“If you wish it, but Petya needs a lesson in humility.”
Keverin tried not to laugh in Jihan’s face; it would have been rude. His friend wasn’t exactly a model of humility himself. His pride in his skills was thoroughly deserved however.
Jihan removed his cloak and handed it to Adrik. He gestured at Jolon’s lack of armour. “I do not wish to see you permanently injured. Do you wish to borrow armour?”
All the clansmen laughed including Jolon, but Keverin noticed that Anwa wasn’t. The warrior was scowling fiercely at what he saw as mockery.
“True warriors do not need armour, but I thank you for the thought. Perhaps you would care to borrow a shield as I see that you have none.”
“I thank you, Jolon. My training negates the use of a shield. I have found them to be an encumbrance against anything but arrows.”
“I see,” Jolon said slowly with a raised brow.
Keverin was impatient for the fight to begin, but he refrained from saying anything that might distract Jihan. The two were sparring with words, which he assumed would eventually lead to the challenge. He was right.
“So, if you’re ready then?” Jihan asked.
“Let us begin,” Jolon said with a nod.
Keverin blinked and nearly missed it.
Jihan pulled his sword and struck in one motion. Jolon raised his shield barely in time and deflected the blow. Jihan was obviously surprised at his opponent’s speed; Keverin could see it in his friend’s sudden wariness. Jolon in the meantime had counter-attacked, but Jihan easily parried each time. With a sigh of relief, he realised that Jihan was indeed the better man. He scowled knowing he had doubted for a moment.
Jihan moved with the total assurance of a master performing his art, but although it seemed obvious that Jolon was not his equal, he was also no slouch. The clansman was dangerous. Jihan knew it of course; he had known it the instant his first attack failed. He glided forward, his sword in the classic two-handed grip, and Jolon backed, circling to the left. Jihan suddenly changed to a single hand—his left, and attempted to bypass Jolon’s shield to land a blow. Jolon cursed in surprise and cast it at Jihan. It had suddenly become an encumbrance.
Jihan aborted his attack and ducked. He barely escaped Jolon’s follow up slice, and changed back to his right hand. The clansman desperately parried the new attack, but he was feeling the loss of his shield acutely. Jihan danced in the snow. All eyes were on him and Jolon seemed a nonentity in comparison, but gracefulness didn’t win battles. Jihan’s skill was beyond compare, however. Jolon was good, none could ever deny it, but Jihan was simply better.
Keverin was fuming. Jihan hadn’t kept his promise. He was playing.
Jihan thrust, but his sword was pushed to the side. Jolon tried to make use of the opening so foolishly handed to him, but then he felt a slap high on his right side. He looked down in amazement to find Jihan’s sword hard against his body with its wickedly sharp edge turned safely away.
“Hit!” Jolon called feeling sick. In a real fight, he would have been dead.
Jihan straightened from his awkward lunge and saluted his opponent with a graceful yet complex flourish of his sword then continued the movement to sheath his blade with a quiet snick.
Petya was dumbfounded, but the other clansmen were angry. Many of them had seen Jihan’s skill while he taught Adrik and felt, as did Keverin, that Jihan had played Jolon for a fool. It was a notion quickly dispelled on when Jihan reacted angrily to his accusation.
“How dare you, Sir! I have never gone back on a promise once made, and I resent your implication that I would do so,” Jihan said coldly. “I said I would not play with him, and I did not. It will no doubt surprise you to hear that Jolon is as good with his blade as Athlone was. Not that you would know!”
Whoa! Jihan was angry. He had only seen him like this once before. That time he had been readying himself to kill his father.
“I apologise Jihan—from the heart my friend.” Keverin offered a formal bow. “It was frustration talking. I should have known you would never do something like that after saying you would not.”
Jihan’s glare faded and he nodded in better humour. He was not one to stay angry for long; he had to work at it. “You should have known, Kev, but let us speak no more of it. Jolon was quite a surprise to me. My first attack would have ended the fight nine times out of ten, but he appears to be my tenth man.” He frowned but then smiled ruefully. “I should have known better. I have mentioned Cowan to you before. He was one of my two instructors in the sword. He truly is a blade-master, and a clansman. I wonder how many like Jolon there are living among the clans.”
He was pleased that his friend was no longer angry, but he had no interest in speculating on numbers of skilled swordsmen. He wanted to know if Petya would hold to the bargain he had made. The chief was angrily arguing with his warriors. One warrior in particular was denouncing Jolon as incompetent and calling his chief a lover of outclanners.
“Bide here a moment would you?” Jihan said absently as he walked toward the confrontation.
Keverin sighed. They were getting nowhere fast. Adrik murmured that it would have been quicker to fight it out, and he agreed. Petya was close to being challenged, and he was old. If loud-mouth became chief, a battle would ensue that would likely see all the clansmen dead and a good many Devans also. The merits of armour versus free movement would be mute when the Devan medium cavalry charged the clan light cavalry. He wondered how many would survive. Few he thought, too few to continue north. Jihan had seen the likely consequences before he had and was taking steps.
“You, Sir!” Jihan pointed at loud-mouth. “Do you say Jolon gave me that hit?”
“This does not concern you outclanner!”
“Ah, but it does you see. If Jolon is judged to have given me the fight, I must see it as a stain on my honour. I know you do not understand honour, Sir, nor have any, but I assure you it is important to me!”
Keverin winced.
“Now he’s done it,” Adrik whispered.
The clansmen hissed in shock. All were struck dumb. All except loud-mouth who was turning purple with rage and growling.
“Are you all right?” Jihan said in concern. “Breathe man, breathe!”
“You filthy outclanner! I’ll kill you!”
“Is that what you call a challenge?”
“Yes! To the death!”
“Well then, I accept. Would now be all right?” Jihan said in a bored voice, but his face was anything but bored. His eyes glittered and his face was as granite.
Loud mouth’s answer was to jump down from his horse and stalk to where the snow was already packed down from the earlier fight. Jihan shrugged and followed.
Keverin watched intently and made sure not to blink this time. Jihan faced his opponent as he had faced Jolon before him. He was not surprised when he pulled his sword and struck exactly as before. It would be called foolhardy for any other man to repeat his strike, especially when his new opponent had witnessed it, but Jihan was not concerned. The blow landed and Jihan walked away without looking back. Everyone stared in shock. Loud-mouth swayed and then fell dead. His sword arm and shoulder was hanging by a mere flap of skin.
“Let that be an end to the foolishness!” Keverin said loudly. “Petya made a bargain as your chief. Honour it!”
There was a rumble of discontent, but no one interrupted as Petya gave orders to escort the outclanners to Denpasser.
Jihan was already mounted when Keverin turned to find Cavell. Adrik and he quickly followed his example. Brian reformed the men into a column of fours and then ordered them to move out. Keverin rode at the head of the column beside Adrik on one side and Jihan on the other. The two mages were close behind talking quietly together.
“—Julia’s idea… matrices—”
“Yes but… and what if—”
Keverin shook his head; it was mage talk.
“That was well done, Jihan,” Adrik said.
Keverin
didn’t quite groan. He should have warned the boy what Jihan’s silences meant. He tensed waiting for the explosion, but it didn’t happen that way.
Jihan sighed and shook his head sadly. “I have tried to teach you and the others what I believe honour means, Adrik. Would you say it’s honourable to force a fight knowing beyond doubt that you will win? Knowing that forcing it, you are murdering the man or as close to it that it makes no difference?”
Adrik frowned. “But you always win! You always know you’re going to win! That means—”
“Exactly. To force a fight is dishonourable.”
“But if someone challenges you?”
“To accept a challenge is honourable.”
Adrik thought for a moment. “If you see something about to happen that you know is wrong, should you challenge?”
Jihan nodded.
“That’s all you did here, Jihan. You saved hundreds of lives by telling the truth. Was it honourable for loud-mouth to try and break Petya’s bargain?”
“No.”
“Then you did not dishonour yourself. You said he had no honour, which was true. He challenged you, not the other way. You did right.”
“He’s right, Jihan,” Keverin said well pleased with Adrik. Jihan was extremely vulnerable to self-criticism.
“Perhaps…” Jihan said, thinking it through.
Keverin smiled. His friend was sitting straighter and taking an interest in his surroundings again. He was no longer worrying about turning into his father.
* * *
2 ~ Reunited
“May I?” Jolon said holding his hand out.
Jihan didn’t hesitate. He offered his sword, hilt first, to the clansman and received Jolon’s sword in exchange. He had no interest in the clansman’s lesser blade, but out of politeness he examined it. It was of steel, which was the last thing that was good to his way of thinking. The balance was off, not by much true, but it was enough to distract him as he brought the blade up to high guard. That wasn’t a good thing for any swordsman to have to contend with. The blade was shorter than he was used to at a little under a yard in length, but it was lightly curving as his sword was. It was sharp on both edges and the point as clan blades usually were.
He was used to a single edged weapon and used both the edge and the point to his advantage. The hilt of Jolon’s sword was made of black lacquered wood as was his of course, but again that was where the similarity ended. His sword’s hilt was long, and could be used one or two handed. It had a small circular guard that didn’t interfere with his grip; the black silk wrapping was merely to aid him in that. Jolon’s hilt however, was short and had a brass hand-guard that looped over the knuckles to attach to the pommel. It was therefore a single-handed weapon and reminded him of the standard Devan cavalry sabre in its overall design and measurements.
Jihan flexed the blade and nodded his approval as it sprung back into shape. At least the steel was good quality. The blade was thinner than his sword and less heavy as a result. That was both good and bad. Less tiring to wield certainly, but it would also land a lesser blow when used full force. Overall, he preferred his custom made sword.
Jolon and he exchanged blades and each sheathed their weapons.
“I have never seen a long knife like it.”
“Neither have I,” Jihan admitted. “Though the type is more common over the mountains to the east. This was made especially for me by a master in Japura. He sent his apprentice all the way to my home to measure me in my armour and in my skin. He really put me through my paces I can tell you! He went away with a little book full of numbers, and a year later delivered this and a matching dagger along with it.” He pulled the dagger and gave it to Jolon.
Jolon looked the blade over, but the sword was what he was interested in and quickly handed it back. Jihan sheathed it as they walked back to the campfire.
“I would give a lot for a long knife—”
“No, Jolon. I am sorry, but there is nothing you could give me worth this blade.”
“You don’t know what I would offer!”
“Please my friend, don’t be angry. You have to understand something about me. I have trained all my life with all kinds of weapons. I am expert in them all, but there is nothing more precious to a man than his family and his friend’s lives. This sword may one day be all that stands between them and death. I killed my traitorous father with this blade, and saved my lady with it. It has saved me many times. Nothing is worth more to me than life.”
Jolon nodded reluctantly. “Maybe I can seek out the man who made it.”
“Japura is far from here. Would you truly wish to leave the plain for the sake of a nice piece of metal?”
Jolon hesitated but shook his head. “No, you are right. Family and friends are everything,” He said and tried to forget the dream of owning such a fine weapon.
Jihan left the clansman to make his way back to his people and sat next to Keverin. Lucius and Mathius were talking as they usually did about magic and its uses. Jihan tuned them out; he couldn’t understand half what was said in any case. Keverin was staring into the flames as if mesmerised.
“Tomorrow they said,” Keverin said quietly.
“Have you ever been to Denpasser?” Jihan asked.
“No,” Keverin shook his head. “You?”
“No, but I have heard the traders talk of ruins. To tell the truth, the horses were of more interest to me.”
“Hmmm. Do you think she’ll be all right?”
Jihan didn’t have to ask who was meant. It had to be Julia. “Lucius said she is. Shamen are like mages; they’ll heal her and we can go home to Malcor for the season.”
“I hope so. Maybe you should return now, Jihan. You have Ahnao and the babe to consider.”
“I do miss her,” Jihan admitted. “But Jessica will look after her for me. I’ll have to go back before long; I don’t want to miss the birth.”
“Of course you must. I have Brian and his men for company. We’ll be fine.”
Jihan nodded looking at the clear sky overhead. At least the snow had held off today. The plain was already knee deep, and in some places, it was much deeper than that. He had discovered part of the reason the clans could hide so effectively yesterday when he stepped into a hole and disappeared up to his eyes in snow. Everyone laughed, but he had been delighted with the discovery. The plain had always seemed flat, but that was an illusion created by the long grass. It was actually comprised of many hollows, which the clans used to hide their presence. They were so effective that the clan’s ability to hide behind a blade of grass had reached legendary proportions, a fact the clans did not try to disabuse people of.
He was glad to have worked out the puzzle, but it really made no difference whether he knew the how of it or not. The grass hid the depressions and the clansman within them, knowing about it wouldn’t change its effectiveness. Only in winter would the clans abandon the tactic, as the snow would give them away.
He watched the guardsmen going to the perimeter and exchanging places with their friends who came in and sat down for a bite to eat before bed. The candlemark was late for talking, but Keverin seemed unwilling to leave just yet.
Jihan stood quietly to find his blankets and left his friend staring into the coals.
* * *
Keverin nodded goodnight to Jihan and watched him duck into the tent assigned him by Brian.
Tomorrow he would be with Julia again, and they could go home to be married. She had wanted all their friends to come to the wedding, but that was before Devarr. She had admitted part of the reason for inviting the lords was for an excuse to persuade them to support Gylaren as King. Well Gy was King now; so there was no longer any need to invite so many. He would send invitations to Purcell and his family, Jihan and his; Lucius and Mathius were already here so that really left only Gylaren. He felt a little ambivalent toward Gy these days, but an invitation had to be sent. He doubted Gy would attend. The Kingship was a heavy burden, one that would take al
l his attention for many years to come.
Who else should he ask? Ah yes, Lords Adrik, Halden, Davida and Blaise came to mind. Other than that, he could think of no one. He had more friends now than he’d ever had, but that was due to Julia’s influence. Everyone loved her, but she had chosen him to give her love to. He still found himself grinning whenever that came home to him.
Julia chose him!
Before her, he’d only Darius. Now Lucius, Mathius, and all the others had, not replaced him, nothing could, but they had joined Darius in his affections. He wished Julia could have known his old friend; she would have loved the man as he did. His eyes stung just a little, it was the smoke from the campfire, must be.
“You would love Julia, Darius. Everyone does, but she chose me!” he whispered.
He stood and walked to his tent. Before he ducked inside, he looked around at the fires and sentries on guard nearby. All was well.
The next day, Keverin was up early and ready to go. It was dawn when they moved north. Petya assured him they would reach Denpasser by midday at the latest. Jihan and Adrik were close by and Brian rode in his place at the head of his men. Promoting Brian to captain had been a gamble at the time, but it had paid off handsomely. Marcus had recommended him for the new captaincy, and he had lived up to the position. His men were new to the guardsmen’s life having joined Athione just a year ago, but they were well trained if still inexperienced. Keverin was glad he had them here, but would have been happier with more experienced men. He supposed he couldn’t have everything. If Marcus were here with the veterans of Julia’s War as those battles had come to be known, Athione’s defences would be weakened and with them Deva’s.
Snow began falling again at mid-morning reducing visibility to just a few yards. Everywhere had turned solid white, and when he looked back most of the column was lost to sight. Cavell was turning white also, as the slowly falling flakes settled. They arrived as Petya promised at noon, not that he could tell at first. If the chief had promised him it was dusk, he would have accepted the man’s word. There was nothing to see but snow and then walls suddenly looming up out of the ground. The ruins were a shock coming as they did out of nothing. Athione was gigantic, and Denpasser was tiny in comparison, but as the only stone building anywhere on the plain, it was still impressive. A gaping hole in one side showed where massive doors had once been. The doorway was easily big enough for a dozen guardsmen to enter walking side by side. Athione’s gates were larger, but that was to allow a strong sallying force to charge out. Wide the doorway might be, but the height of it was ridiculous! The thing was taller than it was wide! Why make something without reason like that? The windows in the sides of the building seemed small in comparison.
Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 Page 100