Hamalese laws would still operate, but much of their sting would be removed. This meant the Vad or Leotes could kill me with impunity. I returned an answer by the servant who brought the message that I would draw first blood.
Then an interesting permutation on the situation occurred in the arrival of a further pair of seconds. These came from Leotes ti Ponthieu, on his own account, challenging me. I accepted at once. “I’ll fight both the rasts, singly or both together!” I bawled out of the inn window at the departing backs of the seconds.
Uncouth, yes, refreshing — well . . .
The impression I had created and which remained was that I had been away taking rapier lessons and was now puffed with pride, more than half drunk. Any other explanation would have been far more sinister. Everyone believed implicitly that Leotes was the finest swordsman in Ruathytu, and would have no trouble with my new skills. They were right on one count; he was the finest swordsman among the sacred quarter rufflers. You know of my feelings about swordsmen. I have reached a certain age and a certain skill, but always I know that one day, possibly, I shall meet a greater master with the sword. When that day comes I look forward to the greatest and most enjoyable fight of my life. Leotes could be the man. He had never been extended here, not even by Rees. I did gamble, in very truth. There is precious little of chivalry or gallantry — strange bedfellows for me, I allow — in any Bladesman knowing he will always win, of boasting he is the finest swordsman in the world, or in two worlds in my case. Such a boaster merely murders his opponents. I faced each challenge as a fresh encounter in which I could be killed as easily as the other fellow.
The lure of easy gold had brought Leotes from Zenicce to Ruathytu. Also, I learned, he had been disappointed in his hopes of becoming House Champion for Ponthieu. So that meant there was at least one bravo-fighter of superior skill left still in Zenicce — and fighting for Ponthieu, Drig take him!
The night of the duel came. I had been to see Rees and Chido and had not spoken of the affair. But they knew. Their concern was distressing to me. I could not explain, but I told them not to worry — a footling sort of statement, by Vox! — and that I would see them as ever the next day. Chido’s father was coming up from their estates to see him, and Rees’s wife and twins, also. I felt a little surprise, not equating Rees with the cares and problems of matrimony and fatherhood.
“Ah, Hamun! Wait until you see my boy, by Krun! My little Reesnik! He is seventeen, a marvel! And” — here a huge, slobbering fatuous smile broke over Rees’s Numim face — “my darling Saffi!” His great golden mane glowed with the last of the streaming lights of Zim and Genodras flooding in through the open window.
“He has talked of nothing else, Hamun, since the news came.” Chido’s rib was mending, but he was still well strapped up.
“And it is fitting that I should, Chido, you fambly! My wife, the glorious Rashi, and my young boy, Roban, will be coming also. We are a family, I tell you, you bachelor scamp, of which any man might be proud.”
Rees was right, too. As a Trylon he had the responsibility of ensuring the line went on, and this Rees of his, this son, would have to fight and scheme his way to his father’s titles, as was the way of Kregen. Any man may begin the long trek of life’s journey in the gutter and by courage and skill and perseverance wind up a noble, a Vad or a Kov, or even a prince or king. Who better should know this than one such rascal called Dray Prescot?
Although, I added to myself as I left, and the addition was made somewhat briskly, I was nowhere near ready to wind up yet.
The dueling hall was packed. Bets were still being laid. The nobles and the Horters and their ladies crammed the seats and stood in every perch. The central space had even been a little restricted to
Then an interesting permutation on the situation occurred in the arrival of a further pair of seconds. These came from Leotes ti Ponthieu, on his own account, challenging me. I accepted at once. “I’ll fight both the rasts, singly or both together!” I bawled out of the inn window at the departing backs of the seconds.
Uncouth, yes, refreshing — well . . .
The impression I had created and which remained was that I had been away taking rapier lessons and was now puffed with pride, more than half drunk. Any other explanation would have been far more sinister. Everyone believed implicitly that Leotes was the finest swordsman in Ruathytu, and would have no trouble with my new skills. They were right on one count; he was the finest swordsman among the sacred quarter rufflers. You know of my feelings about swordsmen. I have reached a certain age and a certain skill, but always I know that one day, possibly, I shall meet a greater master with the sword. When that day comes I look forward to the greatest and most enjoyable fight of my life. Leotes could be the man. He had never been extended here, not even by Rees. I did gamble, in very truth. There is precious little of chivalry or gallantry — strange bedfellows for me, I allow — in any Bladesman knowing he will always win, of boasting he is the finest swordsman in the world, or in two worlds in my case. Such a boaster merely murders his opponents. I faced each challenge as a fresh encounter in which I could be killed as easily as the other fellow.
The lure of easy gold had brought Leotes from Zenicce to Ruathytu. Also, I learned, he had been disappointed in his hopes of becoming House Champion for Ponthieu. So that meant there was at least one bravo-fighter of superior skill left still in Zenicce — and fighting for Ponthieu, Drig take him!
The night of the duel came. I had been to see Rees and Chido and had not spoken of the affair. But they knew. Their concern was distressing to me. I could not explain, but I told them not to worry — a footling sort of statement, by Vox! — and that I would see them as ever the next day. Chido’s father was coming up from their estates to see him, and Rees’s wife and twins, also. I felt a little surprise, not equating Rees with the cares and problems of matrimony and fatherhood.
“Ah, Hamun! Wait until you see my boy, by Krun! My little Reesnik! He is seventeen, a marvel! And” — here a huge, slobbering fatuous smile broke over Rees’s Numim face — “my darling Saffi!” His great golden mane glowed with the last of the streaming lights of Zim and Genodras flooding in through the open window.
“He has talked of nothing else, Hamun, since the news came.” Chido’s rib was mending, but he was still well strapped up.
“And it is fitting that I should, Chido, you fambly! My wife, the glorious Rashi, and my young boy, Roban, will be coming also. We are a family, I tell you, you bachelor scamp, of which any man might be proud.”
Rees was right, too. As a Trylon he had the responsibility of ensuring the line went on, and this Rees of his, this son, would have to fight and scheme his way to his father’s titles, as was the way of Kregen. Any man may begin the long trek of life’s journey in the gutter and by courage and skill and perseverance wind up a noble, a Vad or a Kov, or even a prince or king. Who better should know this than one such rascal called Dray Prescot?
Although, I added to myself as I left, and the addition was made somewhat briskly, I was nowhere near ready to wind up yet.
The dueling hall was packed. Bets were still being laid. The nobles and the Horters and their ladies crammed the seats and stood in every perch. The central space had even been a little restricted to
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