by Guy Antibes
“A false trail, like in an adventure book?” Renatee asked.
“That’s it. When does he come by?”
“Tonight. In about an hour.”
“Then let’s get to work,” Sam said.
Two hours later, Sam sat on an outdoor bench across a lawn in view of the refuse bins in the twilight. He spotted a man going through trash. It had to have been the dustman. The man found the papers Renatee and Sam had planted in a wastebasket. He stuffed them in his shirt and continued to empty the trash.
Sam followed the man to an outdoor cafe just outside the eastern gate. A uniformed man sat, drinking a hot beverage. The dustman gave the papers to the officer and quickly left. The officer tossed some coins on the table and took a hired carriage.
Sam quickly found another and followed the officer to Gortak’s Intelligence building. That was all Sam needed. He tried to catch a carriage but was unsuccessful, so he hustled to find Renatee. On the way, a group of mounted men, wearing the same intelligence uniforms passed him.
Alarmed, Sam ran all the way to the Mechanical Sciences building. The inside was a ruin. Sam found Renatee lying behind a desk. He checked to find the professor without any injuries and helped him to a sitting position as soon as he stirred.
“I’m sorry,” Sam said. “I didn’t know they would get rough. Did they interrogate you?”
Renatee nodded. “They put something on my neck,” he put his hand there, “but it isn’t there now.”
Sam knew what it was, green pollen. The Intelligence Agency knew everything, at this point. Sam didn’t know what that was. He put his hand on Renatee’s neck and began to massage it.
“Assume you told them everything.”
“Not much to tell. I kept out of Plunk’s way when it came to his daughter and anything he did.” Renatee shook his head, painfully. “Whatever I told them was just an excuse. They didn’t have anything in those papers, and I didn’t have anything up here,” he tapped his forehead, “but it did prompt a more thorough search. Help me to a chair. Whatever you are doing to my neck is making my head clearer.”
Renatee looked over the laboratory. “This is much worse than when they struck me.” He put his head in his hands. “I think this calls for dinner at Hilsa’s.”
They walked slowly to Hilsa’s restaurant to find it closed. Sam peered through the windows, and it appeared the Intelligence Agency had thoroughly trashed her restaurant. He guessed Renatee knew a bit more than he had let on, and Hilsa had been mentioned.
Renatee took Sam to the back of her restaurant to find Hilsa looking over a large, empty wagon.
“I’m done in Tolloy,” she said, her eyes rimmed red with tears. “The hatred!” She shook her head. “It’s time for you to go, too, Renatee.”
“I’ll be right behind you,” The Mechanical Sciences professor said.
Hilsa sighed and sat on the back step of the wagon. “If you want to join me, I will be leaving tomorrow evening,” she said. “I’m heading straight south to Zogaz. At least you know the food will be good.”
Renatee nodded. “I hope the Academy will accept me, this time.”
“Academy?” Sam asked.
“The Zogazin equivalent of the university. A man has still got to work,” Renatee said.
“So does a woman,” Hilsa said. “I will have six of my people joining us. None have forgotten how to use a sword if things get worse traveling through Vaarek.
“What about you, Sam?” Renatee asked.
“I have a tournament to go to tomorrow. I haven’t made up my mind,” he said.
“You will have friends in Zogaz,” Renatee said.
“I will wait until sundown tomorrow,” Hilsa said. “That way I can follow the line of vendors heading back to their farms and workshops outside Tolloy. It will be easier to leave the city.”
“If I am here, I am here,” Sam said, not knowing what to do.
Renatee shook his head. “It was only a matter of time. We might only have a few days left in Tolloy, anyway.”
~
Sam stood over his first opponent. The duelist was older, but a lot slower than Sam. He had thought the lower division was for younger duelists, but there were plenty of older men. It was just none of them were very good, Sam thought.
Two of those he did notice were his old Level One teammates. Sam didn’t see Professor Grott around anywhere, but he guessed that he would have the opportunity to fight them in the lower bracket.
The second round featured a better swordsman. Sam easily defeated him. Although he was much quicker than the first, the man kept repeating the same moves over and over.
He looked into the eyes of one of his former classmates in the third round. This time he did catch the eye of Professor Grott, now wearing a uniform. His old teacher gave him a curt nod and the hint of a smile.
Sam had fought his new opponent on a regular basis at the university. This might be a test of how much he had learned in the months after the military disbanded the university’s dueling club.
The match lasted a few minutes. Sam was glad he outlasted his opponent. He was a bit bloodied, but so was his former classmate. The young man was fast, but Sam seemed to be just a bit faster, and he barely won.
The tournament broke for lunch. There would be three more rounds in the novice competition, the last being the championship and consolation matches.
Drak retrieved something to eat from vendors outside the stadium and brought it back to a practice hall filled with tables. The remaining competitors didn’t even fill a quarter of the space, but the open part of the tournament started tomorrow, and then it would be packed with participants.
As they sat down to eat, Grott sat down with them, carrying a satchel of food. The other Level One joined him.
“And what do we call you now, Grott, General?” Drak said, tearing into a sausage on a stick.
“I am a captain, but I’m not really anything but a teacher. That remains.” He took out food for himself and his student. “I had four more students here, but they have already been defeated. Minok is my last hope for a win. Aren’t you, Minok?”
The former Level One nodded. “I truly thought I would be in the last group against Nestian, but you saved me the trouble. I didn’t think you would beat him.”
“Sam has kept up his training,” Drak said.
Grott smiled as he took a drink. “Professor Drak has done a good job.”
“Lots of sparring,” Sam said.
“It appears so. I have heard Viktar Kreb will be here.”
“To watch the open, I was told,” Sam said.
Grott shook his head. “The final matches in our bracket today, as well. Will his presence hurt your concentration?”
“I won’t know until he comes. I might not make the final match.”
His former teacher scoffed. “Nestian has improved like you. He was my best.”
“And I just about lost to him,” Sam said.
“So we will rely on fate?” Drak asked.
“Not fate alone. I will be using my Lashak sword in the final match.”
“Is that wise?” Grott said.
“Who knows if the Dictator will show up?” Sam looked around at the remaining competitors. “Who knows if I will make it that far?” he shrugged and continued to eat.
A bell rang, and the remaining swordsmen finished their meal and headed back to the arena to warm up. Sam held back and decided to watch his competitors while he went through the motions of warm-up forms.
From what he could tell, Minok was, indeed, his principal competition, but one could never tell in a match.
Sam’s next opponent was a woman. She fought more like Captain Darter than Norna, with less power but more finesse. Because of the time he had spent working with the Trakatan, Sam wasn’t bothered dueling with a female.
The match started with a wild flurry of strokes. Sam almost smiled at how often he had practiced defending against such an opening. He had learned that if he moved around a lo
t during the match, the flurries didn’t work as well, and they didn’t. Sam won five points to two.
The semi-final match paired Sam and Minok. His opponent wasn’t much of a mystery to Sam; although he was sure Grott would have prepared his current student to counteract Sam’s strategies. Sam had always used finesse with Minok in the past, but Sam had put on some pounds and had been diligent in exercising, so he now could use power moves that Minok had never seen and that Sam hadn’t really shown in the tournament so far.
Minok had picked up some speed as they began to test each other. Sam tried some of his old moves on his opponent, but they didn’t work, and he lost two touches doing it. Now it was time to go on the offensive.
Sam got in close and clinched with Minok, each so close to smell the other’s breath. Sam hoped his wasn’t as bad as his opponent’s. He pushed Minok away and quickly scored a point. Minok didn’t clinch again, but Sam still finally prevailed five touches to four, the same score he had beaten Nestian, the Level One he had beaten earlier, but Sam knew he had basically given up two touches on this match.
He bowed to Minok, and the crowd roared. Sam straightened up and saw the adulation wasn’t for him, but Viktar Kreb entering the arena.
The man himself wasn’t particularly impressive, other than the gold braid on his uniform and the device on his peaked cap. Sam had envisioned a man of size and bulk. Banna was intent on destroying him, but Kreb was good-looking, not much out of the ordinary and not very old, fortyish. Sam never paid attention when anyone talked about him, for Sam thought the less he knew of Kreb, the better.
The Dictator looked at Sam, and that stare explained it all. Kreb may look physically ordinary, but Sam doubted if he had ever seen such an intimidating intensity behind anyone’s eyes before. Kreb nodded at Sam and clapped his hand a few times towards him as a way of congratulating Sam for his match. The man must have watched from somewhere else.
Sam had withstood the withering glare from Pamon Tandar, one of Wollia’s viziers, and Gortak, the intelligence officer, but none speared him as much as Kreb’s. He nodded to the Dictator and walked off the arena floor. He would perform once more in front of Viktar Kreb before he fled to Zogaz. The man’s eyes made Sam’s decision. Kreb would not allow anything or anyone to stand before him, of that Sam was certain.
He returned to his seat, which wasn’t in sight of Kreb’s special box six rows up from the arena floor.
“The Dictator is impressive, isn’t he?” Drak said. “His gaze pierces a person to their very soul.”
Even if Kreb doesn’t have one, Sam thought.
“Did you know Banna Plunk, Professor Plunk’s daughter, was once engaged to marry the dictator?” Drak said.
“What?” Sam sat up in alarm. “What happened to the engagement? If anyone could handle Kreb, Banna would be able to.”
Drak shrugged. “Plantian never said. Then she disappeared.”
Evidently, Drak didn’t know that Sam knew Plunk’s daughter. Plantian evidently didn’t spread it around. He wondered if Renatee did, and guessed that he would. How did Plantian survive such a thing? How could Kreb tolerate Professor Plunk’s existence? Perhaps the engagement was long ago, and the Plunks no longer mattered to Kreb.
Sam shook his head in disbelief. What a revelation! He focused on preparing himself for the next match, the final. He unsheathed his Lashak sword and stepped out to warm up. Sam’s opponent didn’t show anything special other than he was the quick and wiry type, light and fast. Sam had trained for such an opponent with his Lashak, since Norna often worked with him, so Sam felt confident going into the final round.
He looked across the arena where his opponent warmed up and saw Gortak counseling him. Sam caught Gortak’s eye and the intelligence officer bowed to Sam and smiled.
Sam didn’t like the look of that smile. It was much too confident and not particularly friendly.
The bell sounded. Sam took a final swig of water and endured an over-enthusiastic reassuring clap on the back from Drak, who smiled sheepishly.
Gortak and Sam’s opponent stood just outside the dueling ring. Sam entered the ring as Gortak beckoned Sam over to their side.
“Do your best,” he said loudly, but then he slapped a small amount of green pollen on the back of Sam’s hand. He waited a moment and whispered in Sam’s ear. “You will lose this match.”
Sam nodded, playing along, but now he didn’t know what to do. Should he throw the match or do his best? He decided since this was his last encounter with Gortak, he would beat his opponent. Sam never did like cheaters, and this was blatant cheating. He wondered if Kreb was in on it. Sam found he didn’t care and stepped to the center of the ring.
He looked at the green pollen deteriorating on his wrist in front of all the spectators. When he brushed off his hand, he assumed the Vaarekian address. The judge raised his hand and dropped it.
Sam’s opponent used the same flurry of strokes the woman had in his earlier match. Sam moved his stance just as he had with the woman and found his opponent had learned nothing by watching Sam fight. Sam scored two points on his opponent before an adjustment was made. For once he had a smart opponent.
Sam quickly assumed the Lashakan frame of mind. His moves baffled his opponent, who had evidently thought Sam’s active footwork would remain the same. Another point scored gave Sam three points to none. He glanced at Gortak, who did not look happy. Kreb was on the other side of the arena at Sam’s back, so he didn’t know how the Dictator took to his chosen man losing.
Sam’s opponent closed and began to push Sam. They were close to the boundary, and he guessed that his opponent was going to wrestle Sam so he could be disqualified. “Out of the ring,” the frustrated opponent said. “I command you to step out of the ring.”
The judge blew a whistle. Sam didn’t know why, but the judge motioned both contestants to him. “This is not a wrestling match. Fight with swords.”
Sam waited for the judge to lower his arm to restart the fight, but he motioned Gortak over.
“What is this?” Sam said as Gortak slapped a patch of green pollen on his neck.
“You will follow my commands,” Gortak said.
“That stuff doesn’t work on me. Get out of the ring and let me finish. You are breaking the rules.”
Sam followed Gortak’s anxious eyes and saw the Dictator’s red face. He was evidently ordering the cheating. Sam didn’t want any part of this charade and walked off the arena floor.
He ignored calls to come back and fight as Drak quickly helped him put his things together. Sam would go directly to his dorm rooms where he had gathered all his possessions and then get Emmy. They would be heading to Zogaz with Hilsa.
“What have you done?”
“I defaulted,” Sam said. “It was a set-up. I wasn’t supposed to win. If I’m going to lose, I’ll do it on my own terms. Let’s go.”
They stepped off the arena floor and into the practice hall underneath one side of the arena. Sam didn’t want to be stopped. “Give me my swords. You can take the water and your supplies. I have to hurry before I’m stopped,” Sam said. “Thank you for everything, Professor Drak. Thank Professor Grott for me.”
Sam took off at a run and hailed a hired carriage. He hoped he might be one step ahead of Gortak, but that couldn’t be helped. The intelligence captain probably would know where he went, but he’d have to think of something as he fled.
No one had caught up to him by the time he reached the dorms. Sam retrieved his possessions and ran through the campus as fast as he could burdened by his possessions, and reached Professor Plunk’s empty house. He would have to write a note to the professor. He grabbed Emmy and her little bag of collars and leashes and ran out of the house, heading for Hilsa Forinin’s restaurant.
He was still ahead of his likely pursuers when he threw his stuff onto her wagon. Hilsa walked out of her restaurant with a load.
“I may be pursued. Which gate are you going to use?”
“The Sou
th one, of course. Why would I use another when my destination is south, far south of Tolloy.”
“I will meet you at the gate. Keep my things buried. If I’m not there, go on ahead. I’ll do my best to catch up.”
“What happened?”
“I didn’t lose the way I should have,” Sam said, as he tightened the buckle on the case to the wand on the opposite side from his Lashak sword and took off with Emmy. He heard shouting, and intelligence officers headed by Captain Gortak had just entered the far side of the alley. Sam bent down and crept out into the open. Now he would have to navigate Tolloy without being caught. The Vaarekian Intelligence Agency Headquarters were directly on his path to the South Gate, but now he wondered of Hilsa would be allowed to leave.
Sam decided on some misdirection and headed East through Tolloy. He hired a carriage to take him to the East gate. That might keep Gortak occupied while he found a shop that sold bags. He put everything into a long pack with back straps and bought a hooded cloak since his hair was lighter than the black of most Vaarekians, and also a pair of lighter-colored pants.
With a minimal disguise, Sam strolled through the southeastern part of Tolloy, steadily heading for the South gate. He stopped and looked back, realizing that he had made a tactical mistake. If he wasn’t being pursued, he should have left the city by the East gate and met Hilsa outside of Tolloy. He didn’t know if Gortak knew he had Emmy, another identifier. Sam had to think like a criminal, not like a snoop, so he hired another carriage to take him to the East gate. Sam didn’t stop until he was a few hundred paces outside the city wall.
Two uniformed men on horseback sped out from the gate. Sam slipped into a small copse of trees in a park at the side of the road between two of the shops that were spread out along the way.
They pulled up in front of the copse. “I think I spotted him going in here,” one of the men said. “The Dictator wants him alive, but I didn’t hear the word unharmed.”