The other boy was grinning, and it was easy to get mad enough to want to cut his head off. Both hands on the long haft of his weapon, Mike swung harder, more surely than the first times he handled the sword. He could parry, now—and cut. Like that!
The boy staggered back. The side of his head was bleeding profusely, and the blood spurted through his fingers as he pressed them to the gaping place where his ear had been.
"Rules! Rules!"
Mike lowered his sword. That was right, the rules. He couldn't kill now....
So he tried to laugh. At first he had to force the sound from his throat, but suddenly he found it coming easily, clear, and loud.
The boy left the field toward the medical tents.
And Mike found another with whom to practice. It was what Jon had said, a great game—a great, crashing adventure!
He swung the sword and wondered if the dream would ever have to end.