Put those thoughts from your head, Ryder. Your father’s standing there, and he’s waiting for you to fail. It’s time to put the fucker right.
Merrick gave a glance across at Kaira. She was watching impassively. There would be no encouragement there. She probably wanted to see him fail as much as the rest of them.
Both men walked to the centre of the courtyard. One of the Wyvern Guard shouted, ‘Come on, Whoreson,’ but was silenced by a glance from Lord Ryder.
Merrick wondered if they’d get the shout to begin. From Cormach’s impassive stare, he guessed they already had.
Strike first, strike fast, strike hard, strike last. That was the way he’d been taught at the Collegium. No better time to try it than now.
Merrick stepped in, bouncing off the balls of his feet, his sword sweeping in a blinding arc. Cormach didn’t even blink, just brought his blade up and struck at the blow, knocking Merrick’s sword aside with such strength it almost put him off balance.
He bounced back, out of range, but Cormach hadn’t even tried to follow through with a counter. The man just stood there, staring as though this whole thing bored him.
Merrick circled, with Cormach watching but not even keeping his guard up. What a conceited bastard. Didn’t he know there was only room for one arrogant swordsman in this city, and that was Merrick Ryder!
Again he moved in, his sword low, aimed at the groin. Again Cormach parried. This time Merrick didn’t retreat, but cut in high, but it seemed Cormach could read him before he even knew what he was about to do, and he parried the blow, making Merrick’s sword ring in his hand.
Anger began to well up inside. This fucker was toying with him. Showing everyone how much better he was. And to top it all Tannick was watching, smug in the knowledge his man was the better fighter, confident that Merrick was going to lose.
He’s always said you were a useless bastard and now you’re proving it. Don’t just fucking stand there — show him he’s wrong.
Merrick let out a growl of frustration as he attacked once more. In the back of his head, Lord Macharias was shouting at him — don’t lose your temper, anger only makes you sloppy — but he didn’t care. These arseholes needed showing that they could spend all the time they wanted in the mountains, humping goats and inbred tribeswomen, but here in the big city they really knew how to fight.
His sword swept in, cutting the air with a hum. It was a feint, and as Cormach brought his blade up to parry, Merrick changed its direction, aimed at his opponent’s knee. Casually, as though he knew what Merrick was about to do, Cormach lifted his leg, stepping away from the strike.
Merrick didn’t stop, hacking down, gripping his blade in both hands. He grunted as Cormach shifted his own sword, parrying the low blow. Their blades were locked together, Merrick forcing his down with two arms, Cormach holding it off with one. They looked at one another, Cormach impassive, showing no signs of strain.
He’s laughing at you. It might not look it, but on the inside he’s pissing himself.
Merrick grunted again, this time holding back none of his frustration. His sword swung left and right, a vicious onslaught, heedless of the damage he might do if he scored a hit, but each blow was snatched from the air by his opponent’s blade. And every time Cormach didn’t bother to counter, parrying each blow as though he was practising with a child.
‘Enough, Cormach,’ Tannick shouted. ‘Finish it.’
As Merrick hacked in again, Cormach parried, but this time he twisted his blade. It hooked under the quillon of Merrick’s sword and sent it spinning across the courtyard. Before Merrick could think what to do next, Cormach stepped in and butted him on the bridge of his nose.
Merrick went down hard, his vision flooded. As he floundered on the ground he could taste blood and snot as it ran freely from his nose and into his mouth.
A razor edge pushed his chin up and, through watering eyes, he saw Cormach looking down. The man didn’t gloat or smile in his victory, but stared blankly, awaiting further instructions from Tannick.
The old man wouldn’t dare to give the order to strike a death blow in front of the queen … would he? Right now Merrick wouldn’t have minded, and nor would he have put it past the old bastard.
‘An impressive display, Lord Marshal,’ said Janessa, walking up beside Merrick. ‘I think I’ve seen enough.’
‘Of course, Majesty,’ Tannick replied. ‘Cormach — to me.’
The one they called Whoreson took his blade from Merrick’s throat and backed away towards the waiting Wyvern Guard, who looked on in amusement.
Merrick raised a hand to his throat. There was blood.
Best be grateful it’s only a nick. He could have killed you at any time.
‘Don’t feel bad,’ said Tannick, as Garret helped Merrick to his feet. ‘Cormach’s my best. You never stood a chance.’
It didn’t make him feel any better, but then that wasn’t the reason Tannick said it.
‘Your Wyvern Guard are clearly skilled in the art of combat, Lord Marshal,’ said Queen Janessa. ‘But this changes nothing.’
‘But, Majesty, your Sentinels are not able to protect you.’
Queen Janessa glared up at the imposing knight. Merrick took some solace in the fact that Tannick seemed a little cowed by her.
‘Yet I am not dead, Lord Marshal. It appears they’ve been doing something right.’
‘I must insist-’
‘That will be all.’
Queen Janessa’s voice was raised and Tannick could respond with little else than a deep bow.
‘Of course, Majesty.’
Without another word Tannick Ryder turned and left the courtyard, his Wyvern Guard following close behind. Cormach was at their rear, not even deigning to glance at Merrick. Not that Merrick minded. If he never saw that bastard again it would be too soon.
‘That will be all for today,’ Janessa said to Kaira. ‘You may walk me back to my chambers.’ Then she looked at Merrick. He had expected at least some degree of disappointment but there was none, even though he’d let her down so badly … again? ‘You should get yourself cleaned up,’ she said.
With that, she and Kaira left the courtyard.
Merrick wasn’t sure whether he’d wanted Kaira to offer him scorn or sympathy, but she didn’t bother either way. It didn’t seem like anyone gave much of a shit, but then Garret offered him a kerchief to dab his bloody nose.
‘Tannick was right; you shouldn’t feel bad.’
Merrick shrugged. ‘You did warn me, I suppose.’
‘I tried. But you don’t take advice from anyone, do you?’
Garret didn’t wait for an answer. He too walked away, leaving Merrick half dressed and bleeding in the chill of the courtyard.
Right now, that felt about as much as he deserved.
THIRTY-TWO
On any other day Governess Nordaine’s capacity for chatter would have driven Janessa to the edge of her wits. Not today, though. Today she was grateful for the woman’s prattle. It helped drown out the thoughts in her head, the hateful memories of Dravos; how he’d violated her thoughts, his sickly eyes staring into her soul.
Though he was dead, his shadow seemed to haunt her. She should have felt vindicated, should have been proud, but she could not bring herself to revel in her victory. At the time she had been thrilled by the experience; the feel of the weapon in her hand, the satisfaction as it pierced Dravos’ chest, the sound of his head hitting the floor. The Helsbayn had seemed to almost sing as she wielded it.
Now all that remained was a numbness.