Part 28 (1/2)

'I think I understand,' said Diagoras. 'If a friend in an ugly dress asks your opinion, you'll give it honestly and break her heart. But if an enemy in an ugly dress comes before you, you'll tell her she looks like a queen.'

Druss chuckled, then burst into laughter. 'Ah, laddie,' he said, 'I am beginning to look forward to this trip.'

'I'm glad one of us is,' muttered Diagoras.

Servaj Das was a careful man, painstaking in all that he did. He had found that attention to detail was the most important factor in the success of any undertaking. Originally a builder by trade, he had learned that without adequate foundations even the most beautifully constructed building would crumble. In the army he had soon discovered that this principle could be applied to soldiering. The uninitiated believed that swords and arrows were the most vital tools to a soldier. Servaj Das knew that without good boots and a full food pack no army could prevail.

He sat now in a high room at the Naashanite emba.s.sy, staring out over the harbour, and considering the mission orders he had received by carrier pigeon. He was to locate and kill a man swiftly.

How could one pay attention to detail when the orders specified speed? Speed almost always led to problems. In normal circ.u.mstances Servaj would have followed the man for some days, establis.h.i.+ng his routines, getting to know and understand the way the man's mind worked. In doing this he would better be able to judge the manner of the man's death. Poison, or the knife, or the garrotting wire. Servaj preferred poison. Sometimes when he followed a man, and observed his habits, he found himself liking the victim. He had never forgotten the merchant who always stopped to pet an old dog at the street corner. It seemed to Servaj that a man who took pity on a mangy, unwanted hound must have a kind heart. Often the man would feed the creature small t.i.tbits he had taken along for the purpose. Servaj sighed. He had been forced to garrotte him when the poison failed.

Not a pleasant memory. Servaj filled a goblet with watered wine. Sipping it, he rose from his chair and stretched his lean frame. His back gave a satisfying crack. Placing the goblet on the table he interlaced his fingers, and cracked his knuckles. No, poison was better.

Then one was not forced to observe the death.

Picking up the small piece of parchment he scanned again the message. 'Kill him. Swiftest.

Recover Swords.'

He was not happy.

This was not some offending politician, soft, fat and weak. Nor a merchant unused to violence. This was the d.a.m.ned.

Servaj had been in the army during the time of the Insurrection. One of the moments he would never forget was when Skilgannon had fought the swordmaster, Agasarsis. As a common soldier Servaj had no intimate knowledge of the reasons for the duel, but gossip among the men claimed that Skilgannon's closeness to the Queen had enraged the Prince Baliel. This jealousy came to the fore when Skilgannon was almost killed at the Battle of the Ford. BaliePs forces had mysteriously drawn back, leaving Skilgannon and his company of horse exposed to an enemy counter attack. Baliel, it was said, maintained he had misinterpreted his battle orders. The Queen replaced him as the Marshal of the Right Flank. Enraged and embittered, Baliel made it known that he believed Skilgannon had engineered the debacle to discredit him. The bitterness grew during the next few weeks, until finally the famous swordsman, Agasarsis - a sworn servant of Baliel - found an excuse to challenge Skilgannon.

He was not the first. During the two years of the Insurrection seven others had crossed swords with the d.a.m.ned. Only one had lived, and he had lost his right arm. But Agasarsis was different. The man had fought sixty duels in his thirty-one years. His skills were legendary and there was much excitement in the camp as the day dawned. There was also unrest. The Queen's army at this time numbered thirty thousand men, and not all could witness the epic confrontation. In the end lots were drawn. Servaj had been offered twenty silver pieces for his pa.s.s to the contest, and had refused. Duels like this one were rare indeed, and he had no wish to miss it.

There was rain in the morning, and the ground was soggy and treacherous, but the sun shone brightly by midday. The one thousand men privileged to witness the fight had formed a large circle some two hundred feet in diameter. Skilgannon was the first of the combatants to arrive. Striding through the ranks of the waiting men he stripped off his battle jerkin and moved effortlessly through a series of exercises to loosen his muscles.

Even then Servaj was a keen student of human behaviour. He looked for signs of nervousness in the general, but could detect none. Agasarsis arrived. He was more powerfully built than Skilgannon, and when he stripped off his s.h.i.+rt he looked awesome.

Both men sported the crested plume of hair that signified their swordmaster status, but Agasarsis also had a neatly fas.h.i.+oned trident beard, which gave him a more menacing appearance.

He approached Skilgannon and bowed, and then both men continued their exercises, their movements fluid and synchronized, like two dancers, each mirroring the other. A sudden blaring of trumpets announced the arrival of the Queen. She wore thigh-length silver chain mail, and knee-length cavalry boots, edged with silver rings. Two men carried a high- backed chair into the circle and she sat upon it, her raven hair gleaming in the suns.h.i.+ne.

Servaj was close enough to hear her words to the fighters.

'Are you determined upon this folly, Agasarsis?'

'I am, my Queen.'

'Then let it begin.'

'Might I make a request, Majesty?' said Agasarsis.

'I am in no mood to grant you anything. But speak and I will consider it.'

'My swords are well made, but they hold no enchantment. Skilgannon's blades, however, are known to be spell enhanced. I request that he uses no unfair advantage against me.'

The Queen turned to Skilgannon. 'What say you, general?'

'This fight is already folly, Majesty. But in this he is right. I shall use other blades.'

'So be it,' she said. Turning to the nearest soldiers, one of whom was Servaj, she called six of them forward. 'Take out your swords,' she ordered them. Once they had done so she gestured to Skilgannon. 'Choose one.' He hefted them all, then chose the sabre carried by Servaj. 'Now you,' snapped the Queen, pointing a regal hand at Agasarsis.

'I already have swords, Majesty.'

'Indeed you do. And you have used them so often they are like a part of your body. Your own request was for no unfair advantage. So choose. And do it swiftly, for I am easily bored.'

After Agasarsis had chosen a blade the two men bowed to the Queen and moved back towards the centre of the circle. She gestured for them to begin.

The duel did not start swiftly. The men moved warily around one another, and the first clash of steel seemed more like an extension of the exercises they had undergone before the Queen's arrival. Servaj knew that the duellists were merely accustoming themselves to the feel of the weapons. Neither Skilgannon nor Agasarsis attempted a death strike. They were gauging each other's strengths and weaknesses. The crowd was silent as the two masters continued to circle one another. Sunlight gleamed on the blades, and each sudden attack would see the swords create a glittering web of brightness around the combatants.

The ground below their feet was slick and treacherous, and yet it seemed that they remained in perfect balance. Time pa.s.sed, the action quickened, and the music of clas.h.i.+ng steel increased in tempo. Servaj was transfixed, flicking his gaze between the fighting men.

Both exuded confidence. Both expected to win. First blood went to Skilgannon, the tip of his sabre scoring a cut to Agasarsis's shoulder. Almost immediately the champion countered, and blood appeared on Skilgannon's torso. It seemed to Servaj that the blood was dripping from the fangs of the panther head tattooed upon his chest.

The speed and skill of the fighters was dazzling. Bets had been placed by the soldiers, but no-one in the crowd cheered or shouted for their favourite. The watchers were all fighting men, and they knew they were observing a cla.s.sic encounter. Not a whisker separated the talents of the duellists, and Servaj began to believe they would be fighting all day. He half hoped it would be true.

Such a brilliantly balanced contest was rare, and Servaj wanted to savour it for as long as possible.

Yet he knew it could not last. The blades were razor sharp, and they flashed and lunged, parried and countered, within a hair's breadth of yielding flesh.

They had been fighting for some twenty minutes when Agasarsis stumbled in the mud.

Skilgannon's sabre lanced into Agasarsis's left shoulder as he fell, then slid clear. The champion hit the ground and rolled, coming up in time to block a vicious cut that would have beheaded him. He threw himself at Skilgannon, hammering his shoulder into Skilgannon's chest, hurling him backwards. Both men fell heavily.

At a command from the Queen the herald beside her blew a single blast upon his curved horn.

Two soldiers ran forward, bearing towels. The combatants plunged their swords into the earth, and took the cloths. Agasarsis wiped sweat from his face, then pressed the towel into the deep wound in his left shoulder. Skilgannon approached him. Servaj did not hear what was said, but saw Agasarsis shake his head angrily, and guessed that Skilgannon was enquiring as to whether honour had been satisfied.

After a few moments the Queen ordered the horn sounded, and the two fighters took up their swords. Once again they circled. Now the duel entered into its last phase. Servaj found it fascinating. Both men were tired, but he could see desperation in the eyes of Agasarsis. Doubt had entered the champion's mind, and was leaching away his confidence.

To counter this he launched a series of reckless attacks. Skilgannon defended smoothly for a while. When the death blow came it was so sudden that many in the crowd missed it.

Agasarsis lunged. Skilgannon met the attack, blocking the lunge and rolling his blade round the sabre of Agasarsis. The two men leapt back. Blood suddenly gushed from Agasarsis's severed jugular. The champion tried to steady himself, but his legs gave way, and he fell to his knees before his killer. Servaj realized then that, even as he parried, Skilgannon had flicked the point of his sabre across the throat of his opponent.

Agasarsis pitched face forward to the earth.

Skilgannon dropped his sabre and walked back to the Queen. He bowed, and Servaj saw that his face was set, his eyes angry. 'Agasarsis was the best cavalry commander we had, Majesty,' he said. 'This was madness.'

'Indeed it was,' she agreed. 'Behold the man responsible.' She gestured to the herald, who sounded the horn twice in succession.

Two of the Queen's trusted bodyguard, Askelus and Malanek, came into sight, leading a bound man. His eyes had been torn out, and his face was a mask of blood. Even so Servaj recognized the Prince Baliel. The man was sobbing piteously.

Askelus dragged him out to stand alongside the fallen Agasarsis. The Queen rose from her chair and walked out to the centre of the circle. 'Our war is almost won,' she said, her voice ringing out over the seated men. 'And why? Because of your bravery and your loyalty.