Tamas could see a bead of sweat on her brow. Was she afraid of winning? he wondered. He’d heard of duelists overcome with that fear. As silly as it sounded, some people did not have the constitution to draw blood.
In the blink of an eye, he almost missed her riposte. Vendril’s sword was slapped aside violently and his middle exposed. Her blade darted forward, slashing, and Vendril gave a startled yelp. He stumbled backward and landed on his elbows. Lady Erika just stood above him, bloodied tip of her sword hovering over his chest.
“If you call me a whore again,” she said, “You won’t have to worry about how you spell your name. My honor is satisfied. Now get out of my sight.”
Vendril was helped to his feet by his second, and the two men fled from the courtyard.
Tamas offered Erika a handkerchief with which to clean her sword. “You only spelled the first three letters,” he said.
“His name was too long. Sorry to disappoint.” Erika wiped her sword then took back her scabbard.
“I’m not disappointed at all. That was …”
“Exciting?” she asked.
“Impressive,” he finished. “Where did you learn to fence like that?”
“I had a very good teacher.” Erika’s smile faltered for just a moment, then returned. “Tell me, from the eye of a military man, what did you think?”
Tamas hesitated. He’d gotten into trouble before being honest with nobles, even when he thought he was giving them a compliment. “You’re extraordinarily fast. I’m no expert in fencing, but I am somewhat skilled in drawing blood. With the right training, you’ll be an unrivaled killer. But I think you should have finished it quicker.”
“I was learning his tells. His cadence.”
“All for a show of bravado.”
“You don’t approve.” She tilted her head to one side.
“I don’t. I don’t believe in toying with my prey.”
“Oh?” Her eyebrows raised in mock shock. “You don’t? Tell me, Captain, what is a duel for?”
“To settle a matter of honor.”
“And to send a message. He’ll remember me. His second will remember me.”
“Perhaps not in the way you’d like.”
“When you blew off Captain Linz’s ear a few weeks ago, what message were you trying to send?”
She knew about that? Tamas wondered. “I don’t see how …”
“By taking off his earlobe, you were telling him that you could have made a canal out of his skull, but he wasn’t worth your time. Am I wrong?”
Tamas watched her carefully, once more thinking that there was far more to this woman than met the eye. He thought he should be uncomfortable having his expectations challenged in such a way, but found that he rather enjoyed it. “No.”
“I thought not. Dueling is not just about blood or honor. It’s about the message. Don’t they teach you anything in Adro?”
“I’ve never had a fencing instructor, beyond the odd military sergeant with some talent. I could never afford one.” Tamas grimaced, reminded once again at the gulf between them. Erika, talented as she was, was a noble’s daughter. She had everything she could possibly want. She did not need to struggle for her future.
Tamas’s entire career was on the line because of a duel.
“That won’t be a problem anymore,” Erika said.
“What do you mean?”
She leaned forward, her face suddenly earnest. “Take me on as your student! I’ll pay you handsomely.”
“I can’t. I won’t.” Tamas bristled at the mention of money. His captain’s salary went toward a great many things, stretching him thin, but he was finally at a place in life he did not have to rely on anyone’s generosity. Nor would he.
“Please.” Erika reached out to touch his hand, and he stepped backward. “You said before, ‘with the right training.’ You meant as a powder mage, didn’t you?”
“No.” He could hear his tone, formal and gruff, and could see that it angered her. “I’m sorry, my lady, but I won’t do it. It would be a danger to you.”
“I don’t care.”
There it was. That noble arrogance again. “I do. It’ll also be a danger to myself. It would risk everything I’ve worked for. The royal cabal would like nothing better than an excuse …” Tamas trailed off. “I’ve said too much.”
Erika stepped forward, inside Tamas’s guard, her face twisted in a scowl. “Do you fear them?”
“Of course I do!”
“I know your reputation. I’m looking in your eyes, Captain Tamas. You are not the sort of man to fear anything. Nor do you care one bit for the life or reputation of a member of the nobility. You shouldn’t care what happens to me. You should relish a chance to train a new powder mage, to spit in the face of the Privileged cabal. So why don’t you?”
Tamas was saved from having to answer by the sound of hoof beats outside the walls of the courtyard. He glanced toward the gate, only to see a messenger in the colors of the king’s personal guard stride inside.
“Captain Tamas,” the woman barked.
“I am he.”
“You have a summons from the king.”
Tamas felt cold sweat on the back of his neck. He took a letter from the messenger and ran his finger over the royal seal. Opening it with his thumb, he read the contents.
“What is it?” Erika asked.
“I’ve been ordered back to Adopest. The king himself wants to see me in four days!”
Tamas rode his horse up the hill to Skyline Palace.
The immense home of the royal family and their cabal of Privileged sorcerers sat high above Adopest, its myriad of twinkling lanterns visible on this clear night even from the far side of the city. The building itself covered more ground than ten city blocks, while the grounds spread out over two thousand acres.
Tamas’s credentials and the royal summons were checked at the base of the hill, then once again at the top by the king’s royal guard. The carbine, which he kept in his saddle by habit, was confiscated along with his pistol but he was left his sword.
He continued up the gravel drive, marveling at the palace yard. Decorative walls crisscrossed the property, dividing the gardens and manicured lawns into a maze that would fool the best of memories. The splash of running fountains followed him constantly. At one point he stopped to wait while a pair of trainers led two tame cave lions across the drive.
By the time he reached the front gate of the palace it was after dark and the wind had picked up, blowing his greatcoat to one side, as frigid a breeze as any in the northern oceans.
He gave his horse over to a groom and noted that in his entire ride up the drive he had not once gone unobserved. The royal guard were everywhere in their somber gray uniforms and plumed bearskin hats.
Tamas was led through the mighty silver-plated doors of the palace and into the grand foyer, where he was asked to surrender his sword. Then he was led upstairs, down hallways with high, vaulted ceilings and crystal chandeliers, until he reached the personal quarters of the royal family.
Tamas’s disquiet grew. The late hour of his audience seemed strange. The king normally dealt with all of his business during the day. What could he possibly want from Tamas that couldn’t be dealt with in the throne room?
The servant leading Tamas stopped suddenly at a pair of double doors at the end of a hallway and pulled on a corded rope. Tamas thought he heard a distant gong. A moment later, the door was opened by a young woman.
One of the royal concubines, Tamas suspected, though she wore a modest servant’s dress. She gestured him inside, down a dark corridor, and then into a bedchamber as large as most houses.
Manhouch XI, better known to most as the Iron King, was not an imposing man. He sat beside a fire, hunched over in his chair, one finger held to his temple and his eyes downcast. He was of medium height with light brown hair and hard, slightly almond-shaped eyes. Thanks to cabal sorceries that kept his mind and body young, he hadn’t aged a day since Tamas had last seen him on a parade ground in Gurla eight years prior. His exact age was not public knowledge, but he was said to be in his seventies.