James reached out as quickly as possible and yanked the girl free, sending her sprawling toward Owyn, who caught her.
Navon glanced backward and said, ‘I suppose your elf friend is standing outside the door.’ He circled away from the door, putting his back to the wall.
James advanced, sword at the ready. ‘Put that down and we’ll have a chat. There are some questions that must be answered.’
Navon said, ‘The instant I set eyes on you, I knew you were trouble. You look like that bastard Lysle Riggers down in Malac’s Cross.’
James grinned. ‘I’ve been told that before.’
Navon said, ‘I assume you are the bunch who killed my men.’
‘Sorry we couldn’t accommodate them in their mission,’ said James, ‘but I have work yet unfinished.’
Navon leaped forward and lashed out with his blade and James parried. He knew he faced a master swordsman. The only comfort he took was that he had spent ten years practising with the best swordsman in the Kingdom. The exchange was quick: parry, counter, thrust and parry, and both men moved back.
‘Well done,’ said Navon, a note of honest appreciation in his voice. ‘I don’t suppose you could see your way clear to just backing away and letting me get to my horse.’
‘Too many secrets, Navon. Or should I say Neville.’
Ugyne screeched, ‘Neville!’
Navon’s eyes widened slightly and a look of concern crossed his face. ‘Say what you will, James of Krondor. Soon it won’t matter.’ He launched another attack: a low, high, low combination that drove James back and almost got him killed as he tried to counter and Navon changed his line of attack.
James managed to avoid a lunge, getting inside Navon’s extension and almost cutting him in return. After the two furious exchanges, both men stood dripping with perspiration, and knew they faced an accomplished opponent.
Owyn moved Ugyne away from the struggle, toward the kitchen, and said, ‘Stay out of the way.’
‘But your friend called him Neville. What is he saying?’
‘What he’s saying, dear sister,’ said James’s opponent, ‘is you have been gulled into thinking I was dead.’
‘Sister!’ shrieked Ugyne, resisting Owyn’s attempts to get her out of the way. ‘My brother’s dead!’
‘I’ll explain everything, after I kill your friend here.’
The fight continued. Every move was met by a counter, and every riposte was parried. The two men fell into a rhythm and each waited for the other to make a mistake. After another two minutes, James knew that’s what it would come down to: whoever made the first mistake would die.
Back and forth they fenced, as fine a display of swordsmanship as had ever been seen in Cavell. Owyn tried to move to a place he might help James, but the movement of the two men was so precise and fluid, so quick and deadly, he hesitated lest he inadvertently cause his companion’s death.
James’s hair hung limply, drenched with sweat. He crouched low, sword ready, awaiting the next attack. The man known as Navon said, ‘You’re very good. Both chess and swordsmanship. A rare combination.’
‘I had good teachers,’ said James, using the pause to catch his breath. He studied every move of his opponent, waiting for some hint of what was to come next.
Navon stood motionless, also catching his breath. James was tempted to press the attack, then realized that was his opponent’s tactic. As if to demonstrate the point, Navon let his sword point lower slightly, as if fatigue was making him sloppy. James calculated the odds of using this to his advantage. He said, ‘I learned chess from the ambassador from Great Kesh.’
Navon smiled. ‘Hazara-Khan! I would love to play him. I have heard he may be the best in the world.’
‘Put down your sword, and I’ll see if I can arrange a match. Of course, you’ll have to play in the dungeon in Krondor,’ and with that last word, James launched an intentionally poor attack, and as he suspected, Navon’s response was fast and deadly. Only James’s swift reflexes saved him.
Navon grinned. ‘Close.’
‘I’ve had closer,’ said James, now sure of his opponent’s abilities.
‘Who taught you the sword?’
James started another bad attack, a high line with his sword hilt higher than the point, so that it appeared he was attempting to stab downward. Navon responded exactly as James had expected, and had James leaped back as most men would in that position, Navon would have skewered him. Instead, James leaned forward, his left hand touching the floor, allowing Navon’s blade to pass over his back, actually cutting through the cloth of his tunic from shoulder down to mid-back. James rolled his wrist, bringing the point of his sword under, then up and Navon ran onto the point.
As the leader of the Nighthawks stood stunned in astonished silence, James said, ‘I learned the sword from Prince Arutha.’
James pulled free the point of his sword and Navon collapsed to his knees. For a moment he stared at James with his eyes full of questions, but then life fled from them and he fell forward to strike the floor.
James put up his sword and knelt to examine Navon. ‘He’s dead,’ said the squire.
Ugyne stood behind the bar, next to Peter the Grey, and demanded shrilly, ‘What is going on?’
James stood up and said, ‘We’ll explain everything, but right now I need Owyn to go get your father. There’s a mystery still to be unravelled.’
As Owyn ran to the door, James shouted, ‘And watch out –’
Owyn opened the door, and Gorath unloaded a blow to the face that sent the young magician flying back into the room.
‘– for Gorath,’ finished James. He rose and crossed to where Owyn lay unconscious. Shaking his head, James turned to Ugyne and said, ‘Could you please get your father, miss?’
The girl ran off to do as bid, and Peter the Grey came over and said, ‘Pardon me, sir, but … well, I don’t know any other way to say this: I really must ask you to leave.’
James looked at the mild-mannered innkeeper and laughed. ‘I understand.’
A pale-faced Baron Corvallis arrived as they were hauling away the body of the man named Navon. James said, ‘M’lord, we have a mystery to unravel.’
The Baron said, ‘What is all this?’
Ugyne said, ‘He called Navon “Neville”, Father.’
If the Baron had looked wan when he arrived, what remaining colour had been in his face drained and he looked as if he might faint. ‘Neville?’
James indicated the Baron should sit, and said, ‘My lord, there’s been murder done, not just recently, but years ago. Tell me about du Sandau and the wine cellar.’
The Baron put his hand over his eyes and leaned forward, and for a moment James thought he was weeping, but when he pulled his hand away at last, James saw mostly relief in his eyes. ‘He was your brother, Ugyne. That is why I was so adamant about your not seeing him. He was courting you to enrage me.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said the girl.
James said, ‘Neville was your brother.’ He looked at the Baron. ‘But he was not your father’s son.’
The Baron’s colour rose and he nodded, looking as if he couldn’t bring himself to speak.
James said to the girl, ‘I did some snooping around. There are always those willing to gossip. It seems the man your father hired, Sandau, was a sculptor as well as a mason. He was reputed to have a way with the ladies. According to one of the old women I talked with, he was a big, handsome man, with a flamboyant nature, the type who appeals to some women.’
The Baron’s face flushed.
