He turned abruptly and nearly collided with Septime. “Sir! I was just on my way to find—”
“Is it about your participation?” The general glanced toward the list. “You were specially requested, Becknam. You do have something of a reputation.”
Shianan hesitated, surprised. “Requested?”
“Defend us well, Becknam.” Septime smiled and moved on.
Shianan hadn’t planned to fight, but it was no great hardship. He could acquit himself well against the others in the list. But who had requested his inclusion in the demonstration?
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
THE CROWD WAS CHEERING, but Shianan could see quick openings where one participant was tiring; the match would end soon. Then Shianan would be called to the dais for his own match.
In a flurry of movement the fight was over, a wooden sword pressed to a man’s neck and a quick hand signal to yield, and the watching crowd cheered approval. The display was nominally to inspire confidence in the army’s skill, but it was as much entertainment as anything else.
Shianan pulled an arm across his chest to loosen his shoulder. Drummond had won, so Shianan would face him for the next match. Drummond was quick on his feet, but he was typically wide in his defense.
“Commander Shianan Becknam, Count of Bailaha!” announced the ring steward, his voice booming across the plaza. “The Demon Commander, they call him, the hero of Dalm Valley, the feared and fearless officer who saved the Shard of Elan, the slayer of Ryuven, this is your Commander Shianan Becknam!”
“You don’t have to make all that fuss about it,” muttered Shianan as he climbed to the dais, his ears burning.
But the crowd liked it, cheering and shouting approval. The steward eyed Shianan. “Go on, give them something,” he urged. “They want a show.”
So Shianan hesitantly waved. The cheers grew louder, liking his reluctance. His ears continued to burn.
A long, shrill whistle cut through the noise of the crowd, falling into a series of trilling notes. Shianan turned and saw Ariana jumping and waving, her face bright with enthusiasm over her black robes. He felt himself flush hotter.
“A weapon for the commander!” called the steward, and someone threw a wooden sword for Shianan to catch. “And a worthy opponent!” He gestured widely to the deeply tanned swordsman climbing into the ring. “Begin!” He backed out of the way.
This wasn’t Drummond. The strange swordsman was tall, broad, and in no mind to patiently assess Shianan or the ring. He lunged immediately and swept his wooden blade through where Shianan had been standing. Shianan edged away from the wooden rail, giving himself room to move. Who was this challenger?
The swordsman moved again, fast and fierce. Shianan parried and the impact stung his hands. He did not return a counter-attack before the swordsman swung again, and Shianan slid out of range with a defensive thrust meant only to guard his distance.
He came with an overhand downswing, moving fast. Shianan sidestepped, using his feet more than his blade, and watched the swordsman beat his waster into the rail with an alarming crack of wood. Shianan caught his breath. This was no friendly exhibition match with pulled blows and measured attacks. Even a wooden sword could be deadly with such force.
But that blow was an opening. Shianan’s waster cut at the man’s back over the loose vest and rang against steel. Shianan leapt back as the man spun, unfazed by the blow. There was a slim cuirass beneath that loose vest, Shianan noted grimly. He wore light leather himself, to pad any connecting blows, but steel was another matter. Who was this man?
Shianan circled to the center of the ring and watched the swordsman come again. Forego the torso—there didn’t seem to be any armor on the man’s legs. He watched as the man moved and then lunged, slicing toward the thigh. The blow connected and he was rewarded with a wince from his opponent. “What is this?” Shianan hissed as he retreated. “What are you doing?”
A gasp from the crowd saved him. He whirled and barely parried a wide swing from a second swordsman, backing desperately so that he could see both of them. What was happening? Was this some sort of test, or did they really mean to injure him? Could he stop them somehow, demand a halt? At least the first seemed momentarily slowed by the blow to his leg, but that would pass.
He could not face them both with a sword, that was certain. No matter their intentions, a single sword could not defend against two. He thrust at the nearer of the two and risked a glance over his shoulder. There, at the edge of the dais, between the railing and the crowd... “Kote!” he shouted. “Spear!”
Kote grinned and threw the polearm butt-first. Shianan snatched it from the air, letting the wooden waster fall, and in the same continuous motion dropped his weight behind the spear and drove it into the second swordsman. He grunted with the impact, his own waster passing harmlessly before Shianan’s face. Briefly Shianan regretted that he’d had only the butt of the spear.
No, he corrected himself. This was an exhibition match, entertainment for the masses. Kote was grinning. He did not think the battle was real.
Kote wasn’t facing the strength of those blows himself. There was something more here.
Shianan whipped the spear to a more versatile position and faced the first swordsman, who hesitated at the new weapon. A polearm had greater reach than a sword and could be faster. The man glanced at his companion and edged to one side, separating to gain advantage.
They would wear him down a bit at a time, wearying him between the two, or they would converge at once and crush him. He had to take one of them down first. Shianan shifted his grip on the spear and attacked.
The first must have expected the sudden appearance of another opponent to have stymied Shianan, for he was not quite prepared to defend himself. Shianan snapped the spear downward over the wooden sword so that it rapped against the dais and stepped in, reversing the spear and dropping it into the man’s neck—but he ducked away and the spearhead cracked against the steel hauberk. Shianan did not take the time to strike again but spun to face the second swordsman he knew would be coming. Shianan could only deflect his counter-attack before slipping away from the first swordsman again.
Blood roared in his ears, drowning the calls of the crowd. This was no mere match, this was battle. The world contracted around them.
He feinted high, letting the swordsman raise his weapon to meet the spearhead, but the other end of the shaft flew into the man’s thigh. Shianan snarled—he’d meant for the knee. He started for a blow to the head but realized he had no time, whirling instead behind his opponent as the second came at him. He shoved the first man, who stumbled but avoided the second. Shianan jabbed the spear to buy himself distance and saw the swordsman’s free hand reach for the shaft.
Was that a cuff on the man’s wrist? He seized the spear and gave Shianan a savage grin.
Shianan fell backward, away from the first swordsman, and cranked the spear like a gear. The man’s arm twisted with the motion and Shianan shifted his weight, his eyes on the vulnerable joint just below the iron cuff—
The world exploded with a deafening crash. Shianan felt himself falling but could not seem to catch himself. Where was the swordsman? He reached out with his free hand, keeping a tight grip on the spear with the other, and brushed wood. His sword! He tried to grab it, but it whirled away.
Hands took him and he reacted, throwing his arms out and trying to duck. But he could not find his balance and the arms moved with him. “Steady, steady,” Torg’s voice came near his ear. “It’s all right. Just stand.”
Shianan blinked, willing his vision to return. What had happened?
“...And that is the power of a Mage of the Circle!” pronounced the ring steward cheerfully. Shianan heard the crowd murmuring and cheering tentatively. He looked around, seeing fuzzy shapes moving.
“Take a bow, sir,” Torg advised. “Careful—keep your arm on me.”
The world swirled again as he dipped his head and clutched at Torg’s sleeve. “Where are th
ey? Who are they?”
A figure in black moved beside them as Torg drew Shianan to the edge of the dais. Ariana clapped her hands over her head, smiling broadly, and a geyser of golden sparks burst over the ring, cascading over the crowd in a glittering shower. There were sounds of delight.
“Steady down the side, sir.”
Shianan eased himself over the edge, wondering why he felt so dizzy. He realized the two swordsmen were beside him, rubbing alternately their eyes and ears. Soldiers ringed them all, keeping the crowd back and creating space as they started forward. They did not have far to go. The first door they met led to a storage area which General Septime had seized for his purpose.
“Get in here!” he snapped. Shianan straightened and drew himself to attention, still blinking. Septime swore viciously. “What was all that?”
Shianan was struggling for how to explain what he didn’t understand, when he realized Septime had turned on the two strange swordsmen. They cast him resentful looks. “Don’t take on with us,” the first one protested. “We were doing just as told, and we want paid for it.”
“Told by whom?” demanded Septime.
“Our orders,” he answered irritably. “You don’t think we’d come this far for this kind of thing without an agreement, do you?” He nudged his companion. “Give him the letter.”
The second swordsman withdrew a folded paper and passed it wordlessly to Septime. Shianan noted the wrist cuffs.
Septime looked at the unfolded paper. “This is a royal seal.”
The first swordsman nodded. “I know. And you’ll note we’re to be paid?”
Septime turned his eyes on Shianan, who stiffened. “What do you know of this?”
“Nothing, sir. I did not know even that I was to participate until this afternoon, as you saw.” His mind was spinning. A royal seal on orders to fight him in the exhibitions? But the king would not... would he?
The ring steward raised his hands and began shaking his head even before Septime turned to him. “I had only a note saying Becknam was to fight. Nothing else. I thought it was from Becknam.”
“From me?”
“You did not bother to confirm that?” Septime’s expression showed what he thought of this. He turned back to the swordsmen. “How did you receive this?”
The first took back the letter, passing it to the slave. “Just a runner. We weren’t far, as we’d stopped in Birmingtown on our way to find fresh service. We thought a royal seal would be trustworthy.”
“Only the king may use this,” muttered Septime. He looked hard at Shianan. “Why would the king be bringing mercenaries to fight you publicly?”
Shianan shook his head, bewildered. “I don’t know, sir.”
“Becknam, if you’ve—”
The door opened and Ariana pushed inside. “Is he all right? What was that?”
Shianan looked toward her and then remembered the general, jerking himself to attention again. But Ariana had already seen him and started toward him. “What happened? Are you all right? I was worried about the concussion, but it wasn’t... What’s wrong? It should have worn off by—”
Shianan flicked his eyes toward her and then to Septime again, hoping she’d understand. She hesitated and looked to the general.
Septime sighed irritably but his voice was even when he spoke. “My lady mage, thank you for your help. Obviously our own efforts weren’t going to interrupt anything safely, and your display made a nice finish to the exhibition. However, we’re facing a muddle of orders at the moment.”
“It’s not so muddled,” disagreed the swordsman. “It’s plain we were hired to come and fight. Someone needs to pay us our coin, and then we’ll go.”
“Your letter says to fight Shianan Becknam,” Septime read. “Two hundred fifty pias.”
The first swordsman shrugged. “Not bad money for a single fight.”
“But it says only Shianan Becknam,” Septime repeated, frowning. “A proper dispatch would have called him the Count of Bailaha, or at minimum Commander Becknam.”
The swordsman frowned. “Are you saying that isn’t the royal seal?”
Septime shook his head. “No, it is. But I don’t know why this would be written so.”
Prince Soren had taken to calling him Becknam, a more personal use of his own name, but he would surely still use his proper titles in correspondence, and he was not authorized to use the royal seal, anyway. The king called him Bailaha, the title he had bestowed upon Shianan; it seemed unlikely he would have left it out.
Septime straightened. “I think you should remain close until we have clarified this,” he said meaningfully to the swordsmen.
“Oh, we aren’t going anywhere ’til we’re paid properly,” answered the first swordsman. He eyed the soldiers about the room. “You don’t need to worry about that. We did a job, and we want paid.”
“Then you won’t mind going with these men, will you?” Septime smiled tightly. “That way we’ll know where to find you when we have your payment.”
The second swordsman tensed, throwing a quick glance at the first, who hesitated a moment and then gave an uneasy grin. “Why not make it simpler?” he agreed with false amiability. “Lead the way, gentlemen.”
Septime turned to the rest of the room. “Clear out, all of you. Where’s Petar? Becknam, stay here—I want to talk with you.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ariana cast a quick look at Shianan, her face worried. He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but his face didn’t seem to move. She flicked her eyes toward the general and then mouthed something Shianan couldn’t catch before she followed the soldiers out.
Septime turned to Petar, who’d worked his way to his master. “I desire to speak with the king at his convenience. And ’soats, get that to him before he gets a summons to us. Move.” Petar nodded and left hurriedly.
The storage room was empty of people now but for Shianan and Septime. Shianan stood still, waiting for the general to speak first.
Septime released his breath. “Did you know, Becknam, that the king was watching our exhibition matches?”
Shianan twitched. “No, sir, I did not.”
“I thought not to tell you, when I saw that you were on the list. I thought it would be easier on your nerves.” He smiled grimly. “You’re a good man in battle, Becknam, but you’re half a man before the king. I guess that’s to be expected. But I did not want you folding in your match.”
Shianan flinched. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“And now I have to go before His Majesty and explain what fiasco took his match. Either we interrupted a contest he arranged for you, or we lost control of our exhibition and covered it with a magic show.” He frowned. “I assume you did not hear our orders to stand down?”
“No, sir, I didn’t. I was thinking only of the fight.”
“I thought as much. It would have been a messy finish without the Black Mage.” He sighed. “Come on, then. I want to be there when the king agrees to see us.”
“Yes, sir.” Shianan followed obediently.
Half a man. Sweet all, did everyone see it?
They met Petar coming back along one of the upper corridors. “His Majesty will see you now, my lords.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
SEPTIME BOWED TO KING Jerome. “Your Majesty.”
“General.” The king’s eyes shifted to Shianan. “And Bailaha. Proud of your little escapade?”
Shianan bowed. “Sire, I did not have—”
“Bailaha.” The king’s voice cut through his protest and he gave a significant glance to the floor.
Shianan’s temper flared. This had been no fault of his. Even if the king had brought the swordsmen to fight him, Shianan had risen to the challenge and faced them both. He bit his lip and bowed low, but he did not kneel.
“Your Majesty, I am sure you saw that the exhibition this afternoon did not go as we had planned. Commander Becknam was—”
“Trying to show off for his friends?”
“What?”
Septime produced the relevant paper. “It has the royal seal.”
“Let me see that.” Jerome frowned at the paper. “I did not send for them!”
“Who could use the seal for such a thing? And if someone had forged a seal, why waste it on a simple exhibition match?”
The king’s eyes widened. “I—the little—I have an idea of the answer.” He scowled. “I know this writing.”
Alasdair. Alasdair had stolen his father’s royal seal and hired two mercenaries to challenge Shianan in the exhibition match.
For one moment Shianan wondered if they’d been meant to do more, but he dismissed the thought. The letters had mentioned only a fight, and they had not seemed as agitated as they should have been if apprehended in killing a man. No, they were meant to defeat Shianan publicly, that was all. And if he had not borrowed the spear and if the match had not ended abruptly, they might well have done it, publicly and painfully. Those blows, even with a blunted blade, could have shattered his arm.
Septime had not yet grasped it. “Your Majesty?”
“I’ll take care of it,” Jerome answered irritably. “So Bailaha did not know he would face two swordsmen when he fought?”
Shianan grasped at the hint of approbation. “No, sire. Not until they were both in the ring.”
“You got that spear quickly enough.”
“I knew I needed another weapon if I was to defend myself successfully.” Another weapon, and perhaps some armor of his own...
“Could you have defeated them with your second weapon, had you not been interrupted?”
Shianan hesitated. He wanted desperately to present himself well to the king, but caution overruled. “It is difficult to say, my lord,” he hedged. “An exhibition match is not a battlefield, and neither is certain.”
King Jerome eyed him distantly. “I see.”
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