Sword Fight

by Nathan Van Coops

  The three of them made their way back to Lexington.

  Valerie thanked Rico again for the clothes, then followed Damon into the warehouse. It seemed he was all business this morning. He headed straight for the training gear and began gathering items to put in the trunk of the Guardian.

  “Thank you,” Valerie said, “for lying for me out there.”

  “It was my car.”

  “But I’m the one who left it uptown. It’s my fault that they—”

  “No,” Damon said. He turned and glared at her, his face stone. “You didn’t send that car into the tavern.”

  “But if I hadn’t gone—”

  “We’re not talking about that. What’s done is done.”

  Their eyes stayed fixed on one another for several long seconds, then Damon went back to organizing the gear for the Guardian. He worked silently, and whatever he was thinking, it was clear she was locked out.

  She shifted her feet. “Did they post the order of events?”

  “You’ll have to touch the shields outside the registration tents at Candle Green. Archery and jousts are no good to you, so we’ll enter you for war driving like we planned. Finishing there will qualify you for the swords competition melee the next day.”

  “All I care about is making it through to the governor’s ball to see the king.”

  Damon checked the batteries in the hand-held radio and pocketed an extra set. “Making plans for your revenge is all well and good, but you have to place in the competition first. One thing at a time.”

  “One thing at a time,” she echoed.

  She plucked a sword from the racks and moved to the practice area, stretching and freeing up her joints. The burns on her skin left her feeling tender, and there were tinges of pain on movements she hadn’t anticipated. She worked through her usual routine under Damon’s watchful supervision. His comments were few, and she was once again left wondering about the state of his mind.

  When they had finished the forms, Damon helped her change the dressings on her burns, but there was none of the tenderness in his touch that she had felt last night. It was as though the pall of the tavern fire had eliminated all warmth between them.

  “Where were you this morning?” Valerie asked.

  “I went uptown when the caravan came through the gates. I was hoping to catch an old friend from back east traveling with the king’s party.”

  “Old friend?” Valerie asked.

  “Unfortunately, I couldn’t get through. It’ll have to wait.”

  “What’s her name?” Valerie said.

  Damon narrowed his eyes.

  “Your friend from back east.”

  Damon tightened the last of the bandages on her arm with what she thought was more force than necessary. “I’d rather not talk about my friends. We have other business to worry about.”

  Valerie rubbed her arm and noted that he hadn’t disputed it being a woman.

  “I put fresh batteries in your extra radio. Your gear is set for the melee. Get to Candle Green and get registered.”

  “You’re not coming?”

  “I have business to take care of. You won’t see me in the morning either. You’ll start on your own.”

  “But you’re my coach. I need you.”

  Damon handed her the radio. “And I’ll be there. Channel 28.”

  Valerie accepted the radio and reluctantly added it to her belongings in the Guardian. She closed the trunk and turned around to find Damon only inches from her.

  She jolted. “What? I thought you had to leave.”

  “You’ll be okay,” he said. “You’ve trained just as hard as anyone out there. When you get in front of the king, he’ll listen. He’ll give you justice.”

  Valerie searched his face. “You’re talking like I won’t see you afterward.”

  “I just want you to know that you’ve got this.”

  “Is it someone you have to fight? What has you scared?”

  Damon brushed a strand of her hair away from her face. “Don’t worry about me. I’m not worth it.”

  “Talk to me.”

  “I told you. I’m not the guy you want to be mixed up with. Once this is over, you’ll be free and clear.”

  “It’s too late. This . . .” She gestured back and forth between them. “ . . . is mixed up.”

  For a moment, it looked like he was going to speak, but his jaw set and he turned away. “I have to go.”

  Valerie caught him by the sleeve of his jacket. “Wait.”

  He stopped.

  She reached for his face and turned him toward her, then rose up on her tip toes and kissed him. His lips parted beneath hers, and his hand cupped her face. He pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes closed.

  She dropped back to her heels. “I’ll see you after.”

  Damon nodded but he looked pained. He turned and strode out of the warehouse, not looking back.

  She tried to puzzle through his behavior, but it was clear there was a wall he wasn’t willing to bring down. She suddenly felt very alone.

  Valerie listened as the Vulcan left the lot, then locked up the Guardian before walking next door to Rico’s. She banged on the door until he answered.

  “What? I’m here already,” he said as he opened the door. “You missed me or something?”

  “Get ready,” Valerie said. “We’re going to Candle Green. We’ve got a tournament to win.”

  26

  Candle Green

  Jasper Sterling stood inside the newly erected exhibition tent and admired the machine before him. It was almost too beautiful. The paint shone an iridescent emerald, and the chrome gleamed from the fender trim. He had the unusual urge to keep the vehicle to himself and not let anyone else see it.

  But that wouldn’t do.

  There would be thousands walking the expo tonight, admiring the cars. If it had only been the mob of Port Hyacinth citizenry touring the show, he might be tempted to keep the car a secret, but his father would be out there too.

  This car would be a statement. Proof that there was no one who could compete.

  Jasper walked to the door of the war car and reached for the recessed handle. The polished metal didn’t have a single fingerprint on it.

  It had cost a fortune to ship the car here in time for the tournament, but there would be nothing like it on the track. A marvel of Japanese engineering, beautiful and deadly.

  He slid into the driver’s seat and imagined the crowd in the morning. They would be feverish with excitement. His fingers brushed over the armament dashboard. No less than twenty offensive options presented themselves to his touch. He would slaughter the competition. If you could even call it that.

  The speedometer markings topped out at 180.

  He checked the rear-view mirror. That’s where his enemies would disappear. He was still imagining the track in front of him when the flap on the tent opened, and the guard that had been posted just outside poked his head in.

  “Sir? You have a visitor who wishes to speak to you.”

  “I told you, I’m not to be disturbed.”

  “It’s . . .” The guard looked so uncomfortable that Jasper thought he might pass out. “It’s just . . . you should come out.”

  Jasper climbed from the car and marched over to the guard. Disobeying him once was one thing, but to insert his useless opinion again and presume to give him orders? Jasper relished what he would to do to this cretin.

  But just as he reached the tent flap, the guard was pulled out of the way and two armed men stepped inside. They were dressed in modest black suits, but their coats hung heavy with internal armor.

  Jasper was just about to object to the intrusion when the men stood aside and a third man appeared between them.

  Jasper froze. The new intruder was dressed casually in slacks and a blue, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. There were no insignias anywhere, not even on the silly, floppy hat he was wearing. He only had a signet ring on his right hand. Had it not
been for the sheer audacity of the man’s entrance, Jasper would have assumed he was just some visiting merchant or nobleman. But he recognized the face. He looked different in person, shorter than he expected, and he was sporting a mustache, but there was no question that he was staring at King Logan Pendragon.

  “Your Majesty.” Jasper sank to a knee.

  “Jasper Sterling. This is a surprise. I saw the Terravecchia crest on the tent outside. I had thought perhaps I might see young Henry here this year.”

  “No, Your Majesty,” Jasper said, rising to his feet. “I’ll be the champion racing under the banner of House Terravecchia tomorrow.”

  “That’s right. I received word of your betrothal to Lady Charlotte. My congratulations. You must be thrilled.” The king’s voice remained unnervingly neutral as he spoke.

  “Thank you, sire. You do me great honor.” Jasper attempted to decipher the king’s expression, but the man’s face was a puzzle he couldn’t unlock. “Pardon my confusion. This is quite a surprise. And it took me a moment to recognize you with that mustache.”

  “The queen hates it,” the king replied, stroking his lip. “It’ll have to be gone tomorrow for all the official photos, but it was a long journey to get here, and what’s the use of being king if I can’t have a little fun once in a while.”

  “It’s most distinguished, Your Majesty.”

  “Is that a Samurai?” King Logan gestured to the war car.

  Jasper finally exhaled.

  “Yes. It just arrived. The Samurai X. It’s the only one on this continent.”

  King Logan strode across the tent and peered inside. He studied the armament dashboard and controls, then straightened up and walked around the front of the car. He paused at the hood where the Sterling crest was embossed in the metal.

  “Racing for House Terravecchia but no bear claw?”

  “There will be house decals on the car tomorrow,” Jasper explained. “For the fans.”

  The king nodded. “It’s an impressive vehicle. I trust you’ll put on quite a show.”

  “When the news came that you were opening a seat at the Round Table, I knew it was an honor I should spare no expense to compete for.”

  “Your father has spoken of your ambition,” King Logan said. “He listed it as one of your primary characteristics.”

  “He discussed my prospects with you?”

  “Not at length, but as host of the tournament, I knew he would be sponsoring a team.”

  “A member of our family having a place at the High Court would be an honor he would boast of for a lifetime.”

  “I have no doubt of that,” the king replied. “Honor is what I have come in search of here. And, of course, courage, integrity, and the willingness to sacrifice for the good of the kingdom. The role of a knight at the Round Table does not come without a cost.”

  “I’m sure the contender who emerges as your tournament winner will be a knight for the ages.”

  “Let us hope so,” the king replied. “We live in dangerous times, and I’m afraid the code of chivalry holds less sway than it once did.”

  The king moved to the exit, and Jasper followed him into the fading daylight. The king’s guards moved into the foreground, scanning the bustling crowd but making no move to part it. The king was obliged to yield to a vendor pushing a cart of sweets along the walking path.

  “Do your men not herald your movements?” Jasper asked. “These folk should be bowing.”

  “I’m not here today as anyone’s king,” King Logan replied. “I’m but another war car enthusiast among the crowd. There will be time enough for pomp and circumstance tomorrow.” He turned and observed the Terravecchia crest on the tent banners. “It will be a pleasure to see the bear claw sigil on the track again. I assume you know Il Orso Nero was an old friend of mine. He fought in the Border War with my eldest brother. He was the one who brought my family word of my brother’s death on the battlefield.”

  Jasper struggled to form a response. “No. I wasn’t aware of that, Your Majesty.”

  “I trust you will do the family name proud tomorrow.”

  “It will be my honor to try,” Jasper said.

  The king nodded, then moved off, disappearing among the crowd.

  Jasper stood staring at the hustle and bustle around him without seeing anything for nearly a minute until a hand shook his shoulder and he started.

  “Jeezus!” He turned to find Blaise Cavendish at his side.

  “Whoa! What’s with the thousand-yard stare?” Blaise said.

  “You ought to know better than to startle me like that,” Jasper replied. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “You wanted me to let you know if there was any sign of the Terravecchia girl. Our spotters saw someone matching her description touch the shields at the registration tent a few minutes ago.”

  Jasper wheeled on him. “Under what name?”

  “No family name was listed. Just a call sign. Alley Cat. I told the men to follow her and plan to detain her.”

  “No!” Jasper shouted it at him.

  Blaise recoiled in confusion. “No? You’ve been looking for this girl for weeks. Why don’t you—”

  “I said no. Things are more complicated now.” Jasper ran his hands through his hair and grasped at his scalp. “Why didn’t you tell me that King Logan was a family friend of Il Orso Nero?”

  “He is? How would I have known that?”

  “Because it’s what I pay you for!” Jasper hissed. He turned and fumed at the crowd around them. “Call off the men. We need to get as much distance from this girl as possible. Whatever happens to her from here on out can’t be traced to me. Who else knows she’s entered the race?”

  “I assume no one of consequence,” Blaise replied.

  “The king still doesn’t know about the brother. But he will.”

  “Your story is clean. Everyone is on your side. Other than the girl, no one has disputed what you did was justified. She’s the only loose end.”

  “It’ll have to be on the track,” Jasper said. “Accidents happen all the time in races. If some no name contender buys it tomorrow in a pile-up, there’s no way it gets tied to me.”

  “I’ll make sure our team understands.”

  “And I need some bear claw decals for the Samurai tomorrow.”

  Blaise furrowed his brow. “You said you’d rather someone defecated all over the—”

  “Just get me the decals!” Jasper shouted.

  Blaise shut his mouth and nodded, then backed away.

  Jasper clenched his jaw and stormed back inside the tent.

  “I’d take any of these cars,” Rico said. “Just pick me one.”

  Valerie walked beside him as they strode past the dozens of war cars on display. Nobles from nearly every western district were in attendance, each house sponsoring a different race team. The cars were lit by overhead lights, but many of them glowed on their own, featuring electric colors from every spectrum of the rainbow.

  “I’d give you that one,” Valerie said, pointing out a stunning, violet Renegade that had a strobe light flashing through the haze from a smoke machine.

  “Done,” Rico said. “Wrap it up.”

  Valerie laughed. Her tension had eased after touching the shields at the registration tent. No one had paid much attention to her there. They simply noted her information and gave her the registration package. She now had a number decal for the side of the Guardian and a map to her starting position swinging in the bag at her side. The fact that hundreds of other people had joined the competition was unnerving, but that was a problem for tomorrow’s Valerie.

  “So, it’s not a car, but I did actually get you something,” Rico said. He reached into the messenger satchel he had slung over his shoulder and pulled out an elongated paper bag. “Sorry I didn’t have anything to wrap it in.”

  Valerie accepted the package and found the neck of a wine bottle protruding from the end. She removed the bottle and read the label. The Terravecchia c
rest was front and center. “It’s the Toscana ’65. That was a great year!”

  “Figured you might like a taste of home on your birthday.”

  “You remembered,” Valerie said. She attempted to hold back the wave of emotion that rose unbidden from her chest, but it came anyway. With all that had gone on in the last few days, she’d felt like anything might touch off the raw emotion she had been bottling beneath the surface. Certainly this. She put a hand to her mouth and did her best not to cry.

  “Of course I remembered,” Rico said. “Not every day you get to turn eighteen. Let’s go find a place to drink it.”

  Valerie nodded, still not quite in control of herself enough to speak.

  They rounded the corner of a tractor trailer, and she ran directly into someone, splashing his beer on her.

  “Oh, pardon me,” the man exclaimed. “How clumsy of me.”

  He was slender and dressed like a beach tourist in a lightweight button-down and a floppy, fabric hat. A mustache still decked with beer foam betrayed an otherwise attractive face.

  “Watch where you’re going there, man. You almost ran her over,” Rico said.

  “You have my apologies.” The man bowed and circumvented them before moving farther down the path.

  Valerie straightened herself and wiped some of the beer off her shirt.

  “Probably drunk,” Rico said.

  A hulking man in a black suit passed by next, giving them an icy glare before following along the same path.

  Valerie’s eyes lingered on the man in the hat for a brief moment, wondering why the encounter felt odd, then Rico tugged on her arm. “Come on, I know a place we can go.”

  They stole a pair of cups from a soda vendor while he wasn’t looking, then Rico led Valerie to an apartment building on Mason and Green. They didn’t enter the main foyer but rather skirted around the back. Rico retrieved a key from a hiding place under a loose alleyway brick, then returned to the steel access door to let them in. A long climb up several sets of stairs later, they emerged onto the roof and a view of the bay that Valerie couldn’t help but gawk at.