by Cas Peace
He left them and they made themselves as comfortable as they could in the fading light. Soon Taran heard voices and then Captain Parren and his two men came into sight.
He saw Bull step forward. “What’s this, Parren? Only one second is permitted, you know the rules.”
“Yes, but we’re not exactly conducting this under military law, are we, old man? If you want to complain to Blaine, go right ahead.”
Bull snorted and Taran knew there was nothing he could do.
“So where’s our young witch-lover?” purred Parren. “Not lost his nerve, I trust?”
Bull balled his fists but answered calmly. “Turn around, Parren.”
Obviously expecting deceit, the sallow Captain swung around. Robin was standing behind him, having come soundlessly—and more to the point, solitarily—up the track.
Taran smiled, thinking, Score one to our side.
Parren however, was not impressed. “Hah. Trying to sneak up like a thief, were we?”
“If I had been, do you think Bull would have alerted you?” said Robin lazily. “I could have run you through already.”
“You don’t have the nerve,” spat Parren.
“I don’t have the need,” said Robin.
Taran was pleased to see the young man had himself fully under control and admired the relaxed way he leaned on the pommel of his sword. He looked down as Rienne anxiously nudged him; she had seen the gleam of steel. She had probably been hoping they would use blunted dueling foils, he thought, but it seemed they both meant real business.
He watched as Parren’s corporal stepped forward and handed the thin Captain his weapon. Parren hefted it, testing its balance. He made a few fancy passes in the air, a show obviously meant to unsettle his opponent. Robin, Taran was pleased to see, ignored him.
Bull stepped up to the corporal to formalize the rules but Parren interrupted.
“There’s no need for that. I propose we fight until one of us yields. Far more satisfying, don’t you agree, Tamsen? Or are you afraid you can’t outlast me?”
“Don’t agree to that,” said Bull.
Robin looked Parren over, as if measuring his strength and skill. “Oh, I don’t think I have anything to worry about. This scrawny little weasel has no muscle except where his brains should be. He won’t give me any trouble.”
Bull rolled his eyes but Parren’s corporal said, “Heard and witnessed,” and that settled it.
Taran glanced over to where Parren’s sergeant was lounging against a tree. His casual posture bothered the Journeyman for some reason but he couldn’t put his finger on it. The man was doing nothing overtly suspicious.
Robin and Parren faced each other and Taran switched his attention back. Bull and the corporal stepped away to give the combatants space. Robin looked relaxed and under control but Parren was like a coiled spring, his thin frame tense and alert.
Robin began the salute but Parren immediately seized the advantage by lunging at Robin’s breast. Taran gasped. The noble he’d killed had used exactly the same treacherous tactic.
“Foul!” roared Bull as Robin barely brought his weapon around in time to parry the stroke. Parren took no notice and Robin, realizing his opponent wasn’t going to play by any rules except his own, threw himself into the fight.
It was immediately clear to Taran that both men were highly skilled. Despite their ferocity, their deadly moves looked like a dance as they countered and attacked each other with consummate ease. Two or three times they came together with locked wrist guards, but always sprang apart again to renew the attack. Taran, trained in swordplay, could follow the moves and appreciate the skill involved, but he heard Rienne gasp at every stroke. She was watching from a healer’s viewpoint, he supposed, seeing each contact as a wound.
Despite the fading light, the combatants were soon sweating and panting. They were so evenly matched that it would likely come down to physical endurance, unless one of them made a mistake.
Taran felt Cal nudge his arm. Following his Apprentice’s nod, he looked at Parren’s sergeant, immediately seeing the man’s furtive behavior. Instead of following the fight as the corporal was doing, this man kept throwing glances over his shoulder, as if waiting for something. His gaze seemed centered on the area behind Bull and in another moment, Taran saw why.
He drew in a shocked breath; a third man was creeping through the trees toward Bull. There was a knife in his hand and Taran stared at Bull, desperately hoping the big man would realize he was being ambushed. But Bull’s attention was fully occupied, trying to watch both Parren and his two seconds at the same time. Clearly, the possibility of a third man hadn’t occurred to him.
Taran stood rooted to the spot, unable to alert Bull.
Parren and Robin had moved farther across the clearing and Taran could see Parren deliberately trying to keep Robin from spotting the man creeping closer to Bull. He held his breath as the man pricked Bull’s back with the knife. The big man stiffened and Taran heard Rienne gasp. Bull backed out of the clearing at knifepoint and both men disappeared into the trees. The sergeant followed.
Dismayed, Taran glanced at his friends. He knew that Robin and Parren were tiring; it was obvious, despite the fading light. Neither had suffered serious damage yet, but it could only be a matter of time. As he watched in an agony of indecision, he saw Parren maneuver Robin around until his back was to the corporal. Suddenly, Parren gave ground, appearing to stumble.
Seeing his chance, Robin made a lunge that should have sent Parren’s blade flying from his hand. Quick as a flash, however, the corporal sprang forward, giving Robin’s back a hefty shove. Robin was unbalanced and went down with a cry. Parren leaped for him like a striking snake, pressing his sword to the hollow of Robin’s heaving throat.
Taran could stay quiet no longer. With Bull somewhere in the woods and maybe even dead for all he knew, he had to act. Followed by Cal and Rienne, he rushed out of concealment only to be met by the corporal, who snatched Robin’s sword and barred his way.
“Oh, no,” he purred, “I don’t think we should disturb Captain Parren just now, do you?”
He menaced them with Robin’s weapon and Cal moved in front of Rienne to protect her. The corporal smiled nastily.
“You can’t let him do this,” protested Taran, indicating the fighters.
“Oh, can’t I? You just watch me. Now, move back to where you were and keep quiet. No one will get hurt. No one here, that is. Move.”
His attention riveted on the two combatants, neither of whom had reacted, Taran allowed the corporal to herd them farther away. Robin, he saw, still lay on the ground, his chest heaving raggedly. Parren, equally out of breath, held his blade at Robin’s throat, clearly savoring the moment.
“So,” he gloated, his voice just reaching Taran, “that’s a win to me, yes?”
If Robin replied, Taran didn’t hear it. Parren’s blade had already drawn blood; one tiny thrust, thought Taran, and it would all be over.
“What,” said the sallow man, “no protestations, no pleading? No begging for mercy? Well, that’s a shame, Tamsen. I would like to hear a little begging.”
Unaccountably, Taran saw the thin man stiffen. His face paled and no wonder, thought the Journeyman, for a few inches of bright steel suddenly emerged from high between Parren’s parted legs.
“Begging?” said an ominous voice from behind the Captain. “Yes, a little begging is definitely in order. But you can drop your sword first.”
The weapon fell from Parren’s hand and Robin rolled to his feet. With astonishment, Taran saw Major Sullyan standing behind Parren, her blade pressing high between his legs. Parren had to hold himself awkwardly erect to avoid being cut.
“Robin,” said Sullyan flatly, “liberate our friends and retrieve your weapon from Corporal Rusch.”
Robin hurried to obey while Parren stood straining upward, sweating far more profusely than he had been before. Robin snatched his sword from the corporal’s hand, much to Taran’s relief.
“Where’s Bull?” he demanded.
The man nodded in the direction the sergeant had taken, and Robin slipped cautiously between the trees. Taran could hear him calling Bull’s name. Soon, they reappeared, and Taran felt Rienne sag with relief.
They came over to where Taran and his friends waited, and all of them turned back to where Sullyan still held Parren motionless.
Seeing them safe, she regarded her captive. Taran watched, almost mesmerized, as she held the edge of her sword between Parren’s legs, allowing him no room to move. He noted with interest that she held the weapon in her left hand.
The thin man’s complexion, sallow at best, had turned waxy. His wild eyes were bloodshot. Considering the amount of moisture on his face and staining his shirt, his mouth was obviously lacking because he kept licking his lips.
Eventually, Sullyan removed her blade from between his trembling legs and ran its tip over his body, moving around him as she did so. Facing him, she stopped, her blade resting against his chest. He was shaking violently. Taran could appreciate how the proximity of such a razor-sharp weapon near the vitals could cause such fright.
“What were you thinking of, Captain?” said Sullyan flatly. “You are in no shape to indulge in such physical activity if a short bout of fencing leaves you so breathless. Do you need further instruction, is that it? Would you care to go a few rounds with me?”
Parren’s eyes bulged.
“I asked you a question, Captain Parren.”
He tried to reply but no words came. Sullyan stared at him and even from where he stood, Taran felt her patience snap.
“Dueling while on duty,” she stated, prodding his chest with the tip of her sword. “That is a chargeable offense, Captain, as you well know. You will pay the penalty. But treachery and trickery—your favorite weapons—the military has no laws to deal with those, does it?”
Parren watched her, his expression sullen.
“My own laws will have to suffice, then, as I have warned you before.”
She slid the tip of her weapon caressingly across his cheek. He flinched but her sudden strike was too swift. She laid his face open and he gasped, crumpling with the pain. Staring down at him dispassionately, she wiped her blade on his back.
“Stand up, man.”
He struggled to his feet, hands clasped to his bleeding face.
“At attention.”
He obeyed, trembling with pain and shock.
“Report to Sergeant-Major Harker and tell him that I order you confined to the cells until dawn. That applies to Sergeant Morin and Corporal Rusch as well. They are to be stripped of their rank and transferred to another garrison. Your fate I leave to your commanding officer; he will receive a full report of your conduct today. Now get out of my sight and get that cut dressed before it festers.”
Parren saluted, his flat eyes full of hatred and fear. He stalked away, his hand clasped to his face. The corporal dashed after him.
Sullyan stood leaning on her sword, staring at the ground. Taran waited for the storm to break but it didn’t come. As she raised her glorious eyes to Robin’s, he saw they were damp with tears.
“Are you hurt?” she asked softly.
Robin shook his head.
“Bulldog?”
The big man spread his hands. “No, Major. No harm done.”
Suddenly, her golden eyes were full of fire. “No harm?” She whirled on Robin, leveling the point of her sword at his chest. Despite her obvious fury, it betrayed not a tremor. “Get cleaned up, Captain. I want to see you and Bull in my office in one hour. Understood?”
They sprang to attention, their faces pale. “Yes, Major.”
She turned on her heel, sheathed the weapon with a curt snick, and strode off.
“Bugger,” said Bull. “Now we’re in for it.”
+ + + + +
They made their way through the gloom back to the Manor. As they walked its corridors it became apparent to Taran that news of the afternoon’s events had preceded them. Many of the men they passed had a congratulatory word for Robin, and a few even slapped him on the back.
“Well done, Captain,” said one hard-faced young man. “He’s had that coming for years. Shame you couldn’t have finished him off, you’ll have to watch your back even more now.”
“Thanks, Baily,” said Robin.
By the time they reached their private quarters, the Captain was in better spirits. “How bad can it be, Bull? A good dressing-down and a bit of contrition and it’ll be over.”
Clearly, Bull wasn’t so sure, but seemed reluctant to pour cold water on Robin’s good mood. “Go freshen up,” he advised. “We’ll wait here for you.”
Robin disappeared into his rooms and the others followed Bull into his.
“How do you think the Major found out about the duel?” asked Taran.
“I’ve no idea,” sighed Bull, “although not much escapes her notice. And it’s a good thing, too, or our young friend over there would have been skewered by now.”
Rienne looked appalled. “Parren wouldn’t really have killed him, would he? Surely that sort of thing is forbidden?”
Bull snorted. “Of course it is. All sorts of things are forbidden, but as you’ve just seen, that doesn’t stop them happening.”
Seeing Rienne’s expression, he softened. “In a confined community like ours, dear heart, it’s inevitable that factions arise and offenses get taken. Blaine’s very strict about these things but they still occur. Usually, the senior officers get wind of anything really serious and disputes are either settled by organized competition, a spell in the cells or, in the worst cases, a martial court.”
Ruefully, he shook his head. “Parren’s different, though. He might be a troublemaker, but he’s also smart, he’s never the one to start anything. Robin’s been warned about him before, so he really ought to know better. He allowed Parren to trap him into a situation he couldn’t control and I fear he’ll pay for it.”
“I know how that feels,” said Taran.
Bull shot him a look. “I guess you do. Perhaps we’ve all been a bit judgmental in our dealings with you, Journeyman. Let’s hope this incident doesn’t affect the Major’s reactions when you have to confess tonight.”
+ + + + +
The hour before Bull and Robin were due to report to the Major was spent in a discussion of the finer points of swordplay, Bull intrigued to learn how knowledgeable Taran and Cal were. Dissecting the duel move by move, they agreed that in skill, elegance, effectiveness and control, Robin had won hands down.
Just before the hour was up, Bull changed into his dress uniform, telling Rienne it was a buffer against Sullyan’s anger, which, he added, was legendary. When Robin appeared a few minutes later, they saw he had the same idea.
“My word,” exclaimed Rienne, “don’t you both look handsome?”
They beamed at her and even Cal found a smile. Right now, even in the light of Rienne’s admiration, he didn’t envy either man. They left to keep their appointment, Robin looking resigned but not overly worried, Bull appearing anxious. Taran could feel waves of nervousness coming from the big man and wondered what could possibly cause such deep concern.
It wasn’t long before he found out. He, Cal and Rienne had made themselves comfortable around the hearth, the Journeyman trying to decide the best way to approach his interview with the Major. He had nearly gotten it straight in his head when the sound of heavy footsteps in the corridor brought him back to the present.
The footsteps stopped and the door opened abruptly. Bull strode into the room, his face flushed and stern. Taran and his friends regarded him in silence, Rienne’s wide eyes betraying anxiety.
Bull didn’t say anything, just crossed the room, grabbed the bottle of firewater—which Cal had decided not to touch—and ignoring the glasses, poured a generous measure straight down his throat. He closed his eyes, his mouth a grim line, and coughed.
Taran glanced at the others. “I take it that didn’t go
very well?” he said, keeping his voice level. Bull was obviously feeling tetchy, the last thing Taran wanted was to antagonize him.
The big man went to put the bottle down, then waved it inquiringly at his guests. Cal and Taran nodded, but Rienne declined. Silently, Bull poured three glasses of spirit and served them, keeping one for himself.
“He got snippy with her,” he sighed. “I told him not to get snippy with her.”
Taran raised his brows and Bull dropped into the nearest vacant chair.
“He’s such a silly sod. He never learns. Why he’s still here is a mystery to me.”
“Isn’t he a very good captain?” Rienne asked shyly.
Bull smiled ruefully. “He’s a bloody brilliant captain, dear heart, that’s his one saving grace. It’s not his military skills that let him down.”
He saw the confusion on their faces and took another swig of firewater. “Look, I’m not going to go into detail, it’d take too long. I have to go down to the cells in a bit anyway and get the idiot released. Suffice it to say that Robin’s not good at obeying orders. He’s also hopeless at the political stuff. He has a huge burr under his saddle where Blaine’s concerned and he can’t understand why Sullyan puts up with the situation.”
“You mean considering her Artesan rank?” said Taran. “Robin told us Blaine’s only a Master and the Major is Master-elite. I can see his point.”
“Beg your pardon my friend, but you don’t understand either. This is a military garrison, and we’re answerable to the King. We’re fortunate that Elias tolerates Artesans, but many of his nobles don’t. Hate ’em, in fact. It would only take one slip, one tiny hint of misconduct from any of us, and Elias’ councilors would force him to denounce us.”
“Force him? But he’s the High King.”
“Yes, Journeyman, but he can’t run the realm on his own. General Blaine is in a unique and privileged position because it was his expertise, and his private troops, that enabled Elias to win the civil war. That’s the only reason Elias’ nobles tolerate him as General-in-Command. Any flaunting of his Artesan powers could jeopardize his standing, and that could jeopardize the King’s safety.”
