It took all three captains waving their arms and shouting and banging the table to restore order. Hess, at the centre, now spoke. ‘You are standing for admiral of Malaz, are you?’
Kellanved inclined his head. ‘I am.’
‘You do realize that you must be ready to enforce this claim? That any challenge must be met in combat? Combat with knife or sword – no tricks or damned magery?’
‘Yes.’
‘Combat,’ Hess added, ‘to the death?’
Kellanved waved a hand dismissively. ‘I do.’
The three captains exchanged triumphant glances. Guran stood.
Dancer felt a sudden sinking feeling, as if all their plans had just gone awry. How could the lad hope to fight any of these experienced raiders? Hadn’t he foreseen a challenge?’
Kellanved raised a finger once more. Guran scowled, but nodded, ‘What?’
‘I understand I may nominate a champion – should you agree.’
Guran cast his brother captains another glance of triumph. ‘Wrong.’ He started down from the high table. ‘If you choose to hide behind a champion, then the challenger may select him from among your crew.’
The sturdy fellow rounded the table and set his fists to his waist. He studied all who had come with Kellanved. The crews had remained on their feet as well, and now they set to moving the tables and benches aside, clearing a space.
The captain took his time, eyeing every one of Kellanved’s people. Most he dismissed immediately, such as Dassem and Urko. His gaze lingered for a time on Surly, before moving on to the last of them at the rear, the young woman, Lee.
Dancer snarled inwardly. Stupid traditions! They should just set to knifing everyone! To this end he caught Surly’s eye, and was surprised to see there a similar opinion. But Kellanved obviously knew him too well, because he felt the lad’s hand at his arm, pressing him back.
Guran gestured to Lee, inviting her forward. ‘You, lass. You’ll do. Will you fight for your admiral here?’
‘No!’ Dassem called, stepping up. ‘Not her. I will fight.’
Guran waggled a finger at him. ‘No, boyo. Not you.’ He pointed to Lee. ‘Her.’
Dassem faced her. ‘You need not do this. None will hold you to it.’
Surprising Dancer, the lean young woman looked to Surly, as if seeking permission, and Surly nodded as if granting it. Smiling, she turned to Guran. ‘I accept.’
A wide space had been cleared and everyone edged back towards the walls. Guran drew his long-knives while he started to circle. Dancer fumed inwardly at this development. The man was obviously a veteran of countless knife fights, on land and at sea. How could Kellanved have allowed his claim to come to this? Hadn’t he anticipated such a possibility? Gods, from what he’d heard, Dassem on his own could slaughter everyone in this hall. But then they wouldn’t have Malaz, would they? And they never would. It had to be won over, and that meant bowing to the Malazans’ absurd way of handling command.
But if they failed here – as they did at Heng – he resolved never to let the pint-sized fakir forget it.
Lee circled as well, eyeing her opponent, and Dancer was not encouraged by what he saw. She wore plain loose pantaloons, gathered in at a wide sash, and a loose silk shirt. Guran, on the other hand, wore an armoured and layered leather jack over his shirt. Offhand, he didn’t think much of her chances.
Still, she’d shown an inner steel in their dealings; as when she’d stood up to him. And she’d been hard enough to take over after Geffen died at Surly’s hands.
Guran struck a ready position, both long-knives raised. Lee reached back to her collar with both hands and came away with twinned, extremely long and thin stilettos. Dancer’s brows rose at that – she hadn’t drawn those on him!
And rightly so, he reflected, as they hadn’t been embroiled in a blood-feud at that time.
The circles the two traced tightened with every circuit. They held their blades extended, watching, gauging. Once they were near enough they began feinting and probing. Guran slashed with his heavier weapons and far greater strength; Lee slipped and dodged, never parrying square on, or meeting any attack directly.
Dancer urged her on, nodding. Good! Yes. Keep your distance. Look out – yes.
Guran pressed the attack, confident and dismissive – too much so, as Dancer clearly saw and hoped Lee did as well. Yet the man had survived countless such duels and showed a healthy respect for the woman’s needle-like weapons.
Suddenly they were close; Lee had chosen her moment. Guran slashed and thrust yet she wove and slipped every attack though they now stood toe to toe. Then she spun aside, whipping in a reverse circle, and her blade darted out in a blur like a striking serpent to pass through the man’s neck in a needle thrust. She landed on her knees even as he slashed in return, breaking one of her blades and leaving her open to a follow-up.
The second thrust never came. The man was blinking, a hand at his throat, tottering sideways and stumbling. He fell back against a table, his eyes wide and confused.
Dancer let out a long breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding. Lee straightened and flicked the few drops of blood from her remaining stiletto. Guran dropped both his weapons to clutch at his neck. He was staring about wildly, his eyes almost pleading; then he fell to his knees and toppled forward, dead.
In the silence that followed Dancer noted how Lee inclined her head to Surly, and how Surly came out to take her hands and congratulate her.
Kellanved stepped to the centre of the cleared space. He planted his walking stick and regarded the other two captains. ‘Do we have an accord?’ he asked.
Hess and Renish glanced to the crews as if gauging their chances. Kellanved saw it, and he tapped his walking stick on the ground once more. The resounding echoes of that merest touch rattled the windows and forced groans from the blackened timber rafters far above. Dust came sifting down over everyone.
Both captains jerked an assent and Kellanved nodded loftily, satisfied. ‘Excellent. Our business is done, then.’ He waved to the crews. ‘Return to the tables – I’ll not interfere with the festivities.’ He motioned to Hess. ‘Just what is the occasion, anyway?’
Hess drew a shaky hand down his moustaches. He bowed his head. ‘It is one of the festivals of Chem, ah, admiral, sir.’
‘Ah yes! Of course.’ He extended an arm to the stairs. ‘Might we have a tour of the quarters?’
Hess bowed again, inviting him forward. ‘Yes, admiral. This way.’
Kellanved motioned to Tayschrenn. ‘Come. You may find this of interest.’
This new mage – a renegade from Kartool, Dancer understood – looked utterly disdainful, but steeled himself with a breath and followed.
Dancer went to Lee, who was pouring herself a glass of wine. He bowed his head in acknowledgement. ‘Well done. Very impressive. I’m glad we never had to cross blades.’
She daubed a cloth to her face, nodding. ‘Thank you.’ Her glance, he noticed, was not upon him, but over his shoulder to – he looked – the swordsman Dassem, who had moved to put his back to a wall and was assessing the various exits and blind spots in the chamber.
‘Have you seen him fight?’ she asked.
Rather startled by the question, he frowned, shaking his head. ‘No. Why?’
A secretive smile came to her lips and she gave him a strange look, as if to say, You have no idea.
He wondered, then, what he had missed in her exchanges with Dassem, and, it seemed, with Surly.
He watched Kellanved climbing the stairs with the Kartool mage, Tayschrenn, waving his hands and no doubt spouting the most absurd nonsense. It was no longer just the two of them. Things would be much more complicated now.
Epilogue
They were packing up their possessions at Smiley’s for their move to the Hold when a cry of dismay and pain from Kellanved in his office brought Dancer running – him and several Napans, and the bodyguard Kellanved now trailed round after him; but Dancer was the first to arrive.