Mazael descended the rampart steps alongside Sir Nathan and Romaria, followed by Adalar and Timothy.
“Cease!” Albron said. The armsmen stopped fighting, the clack of wooden swords fading. “Now it is time to watch and learn from a true master of the blade. Sir Mazael has bravely volunteered to fight me.”
“Oh, have I?” said Mazael. “Such a brave act.”
Another flicker of rage shadowed Albron’s face, and he gave orders to the armsmen. “Give your practice blade to Sir Mazael. You and you with the wooden bastard sword. Relinquish your weapons to Sir Nathan and...the lady.” Three armsmen ran forward. Mazael took a practice longsword made of heavy wood with a lead core. It was heavier and shorter than Lion, but Mazael had used far worse weapons.
He unbuckled his sword belt, Lion swinging in its scabbard. “Adalar, hold this for me."
“Perhaps Sir Mazael needs a bit of a primer, before he has to face me,” said Albron. “We wouldn’t want the great knight to overtax himself.”
“Albron,” said Rachel. She had come down from the ramparts. “Mazael is Lord Mitor’s brother and his guest. Please be more polite.”
Albron laughed. “My dear, how do you worry! There’s no need to involve yourself in this. It is a matter for men. I only have Sir Mazael’s best interests at heart.”
Mazael smiled. “I’m sure you do.”
“Lady Romaria first, Sir Mazael,” said Albron. “After all, a mere woman should be no challenge for such a great fighter as yourself?” Romaria watched Mazael with intent blue eyes. “Or maybe the women of Deepforest Keep are just as wild as the wood demons!”
“Albron!” hissed Rachel. She fell silent at his glare.
“I’d be honored,” said Mazael. “Romaria is a skilled opponent, I’ve seen that for myself. I could use a challenge today.” He shrugged. “I doubt I’ll find one fighting you.”
Shocked silence rose from the soldiers.
“Very well, then!” said Albron. “Watch closely, men! See if you can learn anything from the fighting of a wild woman!” More laughter rose up.
Romaria stepped towards Mazael with the wooden bastard sword in hand, her eyes like blue ice. She moved with the grace of the hunting cat she had killed in the hills. Mazael wanted her, drawn to her in a strange way he had never experienced before. She wore her usual confident grin, but Mazael saw something in her face. She was afraid of him.
Mazael raised his sword to a guard stance. “This wasn’t the sort of tumble I had in mind.”
Romaria took her sword in a two-handed grip. “Who knows? A good fight always gets my blood up. And no man can see the future...or so I hope.” Again he heard the fear in her voice.
Mazael stepped towards her. “What are you afraid of?"
Her eyes flashed. “Not anything. Not you.” Her sword blurred towards his chest, and Mazael barely got his parry in place.
“Ha!” Albron shouted. “This cat has claws!” Then Romaria’s attack drove all distractions from Mazael’s mind.
Her sword spun and stabbed for Mazael’s head. Her grip shifted from two hands to one and then back again. His sword worked circles as he blocked Romaria’s blows. Mazael parried a low blow, and Romaria twisted her wrist, the dulled tip of her longer sword nicking against Mazael’s leg.
Romaria laughed. “First blood, mine!”
Mazael grunted and sidestepped, Romaria's thrust shooting past his hip. His sword blurred in a two-handed swing for Romaria’s shoulder. She parried, but the force of his strike knocked her back. Mazael drove into the opening, sword flashing for her throat. But Romaria regained her balance, and beat back Mazael’s attacks. He hammered at her again and again, and so caught her off-guard when he fell to one knee and thrust at her legs. Romaria jumped aside, but Mazael’s sword banged into her knee.
“Second blood, mine,” said Mazael.
Romaria grinned at him. “Second blood, second best.”
“Let’s find out,” said Mazael.
Romaria flew at him. Her thrust flowed into a swing and then into a two-handed chop. Mazael blocked and parried, the wooden sword vibrating in his hand. His breath came rapidly, his heart pounding in his chest. Romaria was better than good. She was masterful. He had not fought anyone this skilled in years.
Mazael was enjoying this.
Romaria’s attack played out without landing a single hit, and Mazael launched his own attack. He threw a flurry of two-handed swings at Romaria’s head, forcing her to take the bastard sword in both hands to block his heavy blows. Mazael finished the attack with a high swing aimed for her head, and Romaria raised her sword to parry. But his swing had been a feint, and he reversed the momentum of his sword, sending it for her stomach. Few fighters would have seen it coming. But Romaria did. Not only did she block the blow, she turned her sword and clipped Mazael on the forearm. Mazael jerked away, his forearm stinging from the hit.
Romaria laughed, her blue eyes were ablaze. “Two for me, and one for you.”
Mazael stepped back. “First blood doesn’t matter. What matters is the last blood!”
Mazael rushed her, driving a lunge at her heart. Romaria sidestepped and batted his sword aside, splinters flying from the battered practice swords. Mazael turned her parry into an attack and twisted his sword around to strike at her legs. Romaria parried low, and Mazael sent his next attack high. His attacks and parries merged with Romaria’s, joining together in an intricate, blurring dance. Mazael moved with Romaria, fighting on instinct and trained reflexes, without thought, thrust left, thrust right, parry high, parry low, block, riposte, swing high, swing left, swing right...
Their swords came together with a great crash, the crosspieces jamming against each other. Mazael shoved forward and tried to push Romaria off balance, but she held her ground. They strained against each other, close enough that Mazael could feel Romaria’s hot breath on his face, that he could smell her sweat. Mazael couldn’t lower his blade, but neither could Romaria.
“Stalemate,” said Mazael.
“Think so?” said Romaria.
Mazael almost leaned forward and kissed her. “Unless you have some trick even I’ve never heard of.”
Romaria’s grin widened. “Tricks, is it? You are in for a surprise!” She pushed backwards and broke free from their clinch. Mazael brought his sword up, knowing she could not regain her balance in time...
Romaria's free hand flew through an intricate gesture, and she vanished.
Mazael's mind overrode his shock. He remembered her tricks with the coins. She could do magic. Wizards knew how to make themselves unseen.
He moved his sword in a sweeping parry just as Romaria reappeared before him, beating aside the sword point darting for his throat, and brought his sword down in a two-handed swing. Their swords crashed together and shattered with a tremendous crack. The blades splintered into pieces, the leaden cores falling to the ground.
“A stalemate!” said Albron.
A thunderous cheer rose up from the armsmen. Mazael saw their rapt, amazed expressions.
“Now it’s a stalemate,” said Mazael.
An expression of relief washed across Romaria’s face. “That’s good to know.”
Mazael frowned. “Why?”
Romaria smiled. “You’re no more skilled than I am.”
Mazael snorted. “Just why is that important?”
Romaria put a finger over his lips. “You’ll see.” She stepped away from him, and he watched her go, entranced.
Albron’s voice jerked Mazael out of his reverie. “Well fought, Sir Mazael! A stalemate against a woman. Indeed, I see your reputation is not exaggerated. But let us see how you do against a real opponent.”
“Adalar,” said Mazael. “Another sword.” The squire fetched another wooden blade from the rack. Mazael took the sword and raised it to a guard position. His heart beat rapidly, but he was not tired.
He wanted to fight this liar who had usurped Sir Nathan’s place.
Albron swung his own wooden sword. “Are you rea
dy?”
“Yes,” said Mazael. "Perhaps you'll learn a lesson or two."
Albron came at him before he had finished speaking. Albron’s sword spun, flashed high, then low, then high again. Mazael shifted his sword to a two-handed grip and parried. He beat aside a thrust from Albron, side-stepped, and riposted. Albron danced away. The armsmaster was deadly quick. Mazael tossed his sword to his right hand.
Albron came at him again, slashing for Mazael’s chest. Mazael parried and shoved, pushing with all his way. Albron stumbled, and Mazael's sword lanced out. Albron jerked back, quick as a snake, but not before the wooden blade kissed his left shoulder.
The impact made an odd scraping sound.
Mazael grinned. “First blood. Good thing we’re not using steel swords.”
Albron snarled. “I’m waiting for that lesson.”
“Then I’ll give it to you.”
Albron whipped his sword over his head and brought it whistling down. Mazael blocked, the rapid crack-crack-crack of strained wood filling his ears, and twisted his wrist. Albron’s sword scraped to the ground, and Mazael's blade shot up, the point aimed for Albron’s face. Albron jerked back, but the pommel struck him hard enough to make his teeth click. Mazael reversed his sword and struck for Albron’s throat. The other knight danced away.
Albron went on the attack, his sword reaching for Mazael's neck. Mazael could not parry in time, so he rolled, tumbled past Albron’s legs, came to one knee, and gave the knight a solid hit across the back of his legs. A gasp of wonder rose from the watching soldiers.
Albron turned, growling, before Mazael could rise and hacked a vicious two-handed blow. Mazael parried high and caught the strike above his head. Albron hammered at Mazael like a smith pounding iron. Mazael parried every blow, his arms and shoulders aching from Albron's pounding.
Mazael took a chance and rolled to the side. Albron's overbalanced and stumbled as his blow missed, and Mazael shot to one knee and drove his sword forward. Albron twisted to the side, but Mazael's sword smacked into his hip, and Albron fell. Mazael jumped to his feet and brought his sword down in imitation of Albron’s two-handed blows. Albron jerked to the side and regained his feet.
Mazael tossed his sword from hand to hand as Albron backed away.
“First, second, and third blood,” said Mazael. “A very good thing we’re using wooden swords.”
Albron’s sneer said more than words. He ran at Mazael with a noticeable limp.
Albron was good, but his skills lacked something. Mazael was not surprised when Albron began to repeat the same attack routine over and over again. It was if he knew all the thrusts, parries, and blocks, but had never used them before. Albron fought as one who had been trained by the best tutors, but who had never before lifted a blade in mortal combat.
Albron swung high twice, his handsome face contorted with exertion. Mazael beat aside the reaching blade. Albron reversed the momentum of his sword, bringing it around in a high loop for Mazael’s head.
But Mazael moved, and Albron’s sword swished over his head. Mazael took his sword in both hands and swung into Albron’s guard. His sword crashed down on Albron’s wrist. Albron bellowed, his practice sword flying, and Mazael thrust to finish the fight.
The dull tip of his wooden sword plunged into Albron’s stomach, and six inches of splintered wood disappeared into Albron's belly. Mazael felt the sword scrape against bone. It was impossible. The wooden sword couldn’t have impaled Albron. Yet Mazael saw it with his own eyes. Mazael waited for Albron’s face to pale, for the blood to gush from his mouth and his stomach.
Instead, Albron shook his head and stepped free.
Mazael’s eyes darted from the tip of his sword to Albron’s stomach. No blood marked the wood.
“How?” said Mazael.
“You ought to know,” said Albron. “After all, you did win. I didn’t even hit you once. Well...fought.” His eyes were hard and angry.
“But I saw the sword go in!” said Mazael. “I felt it scrape against your spine! You ought to be bleeding to death.”
Rachel ran to them. “Albron! Oh, Albron, you’re hurt!” She frowned. “You’re...but...I saw Mazael run you through.”
Albron laughed. “Ah, you worry for me so. No need. Your brother can’t kill me.”
“But I saw the sword go in,” said Mazael.
Albron shrugged and a put an arm around Rachel’s shoulders. “Men see many strange things in the heat of battle. Most like your sword caught up in my clothes.”
Mazael stared at Albron. “That must be it.” He had seen the blade go in. He had felt it scrape against bone. Mazael had felt that scrape a hundred times before in battle. “That must be it, I suppose.”
“You must be more careful, Albron. If you were to die...well, what would we do, then?” said Rachel.
Albron jerked his arm away. “Wither and perish. If you’ll excuse me, I have business." He stalked from the practice field, Rachel trailing after him like a faithful dog. Mazael wiped sweat from his brow as Romaria and Sir Nathan came to join him.
“What a remarkably chivalrous loser,” said Romaria.
Adalar took the battered wooden sword and handed him a clay pitcher, and Mazael drank. “What a bad swordsman, you mean. The man has potential, I’ll give him that. But he doesn’t know...”
“It’s as if he learned perfectly how to use that sword yesterday,” said Romaria, “but hasn’t been able to practice the skill.”
“Yes. That’s exactly it,” said Mazael, handing the pitcher back to Adalar. “It’s like his hands but not his mind knew how to use a sword.”
“I noticed that, as well,” said Sir Nathan.
“Fighting with the blade is an art,” said Romaria, pushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “It combines mind and body and spirit. Albron’s body knew that art, I saw ...but his mind and spirit did not.”
Mazael stared after Albron. “And that sword. I saw it go into his belly. I would swear it.”
Sir Nathan frowned. “I thought it had, for a moment. But he stood. A man could not stand after taking such a wound.” He shrugged. “Besides, you were fighting with dulled wooden blades. You would have to fall with the sword beneath you to drive it into flesh.”
“I saw it as well,” said Adalar.
“As did I,” said Romaria. “So did half the garrison, I would wager.”
Timothy cleared his throat. “Ah, my lord knights and lady, if I may speak? Sir Mazael, it concerns the matter we spoke of earlier ...”
“Go ahead,” said Mazael. “I trust everyone here.”
“Why, how flattering,” said Romaria.
“My lord...I observed, discreetly, of course, during your fight that Sir Albron carries an enchantment about him,” said Timothy.
Silence answered his pronouncement.
“As well?” said Romaria. “Who else?”
“Simonian of Briault, my lady,” said Timothy. “He and Sir Albron have similar spells cast upon them.”
“What sort of spell?” said Mazael.
“I do not know,” said Timothy.
“Could you determine who had cast the spells?” said Romaria.
Timothy shook his head, flustered. “Ah...no, Lady Romaria. I have yet to develop my skill to such a high degree.”
“A spell of protection,” said Mazael. “I knew that sword had gone in. Albron must have had some magic to keep him safe from injury.”
“Then who cast the spell on him?” said Romaria.
“Could Othar have done it?” said Mazael.
Nathan shook his head. “I doubt it.”
“That would leave Simonian,” said Romaria.
“Perhaps Albron is Simonian’s creature,” said Mazael.
Sir Nathan shrugged. “It is possible.”
“More wizard’s trickery,” said Mazael. He remembered Simonian's casual request for Mitor’s death.
Sir Nathan frowned. “You may be right, Mazael. But we have no proof. We cannot act without pr
oof.”
“What are you going to do?” said Romaria.
“Find proof,” said Mazael. “But first, I’m going to find breakfast.”
Romaria smiled and touched his arm. “I think I’ll join you.”
3
Mazael Visits the Kitchens
Demonsouled Page 14