~ 5 ~
The Master vengeful
The noise surrounding the arena was deafening. The crowd, a heaving beast during the earlier competitions, had swelled to twice its size. Soldiers now lined the arena’s perimeter to keep people from spilling onto the ground marked for the competitors. Wagons pulled by teams of oxen rolled across the muddy arena as men forked hay onto the ground for others to rake it flat and create a dry bed.
Radimar noted the large perimeter left untouched. That would be where Simusor Alreed would try to push him. Muddy ground was hard to fight on and made even the most adept fighter slow and clumsy.
Alreed swaggered into the arena first. Like Radimar, he wore minimal harness. Unlike Radimar, he carried sword and shield. The crowd bellowed his name amid a thunderous round of cheering and applause. The king’s champion raised his arms in a victory sign, circling the arena so that everyone could get a good look at him. People stretched out their arms, hands grasping in the hopes of touching him with fawning admiration. He slowed as he drew closer to where Uhlfrida and Jahna sat.
The icy calm Radimar held onto threatened to melt under a fresh swell of fury as Alreed gave a quick bow, and even from his place in the billet’s doorway, he could see the way the other man’s gaze raked the cloaked and hooded Jahna.
Sodrin surged forward with a snarl, only to be brought up short by Radimar arm-barring him across the chest a second time.
“Hold, Sodrin.” He turned to his student who resembled an angry bull, nostrils flared and snorting.
“How can you be so calm? I know she isn’t your sister, but still…”
Radimar wanted to tell him that the hardest struggle he’d face in this match would be holding onto that calm. Jahna might not be his sister (a fact of which he was inordinately glad), but he still cared for her and was as offended by Alreed’s earlier remarks as Sodrin. Instead, he said “Third rule of combat: fight with purpose, not emotion.”
The king’s champion completed his circumnavigation of the arena and came to a halt in front of King Rodan and the queen. He gave a deep bow before turning to face the billet at the opposite end of the arena. The crowd’s chanting grew louder when he banged the flat of his sword against his shield, an unspoken challenge for his opponent who currently remained out of sight.
Radimar hooked his helm to his belt, took up his swords and turned to Sodrin with a last admonishment. “You stay here. No matter what happens out there, you hold your temper and do nothing but observe.” Sodrin opened his mouth to argue, and Radimar shook his head. “Do as I say, Sodrin.”
He strode out of the billet and into the arena. The crowd’s greeting wasn’t as crazed as it had been for Alreed, but cheers went up at the sight of one of the much vaunted Ilinfan swordmasters entering the field.
Radimar didn’t walk the arena’s perimeter but cut a line straight down its center toward Alreed and the place where the king and queen were seated. He ignored the champion whose eyes narrowed at the small slight, and saluted the royal couple with a bow of his own and his swords crossed in front of him. He then trekked to where Lord Uhlfrida sat and bowed a second time.
Uhlfrida gave an approving nod and a hand signal indicating good luck. Jahna’s face was pinched with worry, and she didn’t smile when her eyes met his, not at first. He touched the place under his hauberk where he’d pinned her brooch to his gambeson and gave a quick nod. Only then did her lips turn up a little.
“Good fortune,” she mouthed slowly so he could understand.
Once the salutes were over, both men donned their helmets and took their places in the arena’s center to face each other in the ready stance. Radimar found it telling that Alreed had armed as if for battle, wielding sword and shield, while he armed for dueling. The king’s champion wasn’t interested so much in entertaining the crowd as he was in winning.
After hearing Alreed’s remarks and that of his lickspittles about Jahna, Radimar wished he’d brought axe and shield. Still, as Sodrin said, he couldn’t murder Alreed on the field. Doing so guaranteed the king’s displeasure and possible punishment. So two swords it was, and as he promised Sodrin, Radimar intended to make Alreed very sorry he ever issued his challenge.
The arena marshal stood nearby, arm raised in anticipation of the king’s signal. At Rodan’s nod, he dropped his arm and shouted “Begin!”
The crowd’s thunder faded away in Radimar’s ears as he and his opponent circled each other. “Purpose,” he muttered to himself.
Their first clash happened on a sudden rush from Alreed with Radimar easily deflecting the blow the other man delivered. Alreed was a worthy opponent—strong, fast, and experienced, and his sword-shield pairing was a better choice than the two-sword pairing Radimar chose. Radimar understood how he had earned the title of king’s champion.
While they were evenly matched in size and height, it soon became obvious that Alreed relied on aggressive charges and powerful blows to overwhelm his adversary. Radimar was quicker on his feet, his two-handed fighting style suitable for both speed and reach. The swords he wielded were of equal length, and he used both to attack and defend.
The duel was hard fought, with both men slamming into each other in a clash of armor, muscle and shield. The audience’s loyalty was a fickle thing, swinging in Alreed’s favor one moment and Radimar’s another.
Radimar started out as defender in the duel but turned the tide, becoming the aggressor as Alreed slowed, and his shield arm tired. Frustration replaced cool-headed calculation, and Alreed began leaving openings in his defenses that Radimar exploited with zeal, landing blows that didn’t cut but bruised, beat, and wearied his opponent.
When Radimar smashed his boot heel into Alreed’s inner thigh, the champion’s bellow carried above the audience’s cheers. He staggered to one knee, shield and sword raised in full defense as Radimar battered him with both swords.
They had traveled from the arena’s center to its muddier edge. Intent on delivering a relentless beating to his adversary, Radimar didn’t notice until it was too late. One step landed him outside the straw and onto the slippery mud. He stumbled, and Alreed saw his chance.
With a triumphant shout he lunged forward, head-butting Radimar hard enough in the stomach to knock the wind out of him. Both men crashed to the groud, Alreed on top of Radimar. The champion abandoned his shield to rip at Radimar’s helmet and expose his head for a skull cracking. Radimar heaved to one side just in time to avoid the full impact of a blow as Alreed drove his sword pommel toward Radimar’s face. The pommel clipped the edge of his helm and caught the curve of his cheek just below his eye. For a moment, Radimar’s vision went black on that side, and the inside of his skull vibrated.
He had managed to keep a grip on his own swords when he fell and used their pommels to slam them into into Alreed’s sides. A satisfying pop sounded, and Alreed groaned. It wasn’t enough to dislodge him. The swords were too long to maneuver in the close space between them. Radimar released one and smashed the heel of his gauntleted hand into the underside of his opponent’s chin.
This time Alreed screamed and hurtled backwards, but not before showering Radimar in a spray of blood, teeth and what he suspected were bits of Alreed’s tongue.
Radimar sprang to his feet, snatched up his sword and retreated back to the straw as he waited for Alreed to rise. The side of his face throbbed hard enough to make his entire head pound and he wiped away blood not his own so he could see properly. Had the champion’s blow struck him full on, he would have killed Radimar.
Alreed rose on a stagger, blood coursing from his mouth and down his chin in a crimson stream. He grinned at Radimar, revealing broken teeth and spaces where no teeth remained. His breathing gurgled, and he spat gobbets of blood into the straw. Animalistic growls vibrated from his throat as he retrieved his sword and shield. The man who said he’d take Jahna like a dog was transforming into one himself, made rabid by pain and fury.
Sensing that this duel, begun as an exercise of frivolous entertainment, had turned both personal and deadly, the crowd screamed for more. For Radimar, their screeching was nothing more than a whisper. There was only Alreed and his defeat.
It didn’t take long after that. The swordmaster of Ilinfan proved to all who witnessed the fight that those who trained with the Brotherhood of Ilinfan knew and understood the art of the sword like no other.
Alreed’s attacks had lost all finesse, becoming nothing more than the charges of a maddened bull. Radimar dodged them effortlessly, using his own swords either to deliver land multiple bruising strikes. When the disappointed king finally declared him the winner, Radimar had Alreed on his knees, facing the king, one of Radimar’s blades pressed to the champion’s throat in the sign of victory.
People roared his name and soon a hail of flowers, ribbons, scarves, gloves and hats rained down in the arena, pelting Radimar as he saluted the king and walked away from the now prone and bloodied Alreed. The sound of his name shouted in chant filled the night air, but the triumph he felt sprang not from the crowd’s adulation but the internal satisfaction of wreaking vengeance on the man who had insulted a woman so undeserving of the offense.
Once more he paused before Lord Uhlfrida whose jubilant expression assured Radimar he’d just made his employer a wealthier man than he had been earlier in the day. Jahna’s own features held a mixture of joy and fear. For him. She clasped her hands together and offered him a low bow, one mimicked by her father. Radimar bowed in return and tapped his shoulder where the brooch rested unharmed under his hauberk.
He exited the field, now littered with favors of every type and met a grinning Sodrin who looked ready to jump out of his skin from sheer elation. “That was incredible! I’ve never seen the like in any Exhibition!” He inhaled a long breath to calm himself. “And you defended my sister’s honor,” he said in a much more even voice. “You were right, Sir Radimar. You didn’t kill him, but you sure made him wish you had.”
The rest of the night passed in a blur. King Rodan requested an audience and sent an armed guard to escort Radimar to him so the shrieking crowd wouldn’t strip him naked in a frenzied bid to carry a small token home from the swordmaster who had beaten the king’s champion in the arena.
He refused Rodan’s offer to join the royal guard and declined the second offer of replacing Alreed as royal champion. The king scowled. “I didn’t expect a refusal, swordmaster.”
Sensing he was on dangerous ground, Radimar bowed low and tried to ignore the dizziness the movement produced. “I’m honored by your offers, Your Majesty, but I can best serve you and the kingdom of Belawat as a teacher for those men who fight in your name. It is an Ilinfan swordmaster’s first duty.”
Rodan grudgingly acceded to Radimar’s argument. “At least dine with the queen and me tomorrow evening. We will expect you.” It was less of an invitation and more of a command, and Radimar readily accepted though he wished instead he could spend such time with the Uhlfrida family.
He didn’t see Jahna until the small hours of the morning, when the palace had finally quieted and many of the celebrants had finally found their beds or some alcove in which to sleep before they rose again at morning to participate in the last day of the Delyalda festivities.
She stood in the first chamber of their suite, near the shuttered window, head bent as she read a manuscript by the light of a single candle she held in one hand. She looked up as Radimar opened the door and slipped inside. All around them, servants slept on pallets laid on the floor, and the chorus of snores and snuffles hid the light tread of his feet on the stones.
“You are a popular man,” she whispered when he came to stand beside her.
“A tired one as well,” he replied.
Her gaze searched his face, resting for a time on the purpling bruise marring his cheek where Alreed struck him. Her lips quirked. “By tomorrow you’ll have a mark to match mine.”
She’d never know about the filth the king’s champion or his two lackeys had spewed about her. Nor would they say anything else about her, good or bad. He made sure of it. Alreed was already under the care of an army of leeches, in no shape to boast about fucking anybody much less actually performing the act.
Radimar had found the two who joined him in his slander. One was guaranteed to piss blood for the next few days, and the other nursed two black eyes, but both had ardently promised to keep their mouths shut about Uhlfrida’s daughter in the future.
He touched a tender spot under his eye with a fingertip. “It won’t match my hair,” he teased.
Jahna’s lips tightened to stifle her laughter. “Well no, but somehow I don’t think that will frighten away your admirers.”
“Why are you still awake so late?”
She waved the parchment in front of him, her eyes gleaming in the candle’s gentle flickering. “I received a message earlier that Dame Stalt and the Archives council wish to meet with me regarding your accounts of Ilinfan that I recorded.”
He scanned the missive she handed him. “This sounds very promising.” He handed the parchment back to her, noting how slender her ink-stained hands were.
She set it on the small table next to her. “I hope so. Had they rejected my documents, they would have informed Father through messenger. These meetings are only for those whose work they’re seriously considering for acceptance into the Archives.”
“Then I hope you have the good luck I did today.”
She startled him when her hand reached out, grabbed his and gave it a quick squeeze before letting go again. “That wasn’t luck; it was skill. Amazing, wondrous skill. I’ve always known you were an excellent swordsman, but to see it in its full glory today…” She shook her head. “I don’t have the words adequate enough to describe it. If my brother learns only a sliver of what you know, he will be a formidable fighter.”
Praise for his expertise had cascaded down on him from all quarters, but none seemed as meaningful as Jahna’s compliments. He bowed. “I thank you. Let me return the favor and offer you a token to carry with you when you meet with the dames tomorrow.” He fished a carved bit of black stone out of the pouch he wore at his belt and handed it to her.
She held it up to her candle, fingertips sliding over its surface as she traced the etched design. That ever-present inquisitiveness blazed to life in her eyes. “It’s beautiful. What is it?”
“A blessing stone. Chiseled out of the face of the cliffs that line the shores of Ancilar in the country of Gaur. It’s supposed to protect a person from drowning and from storms, as well as give a measure of good luck.”
She clutched it in her fist. “Thank you!
He reached back into the pouch. “And before I forget.” Her brooch lay in his open palm, a delicate thing out of place amid the calluses and scars that decorated his hand. “Your token worked its magic.”
Those slender fingers curled over his, folding them until he clutched the brooch in a closed grip. “I’d like it if you kept it. For the next time you need a little luck.”
Some small part of him unknotted. He hadn’t realized how much he didn’t want to give up the token until she told him to keep it. The amethyst had value, but the meaning behind her offering was priceless. He tucked it back into the pouch without argument. The candle in her hand pooled more wax into its dish, reminding him of the hour’s lateness. “I’ll leave you to seek your rest. Good evening, my lady.”
He turned but was halted by her touch on his elbow. “Thank you, Sir Radimar.” The fervency in her voice surprised him.
He tilted his head, puzzled by her tone and the fact that she thanked him twice for the blessing stone he gave her. “It’s a small thing, my lady. We can all use a little protection now and then.”
“Not that,” she said and shook her head. “Though I will treasure the stone. I thank you for the gift of the dancing, of the garden, and of our time. For the first time since we’ve attended Delyalda, I understand why people love it so. That’s your doing. I thank you for showing me its magic.”
She was worth every drop of blood he might spill in defending her name, her dignity, and her character. Jahna Uhlfrida, marked and shunned, was unique. In the full bloom of adulthood, she would be glorious.
He bowed. “Believe me, my lady, the pleasure is mine.”
Her soft “Goodnight, Radimar” followed him out the door, a caress on his shoulders.