by Grace Draven
Uhlfrida heaved himself out of his chair. “I’ll be right back,” he said before hurrying off to the tables where the bookmakers accepted the bets placed on the combatants.
Jahna shook her head as she watched him leave. “He could never resist a sure bet.”
Despite the tired shadows under her eyes, there was something more animated about her today. She didn’t hide within the depths her cloak and hood for concealment so much as she did for warmth. The notion cheered Radimar. “But who does he wager on?”
One slender eyebrow arched. “You of course.”
He gave a dramatic sigh. “Then I have even more riding on this bout. My pride and reputation, your father’s monies and his children’s respect.”
Jahna giggled. “I don’t think you have anything to fear, sir, especially regarding the third thing. Sodrin and I will remain your faithful admirers and students, even if you’re soundly beaten.”
He gave her a short bow. “That’s a comfort, my lady.”
She reached into the depths of her cloak, creating ripples as she searched for something. “Had I known you’d be fighting, I would have made two favors instead of one.” After more shuffling inside the cloak, she pulled a delicate brooch constructed of a single amethyst surrounded by tiny pearls. Will this do?” She dropped it in his upturned palm. “I give it to you with all my hope for a triumphant outcome.” A blush pinkened one cheek and darkened the violet blemish of the other. “It isn’t much.”
Radimar took a moment to pin it to his quilted tunic near the shoulder. The many eyes of curious onlookers watched the exchange, accompanied by a few whispers. He ignored them, glad to see Jahna did as well. Were they alone, he’d succumb to the desire to stroke her arm, or plant a kiss in her palm. “I’m honored and will wear it proudly, my lady.”
He returned to a much more peaceful Sodrin after that. The Exhibition played out into the evening, and while the competitors tired, the crowd only grew more frenzied and raucous. Radimar was pleased with Sodrin’s performance. Of the five bouts he fought, he won three, losing the last to a fighter older and more experienced.
Afterwards, in the billet, Sodrin threw himself onto one of the benches and poured a pitcher of cold water over his head to cool off. Radimar handed him a towel and waited for the inevitable.
Sodrin toweled off before flinging the cloth into a corner. “I can’t believe it! I should have won that last bout!”
Radimar retrieved the towel to drape it over the bench where Sodrin sat. “No, you shouldn’t have. It wasn’t just his skill that won him the bout; it was your arrogance that lost it for you. You never assume you’ll win until you’ve actually won. Have you not listened to anything I’ve taught you regarding the value of humility? You can drown your disappointment in ale and whores tonight, but I want to see you at the royal training lists tomorrow morning first light. Don’t make me come find you. You’ll regret it.”
“You’ll still teach me after this?”
The worry in Sodrin’s voice made Radimar pause. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because I lost due to my own stupidity.”
“This is your first Exhibition. You exceeded my expectations. Besides, if we all gave up on each other for stupid mistakes, there would be no hope for any of us.”
Sodrin leaned his head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. “I’ll never hear the end of it from Father.”
The crowd’s roar over another bout winner sounded like a dragon’s bellow. Radimar peeked outside for a moment before returning to Sodrin “Let your sire’s disappointment remain his. Besides, it stems from a lost bet, so don’t assign it an importance it doesn’t deserve.”
They were both laying out and inspecting Radimar’s armor in the emptying billet when voices on the other side of the wall where Radimar and Sodrin stood grew louder and closer. Used to the empty boasts and vulgar talk often exchanged between fighting men, Radimar closed his ears to their conversation and concentrated on repairing a broken patch of mail in his hauberk.
The shocked outrage on Sodrin’s face caught his attention, and he halted his work to listen. He didn’t recognize the voices, but a few of the names he knew. One was the king’s champion, Simusor Alreed.
“You think old Uhlfrida paid that swordmaster a second fortune to fuck his ugly daughter?”
“If he can teach that girl how to fuck the way he’s taught her brother how to fight, she’ll be the finest lay in all the kingdom, ugly or not.”
Alreed spoke then, his voice flat, emotionless. “I’d fuck her. Uhlfrida wouldn’t have to pay me either. Just turn her around and hump her like a bitch. All you’d see is her arse and the back of her head, not her face.”
Sodrin’s face flushed crimson. He rose silently from the bench, hands clenched into fists at his side. Radimar put a finger to his lips, signaling for his continued quiet. His own rage threatened to choke him, and the urge to round the corner and skewer the three pigs on the other side with his sword almost overwhelmed him. But he held his temper and kept an eye on Sodrin and an ear on the conversation.
The three moved away from their base conjectures regarding Jahna and instead focused on puffing up Alreed’s vanity, assuring him with the most effusive praise that he’d easily win the bout with Radimar and prove himself once again the king’s champion.
Whatever they had come for, they finally gathered up and left, their conversation fading until the billet was quiet, empty save for Radimar and Sodrin. Outside the crowd chanted Alreed’s name, eager to see their favorite face off against one of the famed Ilinfan swordmasters.
Sodrin snatched his favorite sword off the hook where he’d hung the scabbard. “I’m going to kill him.” He yanked the blade free and lunged for the doorway.
Radimar was quicker. He pivoted in front of Sodrin, knocking the sword out of his hand with one hand while driving him back against one of the billet’s support columns. Radimar arm-barred him across the chest, pinning the enraged Sodrin to the beam. “Don’t be a fool! He’s a superior fighter and will wipe the floor with you.”
Sodrin struggled but couldn’t break Radimar’s grip. “He deserves a gutting!”
He did, but Radimar had no intention of allowing Sodrin to commit suicide while defending his sister’s name. “Fourth rule of combat,” he said. “What is it?” The other man only glared at him, literally growling through clenched teeth. Radimar pressed harder. “Fourth rule, Sodrin.”
They stayed like that for several moments until the first surge of Sodrin’s fury cooled. He slumped under Radimar’s hold. “Never attack in anger,” he said in a grudging voice.
Satisfied that the immediate risk had passed, Radimar stepped back, freeing Sodrin who stayed where he was but glared daggers. “We can’t let him get away with talking about Jahna like that.”
Radimar recovered the sword where it lay and returned it to Sodrin. “Clean this and put it back. Then help me with my armor and weapons. The king will announce commencement of the challenge and I need to be ready.”
The initial red fury that had almost blinded him and easily matched, if not outstripped, Sodrin’s was transforming into a cold, black anger, the kind of seething that hollowed a person out if they held it close too long. Radimar had no intention of letting his sit in his gut for more than this night.
Alreed’s words made him want to retch and to kill. He sympathized with Sodrin’s wrath, understood down to his bones why Sodrin wanted instant retribution. Radimar closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the laughter and wonder in Jahna’s eyes as he danced with her in the forgotten garden amid the snow and roses. A pig like Alreed would abuse her, break her and toss her aside like refuse fit only for the midden.
He shuddered and opened his eyes to return to the task of belting and buckling on the armor he’d wear to face the king’s champion. Fourth rule, he told himself. Remember the fourth rule.
His own teachers had taught him that rule long ago, and when he’d broken it, the lesson they meted out
to him guaranteed he wouldn’t break it again, but never attacking in anger wasn’t always easy, and this time Alreed had made it especially challenging.
Sodrin helped him adjust one of his pauldrons before handing Radimar the two training swords he indicated he’d use for the bout. Radimar wished they were the true weapons he normally carried—pointed, sharp-edged and lethal.
He tested their balance. Today he’d fight with two swords and no shield. The crowd had come to see a show, and two-handed sword fighting was an extravagant style. Impractical on the battlefield but perfect for a duel, it showcased a swordsman’s skills and engaged the crowd. Radimar planned to use it to teach the king’s champion a lesson.
Pain and outrage sheened Sodrin’s brown eyes, so like his sister’s. “Too bad it’s an exhibition and not true battle. You can’t kill him.”
The grin stretching Radimar’s mouth made Sodrin take a step back. “No, but by the time I’m done with him, he’ll wish I had.”
~ 5 ~
The Master vengeful
The noise surrounding the arena was deafening. The crowd, a heaving beast during the earlier competitions, had swelled to twice its size. Soldiers now lined the arena’s perimeter to keep people from spilling onto the ground marked for the competitors. Wagons pulled by teams of oxen rolled across the muddy arena as men forked hay onto the ground for others to rake it flat and create a dry bed.
Radimar noted the large perimeter left untouched. That would be where Simusor Alreed would try to push him. Muddy ground was hard to fight on and made even the most adept fighter slow and clumsy.
Alreed swaggered into the arena first. Like Radimar, he wore minimal harness. Unlike Radimar, he carried sword and shield. The crowd bellowed his name amid a thunderous round of cheering and applause. The king’s champion raised his arms in a victory sign, circling the arena so that everyone could get a good look at him. People stretched out their arms, hands grasping in the hopes of touching him with fawning admiration. He slowed as he drew closer to where Uhlfrida and Jahna sat.
The icy calm Radimar held onto threatened to melt under a fresh swell of fury as Alreed gave a quick bow, and even from his place in the billet’s doorway, he could see the way the other man’s gaze raked the cloaked and hooded Jahna.
Sodrin surged forward with a snarl, only to be brought up short by Radimar arm-barring him across the chest a second time.
“Hold, Sodrin.” He turned to his student who resembled an angry bull, nostrils flared and snorting.
“How can you be so calm? I know she isn’t your sister, but still…”
Radimar wanted to tell him that the hardest struggle he’d face in this match would be holding onto that calm. Jahna might not be his sister (a fact of which he was inordinately glad), but he still cared for her and was as offended by Alreed’s earlier remarks as Sodrin. Instead, he said “Third rule of combat: fight with purpose, not emotion.”
The king’s champion completed his circumnavigation of the arena and came to a halt in front of King Rodan and the queen. He gave a deep bow before turning to face the billet at the opposite end of the arena. The crowd’s chanting grew louder when he banged the flat of his sword against his shield, an unspoken challenge for his opponent who currently remained out of sight.
Radimar hooked his helm to his belt, took up his swords and turned to Sodrin with a last admonishment. “You stay here. No matter what happens out there, you hold your temper and do nothing but observe.” Sodrin opened his mouth to argue, and Radimar shook his head. “Do as I say, Sodrin.”
He strode out of the billet and into the arena. The crowd’s greeting wasn’t as crazed as it had been for Alreed, but cheers went up at the sight of one of the much vaunted Ilinfan swordmasters entering the field.
Radimar didn’t walk the arena’s perimeter but cut a line straight down its center toward Alreed and the place where the king and queen were seated. He ignored the champion whose eyes narrowed at the small slight, and saluted the royal couple with a bow of his own and his swords crossed in front of him. He then trekked to where Lord Uhlfrida sat and bowed a second time.
Uhlfrida gave an approving nod and a hand signal indicating good luck. Jahna’s face was pinched with worry, and she didn’t smile when her eyes met his, not at first. He touched the place under his hauberk where he’d pinned her brooch to his gambeson and gave a quick nod. Only then did her lips turn up a little.
“Good fortune,” she mouthed slowly so he could understand.
Once the salutes were over, both men donned their helmets and took their places in the arena’s center to face each other in the ready stance. Radimar found it telling that Alreed had armed as if for battle, wielding sword and shield, while he armed for dueling. The king’s champion wasn’t interested so much in entertaining the crowd as he was in winning.
After hearing Alreed’s remarks and that of his lickspittles about Jahna, Radimar wished he’d brought axe and shield. Still, as Sodrin said, he couldn’t murder Alreed on the field. Doing so guaranteed the king’s displeasure and possible punishment. So two swords it was, and as he promised Sodrin, Radimar intended to make Alreed very sorry he ever issued his challenge.
The arena marshal stood nearby, arm raised in anticipation of the king’s signal. At Rodan’s nod, he dropped his arm and shouted “Begin!”
The crowd’s thunder faded away in Radimar’s ears as he and his opponent circled each other. “Purpose,” he muttered to himself.
Their first clash happened on a sudden rush from Alreed with Radimar easily deflecting the blow the other man delivered. Alreed was a worthy opponent—strong, fast, and experienced, and his sword-shield pairing was a better choice than the two-sword pairing Radimar chose. Radimar understood how he had earned the title of king’s champion.
While they were evenly matched in size and height, it soon became obvious that Alreed relied on aggressive charges and powerful blows to overwhelm his adversary. Radimar was quicker on his feet, his two-handed fighting style suitable for both speed and reach. The swords he wielded were of equal length, and he used both to attack and defend.
The duel was hard fought, with both men slamming into each other in a clash of armor, muscle and shield. The audience’s loyalty was a fickle thing, swinging in Alreed’s favor one moment and Radimar’s another.
Radimar started out as defender in the duel but turned the tide, becoming the aggressor as Alreed slowed, and his shield arm tired. Frustration replaced cool-headed calculation, and Alreed began leaving openings in his defenses that Radimar exploited with zeal, landing blows that didn’t cut but bruised, beat, and wearied his opponent.
When Radimar smashed his boot heel into Alreed’s inner thigh, the champion’s bellow carried above the audience’s cheers. He staggered to one knee, shield and sword raised in full defense as Radimar battered him with both swords.
They had traveled from the arena’s center to its muddier edge. Intent on delivering a relentless beating to his adversary, Radimar didn’t notice until it was too late. One step landed him outside the straw and onto the slippery mud. He stumbled, and Alreed saw his chance.
With a triumphant shout he lunged forward, head-butting Radimar hard enough in the stomach to knock the wind out of him. Both men crashed to the groud, Alreed on top of Radimar. The champion abandoned his shield to rip at Radimar’s helmet and expose his head for a skull cracking. Radimar heaved to one side just in time to avoid the full impact of a blow as Alreed drove his sword pommel toward Radimar’s face. The pommel clipped the edge of his helm and caught the curve of his cheek just below his eye. For a moment, Radimar’s vision went black on that side, and the inside of his skull vibrated.
He had managed to keep a grip on his own swords when he fell and used their pommels to slam them into into Alreed’s sides. A satisfying pop sounded, and Alreed groaned. It wasn’t enough to dislodge him. The swords were too long to maneuver in the close space between them. Radimar released one and smashed the heel of his gauntleted hand into the u
nderside of his opponent’s chin.
This time Alreed screamed and hurtled backwards, but not before showering Radimar in a spray of blood, teeth and what he suspected were bits of Alreed’s tongue.
Radimar sprang to his feet, snatched up his sword and retreated back to the straw as he waited for Alreed to rise. The side of his face throbbed hard enough to make his entire head pound and he wiped away blood not his own so he could see properly. Had the champion’s blow struck him full on, he would have killed Radimar.
Alreed rose on a stagger, blood coursing from his mouth and down his chin in a crimson stream. He grinned at Radimar, revealing broken teeth and spaces where no teeth remained. His breathing gurgled, and he spat gobbets of blood into the straw. Animalistic growls vibrated from his throat as he retrieved his sword and shield. The man who said he’d take Jahna like a dog was transforming into one himself, made rabid by pain and fury.
Sensing that this duel, begun as an exercise of frivolous entertainment, had turned both personal and deadly, the crowd screamed for more. For Radimar, their screeching was nothing more than a whisper. There was only Alreed and his defeat.
It didn’t take long after that. The swordmaster of Ilinfan proved to all who witnessed the fight that those who trained with the Brotherhood of Ilinfan knew and understood the art of the sword like no other.
Alreed’s attacks had lost all finesse, becoming nothing more than the charges of a maddened bull. Radimar dodged them effortlessly, using his own swords either to deliver land multiple bruising strikes. When the disappointed king finally declared him the winner, Radimar had Alreed on his knees, facing the king, one of Radimar’s blades pressed to the champion’s throat in the sign of victory.
People roared his name and soon a hail of flowers, ribbons, scarves, gloves and hats rained down in the arena, pelting Radimar as he saluted the king and walked away from the now prone and bloodied Alreed. The sound of his name shouted in chant filled the night air, but the triumph he felt sprang not from the crowd’s adulation but the internal satisfaction of wreaking vengeance on the man who had insulted a woman so undeserving of the offense.