Whenever-kobo by Emily Evans

it was to gawk.
    The dark warlord stepped forward. He spoke in a somber voice through his shaggy beard. “Kill the King. Kill the wizard. Bring me the witch.”
    The priest clasped his hands together and prayed for our salvation. I’d seen last rites given on TV. The priest was giving us last rites. Group last rites. I gasped on a breath and said a prayer of my own.
    King Mael rose and turned to face the noblemen. He drew his sword, pointing it at the dark man. “Who stands with Hud? Who stands with me, with a united Ireland?”
    The other twelve drew their swords and pointed them at us. The dull grey iron hovered in the air below eyes filled with glittery malice.
    This felt real and hostile and dangerous. Peace balanced on the blade of a single sword between us and the betrayers. Waves of nausea floated through me.
    Callum stepped down from the pulpit. The late afternoon sunlight shined through the arched windows, surrounding him in a glow.
    “No,” I said, my voice low. “Talk to them.”
    Unarmed, Callum kept walking.
    Half the betrayers turned to face the new threat. The other half focused on King Mael.
    Callum’s gaze passed over the King and rested on each man in the semicircle. He widened his stance and still stood taller than the others. There was only one of him, but his physique was intimidating: broad shoulders, muscular arms, athletic build.
    Holy hot epic warrior . My breath caught.
    “Am I too late to witness my cousin’s coronation?” Callum asked. His Irish accent lost its lyrical quality and his words held bite.
    “Let me reason with them,” I said.
    Callum didn’t look at me.
    King Mael said, “Welcome, cousin. These noblemen from the far reaches of Ireland were about to offer their fealty to our house, the house of Cétchathach.”
    Chill bumps rose on my arms, not only with the cold, but from fear that this day might have the same ending as history, only with two extra bodies: mine and Callum’s. A tragic trinity. I choked back a sob. Wasn’t that what Ireland was known for? Their trinities? Their tragedies?
    King Mael handed the sword to Callum and withdrew a knife from his belt.
    Callum swept the weapon from left to right and the large emerald in its hilt flashed in the candlelight. “On your knees.”
    I fought the urge to kneel myself. He needed to talk to these guys not wave a sword around, not incite more violence.
    Four of the noblemen knelt. Six remained where they were. Four charged.
    I covered my mouth and backed up. “No.”
    Callum swung the flat end of the sword at the nearest man’s temple, the sound a dull thump. The man dropped and his weapon hit the floor, clattering on the stones. The speed at which Callum had taken him out made the other three hesitate, but Callum didn’t wait for them to reconsider. He kicked the fallen weapon toward the King.
    King Mael put one foot on the blade, but didn’t move from his position. He stood tall and proud as his champion fought for him.
    I searched for a way to help and not be captured or speared myself. Pleading for them to stop seemed useless at this point. The clang of steel on metal pierced the chill air along with the men’s grunts and curses. The whole fight, as unbelievable as it was, escalated. Callum whirled and ducked. He struck out with his sword and his feet. It looked like karate tossed in with Krav Maga. Twisting, spinning, he had far superior skills than the challengers. He didn’t even use the sword like it was meant to be used: pointy end first. He used the flat end and hit weak points: temples, kidneys, arteries. He used a combination of anatomical knowledge, mixed martial arts and medieval weaponry.
    As I watched, I made a vow to take Mom up on a self-defense class when I got home. I’d shaken her suggestion off, but now I wished I’d listened. I grabbed a heavy gold jug from the corner and lugged it down the steps, until I stood between Callum and the King. I didn’t want to get in Callum’s way, but maybe