Instead of striking the unguarded right, Tal whirled low and threw a sweeping reverse kick at the man's legs. His quick-thinking opponent turned his parry into a straight thrust at Tal's hip. A quicker swordsman might have succeeded. This one fell to the wooden floor with a resounding thud. Before he could move, Tal's blade was at his throat.
"I yield!" cried the fallen man. He dropped his sword to clatter loudly on the floor.
"You should have jumped," offered Tal. He removed his practice helmet single-handed and set it on the floor. "That would have looked great."
"Gods know I've suffered enough humiliation at your hands. You are truly a master swordsman."
Tal offered Chaney his free hand and lifted him from the floor. "I'm a sober swordsman, at least," replied Tal, pulling the other man to his feet. "You'll beat me after you've had a few more days to dry out."
"May the gods forbid," said Chaney. Even among the notoriously hedonistic Foxmantle family, he was known for his excesses. Even on the rare occasions when he was momentarily sober, Chaney couldn't best Tal at sword play. In fact, Chaney was without rival the worst of Master Ferrick's thirty-two students.
Tal used these matches with his friend to devise maneuvers for the fighting scenes at the theater. More often than not, that meant a sharp rap or two from Chaney's wooden practice sword as Tal tried flashy but unsound attacks.
"I'll need a bottle or two just to dull the pain from this hangover," added Chaney, struggling to remove his padded helmet. "I hope-"
The sound of loud, slow clapping interrupted their conversation. Chaney and Tal looked up to see that two other men had entered Master Ferrick's practice hall.
One of them strode forward as he continued his mock applause. He was narrow-hipped and broad-shouldered, with long blond hair held up in ivory combs that matched the piping on his burgundy doublet. He wore an elegantly curled mustache above a thin red slash of a mouth. Alale Soargyl fancied himself the most accomplished swordsman of Master Ferrick's school.
"Bravo," said Alale. "I shall endeavor to recall that inspired maneuver. It will undoubtedly prove useful when next I am faced with a blindly drunken sailor."
"I doubt he's ever facing the drunken sailors he meets," observed Chaney in a stage whisper. Tal couldn't quite hide his smile.
"If your sycophant wishes a lesson in manners or sword play, Master Uskevren," sniffed Alale, "it may address me directly."
Tal felt the hairs on his neck prickle. It wasn't the first time Chaney had been insulted in this fashion, but it still rankled. Ever since they were childhood friends, Chaney was perceived by his peers as little more than Tal's henchman. Chaney derived from a particularly disreputable and very nearly destitute branch of the Foxmantle tree. There was no stopping gossip that he courted Tal's friendship to improve his own standing.
Never one to ignore a barb, Chaney opened his mouth to retort, but Tal interrupted. "I could stand a lesson."
Alale's mustache twitched. Tal couldn't tell whether the man was pleased or irritated. Tal was a much better fighter than Chaney, and he was big enough not to fear the rumors that Alale paid longshoremen to thrash those who bested him at practice.
"Very well," replied Alale after a long pause. "One must assume responsibility for one's pets."
"To three?" asked Tal.
"To three, then." With a last sneer at Chaney, Alale plucked off his gloves before returning to fetch his gear. He would need a few moments to warm up.
Tal smiled inwardly. He considered Alale a poor swordsman and expected to win. He was more concerned about Chaney. Tal hoped he hadn't hurt his feelings by interceding. He turned to see his friend's expression, but Chaney was still glaring at Alale as the man unlaced his doublet.
Tal glanced at the other man who had entered with Alale. It was Radu Malveen, second son of one of the lesser merchant families in Selgaunt. Radu was nearly Tal's height, and his hair was just as black. There the resemblance ended, for while Tal was massive, Radu was whipcord thin. His black eyes were cool as a snake's, and Tal knew from experience that the man was serpent quick. Tal was certain that Radu was the finest swordsman of the school.
Radu returned Tal's gaze but said nothing. He had finished lacing his padded tunic and hooked the back of his ankle over the stretching bar. He bent as gracefully as a swan, touching his high forehead to his shin.
"Be careful," said Chaney. "If you beat him too badly, you'll have to watch your back for a month."
"That's your job," replied Tal. "Which means showing some mercy to the local vineyards for a while."
"Curses!" spat Chaney. He shot Tal a genuinely grateful smile. "But it's the least I can do for my faithful bodyguard."
"The very least," agreed Tal.
Alale announced his readiness with an imperious sniff. He stood upon the middle circle of the central practice ring. Half the diameter of the red outer boundary and twice that of the green inner circle, the black line represented balance and equal opposition.
Tal took his place opposite Alale and met his opponent's eyes, as Master Ferrick always insisted. They donned their wicker helmets. Without another word, the two swordsmen saluted, Alale affecting a delicate little Tethyrian flourish at the end. The maneuver seemed clumsy and ridiculous with a wooden sword.
"Be careful, Tal," called Chaney. "He means to tickle you into submission."
Alale kept his eyes on Tal, but he scowled at the taunt. Tal grinned. He loved sword practice, and he had a mind to do a little tickling of his own.
"Stand the middle…" said Chaney,"… attack!"
Tal stood his ground at first, watching as Alale crossed over left, then forward, then back. Instead of obliging his opponent's invitation to dance, Tal exploded forward in a loud, stamping rush that startled Alale into a premature parry. Tal's attack, a beat later than anticipated, rapped Alale smartly across the knuckles. Alale didn't drop his weapon, but as it fell out of guard, Tal lunged and smacked the top of Alale's helmet.
"One," said Tal, returning to his position in the middle ring. He could almost see the red glow of Alale's cheeks beneath the nose and cheek guards of his practice helmet.
"One," agreed Alale crisply. He sounded as if he wanted to complain about the ignoble attack, but he knew it was perfectly fair. He should have been more careful.
"Stand…" called Chaney,"… attack!"
This time, Alale came on in a direct but cautious attack. First he explored Tal's outer guard, always careful of a riposte. Tal restrained himself from a counterattack at first, looking for a chance to strike a particularly humiliating blow instead of settling for an ordinary cut.
Alale's feints were good, and soon he added a low cut with a thrusting riposte. The first one nearly came through, and Tal realized that remaining on the defensive would be more difficult than he had expected.
Before he could change tactics, however, Tal misjudged a low cut by half a beat and felt a smart blow to the thigh.
"One and one," said Alale triumphantly. Tal shrugged an apology at Chaney and took his place again.
In the next pass, Tal tried to take the offensive once more. He beat Alale's blade to the outside with all of his strength. Rather than lunge forward for the point, however, Tal whirled around, taking the blade from his right hand to his left, throwing an ambitious backhanded sweeping cut at Alale's padded shoulder.
It would have been spectacular, had it landed.
Instead, Tal nearly threw his arm out of joint as Alale thrust the tip of his wooden blade into his shoulder.
"I suppose that sort of thing appeals to the groundlings," observed Alale scornfully. Normally immune to such barbs, Tal felt his cheeks warm. It was a silly attack, but it might turn into something good for the next show. If it had landed, how Alale would have simmered!