Nevoi’s feint to the right and slashed. Nevoi danced effortlessly out of his reach.
“Stand still, damn you,” Liall snarled.
Nevoi laughed. He was younger than Liall by half a century, with merry blue eyes and a wicked grin that Liall swore would fit better on a Minh pirate. He was several inches shorter than Liall, with a slightly round face and snubbed nose below a mane of silvery hair that he kept tied tightly at the nape of his neck. When unbound, Nevoi’s thick hair came down to his shoulders and framed his face in jagged bangs. He reminded Liall of a white tiger he’d seen caged in Ankar.
They made another turn at each other, Nevoi stabbing, dodging back, spinning on the ball of his foot like a dancer. Liall panted, holding his own but knowing he’d be no match for Nevoi if they ever fought in earnest. Liall had killed more men in battle than Nevoi had years, but Nevoi was in the full flush of youthful strength and could do this all day.
“Enough!” Liall dropped his stance and took a step back. Nevoi deftly spun and slammed the pommel of his sword into Liall’s stomach. Liall coughed and bent over.
“What did I tell you?” The merry glint was gone from Nevoi’s eyes.
Liall straightened up, rubbing the ache in his belly. “Never drop my guard until you have dropped yours.”
Nevoi nodded. His scowl was forbidding.
“Am I still such a disappointment, ser?”
“You were never a disappointment, my lord,” Nevoi said, sliding easily from the role of swordmaster to subject. “Only somewhat vexing.”
Liall grinned. “You’ve been talking to Scarlet again.”
“Your t’aishka is an apt pupil and never forgets a lesson. I have not had to mark him as I have you, sire. He has no need of the same correction twice. If he were not so small, he would be a formidable enemy with a blade in his hand, or two of them, as he prefers. Did he ever say who taught him?”
“You haven’t asked?” Privately, Liall had always assumed that Nevoi believed his king had taught Scarlet how to use the double Morturii long-knives.
“I know it wasn’t you.” At Liall’s look, Nevoi laughed. “Your pardon, sire, but he never learned those dirty moves from a Rshani warrior. My guess is that it was someone from considerably lower birth with a considerably higher desire for survival, not to mention a hazardous occupation. I’ve known Khetian raiders with more scruples than ser Keriss with a long-knife in his hand.”
Liall was pleased. “He tasked you, did he? Good.”
“Only the first day. I will not discourage him from such low methods, either. He’s small and needs every edge he can get. By the Shining Ones, he’s fast, sire. No swordmaster taught him that. That’s all him.”
Liall crossed the small sparring space and placed his sword into Nevoi’s waiting hand. “It’s all Hilurin. Most of the young ones are quick, but he has a true gift, I grant you. The man who taught him was named Rannon, I believe. A Morturii karwaneer.”
Nevoi tilted his head in interest.
Liall knew that Nevoi would not ask further without invitation. It would be impolite to question a king so. “A master of trade caravans. In the south they trade between Morturii and Byzantur, and the lands between Minh and beyond,” he supplied. “It’s a dangerous life. Scarlet rode with them for half a year.”
Nevoi’s eyebrows went up. “How old was he?”
“Fifteen or so.”
“So young as that?” Nevoi picked up an oil-cloth.
“You disapprove?”
“Not precisely, sire.” Nevoi oiled the blades swiftly and replaced them in their leather sheaths. “I know something of Byzantur custom. I’m surprised he was allowed to take to the road at such an age.”
“He had the wilding.”
“Ah!” Nevoi smiled. “That explains it. I knew he was different. He loves the mechanics of sword fighting rather than the pure art of it, but for different reasons than most men. For him, it is a skill like making fire or mending your
“Stand still, damn you,” Liall snarled.
Nevoi laughed. He was younger than Liall by half a century, with merry blue eyes and a wicked grin that Liall swore would fit better on a Minh pirate. He was several inches shorter than Liall, with a slightly round face and snubbed nose below a mane of silvery hair that he kept tied tightly at the nape of his neck. When unbound, Nevoi’s thick hair came down to his shoulders and framed his face in jagged bangs. He reminded Liall of a white tiger he’d seen caged in Ankar.
They made another turn at each other, Nevoi stabbing, dodging back, spinning on the ball of his foot like a dancer. Liall panted, holding his own but knowing he’d be no match for Nevoi if they ever fought in earnest. Liall had killed more men in battle than Nevoi had years, but Nevoi was in the full flush of youthful strength and could do this all day.
“Enough!” Liall dropped his stance and took a step back. Nevoi deftly spun and slammed the pommel of his sword into Liall’s stomach. Liall coughed and bent over.
“What did I tell you?” The merry glint was gone from Nevoi’s eyes.
Liall straightened up, rubbing the ache in his belly. “Never drop my guard until you have dropped yours.”
Nevoi nodded. His scowl was forbidding.
“Am I still such a disappointment, ser?”
“You were never a disappointment, my lord,” Nevoi said, sliding easily from the role of swordmaster to subject. “Only somewhat vexing.”
Liall grinned. “You’ve been talking to Scarlet again.”
“Your t’aishka is an apt pupil and never forgets a lesson. I have not had to mark him as I have you, sire. He has no need of the same correction twice. If he were not so small, he would be a formidable enemy with a blade in his hand, or two of them, as he prefers. Did he ever say who taught him?”
“You haven’t asked?” Privately, Liall had always assumed that Nevoi believed his king had taught Scarlet how to use the double Morturii long-knives.
“I know it wasn’t you.” At Liall’s look, Nevoi laughed. “Your pardon, sire, but he never learned those dirty moves from a Rshani warrior. My guess is that it was someone from considerably lower birth with a considerably higher desire for survival, not to mention a hazardous occupation. I’ve known Khetian raiders with more scruples than ser Keriss with a long-knife in his hand.”
Liall was pleased. “He tasked you, did he? Good.”
“Only the first day. I will not discourage him from such low methods, either. He’s small and needs every edge he can get. By the Shining Ones, he’s fast, sire. No swordmaster taught him that. That’s all him.”
Liall crossed the small sparring space and placed his sword into Nevoi’s waiting hand. “It’s all Hilurin. Most of the young ones are quick, but he has a true gift, I grant you. The man who taught him was named Rannon, I believe. A Morturii karwaneer.”
Nevoi tilted his head in interest.
Liall knew that Nevoi would not ask further without invitation. It would be impolite to question a king so. “A master of trade caravans. In the south they trade between Morturii and Byzantur, and the lands between Minh and beyond,” he supplied. “It’s a dangerous life. Scarlet rode with them for half a year.”
Nevoi’s eyebrows went up. “How old was he?”
“Fifteen or so.”
“So young as that?” Nevoi picked up an oil-cloth.
“You disapprove?”
“Not precisely, sire.” Nevoi oiled the blades swiftly and replaced them in their leather sheaths. “I know something of Byzantur custom. I’m surprised he was allowed to take to the road at such an age.”
“He had the wilding.”
“Ah!” Nevoi smiled. “That explains it. I knew he was different. He loves the mechanics of sword fighting rather than the pure art of it, but for different reasons than most men. For him, it is a skill like making fire or mending your
Similar Books
