The Halls of Stormweather s-1

by Philip Athans

  "Nev-!" puffed Tal's adversary. "Never!" He withdrew with haste, crossing back quickly without lowering his guard.

  "Have at you, then!" cried Tal. Grasping his blade in two hands, he unleashed a punishing series of head and neck attacks. They lacked finesse, but his superior strength beat his opponent's weapon down. When he saw that he'd forced the man into too short a guard, Tal feinted a slash to the left. As expected, his opponent overextended his parry.

  Instead of striking the unguarded right, Tal whirled low and threw a sweeping reverse kick at the man's legs. His quick-thinking opponent turned his parry into a straight thrust at Tal's hip. A quicker swordsman might have succeeded. This one fell to the wooden floor with a resounding thud. Before he could move, Tal's blade was at his throat.

  "I yield!" cried the fallen man. He dropped his sword to clatter loudly on the floor.

  "You should have jumped," offered Tal. He removed his practice helmet single-handed and set it on the floor. "That would have looked great."

  "Gods know I've suffered enough humiliation at your hands. You are truly a master swordsman."

  Tal offered Chaney his free hand and lifted him from the floor. "I'm a sober swordsman, at least," replied Tal, pulling the other man to his feet. "You'll beat me after you've had a few more days to dry out."

  "May the gods forbid," said Chaney. Even among the notoriously hedonistic Foxmantle family, he was known for his excesses. Even on the rare occasions when he was momentarily sober, Chaney couldn't best Tal at sword play. In fact, Chaney was without rival the worst of Master Ferrick's thirty-two students.

  Tal used these matches with his friend to devise maneuvers for the fighting scenes at the theater. More often than not, that meant a sharp rap or two from Chaney's wooden practice sword as Tal tried flashy but unsound attacks.

  "I'll need a bottle or two just to dull the pain from this hangover," added Chaney, struggling to remove his padded helmet. "I hope-"

  The sound of loud, slow clapping interrupted their conversation. Chaney and Tal looked up to see that two other men had entered Master Ferrick's practice hall.

  One of them strode forward as he continued his mock applause. He was narrow-hipped and broad-shouldered, with long blond hair held up in ivory combs that matched the piping on his burgundy doublet. He wore an elegantly curled mustache above a thin red slash of a mouth. Alale Soargyl fancied himself the most accomplished swordsman of Master Ferrick's school.

  "Bravo," said Alale. "I shall endeavor to recall that inspired maneuver. It will undoubtedly prove useful when next I am faced with a blindly drunken sailor."

  "I doubt he's ever facing the drunken sailors he meets," observed Chaney in a stage whisper. Tal couldn't quite hide his smile.

  "If your sycophant wishes a lesson in manners or sword play, Master Uskevren," sniffed Alale, "it may address me directly."

  Tal felt the hairs on his neck prickle. It wasn't the first time Chaney had been insulted in this fashion, but it still rankled. Ever since they were childhood friends, Chaney was perceived by his peers as little more than Tal's henchman. Chaney derived from a particularly disreputable and very nearly destitute branch of the Foxmantle tree. There was no stopping gossip that he courted Tal's friendship to improve his own standing.

  Never one to ignore a barb, Chaney opened his mouth to retort, but Tal interrupted. "I could stand a lesson."

  Alale's mustache twitched. Tal couldn't tell whether the man was pleased or irritated. Tal was a much better fighter than Chaney, and he was big enough not to fear the rumors that Alale paid longshoremen to thrash those who bested him at practice.

  "Very well," replied Alale after a long pause. "One must assume responsibility for one's pets."

  "To three?" asked Tal.

  "To three, then." With a last sneer at Chaney, Alale plucked off his gloves before returning to fetch his gear. He would need a few moments to warm up.

  Tal smiled inwardly. He considered Alale a poor swordsman and expected to win. He was more concerned about Chaney. Tal hoped he hadn't hurt his feelings by interceding. He turned to see his friend's expression, but Chaney was still glaring at Alale as the man unlaced his doublet.

  Tal glanced at the other man who had entered with Alale. It was Radu Malveen, second son of one of the lesser merchant families in Selgaunt. Radu was nearly Tal's height, and his hair was just as black. There the resemblance ended, for while Tal was massive, Radu was whipcord thin. His black eyes were cool as a snake's, and Tal knew from experience that the man was serpent quick. Tal was certain that Radu was the finest swordsman of the school.

  Radu returned Tal's gaze but said nothing. He had finished lacing his padded tunic and hooked the back of his ankle over the stretching bar. He bent as gracefully as a swan, touching his high forehead to his shin.

  "Be careful," said Chaney. "If you beat him too badly, you'll have to watch your back for a month."

  "That's your job," replied Tal. "Which means showing some mercy to the local vineyards for a while."

  "Curses!" spat Chaney. He shot Tal a genuinely grateful smile. "But it's the least I can do for my faithful bodyguard."

  "The very least," agreed Tal.

  Alale announced his readiness with an imperious sniff. He stood upon the middle circle of the central practice ring. Half the diameter of the red outer boundary and twice that of the green inner circle, the black line represented balance and equal opposition.

  Tal took his place opposite Alale and met his opponent's eyes, as Master Ferrick always insisted. They donned their wicker helmets. Without another word, the two swordsmen saluted, Alale affecting a delicate little Tethyrian flourish at the end. The maneuver seemed clumsy and ridiculous with a wooden sword.

  "Be careful, Tal," called Chaney. "He means to tickle you into submission."

  Alale kept his eyes on Tal, but he scowled at the taunt. Tal grinned. He loved sword practice, and he had a mind to do a little tickling of his own.

  "Stand the middle…" said Chaney,"… attack!"

  Tal stood his ground at first, watching as Alale crossed over left, then forward, then back. Instead of obliging his opponent's invitation to dance, Tal exploded forward in a loud, stamping rush that startled Alale into a premature parry. Tal's attack, a beat later than anticipated, rapped Alale smartly across the knuckles. Alale didn't drop his weapon, but as it fell out of guard, Tal lunged and smacked the top of Alale's helmet.

  "One," said Tal, returning to his position in the middle ring. He could almost see the red glow of Alale's cheeks beneath the nose and cheek guards of his practice helmet.

  "One," agreed Alale crisply. He sounded as if he wanted to complain about the ignoble attack, but he knew it was perfectly fair. He should have been more careful.

  "Stand…" called Chaney,"… attack!"

  This time, Alale came on in a direct but cautious attack. First he explored Tal's outer guard, always careful of a riposte. Tal restrained himself from a counterattack at first, looking for a chance to strike a particularly humiliating blow instead of settling for an ordinary cut.

  Alale's feints were good, and soon he added a low cut with a thrusting riposte. The first one nearly came through, and Tal realized that remaining on the defensive would be more difficult than he had expected.

  Before he could change tactics, however, Tal misjudged a low cut by half a beat and felt a smart blow to the thigh.

  "One and one," said Alale triumphantly. Tal shrugged an apology at Chaney and took his place again.

  In the next pass, Tal tried to take the offensive once more. He beat Alale's blade to the outside with all of his strength. Rather than lunge forward for the point, however, Tal whirled around, taking the blade from his right hand to his left, throwing an ambitious backhanded sweeping cut at Alale's padded shoulder.

  It would have been spectacular, had it landed.

  Instead, Tal nearly threw his arm out of joint as Alale thrust the tip of his wooden blade into his shoulder.

  "I suppose that s
ort of thing appeals to the groundlings," observed Alale scornfully. Normally immune to such barbs, Tal felt his cheeks warm. It was a silly attack, but it might turn into something good for the next show. If it had landed, how Alale would have simmered!

  Tal evened the score in the next pass by pressing with his superior strength, then luring Alale into a hasty counterattack. Tal deftly deflected the cut to his head and thrust under Alale's blade to poke him with a two-handed thrust in the biceps. Annoyed, Alale slapped the wooden blade away before Tal could withdraw it.

  As he took his position for the final pass, Tal noticed that Radu Malveen stood outside the fighting circle, opposite Chaney. Even when he turned his eyes back to Alale, Tal could feel Radu's leaden gaze upon his back.

  "… attack!" Tal realized that he had lost his concentration almost too late to parry Alale's running thrust. Had Alale moved before the command? Tal twisted to evade Alale's body, then quickly raised his blade to block a quick but weak slash as Alale recovered from his lunge. Unfortunately, the maneuver left Tal on one knee. Before Tal could recover, Alale kicked the side of his forward knee, spinning him to the right and opening his entire left flank to attack.

  Ignoring the pain in his knee, Tal threw himself to the right, rolling to evade the attack. Alale followed him, the sharp rap of his sword against the floor striking three times just behind Tal's helmet before he came to his feet in a low guard position. Tal feared he might have rolled out of bounds, but he heard no call from Radu or Chaney.

  Without looking down, Tal knew he stood on the red outer line. If he took one step backward, the touch would go to Alale, who even now unleashed a furious attack designed to make Tal retreat. Tal was determined not to move.

  As he pushed aside his burning embarrassment at putting himself in such a weak position, Tal felt a gentle calm envelope him.

  Tal's blade moved faster as his heart grew quiet. Soon he could no longer feel the weapon in his hands, then his arms were more a memory than a tangible presence. His blade was no longer his conscious defense. It had become the mirror of Alale's own weapon, moving where it did not by will but simply because it must.

  Frustration built on Alale's face, and Tal didn't sense so much as he later remembered when the man's fury broke into a desperate lunge. Instead of another sword strike, Alale threw his entire weight toward Tal's chest.

  Tal shrugged as smoothly as if donning a robe, rolling beside and behind Alale as his opponent threw himself out of the red circle.

  Alale landed with a painful crunch and a muffled curse.

  "Yes!" shouted Chaney gleefully.

  Tal blinked as if coming out of a trance. Then he grinned and turned toward Chaney. "I thought he had me," said Tal, shucking off his helmet.

  Chaney didn't have time to voice a shout, but the expression on his face was warning enough. Tal dropped and spun to the right, just in time to see Alale's practice blade slash down where his unprotected head had been an instant earlier.

  Before Alale could recover, Tal had the man's wrist in his hand, squeezing hard. "That's enough," said Tal.

  Alale's face was white with hatred. Tal saw his eyes go wide and watery as Tal squeezed his wrist harder, feeling the bones grind together before Alale gasped. The wooden practice sword clattered on the floor.

  Alale choked back furious tears as Tal released him. "You'll regret that, Uskevren."

  Tal growled, low and throaty. The inhuman sound transfixed Alale. For long seconds he stood looking up into the eyes of the bigger man with naked terror in his eyes.

  The moment passed, and Alale twisted his thin lips an ugly, flickering sneer. Still, he kept his tongue still as he scurried away to stand near Radu Malveen.

  Radu looked at the frightened man with the expression of one noticing that he was standing next to a pile of steaming dung. With the barest widening of his nostrils, Radu stepped gracefully away, turning his back on Alale.

  Abandoned Alale scurried off to collect his things and left, still cradling his bruised wrist.

  "That went well," suggested Chaney. "Don't you think?"

  *****

  Outside the fighting school, Tal and Chaney blinked into the strong sea breeze that wound through the warehouses. They paused for a passing ale wagon before entering the street. As they did, Radu Malveen appeared beside them. Tal noticed that the wind did not disturb the man's hair or clothing and wondered what sort of enchantment he carried for the effect.

  Tal barely knew the man, but Radu's younger brother, Pietro, had been on the ill-fated hunting party. Fortunately for the Malveens, Pietro was one of the few who reached their horses in the early moments of the attack. Like Chaney, he had escaped unharmed.

  "My apologies for disturbing your practice, Master Malveen," offered Tal.

  Radu inclined his chin.

  "Perhaps I can make amends for chasing off your opponent. Shall we practice tomorrow?"

  "No," said Radu.

  "Perhaps another time…"

  "No."

  "Why not?" asked Chaney, cocking his head as if detecting a sound he didn't like. "You came here with that fool Alale."

  "It's all right, Chaney," said Tal. "Let's see who's at the Green Gauntlet."

  "No, it isn't all right," insisted Chaney. "What's wrong with Tal, Malveen? He's twice as good as Alale, and you were going to face him. Weren't you?"

  "Chaney!" protested Tal.

  Instead of flattening Chaney, as was the usual custom among their peers, Radu merely nodded again, as if acknowledging Chaney's point. "That is true. Master Uskevren is mechanically proficient with the sword."

  Chaney's head bobbed as if he'd just scored a touch, ignoring the caveat of "mechanically."

  "So what's the problem?"

  Tal wished Chaney would shut up.

  "I will face you in the circle," said Radu, turning his unreflecting eyes on Tal, "once you begin treating it with respect."

  Chaney opened his mouth to retort, but Tal shushed him with a raised hand.

  "This is not theater rehearsal," said Radu. Few of Tal's peers thought much of the theater, but Radu sounded particularly scornful.

  "I was just having fun with Alale," said Tal. "I intended no disrespect."

  "You don't understand," said Radu coolly. "You should never have permitted Soargyl to touch you. Your antics are an offense to the circle, to your sword, and to yourself." With that, Radu Malveen made the most perfunctory of bows and turned away.

  Chaney gave a little snort, but Tal noticed he didn't cast a snide remark after Radu.

  "He doesn't know what he's talking about," said Chaney. "You're one of the best swordsmen in Selgaunt."

  "No," said Tal slowly, "I'm not." Radu's words had disturbed him more than he thought possible. "But maybe I ought to be."

  *****

  That evening, Tal returned alone to his tallhouse. The sun had just set, and his shadow stretched across the cobblestones in the deceptively warm-looking glow of the street lamps.

  He'd had more than a few flagons of ale throughout the afternoon, but he was sharp enough to keep his eyes on the shadows. The figure trailing him for the past few streets was probably one his father's men. At least he made an effort to stay out of sight.

  Throughout the day, Tal and Chaney had traded gossip and sung songs with longshoremen and market girls at the Green Gauntlet. When the wealthier patrons began arriving, they moved along to the less savory Black Stag, where they shared rude jokes and flirted with the tough women of that den of smugglers.

  Chaney slipped out with a fetching young servant of the Hulorn's palace. Like Tal, he preferred common women to merchant nobility. Chaney considered them exciting and dangerous, the more disreputable the better. Unlike his friend, Tal simply found such women more approachable, free of the inevitable pretensions of the rich.

  Unfortunately, even common women who learned Tal's heritage often became more ambitious than interesting. At the first sign of an ulterior motive, Tal's interest evaporated. Thus his e
xperiences were considerably less epic than Chaney's.

  The idea made him angry at no one in particular. He hated thinking his most valuable attribute was the accident of his birth.

  These sour thoughts distracted him so much that he walked completely past his tallhouse. Turning back, he glimpsed a hooded figure gazing at him from the corner of his house. A woman's face framed in auburn hair, bright eyes-maybe blue or green-that was all he saw before she slipped into the dark alley.

  She'd been watching for him. He was sure of it.

  Tal ran to where she'd been. In the dark alley, only the glittering rails of shallow balconies and stairwells shone in the streetlight. Tal wished the moon had risen to shine straight down into the darkness. The woman could be hiding almost anywhere in that gloom.

  Opening his eyes wide against the darkness, Tal stepped carefully forward. He debated whether to call out to the woman. But what would he say?

  Before he found any trace of his mystery woman, a light appeared from the tallhouse beside his. A big-bellied woman stood on the second-floor balcony holding a lamp. She wore a gaudy, embroidered robe over her nightgown.

  "Precious?" she called. "Is that you?"

  "It's me, Mistress Dunnett," said Tal. He stepped out of the shadows and into the dim circle of her lamplight.

  "Oh," she said, disappointed. "It's good to see you've come back home, Master Talbot. Have you seen my precious Pumpkin?"

  "I'm afraid not." Briefly, Tal wondered whether his mystery woman had done away with the cat, but he couldn't think of a reason why she would. After the scratch the little bastard had given him yesterday, Tal found himself unmoved by the thought of Pumpkin's untimely demise.

  Tal said goodnight to Mistress Dunnett and went inside to bed.

  *****

  In his dreams, Tal relived the terror of the Arch Wood, only this time the beast had him cornered. It harried him time after time, tormenting him yet withholding the killing stroke.

  Gray light filtered through the draperies of Tal's bedroom window, but it was the noise that had awakened him from the vexing nightmares. This time, Tal awoke clearheaded enough to realize that someone was banging on the door to his bedroom. In fact, someone else was banging on his closet door-from the inside.