His thoughts drifted back to last night. His love-making with Rena had been feverish, and reached a height of passion he has never experienced before, an ecstasy so intense it had blazed through him like a lightning strike. He has always felt a passion for her more intense than for any other woman he had slept with, and this had felt like the culmination of that intense desire. It made fighting this duel almost worth it.
"By the Light, you look very cheerful for a Terrarch going to face death," said Jazeray. There was a combination of admiration and chagrin in his voice. Sardec realised that he was smiling at the memory of last night, and wiped it away. Soon, he thought, he would need to have all his wits about him. Most likely he would die soon. For all his practise, he was an indifferent shot with his left hand.
"Is Deakan any good with a pistol?" Sardec asked.
"Perhaps that's a question you should have asked before you challenged him to a duel."
"Indeed. It's a pity you were not there to advise me at the time. I might have done so."
Jazeray’s smile was cold but a hint of genuine humour crinkled the corner of his eyes. Sardec felt a feeling of comradeship for him at that moment, the like of which he had never felt before. They had never really been close — if truth be told Sardec had never really been all that close to any of his fellow officers. Jazeray had agreed to be his second because the honour of the regiment demanded it. At this moment Sardec was glad he was there. Jazeray’s smile faded.
"By all accounts he's an excellent shot. Are you so determined on suicide? There are easier ways. I can recommend a particularly good poison — Saladan roach venom — it induces ecstasy that lasts for hours before death."
"One of my men, the northern barbarian, always claims he knows a street girl in Harven that can do the same."
"Perhaps you should seek her out."
"Are you trying to talk me out of this?"
"It's one of my duties as a second."
"You are performing it admirably so far. Keep up the good work."
"You could simply apologise to Deakan for slapping him."
"Would you?"
Jazeray contemplated this for a moment. "I would probably have punched him."
"Then you can see the way the thing goes."
There was silence for a moment. Jazeray paused, almost embarrassed. "By the balls of the Shadow Princes, Sardec, you are a cool one. Whatever happens this morning, the regiment will be proud of you. I can tell you that."
The silence fell again, and in it, Sardec considered his fellow officer's question. Was he determined on suicide? Perhaps he was. Perhaps he found this death preferable to the ghoul disease. Perhaps it was something else, something that had lurked in his temperament since he was born, and had waited for this moment to emerge. Or perhaps he really was just defending his honour and Rena's. A few month's ago he would have laughed if anyone had told him that he would die to defend the honour of a human camp follower. Now he could laugh for a different reason.
He glanced out the window again. They had left the city behind and were out among the fields. Quite recently men had camped here, and lived and died here during the siege. Before this morning was much older, more blood would fertilise the grass, most likely his own.
The fields reminded him a little of his father's estate. They had the same flatness broken by shade trees. He remembered running across those fields as a boy, chasing butterflies, swimming in rivers, learning to ride a destrier. His memories of that time all seemed bathed in golden sunlight, just as his memories of the old winters were always full of snow. He knew there must have been grey days, and rainy days, and days of mud and slush but he was hard pressed to remember them now.
The road passed through a wood, trees all clad in autumn browns and reds that made him think of sitting in his father's house beside a roaring fire. He remembered lessons with his sisters, and celebrations of the Holy Days, dressing up in masks at Solace, lighting candles at the altars for Midwinter. He remembered reading the books in his mother's library, being baffled by the diagrams and odd notations in the grimoires. His sisters always had more of a gift for magic than he had. It came to him now that really he should have spent last night writing to his sisters and to his father telling them of his feelings for them, perhaps he should even have written to his mother. Too late now for that, of course. Much too late.
The coach rolled to a stop where the road passed through a clearing. They had arrived.
Deakan and his seconds were already there. They stood together under a tree. They all seemed rather young and innocent. Sardec felt almost sorry for them, although he was probably younger than they. With them were two people he did not recognise, one of them a human, the other a Terrarch in a long frock coat. The human carried a large black case that most likely contained the pistols.
He stepped out of the coach and tugged his jacket tight. It was a chilly morning. Mist had brought moisture to the air. His breath clouded in front of him although the sun was fully risen. Sardec wondered how many more minutes of life he had left. Probably not many. He took a deep breath, enjoying the loamy freshness of the air, so clear and clean after the pollution of the city. He noticed that dew clung to the long grass. He smiled at Jazeray and nodded to those who waited. He was surprised by the calmness he projected. He felt more like an actor in a play than someone who was about to put his life on the line. He wondered if Deakan felt the same way.
As he came closer, he realised that the answer was most probably no. His opponent looked pale, and there was a darkness under his eyes as if he had not slept. He and his companions smelled of liquor. Perhaps they had been up all night boozing. It was one way that some people kept their courage up. They did not look too pleased to see him. He smiled at them.
"Good morning," he said. No one responded.
The tall Terrarch standing with the humans came forward. Sardec knew him now. It was the surgeon. He was the last person Sardec had expected to see here but he supposed it made sense to have someone with his skills on hand. The sight of him brought back thoughts of the ghoul bite and a coldness deeper than that of the chill morning air settled on Sardec's heart. The surgeon gestured to Sardec and Deakan who approached.
He placed a gloved hand on each of their shoulder's and said, "You have been called today to the field of honour because you each feel you have a grievance against the other. I urge you, before the sight of God, to put your quarrels aside and make peace. No blood need be spilled today. You both may retire with honour."
It was not true of course. Both of them would retire as laughing stocks in the eyes of their fellow Terrarchs, but the form of words had to be fulfilled.
"Lieutenant Sardec struck me. No apology he could make would make any difference to the slight nor excuse his boorish conduct." Sardec noticed a slight stammer in Deakan's voice. Was the other officer nervous? Perhaps. His breath certainly reeked of wine. He refused to meet Sardec's eye. The surgeon turned his gaze on Sardec.
"And you, sir?"
"I believe that honour forbids me from withdrawing."
"Then we must proceed to the drawing of blood. I believe the chosen weapons were pistols."
Sardec and Deakan nodded. "Bulger, if you please," said the surgeon.
Stone-faced as an undertaker, the human opened the black wooden box. Within were two pistols. They were beautiful pieces, with gold-embossed filigree. They smelled of oil and old wood. "Each of you may choose a weapon. Lieutenant Sardec you may choose first. Both of you may prime your weapon with powder and wad. I will pour the measure of powder from the same bag. In light of Lieutenant Sardec's injury, I trust no one will object to his second priming the weapon."