The Sword of Wisimir

Chapter 19: Duel (Part 2)

Urin clambered carefully onto the gantry towards his seat, trying to keep his knees from shaking. The last thing he needed now was some ungainly accident. The 'seats' were two sets of raked benches; set either side of a roped square in the middle of the yard. Around the rope the majority of the city garrison loitered in groups, the sergeants keeping a careful eye on their soldiers whilst the guests took their seats.

Urin shuffled along the row and sat down next to Nieril who gave him a nervous smile. "My first time seeing the Tourney, sir."

Urin tried to smile back, but judged the effort a failure when hers quickly faded. "Try not to get too caught up in it," he said.

"Oh no sir, of course not."

Lady Tarn sat in the row below, with Krembar and Meade. The seating had been modified to give the nobles more room and cushions had been added. Urin looked around to see where Leel had ended up.

"Behind you, Minister." The wizard's whisper still managed to carry from two rows further back. Leel appeared to occupy a bench on his own. Urin guessed the other people preferred squashing up, than sitting near him, but Leel didn't seem to mind, retreating further into the folders of his black robes, only his eyes could be seen glittering in the sunlight.

Polite applause broke out from the gantries below and Urin saw the two duellists crossing the sands. Hatcher first, the one they called Jack Key second. He looked back at Leel but the wizard didn't react, remaining crouched like a spider.

The two men stepped into the square and the soldiers immediately broke up to get the best view. Hatcher went to the far side of the square and General Wissell appeared in the centre along with two other officers.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Wissell's parade drilled voice cut through the chatter, silencing soldiers and guests alike. "Everything is ready. May I present the final competitors for this year's Annual; Lieutenant Kellen Hatcher and Recruit Jack Key!"

The second name was all but drowned out by the loud cheers from the soldiers around the rope. Hatcher was the known favourite this year and Urin suspected the majority of money favoured him. A flicker of movement near the gates made his eyes stray from the competitors and he saw the soldier with an eye patch who'd been at the Magistry appear. He looked up to the gantry in Urin's direction, then caught sight of Leel, nodded and turned away.

"I didn't get to tell you everything I found out before," Nieril said, tugging his sleeve and leaning in close.

"What else did you find?" Urin asked.

"The Von Drey's were a powerful family," Nieril whispered. "In the oldest lineages there could have been several mentions of them, but I couldn't be sure as the records were blotted."

"Blotted?"

"Crossed and marked," Nieril explained, "not from age as many of the parchments were fine, just black marks over names that looked about the same size as 'Von Drey'."

Urin frowned. "Are you sure?" he pressed.

Nieril shrugged "Can't be certain because I can't read it, but—"

"Let the Tourney begin!" General Wissell shouted from the roped square and the people around Urin begin to clap and cheer, drowning out the rest of her words.

---

As Wissell's words faded away amidst the cheers and shouting of the crowd, Jack wiped his bandaged forehead and glanced up. A cloudless day, scorching heat; perfect weather to watch a sporting duel, just not perfect weather to be in one.

Four officials watched them intently, none less than a lieutenant. Captain Dalban was one of them, his rabbit-like face twitching with concentration as he stood on Jack's right.

The sword in Jack's hand buzzed, eager to be put to use. He looked across the pen. Hatcher stood similarly poised on his feet, blade held downwards, tar dripping into the sand.

Jack took a step forward, Hatcher didn't move. Jack sighed and stepped forward again. The cheers around the pen began to fade and an expectant hush descended.

Another step and Hatcher smiled.

The weapon in Jack's hand hummed, he took a third step and suddenly the Lieutenant sprang into motion. His thin sabre sprang up towards Jack's face. He slapped it aside with his sword, the crowd roaring as the blades clashed.

Hatcher flicked his wrist, his sword blurring around Jack's. He gave ground, ducking under another slash towards his eyes. Hatcher shuffled forwards, his sabre never still, aiming blows at legs, arms, and head, seemingly with no pattern, a dance that Jack could not read or quell.

He's just too fast!

He dodged aside, circling towards Dalban, but Hatcher came on, relentless; a gleam in his eye. His sword moved like a snake, nipping around Jack's at impossible angles as the crowd cheered him on. He gripped his own weapon hard in both hands, batting away the attacks from left and right. Hatcher's sabre snapped out towards his head, then whipped downwards. Jack misjudged the parry and...

"Point!"

A long line of tar stained the right leg of his trousers. He went down on one knee, dropping his sword. A little blood mixed into the black on his thigh and the leg felt weak.

Shit.

He looked up. Baylen stood nearby behind the rope, his expression strained. Estorin and Fran stood beside him.

Then he saw something else over their heads a moving dot in the sky, a bird in the distance? For some reason he couldn't take his eyes from it.

"Key, are you ready to continue?" It was Dalban. He dragged his eyes away from the sky, focussed on Hatcher's sword again and nodded.

The Lieutenant stepped forward again; his sabre a blur, but this time, Jack parried and stepped in, closing the distance between them. He grabbed at Hatcher's wrist, but the man twisted and dropped low, swinging his blade in a wide arc. Jack managed to step over it, but twisted his ankle and went down again.

What's wrong with me? I should be better than this!

Hatcher loomed over him; sabre extended an inch from his throat.

"Yield."

Jack looked up at the lieutenant's smug grin. His head throbbed painfully now, but his vision was clear. The moving dot he'd seen before was much closer and lower just above Hatcher's shoulder.

"You're beaten," Hatcher said. "Yield!"

Jack smiled and then grabbed the end of the sabre in his left hand, yanking it forwards and twisting out of its way. Hatcher was off balance for a moment, but it was enough for Jack to get his feet under him and bring his own sword down in a powerful arc...

Hatcher parried it.

Somehow he was back on his feet, poised and ready, their places in the sand reversed. Remembering what Baylen had taught him, Jack shuffled left, putting the sun at his back. Hatcher squinted into it and put a hand up to shield his eyes.

"What in the name of the Gods is that?"

His blade dropped and he pointed upwards.