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Magnus barked a short laugh. “I must be off. I have to speak with Father. I’ll be back to watch the contest.’’
“It’s less than an hour,” said Pasko.
“I’ll be back.” Magnus gripped his staff, and suddenly he was gone. There was a light inrush of air and a small popping sound and then nothing.
“That’s very dramatic,” said Tal.
“That’s one very dangerous young man,” said Pasko.
“No one talks about it, but he may be more powerful than his father someday.’’
“Someday someone will have to tell me all about that family,” said Tal. As Pasko started to say something, Tal held up his hand, and said, “But not today. Right now I want to rest for half an hour and get focused. I’ve had enough distractions to last a lifetime, and in less than an hour I’ve got to face a man for the championship.”
As he settled back on the bed, his head propped up on a pillow, Tal added, “And I’ve got to work out how I’m going to kill the bastard without getting myself shot full of arrows and crossbow bolts.’’
Pasko paused in lifting another slice of cheese and onion to his mouth and watched Tal as he closed his eyes.
Then he slowly put the food in his mouth and bit off a chunk. Nodding, he thought to himself that the mustard was indeed a bit on the hot side.
__
Tal stood before the King, his eyes fixed ahead. The Master of Ceremonies was droning on, obviously relishing the opportunity to bore the assembled nobility and influential commoners with the entire story of how the tournament of the Masters’ Court had begun.
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Campaneal. He expected the officer of the Duke of Olasko’s guards would be standing still, eyes forward, as Tal’s were.
Finally, the history lesson was over, and the Master of Ceremonies said, “Your Majesty, before you stand the two finest combatants in the world, each eager to prove his worth before your august presence. May I present Lieutenant George Campaneal, in service to your cousin, the Duke of Olasko.’’
The Lieutenant bowed to the King.
Then the official announced, “May I present Talwin Hawkins, Squire of Morgan River and Bellcastle, Baronet of Silverlake, in service to his grace, the Duke of Yabon.’’
Tal bowed to the King.
“Gentlemen,” said the Master of Ceremonies, “you have acquitted yourself in admirable fashion, achieving success in the most demanding competition in skill-at-arms, and now one of you will be named the greatest swordsman in the world. You have been made aware of the rules, and should either of you wish to retire from this contest now, no fault will be laid at your feet.” He glanced at each man to see if either wished to withdraw; but neither man acknowledged the possibility.
“Very well, then, let the contest begin.’’
The senior master from the Masters’ Court, who had held the office nearly thirty years, walked slowly to the center of the area designated for the contest. He motioned for the two men to approach, took Tal by the wrist, and moved him slightly to his left, then did the same by moving Campaneal to the right. “Turn and face me!” he barked, his voice still strong. “Bring no dishonor upon yourself or this court,” he demanded of them.
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and saw that there were armed bowmen and crossbowmen at the ready.
The Master had the grace not to make mention of their presence. “Upon my command, commence the contest, and may the gods grant you strength and honor.’’
Tal turned to Campaneal, who bowed to him. Tal managed the slightest inclination of his head, not wishing to show any courtesy to this murderer.
The command was given, and Campaneal moved straight at Tal, his broadsword held aloft, and then suddenly it was moving in a snap blow to the side of Tal’s body. Tal flipped his wrist, bringing his blade point-down to his left to block the blow, then spun to his right. It was an unexpected move and for a brief instant his back was exposed, but by the time Campaneal could recover and turn, Tal was unleashing a blow of his own, one that should have taken Campaneal in the left shoulder.
But the seasoned swordsman from Olasko squatted slightly, and the blade passed harmlessly over his shoulder, missing it by a bare inch. Tal had to step back, for fear his momentum would turn him so his back was again exposed.
Now that the two opponents had exchanged their first blows, they circled one another, both moving to the left, away from the other’s blade. Tal measured his opponent: Campaneal was nearly as fast as the Keshian assassin, but he more than made up for his slightly slower attack by being far more practiced in the long sword. He carried a perfectly balanced weapon and knew how to execute a complex combination of blows, feints, and ripostes.
Every attack Tal made was met and answered, and several times it was only Tal’s almost supernatural reactions that saved him from losing. Within minutes, both men were panting for breath and drenched in sweat.
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the shouted remarks faded, then died away off completely as the contest wore on. At last, the court sat silently, without even the softest murmur or whisper, as all those gathered watched every move the two combatants made.
People held their breath and even tried to refrain from blinking, lest they miss the sudden resolution that was sure to come.
Tal felt the pressure mount, for Campaneal was easily the finest swordsman he had ever faced. He was cunning and refused to fall into any pattern of moves Tal could discern, and as the moments wore on, Tal felt his chances of winning slipping away. Tal also felt the need to find the perfect attack, the one that could be slightly “off ” and deliver a killing blow that looked accidental. But as minutes slipped by and fatigue started to creep into arms and legs, Tal realized it would be very unlikely that he would have the opportunity to kill this man, and he might even be denied the pleasure of winning the bout.
Then Tal saw something. He watched the Lieutenant flip his sword as he swung at Tal’s off side, then pull the blade around and try to come back from Tal’s right side as Tal’s blade was moving the other way. Tal had seen that move before.
Minutes dragged by, and for long periods the two opponents moved away from one another, circling and trying to catch their breath as they looked for an opening.
Tal decided to take a risk before he was too tired to execute the difficult move.
He started a rather clumsy overhead blow, twisting his wrist so the blow came from over his own left shoulder in a downward arc aimed at Campaneal’s right shoulder. Then he slowly turned his wrist, as if attempting a cut beneath Campaneal’s elbow at the man’s briefly exposed ribs as he brought his own sword up to block the high attack.
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Campaneal saw the opening, and instead of continuing to block high, he thrust his blade forward, attempting to take Tal in the right shoulder.
Tal let his momentum carry him forward, until he was bent over, legs spread wide, his body twisting to the left, the sword on the floor with the point facing his own right boot. Rather than pull back, he kept going until his right knee touched the floor as Campaneal’s sword point jabbed through empty air. As the startled Lieutenant realized he had missed his mark and started to pull back his blade, Tal twisted his wrist and stabbed upward with the point of his own blade, taking the Lieut
enant in the groin.
Campaneal let out a grunt of pain and collapsed to the floor, clutching his groin, as blood seeped through his fingers. Tal stood up and stepped back, while the crowd sat in stunned silence.
It had been a foolish, dangerous move; but it had worked. The crowd exploded into applause and cheering as Tal moved back another step away from his opponent.
The senior master approached and put his hand on Tal’s shoulder, signifying that he had won. Tal made a display of crossing to stand over Campaneal and offering him a hand so that he could rise. The Lieutenant lay in agony, his face a contorted mask of pain, and Tal paused, then turned and said, “Someone should send for a healer. I fear the wound is deeper than I intended.”
Two soldiers in the garb of the Duchy of Olasko hurried to Campaneal’s side and attempted to render him aid. At last, the King’s healer appeared. He examined the wound quickly, then ordered the Lieutenant carried to a nearby room to be tended.
Servants hurried to clean up the blood on the floor, and within minutes everything in the chamber was restored to order.
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Tal barely listened to the praise heaped upon him by the King and the Master of the Court. He nodded and smiled when appropriate and accepted their approbation.
When the King finally handed him the golden sword, a small replica of the original prize presented to Count Versi Dango two hundred years previously, Tal bowed and spoke a few words of appreciation.
But the entire time he wondered how deep that cut had been.
Pasko escorted him back to the room he had used before. There he found a hot tub of water waiting, and he allowed himself the luxury of falling across the bed and letting Pasko pull his boots off.
“I almost lost,” Tal said.
“Yes,” Pasko replied, “but you didn’t. He was wearing you down; you’re a fit lad and a strong one, but he’s a seasoned soldier, and he’s had years of campaigns and real wars to toughen him, which you haven’t. That was his edge. Your edge was your willingness to risk everything on a foolish move. But it worked.’’
“Yes, it worked,” said Tal. “I almost lost because I kept trying to find a way to kill him, and almost too late I realized I had barely enough left to have a chance to win.’’
“Well, done is done.” Pasko put the boots down. “Now, get cleaned up, for there’s a gala already under way and you’re the guest of honor.’’
Tal got into the tub and felt the warmth seep into his muscles. “To think as a boy I thought the cold lake a treat,”
he muttered.
There came a knock at the door. Pasko crossed the room to answer it. He spoke briefly and then opened the door wide. Half a dozen pages entered, carrying clothing fit for a king. The most senior page said, “His majesty sends you greetings, Squire, and wishes you to accept these 9261.01 3/13/03 12:53 PM Page 313
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garments as a humble token of his appreciation and delight at your victory. His majesty awaits your appearance in the main hall.’’
“Thank you,” said Tal, rising and taking a towel from Pasko. “Tell his majesty I am overwhelmed with gratitude, and I shall be along shortly.’’
The pages bowed and departed, and Pasko helped Tal to dress quickly. The clothing was of the finest weave and fit as if Tal’s measurements had been taken by a master tailor. “I wonder if there’s another suit somewhere cut to fit Campaneal,” Pasko mused.
“No doubt,” said Tal. “Are those pearls?’’
“Yes,” said Pasko. “Your doublet is sewn with seed pearls. This rig is worth almost as much as that dainty little golden sword you won.”
When he had finished dressing, the young victor stood before a rare and costly polished glass mirror and regarded himself. The yellow jacket and black breeches were complemented by a white shirt and red hat. Yet it was a stranger he saw. For a brief instant he didn’t recognize his reflection. There was no hint of the mountain boy who had sat shivering upon a frosty peak waiting for his vision.
Before him stood a stranger, replete in the costly and most fashionable garb in Roldem, an urbane, educated young man who spoke many languages, played several instruments, could cook, paint, compose verse, and woo ladies of rank. For a bitter moment, Tal wondered if the boy within was lost forever. Then he pushed this dark thought out of his mind and turned to Pasko. “Come, we must not keep the King waiting.’’
They hurried to the main hall, where the Master of Ceremonies announced his arrival. Tal entered and walked across the hall to stand before the King while the onlookers applauded enthusiastically.
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Next to the Queen stood the Duke of Olasko, and when the general compliments were finished, the Duke stepped forward with a slight smile on his lips, and said, “If I might have a moment, young sir.’’
Tal allowed the Duke to steer him off a short distance away from the King. Duke Kaspar spoke evenly, his voice a deep and soothing tone, belying the dangerous nature Tal sensed within him. “Do you have plans now that the contest is over, my young friend?’’
Tal said, “I have some family business I must attend to, but I haven’t given much thought to what happens after that, your grace.’’
“I’m always seeking men of special talent, young Hawkins, and you strike me as just that. The way you dispatched that Keshian Izmali put you far above most swordsmen, and your defeat of my champion today—well, let’s say there may not be another man in Olasko who could stand up to Campaneal.”
“You flatter me, your grace.’’
“No,” the Duke said softly. “Empty flattery is a waste of time. Those who serve me win praise when it’s deserved, just as they receive punishment when they fail. I’m pleased to say the rewards far outstrip the punishments in my court, for as I said, I seek exceptional men.” His smile broadened, and he said, “And women as well.’’
The Duke looked past Tal, and when Tal turned, he saw a slender women with golden tresses approach, a small smile upon her lips. Tal’s expression remained neutral as the Duke said, “My dear, may I present Squire Talwin Hawkins, late of the Kingdom?” To Tal he said,
“Squire, this is my companion, the Lady Rowena of Taslin.’’
“My lady,” said Tal with a bow.
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managed to reach the palace in time for the duel. You were magnificent.”
“You praise me too much, Lady,” said Tal.
Turning to the Duke, she said, “It’s a pity about the Lieutenant.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” said Kaspar. Then he turned to Tal. “Ah, you won’t have heard, will you? Your blow cut an artery in the groin. It’s a tricky thing, which pulls back up into the body when severed. I’m afraid my lieutenant bled to death while they were sending for a healing priest.’’
Tal felt his heart stop for a moment, then he said, “That is indeed regrettable, your grace.’’
“You know, it’s only the fourth fatality in the history of the tournament, and you’re responsible for two of them, in the same day. This afternoon’s was certainly justifiable, given the circumstances, but tonight’s . . . an unfortunate mishap. It’s a murderous wound.’’
Tal stiffened, but the Duke added, “A poor choice of words, my young friend. I watched the bout closely, and your thrust was blind. I don’t think you could see where the point was heading. It was clearly an accident.”
“I am very sorry to have cost you a fine officer,” Tal said.
“Well, then,” answered the Duke, “make it up to me by coming to Opardum and taking
service with me.’’
Tal’s heart beat faster. “I’ll consider it, your grace. As I said, I have some family business that requires my attention, but once that’s finished . . . perhaps.’’
“Very good. Now if you’ll excuse me,” the Duke said, extending his arm and escorting the Lady Rowena away.
Tal made his way back to where Pasko was waiting, acknowledging a dozen congratulatory remarks on the way. When Pasko saw Tal’s face, he said, “What’s wrong?’’
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is lurking.” Tal looked around the great hall. “I’m certain he’s out there somewhere.”
“And then?’’
“I will tell him I know who sent the assassins to kill me.
It was the Duke of Olasko.’’
“How do you know?’’
“He knew the assassin was an Izmali. Only Magnus knew that for certain, because he had been to Kesh. The only way Olasko could know is if he had hired the man’s clan to send him.’’
Pasko’s expression changed. Then he said, “I’ll find him.’’
As he started to step past Tal, he felt the young swordsman’s restraining hand on his arm. “One other thing,” Tal said.
“What?”
“That woman with Olasko.’’
“Yes, what about her?’’
“It’s Alysandra.”
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Magnus paced.
“I sent word to my father about Alysandra. I’m awaiting a reply.’’
“You didn’t know she was with the Duke?” asked Talon.
“No,” said Magnus. “I’m not privy to every detail of every plan my father has in place. All I know is she left the island less than a year after you did.’’
“Nobody told me.’’
Caleb sat quietly in the corner of Tal’s apartment.
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