Ardent

by Florian Armas

  “I fight with two swords.” Viler’s lips formed a tight smile.

  “So do I.”

  “Bran,” Agatha said. “Bring this … protector to the theater. Take some guards, and make sure he does not run away.”

  There was nothing more to say, and I followed Bran outside.

  “Codrin, if you die, you die like a soldier,” Bran said from the open gate. “If Viler dies, he dies like a fool. I have seen enough in my life to distinguish a soldier from a mummer. That doesn’t mean that Viler is not a good swordsman, just that he is not a good soldier. There is no need to follow you to the inn; I am sure you will return. I will wait for you here, as you don’t know where the theater is.”

  Why are you talking about death? “Thank you. Is Viler alone here?”

  “He has two armed men with him in the castle. You may bring two soldiers with you.”

  Bran led us to the theater, another surprising thing for such a small town, even Severin and Deva had no theaters. Agatha may be a mad bitch, but she is sophisticated. It was in fact an amphitheater, with a round floor thirty feet across. I took Vlad and Ban with me. Awake, Vlaicu remained behind with the rest of our soldiers, to take the lead if things would go wrong. I no longer needed that vision to understand that Agatha had set the situation up; the story about the lodgings was her trick to create the grounds for the duel, and not a strategy to separate us from Jara and Saliné. Why? Who told her my name? She knows Codrin, not Tudor. Big Mouth again? Valeni goes to Saliné. Saliné goes to Bucur. It makes sense.

  It happened that Viler’s men were in my way as I walked to the small lodge where all the others were gathered. One of them had a bow in his right hand. A finger was pressing one end of the bow, the other end rested on the floor. He was rotating it slowly. Our eyes met, and he grinned. It was more a snarl than a grin. I hit the bow with my foot, and pulled it from his hand. Before he could react, my dagger cut the cord, and I threw the bow back to him.

  “Young man,” Agatha said, eyeing me with both distaste and interest. “You are indeed a savage.”

  “Just a careful man, my lady,” I said. “Nothing else.” I am sure you understood my caution.

  “Don’t worry, Lady Agatha.” There was a cold smile on Viler’s face, and in some ways, he reminded me of Sharpe. “He will pay for everything. It will be a duel to the death.”

  He may be even more dangerous than Sharpe.

  “We have heard that word so much, savage, that we have become it,” Jara said. “It was supposed to be until first blood, not...”

  “It may flow,” Agatha cut in, but I sensed a small hesitation in her. “Viler is a man who deserves to be heard. He will have the duel of his choice.” She stared at me, tried to speak again, but turned her head abruptly, her mouth shut tightly.

  Caught up in the scene, I sensed only at the last moment some movement to my left: the old man who had been in Agatha’s office before. He stopped abruptly, his eyes fixed on my curved swords.

  “Maybe we should avoid a duel to the death,” he said in a soft voice, unable to move his eyes away from my swords. His voice was strange, persuasive in reverse; that softness and choice words made the duel to the death a sure thing. Even Jara remained silent, her eyes wide.

  Hypnosis?

  “Don’t worry, Coleus, I know about the Assassins’ swords. I have nothing to fear,” Viler bragged, a hint of a sneer playing on his lips; he was enjoying this.

  Viler understood nothing. I took time to check his swords. Sitting on a bench behind him, they had straight blades, not curved like the Assassins’. Only the proportions were the same; a short sword for defense, and a long one meant for kill. What training do you have?

  “Then maybe you should keep some of your knowledge to yourself,” Coleus said with a shrug, and Viler did not reply.

  “I am ready.” Viler sent a venomous glare at me. “Let’s not make the ladies wait. They are eager to see a good show.”

  “No woman is waiting for such savage thing,” Jara said scornfully.

  Agatha opened her mouth and closed it again without speaking.

  “I will dedicate my victory to you, lady Jara.” Viler smiled broadly. It was not friendly; he resembled an animal baring his teeth, ready to kill his prey, yet he enjoyed to kill. That is the difference between a natural predator and some men: necessity against pleasure to kill.

  “I refuse it,” Jara said coldly, and that savage smile vanished from Viler’s lips – in the chivalry rules of a duel, it was an affront that Jara had served him.

  Saying no more, Viler walked away to the center of the stage, and kicked a pebble on his route. I followed him. For a while, we faced each other in silence and unconcealed animosity. Slowly, Viler unsheathed his swords, and lowered his center by flexing his feet a notch. His hands went up: the long sword above his head, inclined in diagonal Terza Guarda Alta to the left, the short one at the level of his chin in Seconda Guarda, both at the angle at which an Assassin would start a duel.

  Coincidence? I unsheathed my swords too, and raised them the same way: Shadow up and Flame down. My Terza Guarda Alta is lower because of the curved blade, I observed in silence. It fits better.

  “Your blood will paint the floor,” Viler said, and stepped slightly forward on his right leg.

  You are too eager to fight. “Are you enjoying this?” I stepped aside, avoiding a first clash, and moved in a circle around him. Neither of us wore armor, and our steps were light. Let’s observe some patience first.

  “Of course,” he laughed, and slid away skillfully. “Isn’t fighting an exciting thing?”

  Bran was right, you have never fought in a war.

  The right moves come to you through training, which is mostly dull and repetitive. They are not exciting. You rehearse a certain move a thousand times and more, until the move becomes you. There are sparks too, I can’t deny it, as you also fight in training, but excitement from killing is for minds of a lesser value. The ultimate aim is to make you a fighting machine, resilient and implacable, like the wheels of a windmill – a soulless thing.

  Attack and counterattack.

  They come automatically to you. I continued to circle around Viler, in total silence. He attacked again. A cross slide with the long sword. I avoided it again, stepping back.

  “You run like a rabbit.”

  Fighting is not only strength and speed, or mind games. It’s also a game of wills. I continued to move, the same way, to my right.

  A double cross followed. It carried no threat, a testing thing, conditioned to reveal your answer. I did not even step back, just leaned a bit to one side, and then to the other. The sword missed me by a finger’s width. It was an unconscious reaction. In a fight, consciousness is sometimes your enemy. It’s the unconsciousness you need in the first place. That primal reaction embedded in your body through repetition – the move that became you. There are too many swiftly compressed decisions to make in a fight. Consciousness is only for strategy.

  Viler pounced, his long sword arcing down. I inclined Shadow and met the blow, its force making Viler’s sword slide to the side. Flame moved forward. Viler parried, and both our swords were now touching. I pushed harder against them, and he stepped back. Strength is only good if it is concentrated. We disengaged, and I continued to circle around him. Strategy is your third eye. Cold and distant, watching you from above.

  His next blow was even stronger, and I sprang forward, diving under the swing. Flame flared laterally, but Viler was skilled enough to meet it with his own short sword. He jumped aside, and swung his sword in a circle; a preemptive move, in case I attacked. I was already away, and continued to circle around him.

  For a minute, there was no other reaction from Viler than turning slowly to face me. I changed direction, and walked to my left. A matter of routine; once the enemy is accustomed to your reaction, you challenge his understanding of the battlefield. Viler stepped left, then swiftly went right. He half crouched, waiting for me to attack his wrong s
tep. I did not.

  Tensed, he felt weakness where there was none and charged. In that split second, my training took everything en passant, and I left his short sword unanswered. It cut into my left upper arm. Flame touched his neck. We stepped back, and started to circle again. Viler stumbled.

  “You…” he said, and a line of blood oozed down from between his lips. It merged with the one on his neck. “won.” He dropped his swords, and with a spasm fell to the ground, his body shaking in tremors. “End it...” he begged.

  Shadow pierced his heart to stop his suffering. For all that lack of character, Viler was a worthy opponent and deserved mercy.

  I sheathed Shadow, and pressed the fabric of my shirt over the wound, to stop the flow of blood. Then I nodded to Vlad, who was just a few steps away from me. He grabbed my Assassin healing kit. On the other side of the floor, in the corner of my eye, Saliné and Jara jumped from their places and ran toward me. Before they arrived, Vlad took out a long piece of chiffon, to bandage my wound.

  Let me help you,” Saliné said to Vlad, and took the chiffon from him, so he could wash the wound in alcohol. Then she bandaged me. The alcohol burned, and I bit my lips to keep my arm still.

  When did she learn this?

  “It’s not very deep,” Saliné said, “and you don’t need stitches, but it will take a while to heal.”

  Letters. The whisper in my mind startled me. “Thank you,” I said. “I have something to finish.” It must be the Light. I must get accustomed to it.

  At the bench where Viler had left his belongings, I found Maxim trying to sneak away his knapsack.

  “That belongs to me.” My blade touched his neck. “Winner’s Right.”

  “Young man, you don’t behave like that in our castle,” he said, his voice unexpectedly calm. “I can arrest you for menacing me.”

  “I can take your castle before you could even try.” In silence, I grabbed the knapsack from his hand.

  “Codrin,” Jara whispered, staring at me. Her hand gestured slightly to calm and stop me, in a way that remained hidden from the others.

  I am calm, Jara. “You know how men are after a battle. Their blood is still boiling,” I said to the round man, smiling thinly. “I am no exception. Now let’s see what I‘ve won.”

  “Let’s go, Jara,” Agatha interfered. “I have no stomach to see a dead man robbed.”

  “What a curious thing,” I grinned, knowing well that after a fight all our facial expressions are accentuated, almost animal. “Robbing turns your stomach; death makes you feel good. It’s warming your blood, isn’t it? I should have dedicated my victory to you.”

  The old woman turned her head brusquely, and walked away fast. Jara frowned at me, but followed her aunt in silence, and Saliné too.

  I turned slightly, and set the knapsack on the bench, half hidden from Maxim. The first thing that came to my sight was a small, rolled piece of paper. Letters. Quickly, I sneaked it under my sleeve. Then one by one, I took out all the other objects, and lined them up on the bench. Maxim moved slightly to my right and craned his neck to observe them better, his eyes wide. A purse, a comb. Quite an effeminate man. Another roll of paper. I unrolled it, and all of the sheets were unused. In the corner of my eye, I caught a slight sign of relief on Maxim’s face. My hand continued to take things out slowly. A small knife, a mirror, a few handkerchiefs. The last thing to come out was a Wing Talisman. Maxim froze, and I had to force myself to turn the talisman over in my hand a couple of times; then I polished it with my sleeve. Viler was a Wanderers’ protégée too. Were they involved in this?

  “Bronze,” I said, and threw it on the bench. “At first, I thought it was gold.” At leisure, I took the purse, the knife and the roll of unused papers. “The rest is not of interest to me. You may take his jewelry and drink in my honor at No Horse.” Walking slowly, I left Maxim alone in the empty amphitheater. After a last glance at me, he ducked and grabbed something that his body hid from me. I slowed even more while he walked away at a brisk pace. The Wing Talisman was no longer on the bench. The gold stuff was still on Viler’s body.

  At the inn, I took the letters from my sleeve. Two letters. Slowly I unfurled the first one, a very short one.

  ‘Viler,

  You will lend Coleus your sword to clear an obstacle in the path of the new candidate King. You are well trained at a level that few people are in Frankis, so we are counting on you.’

  It was signed by someone named Drusila. Unfortunately there was no heraldic stamp on it to reveal anything about the sender.

  I am an obstacle. Absently, I played the letter between my fingers. And I am not yet cleared. Why an obstacle to the new candidate King? I need to talk with Cantemir. There must be a misunderstanding.

  I threw the open letter on the table, and unfurled the second one. It was again addressed to Viler.

  ‘There is a new dawn in Frankis between the Wanderers and the Circle, and, with your training and skills, you will play the middle man between us. As you know, a new candidate King was nominated earlier than expected because time is pressing. Your first mission will be to clear an obstacle in the path of the new King.’

  ‘a new dawn between the Wanderers and the Circle’, I read again.

  The Wanderers have betrayed me. Even Dochia?

  ‘Sage Aron from Severin will help you better understand the threat and how to eliminate it. If everything goes well, Coleus, the Sage from the Circle Council, will bring the obstacle to you in Valeni.’ I continued reading.

  Aron is a Sage of the Circle... This the fourth attempt on my life in which Aron was involved. The Circle was involved too. I can’t use the duel to justify my revenge, and kill Aron. I don’t really need to justify it to anyone, but I have to leave Frankis if I kill a Sage. To go where? With Sages like Aron, no wonder Frankis is still without a King. Nominations on paper don’t really count. Who replaced that freak Orban?

  The letter carried the usual MS in a circle, the signature of the Master Sage of the Circle, but the writing on the letter did not belong to Cantemir. Someone wrote it for him. Should I tell Cantemir who Codrin is? It’s too late now. Why the hell I am an obstacle to the new candidate King?

  “Valeni knows about the duel now.” Vlaicu entered the room with a smile on his lips. I nodded. He glanced at me, and stayed silent for a while. “More problems?” he pointed to the letter in my hand.

  “Yes, more problems,” I said, and rolled up the letters before putting them in my backpack.

  “From your face... If there is any way I can help … We can talk about them whenever you are ready to talk.”

  “Thank you, Vlaicu, but nobody can help me with this. It’s my burden. I hope that they will settle the inheritance tomorrow so we can leave. We still must be prepared to run at short notice, if things go wrong.”

  “There should not be any retaliation for Viler’s death. A duel is not a crime, and he initiated it.”

  “Viler was … paid to kill me. Why he used a duel, I don’t know.”

  “Too much confidence, I think. For a good reason. It was the first time I’ve heard of someone being able to scratch your skin in a duel,” he pointed to my wounded shoulder. “Viler was better than Cernat.”

  “Yes, he was better than Cernat was five years ago when we first met him, but I still think that Cernat from twenty years ago was a better swordsman.” And Viler had Assassins’ training.

  In the afternoon, I was called again by Agatha. I could have snubbed her, but for Jara’s sake I agreed to go. Or maybe it was to see the statues again. I kept Flame with me, and Bran did not object. I was beginning to like this Chief of the Guard. As expected, Agatha left me waiting in the antechamber of her office, yet the door was open, so I could see her sitting at her desk. She pretended not seeing me. Jara and Saliné were with her.

  There was some slight noise in the corridor; then the door opened, and a woman burst into the antechamber. The woman was, I could say old, but even more imposing in her stance and ste
rn visage. Her eyes stayed on me less than a blink, when she entered. It was enough to feel stabbed; for whatever reason the woman was both surprised and full of hate. In that transient moment between surprise and hate, it became clear that the old woman knew me, and even worse she was surprised to see me alive. A Wanderer… Or at least her four guards were Wanderers, I realized when they entered the room too. Dochia has only two guards.

  “Agatha, Coleus,” she barked. “We need to talk.”

  Agatha appeared, followed by Jara and Saliné, and my eyes turned to her. She was an experienced woman too, even older than the new one, and accustomed to power, yet in that moment she looked like a child waiting for the inevitable punishment after a wrong step. Would the wrong step be me?

  “Yes, Drusila,” Agatha whispered. “Please follow me.”

  A Drusila wrote the letter about clearing the obstacle. Watching them disappearing through the door, I decided that there was nothing more for me to do there, and I moved toward the exit of the large antechamber.

  “You stay here,” one of the Wanderers barred my way. Her tone was neutral; her movements spoke differently. She was obviously well trained, but there are ways to read even the most trained body. Her hand was a bit stiff.

  “Sister,” I said softly, “you don’t own me, and while I have good relations with some Wanderers, I don’t take orders from you. And I am not an Assassin, if my curved sword unsettled you.”

  “You stay here,” she repeated, this time with steel in her voice, and her body was now fully blocking me.

  Before she had finished, I stepped back, and my left hand kicked aside, meeting a man’s neck. One of the castle guards was moving to hit me on the back of the skull with the hilt of his dagger. He fell soundlessly. The second guard attacked me with his sword, but Agatha’s guards were mostly a joke, and there was no need to unsheathe my sword to disarm him.

  “Now ladies,” I gestured toward the Wanderers, “move away from that door and let me pass.” I crossed my hands in front of me, releasing the barrette over the knife tied to my left arm at the same time. My motion did not escape them, and their hands were in similar positions. Things were now tense; they had their orders to obey, I had the need to leave the room and gather my thoughts so I could understand what the old woman wanted from me. “Death already took her tithe today after that idiot Viler challenged me to a duel. There is no need for more. I don’t know what the woman you guard wants from me, but I will not leave the castle if that is what you want, as I am the Lead Protector of the Severin embassy.” I gestured toward Jara and Saliné. The Wanderers knew Viler, it was clear to me, even when their only reaction was to enlarge the distance between them, so they could handle the fight better.