The Living Sword 3: The Burden of Legacy

by Pemry Janes

  However, that amusement died when she saw Perun’s glance across the podium to something on the other side, or someone. She didn’t recognize him, but his draen told her he was Falcon, and the gold he’d used therein spoke of wealth. Not the markings of a leader, though. A merchant then, one who prospered.

  But why is Perun looking so nervous?

  On the podium, the combatants clashed once more. Captain Slyvair had the right idea: make Evident Spark react to him instead of the other way around. It wouldn’t counter her speed, not quite, but there was power behind those swings that Evident Spark struggled to stave off.

  “Yes! Yes! Get her!” Perun jumped up and down.

  Evident Spark caught the sun-man’s blade with her own and her buckler. She slid her blade up in a counterstroke which in turn got caught. Captain Slyvair pushed it away and lunged forward. She threw herself to the side and struck.

  The shaman extended a hand down the middle of the podium. “Simultaneous hit, no point!”

  “No!” Perun turned to her. “He hit first!”

  “I could not see from this angle,” Leraine said. “Evident Spark dodged, so it must have bought her a moment. But the shamans have a better view.” Certainly Captain Slyvair didn’t seem perturbed by the pronouncement.

  “But he must win!”

  “There is no guarantee. Evident Spark is well trained and she has the Great Serpent to aid her. The odds favor her.” As she said that, and saw Perun cast another furtive glance, a suspicion reared its head. “Perun, did you make a bet?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe.” The boy looked at Captain Slyvair. “He supposed to win.”

  They squared off again, this time Captain Slyvair fell back when Evident Spark surged forward. He stayed out of range, baiting her to chase him around the podium.

  “Stand and fight, you co—” Evident Spark’s shout turned to a yelp as the sun-man stopped and lunged at her. She almost didn’t get her buckler in position and her own slash only hit air. Her fellow Snake warrior pressed forward but Captain Slyvair resumed his retreat.

  He can’t keep this up. She’s already trying to herd him into a corner.

  He had noticed that himself and feinted to his left, then sprung forward, slashing at Evident Spark. So focused had she been on attack that the idea of defending took precious time to take hold. Too long, her clumsy block fell apart and Captain Slyvair’s wooden sword thwacked her on the shoulder.

  “Point to Slyvair!”

  “I wasn’t aware people were betting on these fights,” Rock said.

  “Of course they are . . . Let me guess. Betting is another thing the san do not do.”

  He shrugged. “Not much to bet with. They—we—have no need for money or much in the way of wealth. Our houses, I suppose? What would you do with two houses? You can only sleep under one roof at a time.”

  Perun sniffed. “Said by someone never been poor. I will not be. I am going to be rich!”

  Leraine looked at the merchant again. He looked tense himself. “How much did you bet?”

  The boy didn’t look at her, his foot scraped over the ground. “It . . . I bet big.”

  She squinted. “How much, Perun? More than you have?”

  “Mebbe.”

  “Ah,” Rock said. “What happens if you lose more than you can pay? I know you can lose your freedom in Linese and Irelia.”

  “The same is true here. Especially when the debt is owned by an outsider.”

  “He going win.” His command of Linesan faltered as he hunched his shoulders and set himself against the future. A future that arrived now as Captain Slyvair and Evident Spark exchanged blows for the last time.

  Clack, clack, clack. Slyvair grunted, bending forward as Evident Spark’s sword dug into his stomach. But her knees buckled under the blow on her shoulder. A hushed silence descended upon the crowd as the three shamans conferred. Their shawls hid some of the discussion, but the gesticulating of one of them told Leraine it was not an easy decision.

  “He won, he won, he won,” Perun said.

  Rock said nothing, but shook his head when their gazes met. One moment later one of the shamans turned away while the other crossed her arms. The third stepped forward and waited for a heart beat longer before pointing. “Point to Evident Spark. Evident Spark of Urumoy wins.”

  “No!” Her hand landed on Perun’s shoulder before he could rush the stage. “Let go. Let go of me!”

  He’d returned to Irelian and Leraine answered him in the same language. “He fought well. It was a close thing.”

  “You just say that cause she’s one of you. Same as the—” He faltered under her stare.

  “It’s not a wise thing to suggest the shamans are biased. Especially during the Conclave Games. Especially when there is no evidence of that. Now, here comes Captain Slyvair. Did he even know you wagered on the outcome of this fight?”

  Perun looked away. She only caught a mutter but she could guess what word Perun didn’t want to say.

  But nothing more could be said on it, as the sun-man had good ears and he’d caught sight of her and Rock. “You fought well, Captain Slyvair,” she said, switching back to Linesan.

  “Yes, it was a close thing,” Rock said.

  “Not close enough.” Captain Slyvair shook his head and raised his new left arm up. “It responds well, but a few weeks training is not enough to condition a limb of flesh and blood. I should have figured it would not be enough for one of steel and crystal either.”

  “And the skill of your opponent had nothing to do with it?”

  He gave a tired chuckle. “It’s not the skill that made the difference. No offense to your people, but some of the fighters in this competition are not that good. They’ve had training, yes, but they lack experience.”

  “We’ve had a peaceful few years.”

  Captain Slyvair nodded, but his attention had turned to Perun who had said nothing and wasn’t even looking at the sun-man. He put his hand on the boy’s head. “Buck up. I’m not out of this yet. And I never thought I could win it all anyway.”

  At that Perun finally looked up. “Yes, you can!” He still wasn’t using Linesan. “You’re the best! You don’t even need magic to beat spellswords! These beastlies—”

  “Perun!” The sun-man’s voice cracked like a whip. “What have I said of such words?” He leaned in, casting a shadow over the boy.

  “It’s all right. I’m sure he meant nothing by it,” Leraine said.

  Rock said nothing as he couldn’t follow the conversation. His Irelian remained quite poor.

  But Captain Slyvair grunted and shook his head. “No, that’s even worse. You say what you mean or you don’t speak at all. And what have I said about disrespecting an enemy who has beaten you?”

  “It says worse things about yourself.” Every line and motion of the boy spoke of sullen resentment. “Because they were good enough to beat you.”

  “And?”

  “No such thing as a fair fight.”

  The sun-man gave a sharp nod. “Just so. You’ll almost never face an enemy that is your equal in skill, in gear, in strength, in power, and a hundred other things. You do your best to bring the odds in your favor and this time, I didn’t do enough. But winning is not about defeating the enemy, it is about getting what you want. And I wanted—no, needed—practice.”

  Leraine decided not to speak of Perun’s bet. Still, when they headed out for a bite to eat she turned to Rock. She did make sure to speak in Thelauk. “First Misthell, now Perun. You wouldn’t be so foolish as to bet on the outcome of my matches, right?”

  “No. I leave the betting to Misthell. And he is earning his keep these days. When I left he had a whole new audience to entertain over at the Outsider quarter.”

  “And you’re not worried about someone stealing the unattended living sword?”

  “Not sure. How long do you think before they’d try to return him, you think?”

  Nib
bling on her lower lip, Leraine hummed. “A day?”

  He grinned. “Surely not. Given how valuable he is, they’ll hold out for at least two!” Rock shook his head. “But no, I’m not worried. I set him up next to a merchant. He agreed to guard him in exchange for some of the money Misthell earned. And pulling him out of the little stage I made for him would take a pickaxe.”

  ***

  Music drifted through the evening’s air. From his seat on the bench Eurik could just see the one producing it. He had a long, fairly flat wooden box lying on its back before him with nearly a dozen long strings. The man plucked at them and notes sprang forth.

  The food was good as well. Salmon baked in clay with several herbs, it just about melted on his tongue. This, he could get used to. Leraine’s elbow dug into his side and Eurik finally looked away from the musician. “Yes?”

  “I asked how you were feeling about the next round. The competition will only get tougher.” Thankfully, it wasn’t happening tomorrow. They were giving the competitors a day to rest and recuperate. Instead, there were archery competitions and a game called spear-tossing. That one involved throwing and catching blunt spears.

  He gave out a sigh. “What can I do? I’m still learning Dance of the Whirlwind. If I had access to earth, I could switch. But trying to use a Way when you don’t have access to the right chiri while you’re facing, well, someone like you, that’s not going to work. Maybe if I could bring a stone and set it in the corner. Or wear jewelry during a fight. Yes,” he said before Silver Fang could. “I know the rules. That’s not going to work.”

  I could absorb earth chiri outside Chappenuioc and then carry it inside. But it wouldn’t be easy and I’d lose it quickly if I used it. And I’m not good enough to combine the Ways yet so I’d have to lose it all if I wanted to use wind.

  He became aware of someone approaching just as Silver Fang looked past him, her eyes growing nearly two sizes when she caught sight of something. It was a shaman, a familiar one. Yes, she was one of the people who had decided if he represented a world spirit. Sharp Prong, that’s what the rest had called her. She was accompanied by several guards and they were coming right at him.

  “Rock, son of One Claw and Ardent,” she said.

  “Uh, yes.”

  Sharp Prong’s lips twisted and she held up her bronze rod. “Is your mother Ardent, daughter of Reed Dagger, once of Caetiwo?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” She made a noise in the back of her throat. “Don’t get clever with me, boy. You claimed parentage, how could you not know? Or were you lying?”

  “No. But I only have a name and that she was probably a blacksmith.”

  “Right, well, we’ll sort this out, then. But not here. Come along. And I hope this is the last trouble you’ll give us. We’ve got more important things to deal with.” Her gaze strayed toward Silver Fang before snapping back to focus on him.

  “Yes. But could we make a detour? If we want to clear up who my parents were, I do have a witness. Of a sort.”

  “Yes, yes. Best we round them up as well. I don’t want to have this take all evening.”

  “Thank you. Ah, but he’s not allowed into Chappenuioc.”

  Sharp Prong waved her rod under his nose, nearly stabbing it into his face. “What? If he is a criminal, an oathbreaker, then his testimony is worthless anyway.”

  “No, his kind is not allowed into the rings. He’s a sword.”

  “What?”

  Chapter 18

  Taken In

  They drew attention as they made their way into Chappenuioc. Misthell wasn’t helping with that, as he insisted on a running commentary on everything he saw. “Will you look at that. What keeps them upright? And look at all that fabric, thousands must have worked to make all of it. Is this where you fought?”

  “Not quite. I fought over on the stage marked by a standing bear.” Misthell was the only friendly . . . face here. He’d placated Slyvair and Perun, told them not to worry and that he’d resolve this soon. As for Silver Fang, she’d accompanied him back to the Outsiders Quarter, but then had left to go get Blue Scale, a loremistress who had come along from Urumoy.

  One of the guards carried the sword over her left shoulder. Her right hand gripped a cudgel and she’d take a step away whenever Eurik got too close for her liking.

  There were fewer people here in the Outer Circle. Mostly they were cleaning up. The Mochedan respected Chappenuioc, that was clear even to him, but litter and sand found a way. Misthell’s voice wasn’t drowned out by the partying, and many of the sweepers stared as they passed them, up the Outer Ring and over to the Inner Ring.

  The sky was dark. A waxing moon, accompanied by the first stars, illuminated the rope bridge with its pale light. The awnings cast much of the inner parts of Chappenuioc in deep darkness. Looking down, Eurik wondered if the murderer Silver Fang had warned them about hid in there. Or were they off mingling in the feasting crowd?

  He shook his head. That murderer wasn’t his concern right now. Finally, he found himself in front of a row of seated people once again.

  There were only five of them and they didn’t have the shawls or rods of shamans, though just about all wore some jewelry. A ring or two around their fingers, or a bit of silver threaded through their draen. One had a bronze pin closing a short cape richly decorated, while another wore a thin plate of gold shaped like a crescent moon on his chest with a wolf chasing after a crow depicted upon it. Sharp Prong gestured at Eurik. “I present to you Rock, son of One Claw and Ardent.”

  One of the seated people—the armrests of his chair ended in snarling cats—leaned forward to get a better look at him. Oil lamps of glass and bronze had been hung from poles, providing light for the group. The fabric above their heads rippled and clapped in the stiffening wind.

  Thanks to that light, he had a clear picture of Fervent’s expression as she stared daggers at him. Next to her, another woman stood. Maybe a loreteller? They didn’t stand out like the shamans. Apparently it could be read from the draen, but how to read one of those was one of those secrets Silver Fang wouldn’t tell him.

  “So you didn’t run away like your mother did.”

  Should he defend his mother? What if she had done the deed? Eurik just didn’t know. He didn’t know her. But he knew himself. “Was there a reason?” Regardless of what Ardent had done or not done, he wouldn’t be afraid. Not of this.

  “Testing Fork,” one of the loretellers said, the one in the middle of the row. By coincidence, this one was both old and a woman, just like the last time he stood in judgment before a bunch of seated people. The snake on her chair told him something. There were a lot of things a man wasn’t allowed to do or be in the Snake tribe. Including becoming either a shaman or a loreteller.

  “Kindly remind your rangtauk that she is here to prove her case. Judgments are reserved to the court.” The word she used wasn’t quite that, though it basically meant that in Linesan. Justice was a more happenstance thing in this society. Coran of Pelagrianorum’s On the Nature of Law had devoted several chapters on the various Mochedan tribes and how they differed.

  And none of that is going to help me here. The book’s over a century old and things change. I just have to stall for Blue Scale to get here. And remind myself that it is my mother who’s on trial here. Not me.

  Testing Fork inclined her head. “Of course. No such disrespect was intended, Steel Cobra.” Her voice was smooth, almost like it could slide into a song at a moment’s notice. “But I must also correct you. The case was proven twenty years ago. The question we put before you is whether this . . . outsider is indeed the offspring of Ardent. And to have him tell us where the murderer is.”

  “Objection,” Misthell said. “I dispute that assertion.”

  “Why,” Steel Cobra said, cutting through the living sword’s words, “is there a sword here? And why is it talking?”

  Sharp Prong shifted her weight
. “It’s supposedly a witness. I thought it best to bring it along if it was true.”

  Steel Cobra shook her head. “Well, that is in your power. Though can we call a possession as a witness?”

  “We can,” another loreteller said. He sat in the bear chair, his feet dangling off of the ground. “Slaves can testify to facts. They are only barred from giving evidence that would exonerate their master. That’s precedent that property may participate in a trial.”

  “Well, then,” Steel Cobra said, giving Misthell a harsh look. “Be silent until you are called to testify. This is not some soulless trial with lawyers and juries.” Those two words were said in heavily accented Linesan.

  She turned her attention back to Eurik. “You say you are the son of Ardent. Did that Ardent live in Caetiwo twenty years ago?”

  “I don’t know. I only know my mother’s name through Misthell here.”

  “Misthell?”

  “Still think we should allow that to give testimony?” someone else said, laying a hand on the Bear loreteller.

  And Eurik dearly wished he could have had words with his parents right then and there. Relying on a witness whose name was basically Liar wasn’t going to do him any favors here. “I didn’t pick his name.”

  “Right.” Steel Cobra gestured at the guard holding Misthell who stepped forward. “Very well . . . sword. You claim that this young man is the offspring of One Claw and Ardent. How do you know this?”

  “I am glad you asked,” Misthell said, his voice ringing out. “It all began in blood and storm, some seventeen years ago. I woke up—”

  “What? No illusions? I had heard you drew crowds with your illusions,” the loreteller wearing the big golden necklace said.

  “Well, if you want, I could liven up my testimony.”

  “That will not be necessary. Your words should suffice, or not,” Steel Cobra said. “Continue.”

  “You su— Right, where was I? Yes, as I said before I got interrupted, I awoke one bloody, stormy night out at sea. The salty spray—”