by Steven Brust
Tazendra at once found herself, to her annoyance, facing only one opponent, although it is true that others stood behind, waiting for their opportunity. Khaavren, standing near the edge of the cliff, also faced but one enemy. Indeed, it was entirely a match of one against one along that entire line, with the exception of Tsanaali, who was dueling with two of the recent brigands at once—these being Iatha and Thong. Mica found himself facing a Dragonlord who gave him a contemptuous gesture indicating he should retire if he wished to save himself. Mica, though too frightened to speak, declined this offer with a shake of his head. The soldier shrugged, as if to say that, having relieved his conscience, he had no more to say—and, indeed, he said nothing more, because in the next instant Mica had struck him fully in the head with his trusty bar-stool, knocking the warrior senseless. This having been accomplished, the stalwart Teckla prepared to assist his mistress, except that he was at once confronted by another warrior, and this one, it seemed, had no intention of taking her opponent as lightly as had her predecessor. This Dragonlord, therefore, cut and thrust in a very businesslike way, while Mica, who also took the matter entirely seriously, did his best to keep his bar-stool between his enemy's weapon and his own epidermis.
Tazendra, according to her custom, not only kept her own extremely large blade moving, but also her legs—that is, she continued to shift her ground, the position of her feet, and even the attitude of her body, so that her enemy was unable to get a clear strike at her. Moreover, this led her opponent to shift his own ground, and, in so doing, this worthy chanced to move a little too far to her left—his own right—where he rubbed shoulders with Khaavren's opponent, who, in turn, was pushed to the brink of the cliff. Khaavren, ever the opportunist when it came to matters of steel, took a step forward and struck down to his left a blow that was given with such force that, although parried, it promptly sent his enemy skittering over the embankment where this individual fell some thirty feet, with results upon which we can only speculate. Another soldier at once stepped forward to take his place, and Khaavren then dueled with her for two passes before giving her a thrust through the throat that ended her participation in the conflict, and shortly afterwards her life.
At almost this same instant, an apparently wild and uncontrolled swing by Tazendra at her opponent's head turned into a sudden thrust which penetrated the other's side deep enough to cause this Dragonlord to lose interest in anything except attempting to staunch the flow of blood from his body before all of it ran onto the ground.
As this was occurring, there were two recent recruits from Wadre's band, Thong and Iatha, who, while not at all enthused to be facing a Dragonlord—and the enemy lieutenant at that—nevertheless took their recent oath seriously enough that, at any rate, they had not yet broken off fighting, but rather still maintained their positions and a good defensive posture. One had received a scratch on the back of his hand, the other a similar scratch on her right leg above the knee, but neither was seriously discommoded, and they continued defending themselves with all the earnestness the situation required.
That side of the battle being, for the moment, stable, let us discover what has happened on the other side. Aerich, who held the edge near the cliff, fought with his accustomed coolness and discipline, deflecting his enemy's thrusts with the tiniest motions of his blade or his vambraces while waiting for an opening that would permit a single attack that would end the affair. It chanced that his enemy was a sergeant named Lazzo who had seen military service for nearly two thousand years, and who had no intention of making the sort of mistake Aerich was looking for; it may also be the case that the Lyorn was distracted by his promise to look after Piro, who stood immediately to his right. But the result, in any case, was that Aerich and Lazzo continued dueling with each other for some time, both of them as cool as if engaged in training exercises.
In the event, Piro did not require any help. He had been trained in the science of defense by his father, of whom it can be said that there were few better instructors anywhere in the world. If Piro was lacking in experience, he nevertheless had not only a solid understanding, but also the physical training of his muscles which permits one to parry an attack and to then make a return thrust before one is even quite aware that the attack has been made. Under the circumstances, he knew that he should be fighting defensively, and so he took a peculiar stance, presenting mostly his side to his opponent and, as he had been taught to do under such circumstances, created with his blade a veritable shield of steel which could not be penetrated. His other hand held a long poniard, which he held ready to use should the opportunity present itself. He recited to himself various lessons that he had learned, and reminded himself of certain important sayings, such as, "maintain correct posture," and, "there must be some bend in the knees at all times," and, "the wrist must be strong, but must never lock," and so on, while, at the same time, keeping his eye focused on a spot in the middle of his enemy's chest, and attempting to keep the point of his blade always lined up with his opponent's eyes. In this way, the two of them made several passes at each other with no blood, as of yet, being drawn.
Next to him, Kytraan was, we must say, rapturous as only a Dragonlord can be when involved in a battle and facing another Dragonlord. His heart pounded, his eyes glowed, and his lips were drawn up in a delighted snarl as he thrust, cut, and parried as if no entertainment could be grander. His opponent, we should say, was older, and had a more businesslike attitude, yet, for all of that, neither could gain an advantage over the other.
Because of the size and shape of the bluff upon which this battle took place and the paths leading to it, it happened that there was room for five attackers, but six defenders; for this reason, the reader ought to understand that, by necessity, one of Tsanaali's soldiers would find himself in position against two opponents. In the event, it was a certain Dragonlord named Stonecutter, a veteran of more than a few battles, who found himself confronting Ibronka and Röaana. Experienced though Stonecutter was, and as inexperienced as were the two girls he faced, this circumstance could have presented certain difficulties for the Dragonlord, save for the fact that Ibronka, disdaining to be part of an attack of two against one, lowered her weapon with a shrug, thus giving the Tiassa the honor of sustaining the attack, which Röaana endeavored to do to the best of her ability. This ability, we must say, was not up to the task—while Röaana had trained as a swordsman, and had, indeed, a certain aptitude, she was no match for a warrior of Stonecutter's experience, ability, and temperament. The result, then, was predictable: in two passes, Stonecutter gave her a thrust through the thigh which caused her to give a small cry and to fall to her knees. Upon seeing this, Ibronka, in turn, gave a cry, but this was one of surprise and anger, and she raised her sword at once and, before Stonecutter had time to withdraw his weapon and resume a guard position, Ibronka had passed her sword entirely through his body, at which time Stonecutter said, "Do you know, I believe you have killed me, madam."
"Well," said Ibronka, shrugging, at which time the Dragonlord fell upon his face and didn't move. Ibronka began to kneel next to her friend, but before she could do so, another Dragonlord had stepped forward, standing over the prostrate Stonecutter, and the Dzurlord was thus required to defend herself to avoid having her head cloven in twain by a vicious overhand cut. She parried this in good style, and then set in to defend herself in all earnestness.
Pel looked for Tsanaali, whom he had promised to have words with, and was so incensed to be unable to find him, that he made up his mind to fight his way through all of the enemy troops until he could meet him. This decision made, he attacked with a ferocity that none of the Dragons, war-hardened as they were, had ever encountered before. His first thrust went into the eye of his amazed enemy, who at once dropped his sword and fell backward, holding his hands to his face. Pel did not even slow down, but, rather, took a step forward, into the thick of the opposing forces, and, with two quick cuts—low to the right, then high to the left—had wounded two of them,
one seriously enough to cause him to retire from the contest with the side of his neck bleeding profusely.
The warrior who now stood directly in front of Pel was none other than Tsanaali's lieutenant, Marra, who had enough time to aim and execute a good cut at the Yendi's head, which cut Pel barely deflected with his thin rapier. While he did so, however, the soldier on Pel's right recovered from the wound he had inflected on the calf of her leg sufficiently to aim a furious thrust at the exposed middle of Pel's body. There can be no doubt that, at this moment, matters would have gone ill for the Duke of Galstan had not Röaana, observing the contest from her knees and her position on the Yendi's right, suddenly lunged forward with her poniard and thrust it into the stomach of the Dragonlord just as she was about to complete her attack on Pel. This was too much for the Dragonlord, who, wounded twice, the second time quite seriously, moaned and fell to the ground. Röaana, at the same time, was overcome by exertion as well as loss of blood, and fell forward onto her face next to the woman to whom she had just given such a hideous wound.
This created a certain confusion in the ranks of both sides. During this confusion, Pel was able to retreat a step, having come to the conclusion that he could not, by himself, penetrate through all the enemy forces to reach the one he wanted (and who was, had he known it, in fact on the other side of the clearing). At the same instant, there being a gap in the line where Röaana had fallen, it was, quite unexpectedly, rilled by Lar, who stepped up holding his cast-iron cook-pot as if doing so were the most natural thing in the world. It was at just this moment that, at the other end of the line, Aerich found the opening he was looking for and passed his sword almost entirely through his opponent's heart, killing the man at once.
On the other side, after several passes, Tsanaali managed to inflict a good cut on the one called Thong, slicing past his defense and putting a terrible wound on the left side of his cheek. Upon receiving the wound, he dropped his sword and took two steps backward; however, his place was at once filled by one of his comrades, Ritt, who came in and attacked Tsanaali furiously, as if to extract revenge for the painful wound his friend had suffered. The Dragonlord parried strongly, and refused to give ground, even when the attack was joined by Iatha, the other recent recruit to the service of Her Majesty. Now Iatha wielded her oversized blade with sufficient abandon to cause some concern in Mica, who was next to her on the line, yet with sufficient skill that Tsanaali had never had a chance to wound her, yet she, on her end, had given the Dragonlord three or four shallow but annoying scratches—the more remarkable because it was not such a weapon as one would expect to be able to deliver an injury of that sort—one would think that it would either miss or strike deep. Nevertheless, that is what happened, and this duel continued for some time with none of them able to gain a clear advantage.
The same could be said for Mica, who required all of the skill he could muster to keep at bay the weapon that constantly snapped and struck at him from a hand that knew its business, and if Mica had had no chance to attempt to counterstrike, well, it is the author's opinion that he can be forgiven—it being an accomplishment of no small order merely to have remained so long with a whole skin.
Tazendra was no longer considering such matters of who was outnumbering whom, or whether this engagement would involve more or less of glory, but was rather, quite simply, fighting. That is, she was continuing to thrust, cut, parry, move in, move out, move sideways, duck, spin, and lean as if she had been made for nothing else in the world. In the course of this activity, she had placed another of her enemies out of action, by the expedient of striking him in the face with the hilt of her weapon, thus stunning him; and she was now well engaged with the warrior who had stepped up to replace him.
Khaavren continued fighting with his accustomed energy and coolness, protecting himself with efficient and precise parries that moved across his body much more quickly than they appeared to, and set up counterattacks that came without warning and on unexpected lines; while, at the same time, he moved to take advantage of the edge of the bluff on his left, which he knew his opponents could not be unaware of after seeing one of their number tumble from it. In this way, he managed to slip his weapon beneath his enemy's with a good thrust through the body that forced the Dragonlord to retire in pain and confusion.
During all of this, we should explain that Zerika was watching with a sort of fascinated horror, as if she had never before seen such a shedding of blood, and was appalled to consider that it was taking place, at least in part, in her name.
Another who was unhappy with the battle in its development was Tsanaali—at just about this time he made a sudden attack against his opponents, and then retreated a few steps, and used the brief space of time this maneuver gave him to survey the tactical situation as it had developed. It is very possible that, at this point, he would have broken off the engagement if he had been able to give the order—for it was clear that he was unable to make any progress against the stubborn defense mounted by Khaavren and his friends. However, he had no opportunity to give the order, as he was too closely pressed by his two opponents, these being Iatha and Ritt. The battle, therefore, continued.
Aerich, his face expressionless, continued fighting with complete coolness, waiting for opportunities to strike, and, at the same time, as a favor to Khaavren, keeping track of Piro to be certain the young Viscount did not find himself in any trouble from which he could not extricate himself.
In fact, the Viscount was having no trouble of any kind. More than surviving, he would have discovered, had he been able to take the time to make such an evaluation, he was enjoying himself tremendously. He had reached that state of mind where, on the one hand, every movement came automatically, without the need for thought, and yet, in apparent contradiction, his mind was fully engaged at the same time. He was, one might say, thinking in terms of tactics of defense; his eyes would register a low-line thrust, his body would move, his blade would adjust for a cut at his enemy's head, and, somewhere in his mind, he would, though not consciously aware of it, consider their relative positions after the other should parry the thrust, and where he might move to be in a good position to create an opening for a thrust or a cut. In this way, not too much time had passed before he found an opening, which, after he took it, resulted in a Dragonlord who had several inches of steel run through his throat. It would, no doubt, be useless to observe that, for this individual, the battle was now over.
Next to Piro was Kytraan, who, in a different way, was as much in his element as Piro was in his. This was battle, in exactly the way that he understood battle. It was, one could say, what he had been waiting for, if not his whole life, then at least since his earlier encounter with war, in which he had developed the taste that all Dragons eventually acquire for such games. The fact that it was Dragons he was facing, of course, only increased his delight. And the fact that he had neither given nor received much in the way of wounds did nothing to diminish his pleasure.
Ibronka, a scowl affixed to her pretty face, fought in a way—had she known it—that was much the way Tazendra had fought some eight hundred years before—wild, uncontained, presenting, now and then, some danger to those next to her as well as, we must admit, not inconsiderable danger to her opponent. Her opponent, however, was himself a battle-seasoned veteran, and had fought Dzurlords before, and was quite confident, based on this experience, that, if he fought defensively, remained alert, and did not permit himself to be either unduly distracted or unfortunately disabled, she would eventually make a mistake which he could exploit. Up to this moment, she had not done so, and so they continued their duel with the utmost seriousness on both sides.
But of all of them, it was Lar who, one might say, broke the battle open. Amidst the shuffling back and forth that will inevitably accompany such a confused battle in such difficult surroundings, it suddenly occurred that he found himself without an opponent—that is, while everyone else was engaged, he was not. It seemed to him, therefore, to be a splendid ti
me to strike someone with his cooking pot, which plan he put into effect at once, aiming a terrific blow at the head of the Dragonlord to his right, who was exchanging passes with Pel. This warrior, catching the motion out of the corner of his eye, as it were, instinctively moved his blade to parry it as if it were a normal blade. This resulted in two distinct occurrences: The first was that Pel took the opportunity to deliver a furious thrust directly through the soldier's heart. The other was that Lar's cooking pot met the heavy sword of the Dragonlord with a screeching, crashing sound that made itself heard well above the clashing of blade against blade, along with the grunts of efforts, shouts of triumph, and cries of pain usual on a field of battle.
Moreover, there was Pel: Still determined to reach Tsanaali and settle matters with him, he thought he detected a chance to do this very thing, and so charged forward, a poniard suddenly in his hand. He bound the sword of the next warrior in his own, and plunged his poniard viciously into her stomach. Another turned to face Pel, completely ignoring Lar, who, seeing the opportunity, and with great deliberation, struck him three solid blows to the head; although one was probably sufficient, and two most certainly were enough.
After this, matters progressed quickly. Once Lar had so effectually dropped his man, and this coming on the heels of such a thunderous and unexpected sound, the warrior facing Ibronka permitted himself an instant's distraction, which instant was sufficient for the Dzurlord to catch his blade in hers, and, with a twist, disarm him. The warrior quickly retreated out of the way of Ibronka's oversized weapon, and, in so doing, stumbled over the feet of the woman behind him, upon which they both fell in a heap.