afford more seating. The samphron-oil lamps glowed a mellow even light. I drew the attention of the judge to the decreased space of the dueling area. Before he could answer, Vad Garnath spoke with a contemptuous sneer.
“All the less space for you to run, yetch.”
I didn’t bother to answer.
My friends were there, my enemies were there. I had taken no second, and the judge well understood why. Nath Tolfeyr undertook the duties of a second but without the obligation to cross swords if I fell out. Everything was made ready. The buzz of excited conversation never stopped. These people were betting on the exact ways Leotes or Garnath would cut me up. No one gave any thought to the idea I might draw first blood.
I had insisted that Casmas should sit with Nath Tolfeyr at my end of the mat. He was busily taking bets, not trusting a stylor to do that for him. Next to Casmas sat a little dumpling of a woman, whose fashionable spread skirt revealed fat white thighs. I nodded in their direction. She squealed and gripped Casmas’ arm, and he turned absently, writing busily, and his thoughts came out even as he spoke.
“. . . Five hundred deldys, the odds being — Ah, my dear? No, do not fret. Everything is in perfect order.” And he turned back at a shout to take a paltry hundred sinvers on Leotes taking off my left ear before my right.
I knew the heavy bettors would have talked to Leotes and arranged with him his exact program of butchering me. These last minute wagers were from the marks ripe for the plucking.
The catcalling and abuse I endured! The way these painted and scented ninnies contumed me! All knew I was a weakling, a poltroon, for I had proved it a hundred times in the avoidance of an issue, the bypassing of an insult, the cowardly backing out of a challenge. And now I was boasting away about what I was going to do and taking huge bets on the outcome, backing myself. Well, they said among themselves, when I had lost I had better honor my debts and pay up. If I welshed it would be the Heavenly Mines for me, by Havil the Green!
Leotes stepped forward.
He had chosen to wear his Ponthieu colors of purple and ocher, and this made him a favorite with the crowd, for the queen’s personal colors were gold and purple. I wore plain black trousers, cut short to the knees, boots, and a white shirt from which most of the frilling had been removed. In addition, I had wound around my waist a wide cummerbund of brilliant scarlet. By Makki-Grodno’s worm-infested tripes! Let these ninnies take heed of that, if they could!
“So, Garnath,” I said loudly, over the hubbub. “You send your lackey to do the work first! Never fear, rast-nest, I shall meet you with great joy!”
“Yetch!” he bellowed, going crimson.
The judge demanded more dignity in this serious affair.
“Dignity is for men,” I shouted. “Not for nulshes like these offal of calsanys.”
Well, it was all good rousing stuff. The necessary formalities were gone through. Leotes was too much of a Bladesman to be prompted into anger. He was cool and professional. He said: “I shall cut you up, Hamun the Onker, as you deserve.”
Give him his due. He was a professional.
We crossed blades.
I felt the power in his wrist at once, and searched for his skill. Naturally I was using the finest of the rapiers and its matched main-gauche that Delia had given me. The blades rang and screeched, sliding and licking and parting. He essayed a strong but essentially simple series of passes and attacks. I met them all as the textbooks and the sword-masters prescribed. He smiled. He had heard I had been off taking lessons, and he read this defense as standard salles d’armes stuff. He pressed again, more warmly. Again I held him off without effort. When he committed himself, and it was for real, then I would know.
Our feet stamped up and down in perfect line. Our bodies held in balance, our arms in the regulation poses, rapier and dagger angled just so. The people
“All the less space for you to run, yetch.”
I didn’t bother to answer.
My friends were there, my enemies were there. I had taken no second, and the judge well understood why. Nath Tolfeyr undertook the duties of a second but without the obligation to cross swords if I fell out. Everything was made ready. The buzz of excited conversation never stopped. These people were betting on the exact ways Leotes or Garnath would cut me up. No one gave any thought to the idea I might draw first blood.
I had insisted that Casmas should sit with Nath Tolfeyr at my end of the mat. He was busily taking bets, not trusting a stylor to do that for him. Next to Casmas sat a little dumpling of a woman, whose fashionable spread skirt revealed fat white thighs. I nodded in their direction. She squealed and gripped Casmas’ arm, and he turned absently, writing busily, and his thoughts came out even as he spoke.
“. . . Five hundred deldys, the odds being — Ah, my dear? No, do not fret. Everything is in perfect order.” And he turned back at a shout to take a paltry hundred sinvers on Leotes taking off my left ear before my right.
I knew the heavy bettors would have talked to Leotes and arranged with him his exact program of butchering me. These last minute wagers were from the marks ripe for the plucking.
The catcalling and abuse I endured! The way these painted and scented ninnies contumed me! All knew I was a weakling, a poltroon, for I had proved it a hundred times in the avoidance of an issue, the bypassing of an insult, the cowardly backing out of a challenge. And now I was boasting away about what I was going to do and taking huge bets on the outcome, backing myself. Well, they said among themselves, when I had lost I had better honor my debts and pay up. If I welshed it would be the Heavenly Mines for me, by Havil the Green!
Leotes stepped forward.
He had chosen to wear his Ponthieu colors of purple and ocher, and this made him a favorite with the crowd, for the queen’s personal colors were gold and purple. I wore plain black trousers, cut short to the knees, boots, and a white shirt from which most of the frilling had been removed. In addition, I had wound around my waist a wide cummerbund of brilliant scarlet. By Makki-Grodno’s worm-infested tripes! Let these ninnies take heed of that, if they could!
“So, Garnath,” I said loudly, over the hubbub. “You send your lackey to do the work first! Never fear, rast-nest, I shall meet you with great joy!”
“Yetch!” he bellowed, going crimson.
The judge demanded more dignity in this serious affair.
“Dignity is for men,” I shouted. “Not for nulshes like these offal of calsanys.”
Well, it was all good rousing stuff. The necessary formalities were gone through. Leotes was too much of a Bladesman to be prompted into anger. He was cool and professional. He said: “I shall cut you up, Hamun the Onker, as you deserve.”
Give him his due. He was a professional.
We crossed blades.
I felt the power in his wrist at once, and searched for his skill. Naturally I was using the finest of the rapiers and its matched main-gauche that Delia had given me. The blades rang and screeched, sliding and licking and parting. He essayed a strong but essentially simple series of passes and attacks. I met them all as the textbooks and the sword-masters prescribed. He smiled. He had heard I had been off taking lessons, and he read this defense as standard salles d’armes stuff. He pressed again, more warmly. Again I held him off without effort. When he committed himself, and it was for real, then I would know.
Our feet stamped up and down in perfect line. Our bodies held in balance, our arms in the regulation poses, rapier and dagger angled just so. The people
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