Preserving the Ingenairii (61 page)

“Can you imagine going to bed with that face at night?” her companion responded, and both made rude sounds.

“You’d think sitting up there would be the greatest feeling in the world, watching all the people at festival,” one man in Indige colors said to another.
 
“But he’s got to wonder how long he’ll be the one up there.
 
If his brother buys the loyalty of Scarle, and does it with his own daughter!
 
That would drive a man crazy.”

“If Scarle supports old Mikhail, don’t you think we’ll have to do the same?” his companion answered.

“We certainly want to be careful,” the other one answered.
 
“We’re like everyone else; we’ve lost a lot of men in the past few months of the war, and we don’t have anything to show for it, but if Sergey holds on to the crown, we can start with a clean slate.”

Alec saw a small cluster of Scarle attendees walking and fell into position just behind them.
 
“When he wins the tournament, we start the countercoup,” one man said, then turned and saw Alec.
 
He scowled at Alec, who dropped back obediently, and turned to go back and stare at the Emperor’s veranda.

If the Scarle hero Nabakov was going to try to win Jeswyne’s hand by winning the tournament, then Alec would enter the tournament as well.
 
It would give him something to occupy his time and give him an identity to use in the city.
 
He would be among numerous warriors, where his opportunity to overhear information about Jeswyne’s location would increase.
 
And he felt confident that he would be able to win, to defeat the mighty Nabakov and throw a monkey-wrench into the plans to pawn off Jeswyne to the Scarle warrior.

Alec walked to a location where he could resume juggling to earn more funds, now that he knew he would need to pay for food and a place to stay for the night.

“Can you juggle this?” a tipsy man asked and he threw a wineskin at him.
 
Alec flashed his hand outward and upward, smoothly incorporating the bulky object into the rotating set of knives that continued to circle.
 
A smattering of laughter and applause ensued.

“That’s not empty, you know!
 
I want it back,” the inebriated man protested, seeing his prank go astray.

Alec flipped the skin out of the rotation and directly into the man’s face, where it hit solidly and knocked him down.
 
There was more laughter and coins clicked on the pavement around him.

“What about this?” another man asked.
  
Alec glanced quickly down and saw a man in red holding an apple.

“Toss it,” he said, and the man obliged gently, allowing Alec to work the fruit into his routine.
 
There were other Scarle clan members gathering around Alec’s participant now, and he suddenly sensed an opportunity.
 
He began to reduce the number of knives he was tossing, replacing them one-by-one in his bandolier, until there was only the apple and two knives.

Taking a deep breath, he prepared for the pain he knew was coming, and called fully upon his energies again, then tossed the apple high in the air, flipped the two knives at it, and caught the falling knives and apple quarters that fell downward.

Alec released his powers as the crowd burst into applause, and he stepped forward to hand the apple sections to the man, retaining one and biting into it with a grin.

“Stupendous!” the man said, and several of the Scarle followers nearby bowed appreciatively.

“You’ve got quite a talent with blades it seems,” he spoke.

“Always enjoyed swords,” Alec said laconically.
 
He pulled out a sword and flipped it through a series of motions with left and right hands and behind his back, then threw it in the air and caught it between his legs.
 
He sheathed it and bowed again.
 
“I’ll fight the tournament for you,” he said.
 
He wanted to avoid revealing his accent, and spoke as little as possible.

“Strangely, I was just thinking in the same direction,” the Scarle member said.
 
“Crebben, add him to our list of swordsmen,” he turned and spoke to a man behind him.
 
“What’s your name?” he asked Alec.

Alec had a blank moment during which he could think of nothing.
  
“Healer,” he blurted out.

“Healer, be at the entrance to the Scarle compound tomorrow morning.
 
Crebben will be awaiting you with a robe, and we can discuss your participation.”
 
He threw another coin at Alec’s feet, a large heavy one.
 
“Thank you for the entertainment,” he said and he walked on with his retinue.

Alec grinned in delight at the chance that had presented itself.
 
He had an entry to the tournament, as part of the very clan he most wanted to keep an eye on.
 
He bent to pick up the coins that had been tossed his way.
 
The Scarle leader’s coin was a solid gold disk that Alec was sure would pay by itself for all the expenses he could run up in Michian.

He left his spot and began to walk through the crowd, looking at the other entertainers and enjoying the spectacle of the people and the food and the boisterous spirits that were beginning to come into evidence as people drank more and more.
 
Then within an instant, the atmosphere changed from happiness to tension, and Alec realized that two groups were forming up in the area he was in.
 
On one side was the Scarle clan, and a variety of men dressed in white robes with gray and black trim.
 
On the other side were Canare members, and a smattering of people with various clothes of no particular affiliation.

“Long live Emperor Mikhail,” the Scarle forces chanted.
 
Leading them was a very large, burly man.
 
A man with a very ugly face – low brow, receding chin, many scars and an unpleasant scowl.
 
He must be Nabakov, Alec surmised, the Scarle swordsman who was expected to win the right to Jeswyne.

Alec edged out of the center of the space,
then
drifted over to the Canare side, the side that he realized had fewer members.
 
Suddenly a rock was thrown at the yellow robed leader of the side that supported Emperor Sergey,
then
a hail storm of rocks was flying in both directions.
 
Alec was hit in the shoulder by a stone.

He looked around expecting to see men start to rush at one another, but the Scarle forces, while more numerous, held strangely back, and seemed to slowly move backwards if anything.
 
Then guard forces seemed to descend on the shouting match in great numbers, establishing themselves between the two groups.

Every guard on the promenade must be here
, Alec thought to himself, impressed with the determination the force showed to stamp out trouble.
 
But if all the guards are here, what security do they have down by the emperor’s veranda
, his mind turned to a troubling possibility.
 
He began shoving his way through the fringe of the group and began running down the promenade back down to the end where the veranda sat above the crowded walk.

The veranda was empty.
 
The emperor was not in sight, nor was his retinue.
 
There was movement in the bushes on the hillside below and beside the veranda.
 
Without hesitation, Alec began to climb the hillside, moving from tree to tree as he climbed.
 
He paused halfway up, and studied the scene further.
 
There were three men, all wearing the white robes with gray and black trim that Alec had seen with the Scarle forces on the promenade.
 
They were standing together, looking up at someone on the veranda.

“He’s fleeing right now,” a voice called from above.
 
“We’ve got a dozen men in pursuit.
 
He’s only got a couple of loyal guards with him now.
 
We’ll have him before the end of the night and Mikhail will be restored by sunrise.”

Alec pulled his sword loose and held it as he climbed the last steep slope up the hill.
 
Pulling out two knives, he lay the sword down,
then
flipped the knives at two of the inattentive guards among the bushes.
 
He picked up his sword and rushed the startled third man, cutting him down before he could pull his sword out of his scabbard.

“What’s going on out there?” the man on the veranda called with clear concern in his voice.
 
Alec retrieved his knives, then climbed up on the veranda ledge and pulled himself up behind the balustrade.
 
He cautiously raised his head and saw the man on the veranda just five feet away, looking at him with a startled expression.
 
Alec hopped the railing, and the man pulled his sword out.

“Who are you?
 
What happened to our men?” the man asked.
 
He was hard-faced with short, graying hair.

“I killed them.
 
I’ll kill you too unless you drop your sword and surrender,” Alec said.

“Who are you?
 
Where are you from?” the man asked.
 
Alec cursed his accent that gave him away so clearly.

“I’m here for my own purposes.
 
Will you surrender?” Alec asked.

In reply the man charged at him and swung his sword competently.
 
Alec had avoided using his warrior powers, and chose to try to rest his energy use as much as possible.
 
He blocked the attack and riposted, striking the man’s shoulder lightly.

His opponent stepped back and looked at him appraisingly.
 
“Where’s the emperor?” Alec asked.

“Which emperor do you mean?” the man asked.

Alec went on the offensive, delivering a volley of strikes that drove the man back into the hall, then knocked the sword from his hand.
 
“Turn around,” Alec told him.
 
He grabbed the vanquished man’s arm and pushed him from behind, driving the man ahead of him as they entered the building behind the veranda.

“Which way did they chase Sergey?” Alec asked.

“Why I should I tell you?” the man asked.

Alec was suddenly furious with the man and the situation.
 
He sliced his sword low, severing the man’s hamstring.
 
His captive screamed as he collapsed on the marble floor, clutching the back of his leg.

“I may see you on the way back,” Alec said, and stepped over him to enter a large, dark room.
 
Furniture and fixtures were knocked over in a sign of physical struggle.
 
Alec passed through the room to a doorway that showed light from beyond.
 
There was a hallway running left and right, and echoes of noises coming from the left.
 
Alec slipped into the hallway and ran quietly to a far doorway, where he stopped and listened.

Men were laughing somewhere.
 
In this environment, he was sure that was a bad sign, and he cautiously moved to another doorway.
 
Getting on his belly, he cautiously peered around the doorframe.
 
The scene before him was half a dozen living men, standing and toasting one another.
 
Two dead bodies were nearby, and a man wearing a golden robe was tied and trussed on the floor in the middle of the celebrants.

Chapter 47 – Back to the Tournament

Alec stood up and put his sword away, then took a deep breath.
 
He knew he’d have to engage his warrior powers for this confrontation.
 
He only hoped he could reduce the odds considerably first and reduce the amount of pain he would inflict on himself through the use of the energy.