The Luck Of The Wheels

by Megan Lindholm

  Gone. Everything. Ki was dead. He'd lost his honor in a fight against a fanatic with a poisoned blade. He looked down at the sword in his hand, at the blade that had betrayed him. He considered the puckered seam on his forearm. Not even Kellich had been what he believed. A poisoned blade. Vandien had even played the fool to him. And now, nothing was left. No family. No name. Only himself to think of. Only one last satisfaction to give himself.

  'Fight the Duke and die,' he mused aloud. 'Hell, I might as well. I'm dead already.' He picked up the bowl of cold soup and sipped at it, tasting the antidote to the poison that already chilled his arm and moved through his body with every beat of his heart. Setting down the bowl, he lifted the mug of lukewarm tea in a mocking toast to the empty room. 'May you all go down with me!' he declared, and grinned a smile Ki would not have recognized. 'You bastards.' He drained the mug.

  SIXTEEN

  Festival time had come to Tekum. Sparkling shards of glass and tiny bells swung from the branches of trees that lined the main street. The sweet high ringing kept time with the light that flashed from the glass whenever the wind stirred their branches. Bright booths had mushroomed in the shade of the trees, selling everything from toys to tonics. The Human population of the town seemed to have increased fourfold, with here and there a T'cheria or a Dene to mark the contrast. The Brurjans, of course, were everywhere. They were not near as numerous as the Humans, but their hulking size and the near-visible violence that shivered around them made them the dominant element of the crowd. There was no uniformity to their battle harness or weapons, but they needed no badges to mark them as the Duke's. Vandien watched them moving effortlessly as the Human crowd parted to give them way, and wondered if the Duke knew what he was doing to give his safety into their hands. But instead he asked Lacey, 'What's the occasion for this festival?'

  Lacey snorted. 'The Duke ordained it, twelve years back. It's to commemorate his coming to power.'

  'Why hold it in Tekum?'

  Lacey's eyes squeezed shut briefly. 'We had a militia, then. Stationed here, along the caravan route, to keep down robbers and such. Young fool in charge rallied to the Duchess's cause. Duke brought his Brurjans in. Didn't take long.' Lacey nodded to the long line of trees. 'Wasn't a tree here that wasn't swinging a body, and a hell of a lot of them had two.'

  The high singing of the bells became suddenly a mocking carillon to Vandien's ears. 'So this is how he reminds you, every year, that you depend on his largesse to survive. And that even the best of you will never better him at swords.'

  Lacey looked at him in bewilderment. 'I never thought of it that way before,' he muttered disgruntledly. 'It's just a thing the Duke does. Very typical of him. Doesn't matter why he does it, anyway. It's our only chance at him, that's all that counts. Come on, now. The others will already be gathering. Duke always holds it on the threshing floor in Merp's barn.'

  Vandien nodded curtly and followed him through the press of folk. He walked behind Lacey, letting the heavier man forge a pathway for them. As he passed through the crowd, eyes swung to him, held an instant, then darted away. Damn fools. Was there anyone in this town who wasn't in on the plot?

  A manic grin settled on his face, and he took to meeting all eyes for the fun of watching them widen and then jerk aside. He felt good. The realization of that startled him for a moment, and then he felt the full impact of it. Damn, he felt great. These bastards had plundered his soul, had taken from him all that he had ever valued. He had nothing left to save. Not even his own life. Ki had gone, and her passing had left less than nothing within him. The gentler parts of his nature had died with her, leaving him only the hard and sharp to do with. The impulsiveness that had always characterized his decisions was now in complete control. It was a heady feeling.

  He was totally aware of his body, his skin tingling and tightening at the slightest brush of a stranger's cloak. His heart was pumping steadily in his chest and he was cognizant of each surging beat, counting out the moments of his life's passing. He wondered if it were the poison affecting him so, or the stimulation of the Thwartspite. Perhaps it was only his knowledge that he could die today, that this blue sky might be the last he would walk under, that these smells of dust and sweat and food cooking might be the last ones he would breathe. How slow was the slow poison from Kellich's blade? Another handful of days? A few hours? He looked out over the crowd and wondered how many of these folk were also squandering their last day, blissfully unaware of it. For some, he'd make it certain.

  He had not been paying attention to where they were going. The threshing barn loomed up before them. The structure was little more than a roof supported by massive timbers and a smoothly bricked floor. A gathering place as much as a threshing ground, for dancing and village celebrations. Today it had been swept clear. At one end of the barn, a raised dais of new wood held a single massive chair. Nothing would block the Duke's view. Common spectators had spread their cloaks or mats on the ground and sat on them, eating and drinking and talking loudly to one another. Contestants were scattered over the smooth floor, some standing nervously or idly, others limbering muscles or showily practicing for the onlookers. Vandien ran practiced eyes over them. Only four struck him as competent, and two others as possibly dangerous. The others looked to be tavern louts and barnyard boasters, their weapons cheap bazaar blades or Grandfather's ancient shoulder-wrencher. He frowned slightly, knowing that going against them would be more like fighting with staves than true fencing. He turned to Lacey, speaking low.

  'The man in green there; tell me about him.'

  Lacey glanced away. 'Kurtis. One of ours. He'll make you look good. You needn't fear him. He's under orders not to be much of a challenge to you.'

  'He wouldn't be in any case. Look how he drags his feet. Those two, warming up together ... are they yours also?'

  'Yes. Students of Kellich's. Blume and Trask. Blume's the one with the lace. Again, you've nothing to worry about. They've both been instructed to lose in such a way as to make you look very good.' Lacey spoke reassuringly.

  'I wasn't worrying, Lacey. But the one in the boots should, if he always locks his elbow like that. The woman there, in the red silk blouse?'

  'Another of ours. She's good, but she won't hurt you.'

  'She moves well, but without inspiration. Kellich taught her?'

  'I believe so. Vandien, stop fretting. Everything has been arranged; you cannot lose.'

  A grin split Vandien's face, tugged at his scar. 'Unless I win. Two more, Lacey, and then leave me alone. There's a man, standing quiet now, beside the third timber. Black beard, grey at his temples ... see him?'

  'Damn!' Lacey swore fervently. 'He was warned away, several times. We told him there was bigger game afoot. But his wife is with child, again, and all his sheep went down this spring with the wobblies. Farrick's after a purse of gold, to get him through the winter; but he's more likely to go home to a smoking barn for not listening to us.'

  'Leave him alone,' Vandien warned him, and his voice was flat and ugly. His dark eyes burned into Lacey and the man flinched from their depth.

  'All right,' he said softly. 'But be careful of him. He's good.'

  'I know.' This was one of the ones he had mentally marked as dangerous. Farrick moved with quiet control and beautiful balance. He was older than Vandien, and bigger. He'd have a longer reach, and a damn good reason to fence his best. One to be careful of. 'And her?' Vandien asked, nodding toward the other contestant he had marked as dangerous. 'What do you know about her?'

  Lacey glared at the woman who was tucking her long pale braids up under a red cap. 'She's as crazy as a rabid vixen. There's no reasoning with that girl. You may have to kill her to get past her. She's another one was warned away, but didn't choose to listen.'

  'I'll decide that,' Vandien said quietly. He was watching her face. She was nervous, but a fervent hate burned in her blue eyes. 'Who is she?'

  'Darnell. She used to fence with her brother.'

  'And?'
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  'Last year was a hard one for their family. Just before harvest, their grainfield took the crust and had to be burned. Her brother came here to try his luck with the sword, to see if he could win gold from the Duke.'

  'And?' Vandien prodded again.

  'And he won the medallion instead. She's gone mad, Vandien. Darnell will do anything to get her own chance at the Duke.'

  He nodded to Lacey, watching her. Darnell was small and whip-quick. Her face was too strong to be called pretty, and her eyes burned with an intensity that cleared the area around her. She glanced at him suddenly and their eyes locked. Nothing left to lose, they agreed, and she sent him a quick smile. Dangerous.

  He left Lacey then, striding out onto the threshing floor. It was as if the main actor had just stepped onto the stage for the play. The crowd's noises hushed briefly, and then rose in intensity. Vandien ignored them. He cleared his mind of them, and the world became an empty place. He might have been on a hillside beside Ki's old wagon as he saluted his shadow and began stretching out his muscles. He closed his eyes, and for a moment he smelled woodsmoke and tea and horses, felt the clean breeze on his face, and heard Ki exclaim, half in annoyance, half in admiration, as the bound point of his practice foil found her. For an instant the painloss jolted through him, and he wished he were wearing something of hers, some token ... but no. He did not fight today as a man fought in honor of his lady, but as a man fights who has nothing left to defend, least of all honor. The only purpose of his blade today was to take as many with him as he could.

  Then the silence in his heart was suddenly silence in his ears as well. He drew himself up, turned to see where all heads were turning.

  Six Brurjans afoot, in black and silver battle harness, flanking a great black stallion whose mane and tail had been plaited with silver wire. Silver weighted the bridle on the horse's small savage head and silver winked on the light saddle. Black and silver was the man astride him. Of black silk were his garments, and the armor he wore was black leather and silver, styled after the Brurjan fashion but scaled down to a Human. His hair was black, and black his beard, but his eyes were silver grey in his weathered face.

  The Duke stepped from his horse's back onto the dais. He stood a moment, looking out over the assembled folk. His eyes raked them over, discarding the spectators quickly before sorting the contestants before him. They lingered a moment on Darnell, sneered briefly at one posturing braggart, and then swept past Vandien. Too swiftly. Vandien felt the marking of their passage, knew then that the Duke already knew all, but would play out the charade for whatever reason. And so he drew his rapier, clasped the hawk's talons in his, and saluted the Duke formally with his blade. Others around him noticed, and copied his gesture, but did not realize the depth of its meaning. Vandien knew that his personal bout with this man had already begun.

  They drew lots for their first matches. Vandien listened with only half an ear as someone shouted out the rules for the contest. Lacey had already told him. The Duke liked his blood-sports. A touch was a touch that drew blood. The Duke decided when a bout was complete, although a man could acknowledge himself beaten and completely retire from the contest. Other than that, the bout continued until the Duke said it could stop.

  A man in a red sash examined the cube of wood in Vandien's palm, then gestured him toward a loutish youth with a skim of child's beard on his face. His first opponent. Other pairs were forming up, saluting the Duke, receiving his nod of consent, and saluting one another. Already two bouts were in progress.

  Vandien moved to face his opponent on the strip allotted to them. The boy had a decent sword that he held as if it were a poker. He'd tire quickly, Vandien decided, and turned to face the Duke. He made the formal salute to him, tip of weapon toward the floor, then up with the guard almost touching his chin, then weapon extended at shoulder level. Vandien held the final stance until the Duke had acknowledged him with a nod, then turned and gave the same salute to his opponent. The boy, baffled, mimicked him awkwardly, grinning in an embarrassed way. 'Begin,' commanded the red-sashed man, and the boy leaped at Vandien, swinging his weapon as if it were a cudgel. Vandien caught the heavier blade on his own, diverted it, stepped in to dab the point of his rapier into the boy's chest and stepped out again. The boy looked startled. His weapon sagged to point at Vandien's knees as he clapped his free hand to his chest. He looked at his bloodied palm in amazement, then glanced up at Vandien as if for confirmation. Vandien shrugged lightly, the point of his rapier never wavering as it menaced the boy at eye level.

  'I'm done,' said the boy, and turned aside abruptly to push past the red-sashed man and out through the crowd that ringed the threshing-barn now. Vandien turned to find the Duke's eyes already on him. He could not read them at this distance. Pushing down a chill of foreboding, he shot the man an insolent grin. The Duke startled slightly, then leaned forward, spoke a word to a red-sashed man standing before the dais. He in turn hurried forward to whisper to the red-sashed man who had supervised Vandien's first bout, then darted past him to signal to two fencers that their bout was over. One contestant he tapped on the shoulder, and then jerked his head toward Vandien.

  As the man came toward him, Vandien recognized him as one of Lacey's men. He had cast aside the green cloak that had earlier distinguished him, but Kurtis was still dragging his feet when he moved. He tipped Vandien a wink, then mouthed the words, 'Don't worry.' Vandien felt something within him grow harder and colder. Salute the Duke, receive his nod, and turn. His lips smiled at Kurtis as he made him a careful salute. 'Begin,' said Red-sash, and the two blades met. The man was heavy with his blade as well as his feet, and the condescending expression on his face told all that he was holding back his skill to allow Vandien an easy win. His weapon replied conservatively to Vandien's testing, as if he were an instructor trying to encourage a sluggish student. For a few movements Vandien pushed him, trying to win something more than a token response to his attacks. The man was scarcely fencing at all, more like he was standing with a broom, waiting to be stuck so he could concede. With a snort of disgust, Vandien disengaged his blade, let the tip droop to point at Kurtis's ankle, and hover there. Kurtis's eyes darted to meet his in amazement and dismay. 'So make me look good,' Vandien challenged him softly, and waited.

  The blood drained from Kurtis's face, and Vandien suddenly understood. Kurtis was perfectly willing to be stuck, to take an injury to make Vandien look good. He was not willing to put forth any effort that might make himself look good to the Duke. The last thing he wanted was to be a contender for the Duke's medallion. He made a halfhearted stab at Vandien, an attack that bragged more of nervousness than skill. There wasn't going to be any real challenge from this man, Vandien decided, and moved in with an effortless parry and a riposte that removed the lobe of his left ear. Before Kurtis could react, he was back in guard position. He smiled at him.

  Kurtis's free hand shot up to his ear. He winced at his own touch, looked at his blood, and then glanced up at Vandien with outrage in his eyes. Kurtis let out a bellow like a struck bullock, thrust, and charged. His obvious intent was a flèche. His objective was to move past Vandien, and as he passed in front of him, to take him with a chest thrust. He was not prepared for Vandien's blade to parry his neatly out of line and drop in to allow Kurtis to skewer himself on Vandien's blade. Arterial blood was drenching his shirt when Kurtis looked down. 'I wasn't supposed to die,' he said with surprised dismay. He fell, slipping free of Vandien's point. Vandien dropped to one knee beside him. 'Neither was Ki,' Vandien whispered coldly. He rose easily, paced away from the man and stood once more in readiness at the end of his strip.

  He stood, watching the people who rushed forward to cluster about Kurtis, to lift him and carry him awkwardly away. He felt nothing. Not even satisfaction. So one of them was dead for Ki. It wasn't enough. He caught Lacey staring at him with burning eyes; he returned the look flatly, letting no sign of recognition cross his face. He glanced up at the Duke.

  The Duk
e leaned forward in his chair; his chin was in his hand, and he was staring at Vandien. Perplexity rivaled amazement on his features. He gestured to a Human in a dark cloak, who drew near to hear the Duke's whisper. The man replied vigorously, shaking his head and insisting on something. The Duke waved him off with impatience. He was, Vandien decided, beginning to distrust his spies' reports. If Vandien was the rebellion's man, why had he killed his ally? The Duke looked back at him and for an instant their eyes locked. Vandien smiled, and cleaned the sharpened tip and edge of his rapier on his sleeve. When he glanced up again, Darnell stood at the opposite end of his strip.

  He studied her, trying to be cold, but knowing he didn't want to fight her. Small, quick, and so full of anger. He saw the truth of Lacey's assessment. He might have to kill her to get past her. The sudden knowledge that he didn't want to kill her filled him, and even as they were making their salutes he racked his mind for alternatives. A meat wound wasn't going to stop this one, nor even a slash across the face. She'd fight as long as she could hold her blade ...

  Red-sash nodded and she was on him, inside the reach of Vandien's blade and coming after him. Damn, she was quick! He found himself retreating, standing more upright and fighting her from the outside, reaching over and around as he tried to attain a more threatening position. With a clash of steel she beat his blade aside, was once more inside his range. As he brought his guard back down, he could almost see her decision cross her face. A coupe. Stupid. A harsh answer to his dilemma came to mind, and before he had time to weigh it, she was moving. Her blade lifted in an attempt to go over his and dart in. He closed his mind on the decision, let his own blade shoot in. His found flesh first, entering the back of her arm just above the wrist. He felt his point slip between the two bones of her arm, then emerge. He heard the clatter of her weapon on the bricks, hoped if was over. But no - with her free hand she groped after her weapon, her eyes full only of her fury. She hissed at him in her pain and hatred, making it seem he had spitted some small, savage animal on his rapier. Neither blood nor pain was going to stop this one. Disabling her was his only alternative to killing her, for the Duke was making no move to put an end to the match. So he would have to do it himself. The decision was made. It seemed to Vandien that it was someone else who levered his blade between the bones of her arm, bringing pressure down until he felt the clean snap of the smaller bone.