Chapter Eight
Taken from the Family Archive of the
House Tor Alder, Toremal,
from the Records of the 35th Year of
Emperor Aleonne the Gallant
Compliments to Dardier, Esquire Tor Alder, from his brother Caprel, Sieur of that House.
I am pleased to tell you that Carrey continues to recover well from his injuries. This comes to a great relief to his mother and myself, one’s last son being no less precious than any of the others after all. Forgive my feeble attempt at levity, it stems from disordered nerves, I confess it.
We have had no success tracing the brigands who attacked the boy and his companions in such an underhand manner; I suppose that would have been too much to hope for at this late date. Nevertheless I still remain concerned that by all accounts an organized and liveried troop of men could commit such an outrage on the Emperor’s highways and vanish so thoroughly. I can only surmise that their appearance was a calculated disguise, wigs and liveries discarded as soon as their work was done. Perhaps they wanted to throw suspicion on to the Men of the Mountains since they are generally fair of head and visage, but few are trading so far from home at this season so I am not inclined to suspect them.
Carrey’s greatest concern is the loss of his sword, an heirloom admittedly but one of little significance for the House after all. His mother is anxious lest this distress lead to a return of that disorder of sleep and nightmare that plagued the boy last year, and I confess I share her worry. There has been no recurrence of such trouble as he has convalesced and I would not wish to see it visited upon him again. Accordingly, could you alert your sergeants-at-arms and ask them to spread the word among their fellows in other Houses in case the weapon should be offered for sale to any such. If we can recover the blade, so be it but my main concern is to reassure Carrey that no blame for its loss attaches to him. Since you are due to visit us soon, if you could find a way of broaching the subject in private converse with him, I would be most grateful.
The Palace of Shek Kul,
the Aldabreshin Archipelago,
8th of For-Summer
I checked the sun again; it seemed to have been hanging directly overhead for what would have been nearly a full chime at home, but we hadn’t heard the signal horn yet.
“More water.” Sezarre passed me a beaker and I drank obediently. The sun was striking up from the sandy surface of the practice floor like the blast from a roasting hearth, even though we were sitting in the shade of the bath-house.
“There, that is good.” Grival gave the sword blade one last wipe with an oiled rag and laid his whetstone aside. I should say it was; I could have shaved with the edge he had put on it had that been allowed.
“Thank you.” I hadn’t been looking for Grival to turn up, expecting he would be staying close to Mahli and little Nai, but he had appeared without ceremony and taken it upon himself to check all my weapons and armor. He placed the sword next to my mail-shirt; I wasn’t about to put that on until the very last moment possible.
“This man, he is older than you by some years. The heat, the armor, losing much sweat, all of this will tire him the sooner,” remarked Grival thoughtfully. “You could use that to your advantage.”
“If this was a fair fight, then yes, I would look to draw him out, keep him moving until he tired.” I scowled at the circle marked on the white sand in charcoal. “But I still think he will find a way to use magic. Can you appeal to Shek Kul for me, ask him to forbid the chanting?”
“I will denounce him myself and ask it as a boon.” Sezarre nodded. “You look to finish him as soon as possible?”
“How stiff is your leg? You need to be able to move against a mace.” Grival wiped moisture from his own brow. “A blade may glance off a hauberk but that mace will leave a bruise wherever it lands. That could hamper you if he lands too many blows.”
“I’ll be looking to cut him as early as I can,” I said grimly. “He’s going to bleed freely with the exertion and the heat. I want him to weaken quickly; with luck that’ll stop his magic as well.”
Sezarre and Grival nodded as one, their faces grim at the thought of enchantment polluting this fight. “Try not to shed his blood outside the circle,” warned Grival solemnly. “You are here to protect the domain as well as assert the truth.”
I wondered exactly what he meant by that and looked up at the sky again; the sun didn’t appear to have moved any further on. “Have either of you ever fought like this, as a test of truth?”
Sezarre shook his head. “It is very rare. I can understand why Laio did not expect such an outcome.”
I grimaced a little at his implied rebuke, only too aware that he and Gar must have heard all my dealings with Laio the previous night. To my relief everyone was continuing to treat me just as they always had, and anyway I was too preoccupied with this forthcoming fight to feel particularly self-conscious.
“I saw such a test in the domain of Lys Izat,” Grival looked up from wrapping his sword-cleaning kit in its cotton bag. “It was to resolve an accusation of murder, but that was three years ago.”
“Why do you think Shek Kul chose to do this?” I was curious to know what they thought.
“It will send a message through all the domains,” stated Sezarre with considerable satisfaction. “That magic will not be tolerated, in any form.”
“If these enchanters are looking to worm their way into our lands, I don’t suppose Kaeska is the only fool they had seduced,” Grival added. “Her fate will give any others who are tempted pause for thought.” I liked the certainty in his tone, his confidence that Kaeska’s doom was already sealed. I wondered if he was right—were other Elietimm trying to suborn those with influence among the Aldabreshi and, if so, just what was their plan? I tucked the question away, one more to address after I had met this present challenge.
“Do you fight like this on the mainland at all, one to one? Have you experience that will help you?” Sezarre’s hesitant question surprised me, given how much effort he and Grival always put in to reminding me I was supposedly an Islander now, all past life as surely lost as the morning mists off the mountain.
I leaned back against the wall of the bath-house and shut my eyes for a moment, trying to summon up a memory of the fresh frosts of a Toremal winter amidst the heavy and humid heat of the Archipelago. “We fight one man against another as a test of skill sometimes, when all the Great Lords gather to make treaties with each other.” That was going to be about as much explanation as Grival and Sezarre would understand of the Convocation of Princes at Winter Solstice. “Each Lord puts forward his best men and a contest decides the finest.” Aiten had won the last time we’d both attended and carried off a heavy purse, soon lightened by our celebrations. Esquire Camarl, Messire’s nephew, had asked me privately if I had wanted to compete this time and understood instantly when I told him I hadn’t the heart for it.
I opened my eyes abruptly. This wasn’t the time to be dwelling on memories of home, though I made a mental note to watch for the bastard striking at my head. Such strokes were banned in the formal contests I was used to and I didn’t want to be caught unawares, lulled into expecting the same rules to apply.
“You have killed before?” Grival was clearly expecting that I had.
“Yes, when I have had to.” My unemotional reply won satisfied nods from them both.
The signal horn sounded and we all started. I rose to my feet and began some stretching exercises, determined to meet this challenge with every possible preparation. People began filing into the practice ground, the early arrivals taking the best spots under the broad-leafed trees. Some eager youngsters decided to forsake shade in the hopes of a better view and climbed on to the roof of the bath-house, sharing pockets of nuts and waterskins. As I looked round I realized most of the free Islanders were here; another occasion when the main gates would be standing open, thronged with people, while I had no chance of slipping out unnoticed. I discarded the irrelevance as Sezarre and Grival began to armor me, focusing my mind entirely on the contest to come.