Talon of the Silver Hawk (32 page)

Pasko said, “I've been asking around. This lad came from nowhere, it's a fact. None of the other Keshians I've encountered has ever heard of him; seems odd that a youngster with his skills wouldn't have made some sort of name for himself down in Kesh.''

“Yes, it is odd, isn't it?''

“I don't know if he's going to try to kill you or not, m'lord, but there is something very strange about him. He hasn't moved in an hour.”

“Perhaps he's asleep.''

Pasko said, “Then he has nerves of iron.''

A shout from the hall informed Tal that the bout was over, and he watched the door to see who entered and how he carried himself. A minute later the door flew open and in
strode Count Vahardak, clutching his left arm. Blood ran through his fingers. One of his attendants was trying to console him. “—a close thing, my lord. It could have gone either way, I'm certain. It was . . . luck, nothing more.''

The Count appeared unwilling to be mollified and just barked, “Stop talking and bind this damn thing.''

Into the room came Lieutenant Campaneal, a slight smile of satisfaction on his face. He glanced first at Tal, then at the Keshian, as if saying silently,
I will see one of you in the palace tonight,
but he kept silent. He acknowledged each of them with a slight nod, then went to say something to Count Vahardak.

A Master of the Court entered and announced, “Talwin Hawkins, Kakama of Kesh, places, please.''

The Keshian carried his sword wrapped in a long black cloth rather than in a scabbard. He knelt and unrolled it, and Tal's eyes widened at the sight of it. “That's not the long sword he's been using. What is it?''

Pasko swore. “It's a
katana
; they're used either one- or two-handed and they are sharper than a razor. You don't see many of them around, because the bad ones can't stand against armor, and the good ones are too expensive for any but the richest noble to buy. But for cutting flesh, they're wicked. He's about to show you a style of fighting you've never encountered.”

“Talk to me, Pasko. What must I do?''

As they rose to answer the call of the Master, Pasko said, “Whatever you saw from Nakor in his openhanded fighting, think of that. Misdirection and sudden strikes. You'll probably get only one look, then he's going to be coming at you. If there was ever a time to choose luck over skill, this is it.''

Tal took a slow, deep breath, then let it out as they walked to the door leading to the main court.

They entered to loud applause and cheers, and each man was directed to an end of the room. Markers had been placed at the corners of the largest rectangle on the floor, so Tal knew he had a lot of room to work with.

When the din quieted, the Master in charge spoke. “My lords, ladies and gentleman. This is our final match of the Tournament of the Masters' Court. The winner of this bout will fight tonight in the palace for the Office of the Golden Sword and be acknowledged as the greatest swordsman in the world. On my left, I give you Kakama, from the village of Li-Pe, in the Empire of Great Kesh.''

The applause was thunderous. Kakama was the long shot who had earned his way in from the first round, and many who had no other cause to cheer him on did so for that reason alone.

“To my right, I give you Talwin Hawkins, Squire of Morgan River and Bellcastle, Baronet of Silverlake of the Kingdom of the Isles.''

He motioned for the two men to come to the marks on the floor which showed their starting positions. Then he said, “My lord, Master Kakama, this is a fight to first blood. Obey the instructions of the masters and defend yourself at all times. Upon my command . . . begin!''

Tal saw Kakama take a single step back, raising the sword with his right hand, his left hand outstretched, palm outward. Then suddenly he took a spinning step forward, much like a flying kick Nakor had shown Tal several times, his left hand coming up to join his right and the sword swirling around in an arc at incredible speed, aimed at Tal's head.

Tal ducked and rolled, a move not seen in the tournament before, but one common to alehouse brawls. Several men in the audience hooted and laughed, but most
cheered, for it was clear that the Keshian had intended to take Tal's head from his shoulders.

“Kakama!” cried the Master of the Court. “First blood only!''

The Keshian ignored the instruction and with three little steps made a running charge at Tal. Tal didn't retreat, but leapt forward himself, his own blade coming around as quickly as he could execute the blow.

Steel rang out against steel and the crowd gasped, for even the slowest among them realized that this was no exhibition match, but two men attempting to kill one another.

“Halt!” came the command from the senior judge, but neither man listened. Kakama spun again and leveled a blow that would have gutted Tal had he paused to obey the command.

Tal shouted, “Pasko, dirk!''

Pasko pulled his dirk from his belt and when Kakama lunged again and Tal leapt away, Pasko threw the dirk to him. Tal caught it in his left hand and spun away as Kakama came at him again.

The type of fighting the Keshian employed was alien to Tal, but he hoped the use of the dueling dirk in his left hand, to block his opponent's blade or to use in close if he got inside his guard, would rebalance the contest.

The Masters were calling to the gallery for men to come and stop the contest, which was now clearly beyond the scope of the rules. No one came forth. The idea of trying to separate two of the deadliest fighters on the island didn't appeal to anyone.

Tal thought he heard someone call for crossbows, but couldn't spare the attention to be sure. Kakama was coming at him hard again, and Tal had run out of room in which to dodge.

He barely saved his life with the dirk, for Kakama's
overhead slash suddenly became a sideways blow to the neck with a twist of the wrists. Tal's hand came up in reflex, and he caught the blade just enough to parry the blow. That gave him an opportunity and he lashed out with his own sword, catching the Keshian on the shoulder.

The master cried out, “First blood!” but Kakama ignored the judge and pressed home for the kill.

Tal backed up, as if trying to put some distance between them; then he suddenly planted both his feet and threw the dirk, underarm, as hard as he could at Kakama's stomach.

The Keshian turned his blade, using both hands, so that it pointed downward, and batted the blade aside, but as he did so, Tal came in fast and high with his own sword, and as Kakama attempted to raise his blade to block the second strike, Tal was already inside, his blade slicing deep across the side of the Keshian's neck.

Tal didn't pull back and risk a return blow from the dying man, but rather slammed into him, hitting him as hard as he could. The Keshian flew backward, the sword knocked out of fingers which were quickly going limp. Blood fountained from the gash in his neck.

Tal knelt beside the dying man and looked into his eyes. “Who sent you?” he demanded, but the Keshian said nothing.

Pasko came to stand beside Tal, while the hall was deadly quiet. No one seemed ready to applaud the victory, for it was clear the match had had nothing to do with sport.

The judge walked across the floor and declared: “Since you were clearly defending yourself, Squire Talwin, you are not to be disqualified for failing to halt when commanded to do so.''

Tal looked up from where he knelt, then rose, and with a bitter laugh said, “Can't ruin the King's party tonight.''

The judge looked at Tal but did not reply. At last he said, “Appear at the palace at sundown, Squire Talwin.''

People remained in the gallery, as if unwilling to leave until someone explained what had taken place. Finally, porters appeared and took away the body while other servants cleaned up the blood on the floor.

Tal turned to Pasko. “I really need a bath.''

“And we need to have some questions answered,” Pasko said.

Tal nodded. Pasko placed a cloak over his shoulders and took Tal's sword from him. “I know who I want dead, but now I've got to worry about who wants me dead.''

“And why,” added Pasko grimly.

Tal waited.

The Masters of the Court, the Master of Ceremonies for the Palace, and the Captain of the Royal Household Guard were gathered around Tal and Lieutenant Campaneal. Looking on were half a dozen officers of the royal court.

Master Dubkov of the Masters' Court paced up and down in an obvious state of agitation. “We've never had a display such as that in the two hundred years of the tourney. There have been accidents, and two deaths as a result, but never has one contestant set out with cold-blooded murder as his intent, knowing that there was no way in which the killer could succeed, escape the court.''

Tal had to admit that it appeared the Keshian must have been indifferent to his fate once he had succeeded in his task.

“What troubles us,” said the Captain of the Guard, a gaunt man named Talinko, “is what the consequences might have been should the draw have been different and should that combat have taken place in the palace.''

Lieutenant Campaneal said, “Gentlemen, I watched the contest, as did most of you; Squire Talwin was merely defending himself—and most ably I'll avow—from a man who clearly was intent on killing him. In his place I would have acted in the same fashion.''

“What we want is to ensure there are no repeats of today's events, in the presence of the King,” Captain Talinko stated firmly.

Lieutenant Campaneal spread his hands. “Gentlemen, I serve my lord Kaspar and am certain that his endorsement of my good behavior should be sufficient. Squire Talwin has resided here in Roldem for some time now, I have been told, and is a regular visitor to the Masters' Court. Given his rank and standing in the community, is there any question of his demeanor?” He looked at Master Dubkov, who nodded in agreement. “I think we can ensure there will be a fair contest and nothing will go amiss.''

Captain Talinko nodded. “We believe so, but the safety of the Royal Family is paramount, as well as the safety of our honored guests”—his nod in Campaneal's direction made it clear that he was speaking of the Duke and other visiting dignitaries—“hence we will take precautions. Archers will be placed in the gallery above the royal hall, with orders to shoot either contestant should one of three things occur: upon my order; if the judge cries halt and is not heeded; and if a contestant crosses a line we shall mark between the contest floor and the King's throne.

“And mark me, gentlemen, that last is a true deadline. If for any reason either man steps across that line before the contest is halted and the winner presented to the King, he
shall die before a second step toward the crown can be taken. Is that clear?''

Both men nodded.

“Very well,” said the Captain. “We shall put that shameful exhibition of this afternoon behind us. That will be all.” As everyone began to leave, the Captain said, “Squire Talwin, a moment, please.''

Tal lingered, and when he was alone with the Captain, Talinko asked, “Have you any idea why the Keshian was trying to kill you?''

Tal let out his breath slowly, and shook his head. “Honestly, I can't. I can imagine a lot of reasons, but nothing that makes sense.''

“Humor me with a few of them,” said a voice from the shadows.

Tal smiled, but there was not much humor in it. “Ah, Constable, I was wondering when I'd see you again.''

“This is the second time you've been standing next to a bloody corpse, Squire, and this time you can't tell me you weren't the target. You may have noticed that we had a few witnesses to the deed this time.''

“Including me and several members of the Royal Family,” added Captain Talinko.

“Talwin,” said Drogan, “the reasons, if you please.''

“I've had my share of dalliances with some young women who take it poorly I'm not as interested in long-term alliances as they are.''

“They think you're going to marry them and react badly when you don't,” said Drogan. “Continue.”

“I've done fairly well at the gaming tables.''

“I've already looked into that, and from what I've heard from various owners of the halls in which you gamble, your winnings are steady, but modest enough that no one should be looking to kill you out of revenge or for an unpaid debt.''

“I've never lost a bout in the Masters' Court.''

“Hardly a reason to pay the fee to the Guild of Death.''

“Guild of Death?''

Drogan looked at Tal as if he was speaking to a particularly slow student. Tal had seen that expression from Robert, Nakor, and Magnus over the years. “The man was prepared to die, expected to die. He could have put poison in your drink, stuck a knife in your back on a dark night, cut your throat while you slept, or killed you any of a dozen different ways, but instead he tried to kill you during a public tournament, in the one thing
you were recognized as being very good at
. In other words, he knowingly gave you a chance to survive while expecting to die himself.

“He was either crazy or a member of the Assassin's Guild. He was a Keshian Izmali, and he died because he was ordered to die.''

“It makes no sense,” said Tal.

“Agreed, and moreover, it's costly. I've asked around, and a suicide contract like this is likely to cost in excess of ten thousand golden dolphins.” The dolphin was a slightly heavier coin than the Keshian imperial or the Kingdom sovereign, so he was talking about eleven thousand gold coins by common trade parlance. “It makes less sense the more you think on it.''

“Someone paid ten years' wages to give me a chance to survive?''

“I hate it when things aren't simple,” said the Constable.

Captain Talinko frowned. “I appreciate that you have a crime to explain to His Majesty, even if that explanation is less than complete, but I have duties I must see to. Gentlemen,” he said with a nod, and left.

Constable Drogan said, “Tal, I've seen you play cards, and you're a good enough bluffer, but I've been a constable
for the better part of twenty years, and I can tell when a man is lying. You really have no idea who's behind this, do you?''

“By the gods, Dennis, I do not. I'm barely twenty years old, and I've traveled a bit, so it's hard to imagine I've made an enemy in that time who would stage such an elaborate assassination.”

“I don't think that's what it was,” said Drogan. “After thinking about it some more, I think it was more of a test.''

“A test?''

“Someone wanted to see just how good you were, and sent someone better than anyone you were likely to meet here at the tourney.''

“Better?” said Tal. “The winner here is considered the best in the world.''

“Don't let that vanity sweep you away if you win, Tal.” Drogan put his hand on Tal's arm and started walking him toward the door. “You need to get ready for tonight. We'll talk as we walk.

“Look, you may be the best of the bunch who chose to walk into that building and start whacking away at each other, but the Izmali are just one of a dozen different bunches who spend every day in their lives learning how to kill people.” They moved aside as a pair of servants carried a long table back toward the Captain's conference room. “There may be half a dozen soldiers scattered from here to the Sunset Isles who are better than anyone on this island but who couldn't gain leave of their lords and masters to come here to compete. There are probably men your equal who can't be bothered to travel here and waste their time, no matter the prize. I'm sure there are brilliant swordsmen the world over who have never heard of Roldem, let alone the Masters' Court or this contest.

“If you win, don't take the title of ‘world's finest swordsman' seriously. It could get you killed.''

They reached the far end of the hall. “You're through there,” Drogan said, indicating the door. “You'll find a salon where you can rest, be massaged, eat, sleep, whatever you need until you're called.” He put out his hand and shook Tal's. “Good luck tonight.''

As the Constable turned to leave, Tal said, “Dennis?”

“Yes?” The Constable paused.

“Am I under suspicion for anything?”

Dennis smiled. “Unless you're paying a prince's ransom to have someone try to kill you, in order to impress the ladies, I can't see how you'd be under suspicion for this bloody nonsense.” Then the smile faded. “As for anything else, I'm always suspicious, my friend. Of everybody.”

He turned and left Tal alone in the hall. Tal weighed the Constable's words and decided that at least for the next hour or so he needed to put all this nonsense out of his mind. For while there was nothing remotely whimsical about the situation, it made no sense whatsoever.

Tal waited to be summoned for the final match. The room assigned to him was sumptuous, with all types of refreshments from a light broth to a full ham, fresh fruit to cakes and other sweets. Wine, ale, and fresh water had been placed in pitchers on the board, and two servants waited nearby for any other need he might have. There was a bed if he wanted a quick nap.

Tal sat on the bed while Pasko hovered over the refreshments, nibbling at this and that. Magnus appeared through a door from the servants' wing, took one look at the servants, and said, “Leave us, please, for a few minutes.''

The two servants looked to Tal, who nodded, then
quickly departed. When they were gone, Tal said, “How did you get into the palace?''

Magnus smiled, a hint of self-satisfaction on his lips. “If I want to go somewhere, it takes a great deal more than a few guards at the door to keep me out.''

Tal shrugged, conceding the point. “Then I suppose the appropriate question is, what brings you here so unexpectedly?”

“I've just spoken to our agents in Kesh. The assassin was a member of a particularly obscure sect of Izmali, but we're attempting to see what we can discover about them.''

Tal didn't ask how Magnus had spoken to agents thousands of miles away, assuming that the magician must have some far-speaking magic or just used his powers to take himself there and come back. “What I'm trying to puzzle out is if they will try again, or if this was some sort of test which I passed.''

“We won't know unless they try to kill you again,” said Magnus.

“I think it's a test of some sort,” said Pasko. “If they'd wanted you dead, m'lord, they'd have found a lot of easier ways, as I said before. I think someone out there is trying to take your measure.''

Tal sat back on the bed with his back against the wall. He picked up a pillow and put it behind himself to get more comfortable. “So then the question becomes, who measures me and why?''

“Two possibilities spring to mind,” said Magnus. “Whoever sent those death-dancers to kill me might have decided to take an interest in whoever foiled them.''

Tal said, “But how would they know it was me? I mean, we were all on the island, and I was taken back to the estate at once. It could have been any number of people on the island who ruined their attack.''

“The fastest way to end up dead, m'lord, is to underestimate our enemies. They are devious beyond understanding, and I'm certain they have as many agents out working as we do, if not more.''

“You think there are spies on Sorcerer's Isle?''

“Not there, but in other places where they can get intelligence about some of the things that transpire on the island,” answered Magnus. “The farther removed from my parents we are, the less secure we are; that's a fact of life for those of us in service to them.

“You've been out from under their direct care for more than three years now, Tal, and over that time someone may have discovered just enough clues to determine that you were the one to foil the attempt on my life.''

“Revenge is unlikely if I understand anything about the nature of the conflict you've only hinted at, Magnus.''