“Banneret of the White, former champion to the king, Guillot dal Villerauvais.”
Gill raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“And his champion?” Boudain said.
“His Grace, the Lord Protector, intends to represent himself.”
Now the king raised his eyebrows. “Well, that is … unexpected. A moment, if you would.”
The messenger nodded and rode off a short way.
“Villerauvais, what do you make of it?” Boudain said, turning and speaking quietly to Gill.
“I honestly do not know,” Gill said. He couldn’t work out what Amaury was playing at—it looked as though he had superior numbers. Why would he take a risk like this? Surely his desire to get at Gill couldn’t be so great as to overwhelm his sense. And patience—if he won the battle, like as not, Gill would be dead by sundown.
“He’ll use magic, won’t he?” the king said.
“Of course he will,” Gill said. “He’s a cheating bastard. Always was.”
“Still though, do you think you can beat him?”
“I … I don’t know. Without magic, yes. With it? I don’t know.”
“I suppose we can still fight it out if you lose. No offense intended.”
“None taken, your Highness,” Gill said. If Amaury brought magic to bear in this fight, there was no way Gill could win, but how could he say no to a proposition like this? Every man standing around him would think he was a coward. “If he beats me, it will be because he’s used magic,” Gill said. “I’ll agree to fight on your word that if I lose, you charge across the field and kill every last one of those bastards.”
“You have it,” Boudain said.
“Then you have your champion, your Highness.”
Boudain gave Gill a grim smile, then looked at the messenger and called out, “Our answer is yes!”
CHAPTER 48
It simply wasn’t the done thing to wear armour to a duel, and one of this importance needed to be conducted entirely within the expectations society placed on them, so Gill set about stripping off his suit. The air felt cool without it on, but he wasn’t sure if he was just imagining that, a phantom of how exposed he felt being on a battlefield with no plate steel between him and his enemies.
Gill had never thought he’d fight another duel again, nor that he’d ever again have use for the blade he’d been awarded for winning the Competition. The blade would have been Amaury’s, had Gill not beaten him that day. It seemed like the perfect choice for this fight. His two other swords had been brought along with the infantry’s baggage train, which was safe back at the siege fort. Gill sent a galloper to fetch the duelling blade, and did his best to appear nonchalant as he waited, feeling like every eye in two armies fixed on him.
The duel was going to be a spectacle, the like of which had not been seen in some time. Considering the size of the two armies present, Gill reckoned the audience would rival the one for the Competition’s final. It had been some time since he’d fought with so many eyes on him, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about so much attention. He didn’t want to be the big name anymore. He just wanted to go home—but home was a place that no longer existed. There was a time when all he’d wanted was to get away from Villerauvais, to be the swordsman everyone talked about. How times changed a man.
“How are you feeling?” the king said.
“As well as can be expected,” Gill said. “I’ve beaten him before. I can do it again.”
Boudain nodded intently.
“All I can ask is that you give your best,” Boudain said. “I know you will, whether I ask or not—you’ve done that time and time and time again. Mirabaya owes you a debt I fear she will never be able to properly repay.”
Not unless she can bring back my wife and child, Gill thought. My village and its people. “To serve is payment enough,” he said, knowing he could say nothing else.
“Spoken like a true hero,” Boudain said. “May the gods smile on you. They certainly won’t on that bastard. Prince Bishop my arse.”
Gill laughed and looked across the field to where Amaury was likewise preparing. Their seconds had already picked out a suitable patch of ground and were marking out the standard competitive dimensions. That wasn’t usually done in a duel of honour, which this most closely resembled, but Gill supposed the stakes were rather higher. No pressure, he thought.
He wondered what was going through Amaury’s mind. He always wondered that about his opponents before a duel—whether they feared him, respected him, held him in contempt. In this situation he was fairly confident it was the last, but Amaury was a fool if he thought a little magic would change things between them. He had never beaten Gill in a duel, fairly or otherwise, and Gill was determined that that would not change. With a limp, and swordplay skills that must be as rusty as Gill’s had been when Nicholas dal Sason had called on him all those weeks earlier, Gill felt confident. Magic was the great unknown. There was nothing Gill could do about that, so he simply tried not to think about it.
Of course, it really didn’t matter. He was going to fight Amaury, and that was all there was to it. Win or lose, he simply had to get on with it. Nothing to be gained by waiting, he thought. Better put on a good show.
He swished his sword left and right, then stretched his neck, trying to look as confident and purposeful as he could. Every man in the king’s army who could see him was watching intently. His second had returned from inspecting the ground and now stood next to him, waiting.
“I’m ready,” Gill said.
His second, a young officer who was standing too close when the need had arisen, nodded and headed across the field to convey the message. Gill started to walk toward the marked-off area, certain old habits and mannerisms finding their way back to him after a long absence. His heart pounded and his skin tingled, reminding him why he had lived for this once. The sensation was like nothing else.
He had reached the duelling area before Amaury started to move. The Prince Bishop had stripped down to shirt and britches, and walked easily, with no trace of a limp. That came as a bit of a surprise, but Gill realised he should have expected it. With so much magic, there was no way Amaury was going to carry that old injury any longer than he had to. It made no difference to Gill. If he needed to rely on his opponent’s weaknesses, he had bigger problems in store.
Gill watched Amaury approach, taking his time, no doubt thinking that it would antagonise Gill, make him angry, careless. Ever the gamesmanship with Amaury. What he didn’t know was that Gill enjoyed the pause. His second hovered silently a few paces away, but had the sense or experience of such matters to know there was a time to leave your principal in peace. Gill stood in a bubble of his own creation, feeling his heart slow and his senses waken. His mind was shutting down the parts used for day-to-day life, leaving only what mattered for this life-or-death struggle.
“I bet you never thought we’d find ourselves in this situation again,” Amaury said, as he reached Gill.
Gill shrugged. He’d thought of Amaury far more over the years than he cared to admit, but indeed, this wasn’t one of the situations he’d envisaged.
“When you’re ready,” Gill said.
“Both parties have been apprised of the code of conduct for this duel,” Gill’s second said. “All combat must remain within the marked area. This duel is to the death. Do both parties understand the rules as explained?”