dying, as the harbormaster settled on his haunches next to the man. He moved the limp right arm to get a better view of the mark, and then swore under his breath.
"He's for the Kent," the harbormaster said, in a matter-of-fact tone that brooked no argument. There was the slightest sigh of longing, as the men looked at the ancient artifacts again.
The visitor woke hours later, bumping along in the back of a cart. The huge oxen that pulled the cart stumped down the track, oblivious to the patches of blacktop spitting up from the mud and weeds. One section of the auld road was like an accordion, and that caused the bumping that roused the man.
He came to with a start, and was on his feet in the blink of an eye. The healer at Better had bandaged his lacerated head, and he tore off the dressings as he rose to his feet, blinking in the bright sun.
One of the boys who had found him was sitting up front, occasionally tapping the oxen with a long pole. In the cart with the visitor was the harbormaster, who now displayed his broken-toothed grin.
The man reached for his belt, and then looked wildly around, unable to find his knife.
"Looking for this," the harbormaster asked, his grin widening as he produced the blade, handle forward.
"Is this a dagger which I see before me," the man asked in an affected voice, clearly put at ease by his fellow passenger's actions, "The handle toward my hand?"
He took the blade and sheathed it, after running his thumb gently down the edge; this last was clearly an action that came of long habit, as he did it reflexively, and his attention was already focused on the road ahead before the knife point had even entered it's home.
"Where are we headed?" The question was posed not nonchalantly, but with a certain air of confidence, as if the man had knowingly gone to sleep in the Great Bay expecting to wake up in a cart.
"We came from Better," said the tall harbormaster, "and we're headed to see the Kent."
"Hmm," came the reply, "still the same Kent who wrestled the Anthoneus and wrote the Law of the Bridge?"
The harbormaster chuckled and thought a bit before he responded, "Yes; although to look at him, you wouldn't think he could wrestle a squirrel. His teeth would be long, if he had any left."
"You seem to mock him, yet you think it best that he deal with a stranger found with auld artifacts and the mark of Anne on his arm?" The question was not gentle; the man's smile ended with his lips. The eyes stayed cold and unblinking.
To his credit, the harbormaster did not flinch at this obvious rebuke; instead he laughed aloud and clapped the stranger on the back. He turned away from him as he replied, "The Kent's wrestling days are over, but his mind is sharper than ever. You may wish you had stayed in the inlet until the blue crabs found you if he decides you are unwanted."
They rested that night in a crossroads village called Wortonrail, and the visitor slept soundly under the cart next to the harbormaster. Once, when a curious village boy crept up to look at this strange man, he found his throat balancing on the tip of the auld knife, and he fled.
The next day saw the three of them in Chesterton. Apparently word of their coming had just reached the city walls. The streets were lined with townsfolk pouring out from side roads and houses, who elbowed and pushed to see the big man with the auld boots and knife as the cart passed by. The mark of Anne was clearly visible on his right arm; it looked like an owl perched on a wide basket. It seemed at once like a tattoo and like an iridescent blue flatworm, clinging to the man's arm.
When he moved, the mark seemed to move like it had a life of its own, but not when you directed your full attention to it. It always seemed to have just stopped moving. Now the people of Chesterton witnessed it fully, as the green shirt the man wore was ratty and missing its sleeves. Only the belt, knife and boots were in good condition. Even the brown pants were nearly worn through in places.
After the long journey, the trip through town seemed short, and in no time the cart was stopped at the Chester Bridge. The two men alit from the cart and walked toward the castle that was a bridge.
The crowd had followed, and as the two men walked up the auld pavement of the bridge to the open gates of the Kent's castle they closed in, not wanting to miss this visitor's royal audience.
But raised voices approaching from the other side of the gate caused everyone to halt, and silence passed from the front ranks to the back as everyone struggled to hear.
" and I claim the Right of Arms to challenge your ruling, old man."
A collective gasp came from the people gathered. No one had claimed the Right of Arms against the Kent since he had passed his fifth decade. If someone planned it, they were silenced before they could approach the beloved old man. It was the law that, with some exceptions, he had to accept the challenge and fight to prove his justice valid if a citizen claimed the Right of Arms. This Kent, called Pythus before he had raised himself to the River Throne, could hardly stand to fight anyone, much less a young, fit man.
The Kent walked through the gates, eyes not downcast, but looking down as he took the deliberate steps of the old. Behind him two figures in chain mail interposed themselves between him and the very large, purple-faced man who had issued the public challenge.
"I accept," said the old man, in a quiet voice that nonetheless carried over the still crowd.
At this, the challenger pushed his way past the stunned man and the woman guarding the Kent, and moved out to face the shocked audience.
"Bear witness," came the burly man's cry, and when no one replied he repeated his demand, "Bear witness!"
Lamentations and sobs were all that echoed back at the challenger. His red hair was dripping with sweat; apparently he had got himself quite worked up getting to this point. He was about to shout his demand again, when the old man spoke.
"I will bear witness."
The challenger laughed while the crowd cried even louder, letting their shock and disappointment be heard.
Quickly, the challenger crossed through the crowd, which parted to let him pass, and came to a large column. It had two spears resting in sconces, jutting out at angles, and above that, a tall wooden box seemed to surround the column, with three columns of carved words on each of the four faces.
The Kent, with surprising agility, had arrived at the column at the same time as the younger, stronger man. As the challenger reached for a spear, the old man's hand shot out and stopped his. He tapped on the wooden box, above the spears, and smiled.
"First we must read aloud from the axones the full passage guaranteeing your Right of Arms," the Kent said as he released the malcontent and started to spin the wooden frame around the column. The three columns on each face of the axones rotated in place as the box itself rotated, showing that each had three faces, like a triangular column. The Kent found the passage he was looking for.
He looked at it for a moment, and then turned to face the crowd. The visitor could see that cataracts clouded one of his eyes, and the other looked weak and watery; but his countenance remained firm as he started reciting, apparently from memory.
He described the process of the Right of Arms, down to the weapons that the combatants would use, and where they should stand to start their challenge. Just when the frail voice seemed to be winding down, and the crowd nearly moaning with fear and apprehension, the Kent turned to face the challenger, and his voice hardened.
"and so they will fight," he fairly chanted, "until one is pinioned to the ground by the other's spear, and there shall be no recourse for the Kent but to make this fight, save that a Child of Anne should stand in his place!"
He finished with a flourish, turning to crowd, which fell dead silent. There had been no challenge for nearly forty years, and even then, the Right was so old and accepted that it was rarely read before a challenge.
The challenger threw back his head and laughed; a deep, brazen roar that oozed disdain. He reached up and grabbed both spears, holding one out to the shocked crowd, mockingly making bows as he turned about.
He was turning back to the Kent when the visitor's hand closed around the oak shaft, startling the challenger out of his laughing fit. The crowd gasped and spread apart, as the doomed challenger loosened his grip and watched as the man who would kill him took the required thirteen steps away from the column.
"Child, I will accept your offer, as I feel a bit achy this afternoon," the Kent's voice was not gloating, but rather resigned, "and Brody, if you would take your thirteen, we can finish this quickly."
The challenger could not back down now, and he did not even attempt it. He took his paces on the other side of the column, and fared well enough that the crowd actually was worried for a bit.
But in the end, he overextended past the twisting torso of the visitor, who's off arm clamped down on Brody's spear. His own spear then passed cleanly through Brody's neck, and the erstwhile challenger choked out his last as the visitor maneuvered his spear point down to the ground, carrying his opponent's body with it. The point dug into the ground, and the visitor left the spear standing there as he walked past the reaching, cheering crowd to the Kent.
As the two grasped arms in the style of Anne's Town, the old man spoke into the visitor's ear.
"Welcome and well met. Your name is safe with me, Child, for we both know they would not cheer so loudly if they knew it. Stay a while, and meet my family."