Talon stared at his friend in stunned silence and rode on.
• PART TWO • (#ulink_a4e5f2ff-1cb0-5458-9940-f41714b34744)
Mercenary (#ulink_a4e5f2ff-1cb0-5458-9940-f41714b34744)
‘Revenge is sweet but not nourishing’
Mason Cooley
• CHAPTER FOURTEEN • (#ulink_c06365ad-5d2f-5d98-8285-99d978f7a059)
Masters’ Court (#ulink_c06365ad-5d2f-5d98-8285-99d978f7a059)
TAL BLINKED.
The blade that hovered for the briefest instant in front of his face flicked to the right, and he hesitated, then moved in the same direction. As he had anticipated, his opponent was feigning to the right and went left. He slipped past his guard so fast that the other swordsman couldn’t react in time and Tal’s blade struck home.
‘Touch!’ cried the Master of the Court.
Tal retreated a step, then came to attention and saluted his opponent, a young noble from the coastal city of Shalan. Duzan or Dusan, Tal couldn’t quite recall his name. The spectators applauded politely as if the match had run to form, which it had.
The Master of the Court stepped forward and declared, ‘Point and match to M’lord Hawkins.’
Talwin Hawkins, a minor noble from Ylith, distant cousin to Lord Seljan Hawkins, Baron of the Prince’s Court in Krondor, bowed first to the Master of the Court, then to his opponent. The two men removed the protective mesh masks they wore, and crossed to shake hands. The young Roldemish nobleman smiled and said, ‘Someday you’re going to guess wrong, Tal, and then I’ll have you.’
Tal smiled in return. ‘You’re probably right. But as my man, Pasko, says, “I’d rather be lucky than good.” Right, Pasko?’
The burly servant, who had appeared at his elbow and was now taking his master’s sword and mask, smiled and said, ‘As my master says, given the choice, I’ll take luck any time.’
The two combatants exchanged bows and retired to opposite corners of the huge duelling hall that was the heart of the Masters’ Court in Roldem City. Large carved wooden columns surrounded a massive wooden floor which had been polished to a gleam like brushed copper. Intricate patterns had been laid into the floor and, once he had been introduced to the instructors, Tal had quickly seen they served a function beyond the aesthetic aspect. Each pattern defined a duelling area, from the very confined, long and narrow duelling path for rapier fencing, to a larger octagon for longer blades.
For blades were the reason for the existence of the Masters’ Court. Over two hundred years ago the King of Roldem had commanded a tourney to name the greatest swordsman in the world. Nobles, commoners, soldiers and mercenaries had travelled from as far away as beyond the Girdle of Kesh – the mountains that separate the northern and southern halves of the Empire, the Far Coast of the Kingdom, and all points in between. The prize had been fabled: a broadsword fashioned from gold and studded with gems – an artefact worth a kingdom’s taxes for years and years.
For two weeks the contest had continued until a local noble, a Count Versi Dango, had prevailed. To the King’s astonished delight, he announced he would reject the prize, so that the King might make use of the value of the sword to pay for the construction of an academy dedicated to the blade, and there hold the contest on a regular basis: and thus the Masters’ Court was born.
The King ordered the construction of the school which covered an entire city block in the heart of the island kingdom’s capital, and over the years it had been rebuilt and refined, until now it resembled a palace as much as a school. Upon its completion, another tourney had been organized, and Count Dango had prevailed in defence of his rank as premier swordsman in the world.
Every fifth year the contest was held, until on his fourth defence, Count Dango was wounded in his match by the eventual winner and was forced to retire from the contest.
Since then thirty-one different men had won the championship. Talon of the Silver Hawk, now known as Tal Hawkins, planned to be the thirty-second such champion.
The duelling master approached and Tal bowed. ‘Master Dubkov,’ he said with respect.
‘That was a fine display, but you took your opponent for granted. If you did that with a more experienced swordsman, you might have found yourself taken, my young friend.’
Tal inclined his head in acknowledgement of the duelling master’s correct appraisal. Then he grinned and said, ‘If I never offer the less skilled a slight chance to win, what motive do they have to spar with me?’
Master Dubkov laughed. ‘And those with more experience – say, those anticipating a place in the tourney – will not spar with you lest they reveal too much and disadvantage themselves to you during the contest, eh?’
‘Exactly,’ said Tal.
‘Well,’ said the duelling master, lowering his voice, ‘I don’t know how much good you think you’re doing yourself by these exercises, but the crowds enjoy them – especially the young ladies.’ He inclined his head towards an area of the gallery where a dozen of Roldem’s noble daughters sat observing the bouts.
Several smiled and nodded in Tal’s direction. He smiled back and returned the nod in their general direction without making eye contact with any specific girl. Master Dubkov raised an eyebrow at this. Then he said, ‘Well, I must be about my duties. Good day to you, young Talwin.’
‘Good day to you, master.’ Tal bowed like a lifetime courtier.
He removed the padded jacket with Pasko’s assistance, and Pasko handed him a towel. Tal dried his neck and his damp hair, which was clinging to his head. Then he donned a fine brocade jacket, suitable for afternoon wear, and stood patiently while Pasko fastened the frogs and loops. ‘Dinner invitations?’ he asked.
‘Four, m’lord. The Lady Sabrina wishes you to dine with her and her father. The Ladies Jessica and Mathilda each wish for you to dine with their entire families, and the Lady Melinda wishes for you to dine with her, and mentioned that her father is away on business.’
‘Melinda it is, then,’ said Tal with a grin.
‘You seem unusually happy today,’ Pasko observed. Robert’s former servant had appeared during the first month Tal and Caleb had taken up residence in Salador. He played the part of manservant with such conviction and ease that Tal could easily believe he had held such a post for a nobleman at some point in his obscure past. He had certainly inculcated Talon of the Silver Hawk with all the necessary nuances of noble manner and bearing to become Talwin Hawkins.
Tal nodded and smiled. ‘Rumours, idle gossip and sources of impeccable unreliability lead me to believe that before the contest I shall be invited to the palace for an audience with the King, or at the very least, be listed as a guest for the next gala.’
‘That’s unsurprising, Master,’ said Pasko. Dropping his voice so that he could be heard only by Tal as he put a cape around the young man’s shoulders, he said, ‘What’s surprising is that it’s taken so long.’
Tal smiled. ‘Indeed.’
They departed from the practice hall, past the gallery, and as they entered the grand hall that led to the outer courtyard, more than one servant pressed a note into Pasko’s hand. Portraits of past champions lined the walls of the grand hall and in the centre of the entrance, a heroically large bronze statue of Versi Dango welcomed visitors and students to the Masters’ Court. They hurried down the steps to a waiting carriage, and the driver held the door open for them.
Once inside, Tal said, ‘I am only the second swordsman in the history of the Masters’ Court never to have lost a bout.’
‘Hmmm,’ said Pasko. ‘I seem to remember you taking a drubbing from Master Dubkov one afternoon, m’lord.’
‘That wasn’t a bout,’ said Tal. ‘And it was instructional. And, mainly, it was because I let him.’
‘You let him?’
‘Yes, for two reasons,’ said Tal as the carriage pulled out of the courtyard and entered the streets of Roldem. ‘First, he is a Master of the Court and I need friends there, and second, I learned more in losing that match than I would have if I had pressed and won.’
‘So that’s why you’ve settled for draws in some bouts?’
‘Yes,’ said Tal. ‘But only in practice, you’ll note. I’ve never lost in competition and I don’t intend to start doing so any time soon.’
‘Swordsmen from all over the world are coming for this competition, I’d remind you, m’lord.’
‘Yes, and I may lose, but that is not my intent.’
‘Good,’ said Pasko.
The carriage wended its way along the cobbles, and Tal sat back and enjoyed the passing view while Pasko quickly read and discarded the notes pressed into his hand. They were all the same, young women asking Tal why he had not called upon them recently.
Tal sat back and let the fresh ocean air that blew constantly from the west refresh him, while he drank in the sights. He had seen three great cities, Krondor, Salador and now Roldem, and by far he preferred his present location. Krondor seemed roughhewn and almost primitive compared to the other two, perhaps as a result of having been largely rebuilt from rubble over the last thirty years. Caleb had told him the story of the Emerald Queen and the destruction of the city by her forces, and about the gallant stand by the Kingdom Army at Nightmare Ridge.
Salador, by contrast, was an ancient city, sprawling and metropolitan. The outer districts were dominated by small local markets and streets of businesses, and the inner city bore little resemblance to the ancient walled fortress it must once have been in the dim past. Tal remembered passing through an open gate from one precinct of the city to another, but otherwise there was little to indicate the great wall which must once have been the city’s main defence.
