The City of Ravens (9 page)

Illyth stiffened. “I intend nothing of the sort. In fact, I don’t much care for your words, sir.”

“And I don’t much care for finding this guttersnipe’s hands in my pockets,” Lord Panther said. “You should be more careful in choosing your associates, my lady.”

“The lady has nothing to do with this,” Jack said. “Listen, I am a reasonable man. Although I am under no compunction to do so, I’ll show you my token by way of negotiating a mutually acceptable solution to our disagreement.”

Lord Panther pried his token out of Jack’s hand. Then he shoved the rogue hard with his free hand. Jack kept his feet but knocked over a side table in doing so. A chorus of breaking dishes drew the attention of everyone nearby.

“I have no wish to settle anything, you cutpurse,” Panther said. “Acknowledge your guilt and apologize this instant, or leave this Game at once.”

“Hold!” The crowd parted as the Red Lord appeared, tall and stately. “What quarrel disturbs my revel?”

“It seems you have invited a thief to your party, my lord,” Panther said, nodding at Jack. “I caught this cretin pawing through my pockets.”

“Lord Panther misunderstands,” Jack replied. “It was a simple accident.”

“I misunderstand nothing,” Panther snapped. “Come on, you. You’re leaving right now.”

“Wait,” the Red Lord said. “This is my revel, and I shall decide matters of justice. You claim that Lord Fox is a thief. Lord Fox denies the charge. There can be only one resolution.”

“What’s that?” Jack asked, more than a little concerned.

“Trial by combat,” the Red Lord said. “We shall let truth and piety decide the quarrel. No unrighteous man can stand before the truth. Bring me a pair of dueling swords!”

Jack was fairly certain that that statement was not necessarily true, but he was quite certain that he didn’t want to fight a duel this very instant. Was this part of the Game, a mock fight to assuage Lord Panther’s damaged honor? Or did the Game players and organizers expect to see blood on the marble floor before the night was through?

“I would be delighted to oblige, Red Lord,” he said carefully, “but I have recently endured a long and debilitating sickness—not contagious, no need to worry!—and I’m not really up for a sword fight at the moment.”

“If you will not stand against your accuser, Lord Fox, we must rule that his claims are founded in truth and judge accordingly,” the Red Lord said. “How can it be otherwise?”

“Perhaps I could designate a proxy?” Jack asked.

“In the kingdoms of the Faceless Lords, no such practice exists,” the Red Lord intoned. “Why, you might choose a proxy based on nothing more than sheer physical skill for the purpose of gaining an unfair advantage!”

“That would never occur to me,” Jack said, pure sincerity in his voice. “It was the farthest thought from my mind.” He licked his lips and rubbed his hands nervously at his hips. “What of a battle of wits, then? Or a contest of balancing plates upon our heads? If Lord Panther is challenging me, don’t I as the challenged have the privilege of choosing the weapons?”

“All true gentlemen know well how to argue with their blades,” the Red Lord said, “and, if you have the strength of your convictions to shield you, no harm can possibly come to you. Now will you meet Lord Panther’s challenge or not?”

Jack let the silence stretch so long that the gathering crowd began to grow restless. He might have ignored them despite the approbation in their eyes, bat his gaze fell on Illyth. Even through the mask, he could see the mortification in her downcast face and slumping shoulders.

He couldn’t disappoint her on the first night of the Game. “I accept the challenge,” he declared in a ringing voice. “Lord Panther has allowed your fine drink to addle his wits, my lord. I would rather not fight a man in such a state and did earnestly make every effort to avoid this passage of arms. I only hope that I can avoid injuring him in some lasting way!”

“Not only do I call you a thief, but a braggart and a buffoon!” Panther said. “By Tyis sainted ears, don’t you ever shut up?”

A servant trotted up to the Red Lord, bearing a large wooden case. He opened it and bowed, presenting two fine, matched blades to the Faceless Lord. The cloaked figure studied the swords for a moment, then nodded in satisfaction.

“Clear a circle fifteen paces across, in the center of the floor!” he commanded. The crowd surged back in response to his voice. Conversation fell to an excited buzz as the players whispered and speculated.

Jack found himself standing on one side, a gleaming sword in his hand, watching Lord Panther stalk back and forth, working his muscles to loosen up. The other man seemed bigger, stronger, and not anywhere near as drunk as he should have been.

“Jack, please be careful,” Illyth begged.

“I cannot abide his insults,” Jack said calmly. “Justice must be attended to.”

The Red Lord moved to the center of the circle and raised his hands. “Gentlemen, shall three touches serve honor tonight?”

“Fine,” grunted Lord Panther.

“Of course,” Jack replied.

“Excellent. Whoever leaves the circle, loses his weapon, or asks for quarter shall lose on the instant. When I lower my hand, you may commence.” The Red Lord backed away, his arm high. Then he dropped it like an executioner’s axe.

“Have at you!” Panther bellowed. He leaped forward, lashing out in a head-high cut that might have decapitated Jack outright if the smaller man hadn’t ducked under the swing. Jack riposted with a sturdy thrust straight ahead, but Lord Panther twisted his lean hips and allowed Jack’s point to glide past without making contact. Panther countered with a backhanded slash under Jack’s blade, and now Jack had to leap as far as he could straight up into the air, drawing his feet up under his body and grunting with effort. “Ho! Stand still!”

“Careful!” Jack said. “You might hurt someone.”

He dashed aside, and spent the next ten or twenty heartbeats darting round and round inside the circle,

trying to stay ahead of Lord Panther’s powerful swings. The man was no casual student of swordplay—he was well acquainted with what he was doing, and he didn’t seem to care if a “touch” took off one of Jack’s limbs by mistake. When Jack tried to stand his ground, the man launched a reckless flurry of slashes and thrusts that instantly threw the rogue into complete defense, ducking and parrying to keep Panther’s blade at some safer distance. He decided he’d picked the wrong man to pickpocket.

“Stand and fight!” the lord roared.

Two quick passes of the blades, and then Lord Panther hammered through Jack’s guard and slammed the blade into the thief s upper thigh, a blow that spun Jack to the ground and made the dueling sword flash a brilliant white light. The bystanders gasped and roared in delight.

“One touch for Lord Panther!” the Red Lord cried.

Stunned, Jack gingerly felt for his wound, expecting to see his blood pouring out of a gash half a hand deep, but he felt nothing, other than a deep, shocking sting. He rolled over and looked at his leg. There wasn’t a mark on him. The swords, he realized. They’re enchanted! They don’t cut!

“Do you yield?” his opponent snarled.

“Hardly,” Jack said. He pushed himself to his feet. His left leg would stiffen up later, but for now it held his weight well enough. He could take a sting or two. “A child’s blow, feebly struck. I permitted it so that you would not lose your spirit.”

“Excellent,” the Panther said. “I shall endeavor to strike you harder then!”

“Continue!” the Red Lord commanded.

Lord Panther charged up fast, his blade flashing, but this time Jack dived forward and rolled up underneath his opponent’s guard. He felt Panther’s sword miss the crown of his head by inches, whickering past his ear, and then

he stabbed the point of his own blade into Panther’s groin. The blade flashed white and jolted in Jack’s hand, imparting its painful message. “Ha!” he cried.

The audience groaned in dismay. Lord Panther made a strangled sound and dropped to his hands and knees beside Jack.

“Basely struck,” he gasped.

“One touch for Lord Fox,” the Red Lord said. Some in the audience hissed in disapproval. “That was an ignoble blow, sir.”

“My apologies, lord,” Jack said, scrambling to his feet. He hopped away on his good leg, grinning devilishly. “I thought my opponent was shorter. Would you care to yield?”

Lord Panther climbed to his feet and stood a moment with his hands on his knees. “I’m not ready to yield yet,” he said slowly. With great care, he straightened up and swung his blade slowly left to right, right to left, as if reminding himself of its weight.

“Gentlemen, continue,” the Red Lord said.

This time, both combatants circled cautiously. Thrust and parry, thrust and parry, the blades clanged against each other with shrill rings. Jack held his own for a time, although he recognized that Panther was a better swordsman than he—and then Lord Panther launched a feint that caught Jack squarely on his weakened left leg, and as Jack’s knee buckled, Panther reversed his attack and whipped the blade of his sword fast and hard against the back of the rogue’s head.

White lights exploded in Jack’s eyes. He tumbled to the marble floor like a puppet with its strings cut. His right ear was filled with a roaring sound that wouldn’t go away, and the sword went skittering from his hand across the stone. He lay on his back, staring at the bright lights

popping in front of his eyes for what seemed to be just a moment. Then he drifted down into deep, soft, darkness.

The next thing Jack knew, he found himself staring up at a lovely, pastoral scene of green fields and dancing nymphs, his skull aching as if it had been split in two. He was in a small, dark-paneled room, resting on a large, soft divan. The ceiling was painted elaborately and finished with a lovely gold filigree, framing the picture above him. There was no sign of the Red Lord or Lord Panther or any of the other guests.

“I seem to have misplaced the party,” he announced to no one in particular.

“The Game’s over for tonight,” said Illyth from somewhere behind him. She sat down beside him and leaned over to study his eyes. “You’ve been unconscious for almost an hour. Do you think you can walk?”

“Aid me, dear Illyth, and I’ll find out,” Jack said. He accepted her arm and gingerly sat upright. His legs were rubbery but serviceable. Very carefully, he reached up to feel his head, and discovered a long knot the size of a hen’s egg just above and behind his right ear. “Ooooh,” he moaned.

“A hard blow. I’m surprised you woke up at all.” Disapproval tightened Dlyth’s voice, and there was no gentleness in the viselike grip she maintained on his upper arm. “You could have gotten yourself killed, Jack. You’re no swordsman!”

“It may seem that my talents lie elsewhere,” Jack admitted. “My style is unorthodox, though, and it would be difficult for the untrained observer accurately to measure my skill. Lord Panther simply struck me a lucky blow.”

“But you refused to back down, even when you could see that your opponent was better than you.”

Jack’s wits must have been addled from the knock on his head. Without thinking about it, he told the truth. “I couldn’t disappoint you,” he said. “I know you’ve had your heart set on the Game.”

“Perhaps you should have considered that before you tried picking pockets,” Illyth scolded him. “Honestly, Jack, I’m dumbfounded. You should know better than that!” She walked him toward the door, steadying him with one arm. Jack valiantly ignored the nausea and dizziness and allowed her to lead him through the abandoned banquet hall to the foyer and the driveway outside. Jack’s coach was long gone, but it seemed that the master of the house had hired a couple of carriages for the convenience of his guests, and Illyth had a footman hail one. “I can’t believe you resorted to stealing clues!” she hissed as they waited for the coach.

“It wasn’t quite like that,” Jack said. They clambered into the carriage and settled themselves. Then the coach clattered off into the night. They rode together in silence for a few minutes. Each jolt of the wheels sent fiery spikes through Jack’s skull; he groaned softly with each rut or misplaced cobblestone. Between bumps he looked over at Illyth, but the noblewoman was glowering out the window at the city streets. Jack winced—he couldn’t allow her to become so upset that she’d drop him altogether. If nothing else, he needed her for the Game. He decided to engage her scholarly leanings and change the subject at the same time. “I found something about Gerard today,” he offered.

He guessed right; she couldn’t resist an opening like that. “Really?” she asked, looking over at him.

“I visited the library of the Wizard’s Guild and studied old membership rolls,” he said. “You would have been proud of me, my dear, hours with my nose in a musty old book, trying to ferret out a clue!”

Perhaps you might be salvageable after all,” she said. “Go on.”

“I discovered that the Guild assigned one Durezil to catalog and close up Gerard’s rooms when Gerard did not return from his last adventure.”

“Durezil? The fellow who was eaten by trolls?”

Jack nodded in appreciation. “Why, yes, in fact, the very wizard. I’m surprised that you would remember such a thing.”

“Oh, the great majority of the adventurers I studied died in very mysterious circumstances. Durezil stands out because his companions not only returned to Raven’s Bluff, but they actually recorded the circumstances of his end.”

“What of the Sarkonagael or any mysterious books in Durezil’s possession?”

Illyth frowned, thinking. “I seem to recall that Durezil’s companions sold off most of his belongings and split the proceeds,” she said. “I’d have to consult my notes to be certain, but I seem to recall that a wizard calling himself Iphegor the Black might have bought many of Durezil’s old books.”

Jack grinned. “I know where Iphegor the Black lives,” he said. “My thanks, Illyth! I am in your debt.”

“I thought you wanted to know about Gerard for some kind of play production, Jack. Is it this book that you’re really interested in?”

“Oh, from what I’ve heard of Gerard, it was important to him,” Jack said quickly, “and I’m thinking of increasing the role of Gerard in my play. Or maybe I’ll cast the book as the villain and say that it uses its owners to do terrible things. Now what do we know about the Game riddle? Let us pass the rest of the ride by assembling our clues and analyzing them.”