No serpent ever struck as quickly as did Pardos. Sergios managed to deflect most of the slash with his improvised shield and the flimsy armlet beneath it. Even so, the pirate’s blade drew blood. But even as he took the wound, Sergios rushed inside Pardos’ guard and the lights glinted on the blur of silvered-steel with which he lunged at the bare chest before him.
At the last split second, Pardos leaped backward and parried the thrust, meaning to beat Sergios’ blade upward. But the first contact of sword to the inferior steel shattered poor Sergios’ inadequate armament like glass.
Stamping and roaring, Pardos swung at the angle of Sergios’ neck and shoulder. The younger man’s duck saved his life. The sword struck the helmet, instead, denting the thick steel and sending it spinning through the air. The force of the blow hurled Sergios to the ground. Pardos hacked at his downed opponent again and again, but Sergios rolled from beneath the blows. Finally, he regained his footing and shrewdly kicked Pardos’ right wrist—already somewhat weakened by the repeated impacts of sword on stone. The pirate sword went clattering down the length of the courtyard.
“Now, my lord,” Sergios said, grinning, wiping the back of his right hand across his brow, trying to keep the blood from his split scalp out of his eyes, “we two are a bit closer to evenly matched.”
Pardos drew his dagger and slowly advanced. Sergios tried to bring up his left arm, but it hung limp and dripping; the slashed cape was now wet and heavy. With a snarl, Pardos leaped onto the weakened man and, even as they crashed to the tiles, he secured Sergios’ right wrist. Then he pressed the needle point of his dagger into the younger man’s throat. Blood welled up around the bluish steel.
But he stayed his hand, saying, “You never had the ghost of a chance, Lord Admiral Sergios, and I think you knew it, yet you fought … and fought damned well. If you’ll but admit that you lied in naming me dog, then plead for your life—I’ll spare you.”
As much as the hard-pressed steel would allow it, Sergios shook his bloody head. “Thank you, my lord, but I must refuse. Men of my House do not lie, nor do they beg.”
“Nononono!” shrieked Demetrios, palms flat on his ashen cheeks. “He … he really means it, Sergios! He’ll kill you … and then, probably, me, tool I … I command you, tell him you lied, beg him for our life!”
Sergios’ gaze shifted to the High-Lord and his look was pitying. “Lord Demetrios, I am your sworn man, this you well know. I have forsaken friends and … and even my loved family in your service. Many of your commands have been distasteful; nonetheless, they were your commands and, God help me, I discharged my orders. But, my lord, only my body is sworn to you … not my soul, my honor.”
Such was his pique at the words that Demetrios forgot everything—time, place … and circumstances, as well. He stamped his foot. “Paghl Now you’re talking like that treacherous old fool of a father you had. We’d credited you as a civilized man, a man of intelligence, a realist. Without life, you fool, honor has no value, if it has any, anyway … which we doubt.”
Sergios’ look of pity intensified and his voice, too, became pitying. “Poor my lord. In this, as in so many things, your mind has become twisted. To you, realism is cynicism; intelligence denotes but the word for a constant agreement with you; civilized is your term for a life devoted entirely to debauchery, senseless cruelty, and perversion.
“To you, honor does not have value, for you lack any shred of it and, truly, you know not its meaning. My lord, your poor, sick mind has reversed the order of things; without honor, life has no value. To die here and now, with honor, under this brave lord’s blade, will be a quick and almost painless death. To live, with dishonor as you command me, would be death, too, but a slow and unbearable death.”
His eyes locked again with Pardos’ and he smiled. “I am ready, my lord. You are a far better man than the lord I served. It will be an honor to die under your hand. Let your stroke be hard and true.”
“It will be both, Lord Sergios,” replied Pardos. “I derive no joy from the sufferings of brave men. You are truly a man of honor and all men should give credit to your house. Please, tell me its name, that I and my men may remember it and you in times to come.”
“I have the honor to be the son of Alexandros of Pahpahspolis, formerly Strahteegohs of Strahteegohee of Kehnooryos Ehlahs.”
Lord Pardos’ voice held a gravity bordering upon awe. “Your father was a man of far nobler and purer lineage than those he served. And I had heard that his son still served Basil’s son. When I learned what you are, I should have known who you are, Lord Sergios.
“It is said that blood will tell. Your’s certainly has, and I’ll not bear the guilt of shedding more of the precious stuff. To butcher an unnatural swine is one thing; to murder a valiant man of high and ancient nobility is quite another.”
He withdrew his dagger and stood up. Sergios, too, tried to rise, but fell back, groaning between clenched teeth. With hard face, Pardos strode purposefully toward! Demetrios. At the sight of that bloody dagger’s approach, the High-Lord’s bladder and knees failed him at the same time. Groveling in a spreading pool of his urine, he clasped his be-ringed hands and raised them beseechingly. “Oh, please … please!” he blubbered. “Please don’t kill me … we … I … you … you can have everything, everything! Here!” Frantically, he stripped off all the rest of his rings, fumbled them into one cupped palm, and extended them in Pardos’ direction.
Coldly furious, the Sea Lord slapped the preferred hand, sending the costly baubles flying in all directions, and started to recommence his advance on his victim, only to find that some weight was impeding his leg. He looked down to find that Sergios’ unwounded right arm was wrapped about his booted ankle.
A wide pool of blood marked the place where the young admiral had lain. And a broad, red trail showed the path along which he had dragged himself. Now that he had turned onto his belly, the jagged rent that one of Pardos’ blows had torn in the gambeson diagonally down from the left shoulder was very obvious. Through this dangerous wound, as well as those in his left arm and his scalp, his life was gradually oozing out. The only color left on his face were the streaks of gore from his head and from the place his teeth had met in his lower lip.
But his eyes burned feverishly and his grip on Pardos’ leg, though weak, was dogged. And his voice, when he spoke, was surprisingly firm.
“You’ll not slay him … my lord—not while yet I live.”
“I promised to spare your life, noble Sergios,” Pardos answered gently, “not the-life of this thing.”
Sergios coughed and a shower of pink froth sprayed from his mouth. His voice weakened perceptibly. “My … life … pledged to him. Cannot live in … honor … not pro … protect him.”
“Brother.” Though urgent, Pardos’ voice was infinitely tender. “Your efforts are killing you. This man-shaped thing is not worth a life, especially a life such as yours.”
“Lord Demetrios,” Sergios said, gasping, “far worse … you know. Still.. my lord.”
Pardos flung the dagger in the path of his sword. Spinning, he knelt and gently disengaged Sergios’ arm from his ankle.
“Noble Sergios, your courage has purchased two lives this night. Much as I want his death, the life of so rare a man as you is too high a price.”
Raising his head, the Sea Lord bellowed, “Zaileegh, Eegohr, Benahree, Kohkeenoh-Djahn, to me!”
With the aid of the four captains, Pardos had the fainting Sergios lifted and laid face-down on the hastily cleared large table. Under the directions of the red-haired Kahndees, a trio of women set about removing his gambeson, while two others bared his left arm and applied a tourniquet, and still another sponged his face with undiluted wine.