by Simon Brown
So he never saw the point coming.
Lynan felt a sudden jarring impact just below his throat’s hollow that sent his head crashing again into the dirt. Kumul called out “Kill!” so loudly that everyone in Kendra, let alone the palace, must have heard.
Cursing under his breath, Lynan stood up a little groggily, massaging the point where the head of the guard’s wooden spear had marked him. He knew there would be a bruise there as wide as a bread plate before nightfall, and that it would trouble him for days.
The guard helped steady Lynan, and he mumbled some thanks.
Kumul appeared in front of him. “You’re lucky Jemma didn’t aim higher, Your Highness, or the palace surgeon would now be on his way to straighten out your larynx.”
“I was lucky to catch him like that, Constable,” Jemma said generously.
“Nonsense. You were too quick for him.” Kumul glared at Lynan. “Or he was too slow for you. Either way, the prince loses the bout.” Kumul’s tone became theatrically deferential. “Does his Highness have anything to say in his defense?”
“Well, the sun—” Lynan began.
“Other than the fact he fell for one of the oldest feints in the book.”
Lynan blushed. “No, nothing.”
Kumul nodded. “Well, at least you’ve learned something from this fiasco. Let’s see another round…” Kumul bent closer to Lynan’s ear “… and for God’s sake, boy, this time watch your feet.”
Lynan nodded, raising his wooden sword as Kumul withdrew. The guard raised his spear and they resumed their training.
In the shadow of the arena’s entrance stood two figures, paid due deference by those nearby but unseen by the dueling pair not forty steps from them.
The Lord Galen Amptra, son of Duke Holo Amptra, had watched Lynan’s humbling with keen interest. “Your half-brother quite happily prepares to make a fool of himself a second time,” he observed to his cousin, Prince Berayma.
“Even you would have to admit that takes courage,” Berayma said.
“Arrogance, rather. The arrogance of his commoner father.” Galen sighed deeply. “He shames us all. Your mother’s blood runs diluted in his veins.”
Berayma eyed Galen warily, but said nothing.
Galen licked his lips, continuing cautiously. “Everyone accepts that new monarchs must make their mark on the world, it’s a sign of their authority. No one will be sorry to see you rid Kendra of Lynan. I hear the merchants of Lurisia have been pleading for the queen to appoint a representative from the royal family to attend permanently their Great Council Hall in Arkort.”
Berayma’s voice betrayed his rising anger. “Don’t speak so lightly of my ascension to the throne. That cannot be achieved before my mother’s death—”
“For God’s sake, Berayma, she’s at death’s door now! You have to consider the future.”
“This is not the time or place. You should know better.”
Galen bit back a reply. He understood his cousin’s ire, yet felt frustrated that Berayma would not acknowledge reality as he and other members of the Twenty Houses had learned to do. His devotion to the queen, if not as strong as Berayma’s, was genuine, but he recognized that the time for planning for the succession was overdue. Berayma, however, would countenance no talk about his ascension, and there were some who found this attitude not only unwise but also an unsettling portent for his reign.
Nevertheless, Berayma was his cousin, and he cared for him a great deal. He sighed in resignation and gently placed a hand on Berayma’s shoulder. “As you say. Not here, and not now.”
* * *
Stung by Kumul’s sarcasm and his own loss of face, Lynan fought much harder the second time. He attacked at every opportunity instead of waiting for the guard to come to him, slowly forcing his opponent back until he was ready for a killing stroke. He rested on the heel of his back foot for a split second as if he was about to lunge. His opponent spread his feet and brought round his spear to parry the expected thrust, but Lynan moved one step sideways and then quickly brought forward his back foot. As the guard shifted the position of his spear to counter the new angle of attack, Lynan struck, the tip of his sword pushing deep into the flesh just beneath the guard’s ribcage. If the tip had been steel instead of wood, it would have ruptured blood vessels and a lung.
Lynan started to smile, but just then he heard the sound of someone running toward him from behind. He spun around and saw a second guard bearing a wooden trident bearing down on him. Lynan charged his new attacker, diving low and tackling him below the knees. The pair rolled once in the dust of the arena. The moment Lynan was on top, he used one knee to stop himself from turning while he rammed the other into the side of his opponent. The man gasped as the air was driven from his lungs, then wheezed in pain when Lynan brought down his sword on the back of the hand carrying the trident. The guard let go his weapon and rolled away, holding up his good hand to concede defeat.
Lynan remembered the first guard. He turned just in time to deflect a thrusting spear. His attacker had been too confident of success and his momentum carried him forward. Lynan’s foot stuck out and his opponent went flying. The prince stood over him, sword pointed at his throat.
“Enough, your Highness,” Kumul said.
Lynan stood back and lowered his weapon. “Was this one of your tricks, Constable?”
“You have made up in part for your earlier mistakes.”
Kumul was being sarcastic. Lynan’s last maneuver had been similar to the one that had brought him low in the first bout. Kumul waved his hand, and the two guards picked themselves up and hobbled away. As Lynan watched them leave, he saw two shadows lurking in the entrance and recognized them immediately.
“I had an audience,” he said to Kumul matter-of-factly.
“You are a prince of the royal blood, Lynan. Do you think there is ever a time when you are not watched?”
“That attack was unusually ruthless, even for Kumul,” Berayma observed.
“We’ve had as tough,” Galen said, somewhat subdued.
“You think so?” Berayma turned to leave. He wanted to see his mother. Since her use of one of the Keys of Power earlier in the summer, her illness had grown worse. Every day was filled with anxiety for his mother and the fear that he would soon inherit the job he had been groomed for since childhood.
She’d made sure he was well trained. He could outride and outfight virtually anyone in the empire—or outside it. He had been given the best teachers and instructors, all in preparation for a job he didn’t even want.
But his sister and brothers? What purpose lay behind their training? What had his mother planned for them?
His thoughts turned to Lynan as he left the arena. He had no particular affection for his half-brother, but he certainly felt no malice toward him. His disinterest stemmed largely from his mother’s own. She had barely spent any time with Lynan since his birth, and afforded him no great courtesy or allowance beyond the bare minimum demanded by his rank as a royal prince.
Galen ran his fingers through his thinning hair and watched him leave, wishing he could find the words that would make him come to terms with the future they both knew was imminent and yet which Berayma refused to accept. The queen was in death’s grip, and nothing could free her from it. The ship of state that was Kendra needed a firm hand to keep it on an even keel, to balance the competing demands of its member states. The last thing Berayma should do was defer a decision about what was to be done with his half-brother Lynan. A new king could not afford to offend the most powerful families in his kingdom for the sake of a wastrel.
Galen shook his head. This was a problem with many solutions but no prince ready to implement them.
From a balcony above the arena, Areava also had been watching Lynan at practice. She did not know it, but her thoughts, mixed with the feeling of shame she felt about her half-brother, mirrored those of Galen. The fact that the queen had imperiled her life for Lynan’s injured acquaintance had only con
firmed for her Lynan’s ignorant selfishness, proof of the tainted blood that ran in his veins. She, Berayma, and Olio, true and pure scions of the Twenty Houses, understood it was selflessness, not selfishness, that marked the nobility. They were born to rule for their people, not to take advantage of their position. Anger boiled within her. What could be done about him?
She left the balcony for her own quarters. She was so absorbed in her thoughts she did not hear or see the greetings and salutations offered her by passersby. Most of them shrugged and continued on, used to her fierce concentration. One, however, turned on his heel and pursued her, tugging playfully on her elbow as he caught up.
“Who in God’s name…!” she started, but swallowed her anger as soon as she saw Olio striding beside her, a grin on his face that stretched from one ear to the other.
“Hello, sister! You’re looking p-p-particularly formidable this m-m-morning.”
Areava frowned. “I am?”
“Oh, yes. You’re m-m-moving north through the p-p-palace like a storm front. Black clouds p-p-precede you, lightning illuminates the roof. Very formidable.”
Areava snorted, then smiled. “I don’t mean to come across so threatening.”
“Everyone knows that, which is why they p-p-put up with it. What p-p-particular ache is souring you this m-m-morning?”
“The usual.”
Olio sighed. “Let m-m-me guess. Lynan.”
“As always. There was no guessing involved on your part.”
Olio stopped Areava with a hand on her sleeve. “Slow down, sister. It is impossible to talk with you at this speed.” Areava faced her brother, her hands on her hips. “And don’t come high and m-m-mighty with me. You m-m-may be m-m-my senior, but not b-b-by enough to warrant your anger.”
Areava drew in a deep breath. “Say your piece, then.”
“What happens after our m-m-mother dies is B-B-Be-rayma’s affair, not yours. He will be king, we will remain p-p-princess and p-p-prince. If he needs us to do any worrying for him, he’ll let us know. Do not take on responsibilities that are not yours.”
“We are members of the royal family, Olio, the first of the Twenty Houses. We are responsible for the good administration and safety of this kingdom, whether we like it or not. It is our duty to worry.”
“Not without the m-m-monarch’s leave. And remember, Lynan shares our inheritance.”
Areava’s face pinched. “He knows nothing about being a prince of the blood. He has spent his whole life as a wagging tail. His father’s blood and his natural laziness makes him unsuitable to rule his own life, let alone any part of Kendra.”
“You do not know him as well as you think.”
“I see people for who they really are.”
“Do you hate him so m-m-much?”
Areava seemed shocked. “I don’t hate Lynan! I don’t even dislike him.”
“Are you sure? Have you ever forgiven Lynan for b-b-being the son of the m-m-man who replaced our father as the queen’s consort?”
Areava shook off her brother’s hand and walked away from him. “You go too far, brother!” she cried, her voice filling the hallway. “You go too far!”
Lynan wiped the sweat from his forehead and adjusted the quilt padding around his body. Under the heavy, lead-lined roof of the fencing stalls, part of the palace armory, he felt twice as hot as he had in the open arena. He nodded to Dejanus, his opponent in this session of real weapon fencing. Lynan enjoyed his practice sessions against the Life Guard; the man was as fast as a whip, and Lynan was already two points down.
“Ready, your Highness?”
In reply, Lynan pulled down his visor. Dejanus did the same. Kumul, standing on the sideline, called “Start!” Lynan flicked his blade against that of Dejanus, who brought his own weapon across to defend his body. Before the Life Guard could react, Lynan swept the blade underneath and over, and lunged. His sword point sank into the padding over Dejanus’ chest.
“Wound!” Kumul shouted. “That’s two counts for the prince, three for Dejanus.” The pair separated. “Start!” Kumul said.
Lynan tried the same maneuver, but Dejanus foiled it simply by stepping back as he brought his sword across. Lynan lunged, but his point was short of the target by a finger’s length. His opponent overreached, Dejanus quickly took one step forward and lunged in return. Lynan knew he was in trouble halfway through his attack, and brought his sword down and perpendicular to the line of his body, catching Dejanus’ thrust just in time. He brought his sword up, forcing Dejanus’ weapon across from his right to his left and lunged a second time. Dejanus parried easily by copying Lynan’s tactic, and the two blades slid against each other. Both men stood erect and each retreated a step, their weapons held out in guard, their tips touching ever so lightly. Lynan tapped, Dejanus held steady. Dejanus feinted to Lynan’s right, but the prince moved his sword only enough to parry it. They carefully watched each other’s eyes, not the weapons. Lynan smiled slightly, Dejanus responded. Lynan stamped his foot, lunged, but kept his blade in guard. Dejanus hastily retreated a step and parried the strike that never came. Lynan used his back leg to send him into a second lunge and this time sent his point in to the padding over Dejanus’ heart.
“Kill!” Kumul shouted.
Dejanus slung his sword under his arm so its hilt was showing to the prince. “Excellent point, your Highness.”
“Don’t feed his pride,” Kumul said lightly, but he, too, had been impressed by the maneuver. It was not one he had taught the prince.
Dejanus laughed and held out his left hand. Lynan took it and thanked him for the exercise. “You are at the point now when you could take on the constable himself.”
Lynan blushed. Coming from such an experienced swordsman as Dejanus, it was high praise indeed.
“That would be an interesting bout,” said Ager, entering the stalls. The crookback, who was now a captain in the Royal Guards and spent his days training the troops, often watched the young royals at their own training, which was still personally supervised by Kumul. He paid special attention to Lynan.
“Even more interesting would be a bout between you and the prince,” Kumul said to Ager.
“Now that would be something to see!” Dejanus declared. He had trained several times with Ager and had learned to respect the crookback’s fighting skills. Since joining the Royal Guards, he had seemed to grow in stature. Partly that was due to the better diet combined with the real exercise he now enjoyed while training recruits, the latter something the crookback would have found impossible before Usharna had worked her magic on his wounds. Mostly, though, it was his renewed pride that most changed him and his appearance. His hair was close-cropped to a gray fuzz and his manner had become more confident. Ager Parmer was a new man.
“I’m willing to try my hand against the captain,” Lynan said, eager to show off his skills to Ager.
Ager glanced at Kumul, who nodded back. “Very well. But my choice of weapons.”
“Of course,” Lynan agreed readily, confident after his win against Dejanus.
Ager went to a basket of blades standing in one corner. He withdrew a short sword and hefted it for weight. Lynan groaned inside. The short sword was one weapon he did not enjoy using, and his skill with it did not match his skill with the long sword or knife, or even the bow.
Ager saw Lynan’s expression. “Don’t worry, your Highness. You can keep your longer blade.”
Lynan blinked in astonishment. “But I outreach you already, Ager.”
The crookback smiled at Lynan, cutting air with his sword. “I worked my way up the ranks of the Kendra Spears, Your Highness. I became captain through years of hard work and surviving battles.” His eye seemed to look far away, seeing memories. “What hard work and how did I survive so many battles?” he asked rhetorically.
Lynan shook his head.
“One of the first things I learned as a new soldier in the queen’s employ all those many years ago is that a spearman without a spear is as use
ful as a prick without a bladder. Unless, of course, the spearman actually knows how to use the short sword he is issued with. All us recruits trained with it but barely enough to know which end to grasp. But I really trained with it. I practiced every day until I knew the weapon like my own mother, God bless her gentle ghost, and it saved my life on more than a dozen occasions. I reckon I use the short sword with more skill than anyone I have ever met. Indeed, I reckon I use it with more skill than you use your long sword.”
Ager took up the ready position.
“What about padding?” Lynan asked.
“None fits me,” Ager answered. “And I’ll not need any.”
Lynan shrugged and raised the point of his sword. He took a step forward and made half an effort to thrust, afraid of hurting his opponent. Ager suddenly leaped forward, and the next thing Lynan knew he was on his back with the tip of Ager’s short sword resting over his heart. He heard Kumul and Dejanus laughing.
“Foolish move, your Highness,” Ager said. “Take advantage of your reach if you’ve a long sword. Don’t approach any closer than you have to.” He put out a hand and helped the prince to his feet. “Let’s try that again.”
Lynan, still with the breath knocked out of him, retreated a few steps and went to guard. Ager stood back, seeming to consider his position. “Well?” Lynan urged.
“Well what, your Highness? You don’t think I’m going to come at you with that bloody great thing pointing at me, do you?”
“But you told me to take advantage of my reach…”
“True, but now you’re so far away you could use a bow. I thought you knew how to use that thing.”
Embarrassment and anger made Lynan blush. “Right,” he said determinedly, and carefully edged forward three steps, holding his sword in front of him.