“That’s quite enough!” Tamas roared. He had his hand on his sword, and he stepped forward, finally pushed to his limit.
Erika was quicker. She stepped in front of him, facing the noble. “It is quite enough, I agree. What is your name?”
The noble drew himself up. “My name is Lord Vendril.”
“Spell it out for me,” Erika said, leaning forward. “Because I’m going to carve it into your chest.” She removed one of her gloves and slapped it across his startled face. “Small swords in the Dirkwood Courtyard tomorrow at noon. Captain Tamas?”
Tamas was just as startled as Vendril. “Yes?”
“Will you act as my second?”
“I will.”
“Excellent. Lord Vendril, I will see you tomorrow afternoon or all of Adro will know you for a coward. Good day.”
“I think this is a mistake,” Tamas said.
The sky overhead was a brilliant blue, the sun just past its zenith. They stood in the Dirkwood Courtyard, a small, walled practicing ground used by local fencers in northern Budwiel. Today it was abandoned, and Tamas wondered if Erika had arranged that.
Lady Erika wore form-fitting soft leather trousers, riding boots, and a light jacket. Tamas had his uniform on under a black greatcoat and could still feel the chill, and he wondered how she was staying warm. The first snow of the winter would come any day.
“You don’t think I can fight a duel?” Erika asked. She squared her shoulders and bent at the waist, touching the ground, staying that way for several minutes.
“I would not dare to comment upon your abilities with a sword,” Tamas said, though he had his doubts. “Knowing who you are, it seems unwise for you to fight a duel with the best-known powder mage in Adro as your second.”
“My mother mentioned that very thing this morning,” Erika said. “We decided that it was best I not release you as my second. That would attract even more attention.”
“Your parents know about this?”
“Of course they do! You think I keep secrets from them?”
“Most young ladies do, in my experience.”
“Do you have a lot of experience with young ladies?” Erika asked, the look in her eye warning him to be careful about how he answered.
“More than I should. Less than I’d like.”
Erika laughed, a sound like wind chimes in a light breeze.
Tamas cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, my lady, that was inappropriate.” What was he doing? Did he think he was flirting with her? This woman would be a duchess someday! He would conclude this business and head back to Adopest where he could forget her entirely.
“Apology accepted,” Erika said.
“About the duel,” Tamas continued. “It’s my duty as your second to try to talk sense into you.” He paused for only a moment to consider the irony of his words, after ignoring a very similar warning from Matin only weeks ago. “I hope you’re not doing this on my account.”
“Why would you think that?”
“The man was provoking me.”
“Was I not insulted as well? Should I have stood by and let it continue?”
“No, my lady. You’re right. I apologize again.”
She gave him the slightest of smiles. “And I accept your apology again.”
Tamas was at once relieved and conflicted. He didn’t need to be defended by a noble. At the same time, a noble thinking that he was worth defending was a rather nice sentiment.
As she said, though, this was for her own honor. “What in the Nine are you doing?” Tamas asked.
“Stretching,” she said, bending first to her right and then to her left.
“Why?”
“It limbers the muscles before a fight.”
“You look ridiculous.”
“I’ll look more ridiculous with blood on this jacket.”
Tamas pursed his lips. He couldn’t very well argue with that logic. He watched as a pair of figures ducked through the arched entryway to the courtyard. Lord Vendril had arrived. He wore a fine, loose-fitting fencing jacket and tight pants, and he carried his sword on his hip. His second was a broad-shouldered man with skin several shades darker than Tamas, hinting at Deliv ancestry.
“What are your terms?” Tamas asked Erika.
Erika sniffed. “I suppose you’d argue if I said ‘to the death?’”
“I would.”
“A pity. First blood, then, even if I won’t be able to carve his name into his chest.”
Tamas coughed into his hand.
Erika sighed. “You have no sense of humor, do you, Captain?”
“Very little, my lady.” Tamas was about to comment on how little use a sense of humor was when dealing with the nobility but instead just added, “I’m a military man.”
“We’ll have to change that.”
“I wouldn’t give up the military for the world, my lady.”
“I meant your sense of humor, Captain.”
“I see.” Little chance of that, he thought. Aloud, he said, “Lord Vendril is waiting, my lady.”
“Let him wait.”
Tamas couldn’t help but crack a smile. Against his better judgment, he liked this woman. She flirted with levity, but there was something ruthless about her floating just beneath the surface. “Would you like to give him the chance to apologize?”
“Pit, no. He called me a whore. No one gets away with that. My grandfather would have me flayed.” She finally seemed satisfied with her stretches and looked toward Lord Vendril, who stood watching her with a curl to his lip. “He’s been there long enough. Let’s get on with this.”
Tamas met Lord Vendril’s second in the middle of the courtyard. The man’s face seemed set in a perpetual scowl.
“My lady proposes the duel go until first blood,” Tamas said.
Lord Vendril’s second responded, “And my lord wouldn’t have it any other way. He doesn’t want to be forced to do more damage to that pretty face than he has to.”
“My lady doesn’t consider him worth the time.”
They stared at each other for a moment before the second looked away. “We are agreed?” he mumbled.
“We’re agreed,” Tamas confirmed.
Tamas returned to Erika and gave her a nod. She drew her small sword and handed the scabbard to Tamas, giving a few theatrical flourishes. Tamas had a pang of doubt, wondering if she’d ever actually experienced anything more than a bit of light sword play. If she embarrassed herself here, he would be forced to step in and take things further with Lord Vendril.
“Tell me, Tamas, are you any good with a sword?”
Tamas felt goose bumps on the back of his neck when she said his name. “Only moderately. I prefer to kill with a pistol or a rifle.”
“And in close quarters you wield a sword like a butcher, is that correct?” She made a tut-tutting sound with her tongue. “Adran swordplay is so … primitive.” She didn’t wait for his answer, proceeding to the center of the courtyard where she faced Lord Vendril and raised her hilt to her face in a Kez salute, then fell into a loose, almost careless stance.
Her confidence made her seem so much older. Regardless, Tamas’s worry deepened. Was she not taking this seriously? She was young, but she was the heir to a duchy. Surely she would have been taught the rules to this sort of game. Blood would be spilled.
Vendril attacked first. He stepped forward swiftly, the point of his sword flicking forward. Erika parried the attack. And then the one that followed. And then another.
Within moments she seemed to have fallen into a pattern of deflections, not offering a single attack of her own. Tamas cursed her silently, willing her to go on the offensive. What the pit was she playing at?
Vendril changed up his tactics, feinting and pulling back, ducking and moving. He went through half a dozen basic fencing moves while Erika parried every single one.
Slowly, Erika increased the speed of her parries. It was so gradual that Tamas might have missed it, but there were soon openings in Vendril’s attacks during which Erika could have easily counter-attacked. But she did not follow through.