A voice whispered in Hakon"s ear, and he opened his eyes to the blurry outlines of beams and thatch. He tried to turn his head to search for the source of the voice, but the movement brought a pain that flowed like molten metal from the back of his head to his temples—a pain so severe that he gasped.
“Lie still,” the squeaking voice commanded gently—Louis. “I will fetch Father Otker.”
Hakon tried to piece together what had happened to him. He remembered all that had happened on the sparring log: the crowd, the water, Edmund. He remembered his brief fight with his foster brother, the flashing pugil sticks, the ice underfoot. But that was where his memory stopped. Had he fallen and hit his head? Had something fallen on him? He searched his mind but found nothing that might reveal the sourc
