Reign of Madness (Revised Edition) (41 page)

On the third day, Tieran sent word that he would be coming
to make good on his promise to take Frisha to purchase a dress. This worked out
in Rezkin’s favor, since he needed to return to the swordsmith. Pride was
restless, and Rezkin had to carry a significant amount of gold, so he saddled
the massive stallion and rode to the smithy. Afterward, he would ride out of
the city and give the stallion the opportunity to run before finding a secluded
place to experiment with his new sword, assuming it was ready, as the smith had
indicated.

“So, you’ve returned. After our last visit, I started ta
wonder. Come! I think ye’ll be pleased,” the smith said proudly.

As they passed through the shop, Rezkin asked, “Were you
able to get the scabbard?”

“I did! A friend o’ mine does most o’ me scabbard work, and
when I told him o’ the unique project and the fact that I ‘ad a buyer in a
hurry, he was eager ta pick it up. A fine job he did, I say,” the smith
remarked as they entered the private display room.

The sword and scabbard were laid out on the table resting on
a wool mat. The sword was truly unique and impressive. The steel crossguard was
polished to a silvery shine across the top, but the sides were blackened and
inlaid with gold scrollwork. The grip was wrapped with twisted black, silver
and gold wire braided into an intricate pattern. The pommel was a thick silver
disk with a gold ring around the circumference of each side. Centered on each
side of the disk was a round, deep green emerald the size of Rezkin’s thumb.

The scabbard was made of blackened steel and lined with
soft, black, oiled fur. It was shorter than the sword, and would leave a large
portion of the blade exposed; but the design was necessary if Rezkin was to
draw the long blade from his back. A silver locket and chape with gold
scrollwork resided at either end. A ring of emeralds, each the size of his
pinky nail, circled the locket. The design was sophisticated and ornate, but
not overly gaudy. Rezkin was pleased.

“Master Keskian, you have surpassed my expectations. Shall
we see how it performs?” asked the warrior.

The smith grinned and said, “I thought ye’d never ask.”

The warrior took the sword into the small yard and danced an
intricate series of forms. The blade cut through the air with ease, and Rezkin
felt completely comfortable with it after only a short time. The swordsmith was
pleased to see his most unique creation go to a man who not only truly
appreciated his work but was worthy of wielding such a blade.

When Rezkin was finished, he bowed to the swordsmith and said,
“This is truly a magnificent sword, Master Swordsmith. I am honored to wield
it. It may not be a Sheyalin, but if its strength and durability are as you
say, it may rival their value.”

“I appreciate ye sayin’ so, me lord, but I can’t say since
in all my years as a smith I’ve only ever seen a Sheyalin twice. Even then I
didn’t get much of a chance to examin’ ‘em,” the smith replied.

 “You say you have had trouble acquiring your
materials?” Rezkin asked in an abrupt change of subject. “I cannot imagine you
are content with that turn of events.”

“There be nothin’ content about it. When a Master Swordsmith
can’t be gettin’ iron, there be a problem,” the smith grumbled.

Rezkin eyed the blade in his hand as he asked, “And what do
you think is the cause of the problem?”

The smith stiffened and glanced between the warrior and the
blade uncomfortably. Rezkin met his gaze as he waited for an answer. “Well, it
not be me place ta be makin’ conjectures ‘bout such things.”

“Whose place it is to make such conjectures?” Rezkin
inquired.

“Well, better men than me, I s’pose,” the smith answered
warily.

“You are a Master Swordsmith of renown. You have made a
sword fit for a king, a blade to rival the Sheyalin. You do not think you are
worthy of pondering the source of an iron shortage?” the warrior asked.

“Not when I could hang for doing so,” the smith replied.

Rezkin nodded and said, “Then you
have
come to some
conclusion. You are just too wary to voice the opinion, and rightfully so.”
Rezkin sheathed the blade and strode over to the smith. “I will wear the mask
in the tournament, but I have no doubt you will recognize me should you choose
to attend. I would prefer you keep any knowledge of my identity to yourself.”

The smith frowned. “That should not be difficult since ye have
not given me yer name.”

The warrior smiled and said, “This blade will bring you
fame, I promise that. My reputation may not be one with which you wish to be
associated, however. People will ask after the man who forged this unique
blade. Dare I answer?”

“What kind o’ reputation do ye intend to foster?” the smith
asked, stiffening at the thought.

“I told you, Master Keskian. I intend to save a kingdom,”
Rezkin answered.

Realization dawned in the smith’s eyes, and a small spark
lit within. “I don't know what ye be plannin’, but if it be aimin’ ta fix the
problem
,
then ye’ll have whatever support I can give. I’d just assume ye be leavin’ me
name out of it fer now, but there be no tellin’ what knowledge o’ that sword
has already gotten ‘round. Can’t be blamin’ the sword maker fer the bearer’s
actions, can they?”

Rezkin rubbed his chin and said, “There are some who might
not agree with you, Master Keskian. If you do run into trouble, just tell them
the purchaser wore a mask. If your problems cannot be resolved or if you decide
to leave Skutton, come find me.”

The smith scoffed, “Bah, how would I be findin’ ye if I
don’t even know yer name?”

Rezkin cocked his head and said, “That may or may not be a
problem by the end of tournament. You will understand my meaning by then.
Regardless, if I hear word that you are looking for me, I will come to you.”

After the exchange of funds, Rezkin wrapped both the sword
and the su’carai in a bolt of linen provided by the swordsmith. The su’carai
had been sharpened, polished and rewrapped with something the smith called ray
skin. The warrior could not imagine what kind of creature had such skin, but he
appreciated the bumpy texture that provided a firm grip but was not so rough as
to interfere with handling of the blades.

The warrior plodded out of the city upon his mighty steed.
The city had no walls, so passing in and out simply meant riding beyond the
limit of buildings. The duke was strict about building limits, which prevented
the city from spreading beyond its designated borders, so beyond the city’s
perimeter stood only a smattering of farms and homes for herders of sheep and
goats. The further from shore he rode, the higher he went and the denser the
trees grew. Within half a mark, he was riding through forest. A fast pace and
the steep slope provided the battle charger with much needed exercise. Rezkin
rode for some time before turning back toward the city. Before leaving the
forest, though, he found a small clearing near a stream with only a few inches
of water to practice with his new sword and su’carai.

A lifetime of conditioning and training with every manner of
weapon left his body and mind honed and ready to fight at any time. Leaving the
horse to drink and graze, the warrior removed his shirt and began working
through his two-handed sword forms. He tested the black blade’s edge and
strength against a couple of tree trunks. When he swung it at the fist-sized
trunk of a sapling, the blade nearly cleaved completely through to the other
side. The warrior was more than satisfied with the performance, but he would
still need to test it against another blade and skilled user. He intended to
employ Kai for the experiment.

Rezkin combined his su’carai practice with the acrobatics of
the Jahartan SenGoka for a dizzying and awesome effect. As he flipped, twisted,
and bounded off trees, the curved blades whirred around in a pulsating cadence
stopping abruptly each time he simulated a strike. The spinning of the blades
had its uses, and it was not only for impressing an audience or intimidating a
foe. When doing so, the su’carai were easily capable of deflecting projected
weapons such as arrows and throwing knives and making small slices in the
opponent. Any stronger contact meant to inflict considerable damage or actual
contact with an opponent’s weapon meant the wielder had to abruptly stop the
spinning motion and grip the handles firmly. If done properly, though, an
expert wielder could transfer the force of the spinning motion into the forward
momentum of the strike, effectively making it stronger than it would have been
otherwise.

With only a few hours until sundown, Rezkin rinsed in the
stream and headed back to the inn. When he arrived, Frisha bounded up to him
from her seat in the common room followed by Tieran who strutted at a more
sedate pace.

“You’re back!” the young woman exclaimed. “Where have you
been all day?”

“I had business to which I needed to attend. I also took the
opportunity to exercise Pride and myself,” Rezkin answered.

“Oh, that’s good. He gets grumpy when he doesn’t exercise,”
Frisha replied.

Tieran chuckled, “Who? The horse or Rezkin?”

“Um…both?” Frisha said with a grin.

“I registered for the rapier division of the tournament,
today,” Tieran remarked. The turnout looks to be good. Several of the
competitors are quite formidable. There are two masters so far. I look forward
to seeing their duel. Have you registered?” the young noble asked.

Rezkin rubbed his jaw thoughtfully and said, “You will not
be seeing my name in the registers. My desire to attend the tournament was
never for the competition. I have other interests.”

Tieran’s jaw dropped, “But you were supposed to be
competing! I was looking forward to seeing how you fare against the other
masters.”

“I have no doubt you will see a spectacular show,
regardless,” Rezkin said with a grin.

“Oh, Rez, I, too, was looking forward to your performance,”
Frisha pouted.

Rezkin donned the smile she seemed to appreciate so much and
said, “Do not fret, Frisha. You will not be disappointed.”

“How could I not be if you are not participating? That is
the reason I came on this journey,” the woman remarked.

“And I thought it was the simple desire to remain with
me
,”
Rezkin replied.

Frisha blushed and said, “Yes, well, there is that. But, you
were supposed to perform well to impress my uncle.”

“Knowing what you know now, Frisha, do you think that any
performance in the tournament would be enough to change his mind?” the warrior
inquired.

The woman’s face fell, and she said, “No, I suppose not. I
guess with your accomplishments, you really do not need to prove yourself,
either.” The young woman brightened and said, “This just means you will be able
to spend more time with
me
!”

Rezkin inclined his head and said, “Perhaps, but I have much
business to which I must attend while we are here.” He turned to Tieran and
said, “When is your first match?”

“The rapier division pre-trials begin first thing in the
morning four days hence. The official ceremony to mark the opening of the
tournament is not until the afternoon. The competitors’ performances in the
pre-trials will confirm their places in the proper tiers. I will not know my
schedule until after my place is confirmed and the organizers know how many
people will be competing,” the noble explained.

“That seems reasonable,” Rezkin remarked.

“We were just going to meet the Jebais and Brandt for
dinner. Would you care to join us?” Tieran asked.

“It would be my pleasure,” Rezkin replied. “Please give me a
few moments to change, and I will meet you back here.” Pulling from his
repertoire of appropriate compliments, Rezkin said to the young woman, “By the
way, Frisha, you look lovely as ever in your new dress. The color compliments
your eyes.” It was true. The deep purple silk drew out the darker tones in her
hair and eyes and offset her porcelain skin to give her a sensual appeal. The
young woman’s face flushed as she thanked him, which only enhanced the look.

The three, with Lieutenant Drascon as escort, met Malcius,
Palis, Shiela and Brandt for supper. Everyone was appalled when Tieran
announced that Rezkin would not be competing in the tournament. While Rezkin
had never actually stated that he would not be competing, he did not correct
their assumption. Rezkin could not possibly compete in the tournament in two
guises. For one, it was against tournament rules, and he could be disqualified.
Two, he would inevitably end up acquiring a match against himself, which would
be impossible for obvious reasons.

After the meal, Malcius pulled Rezkin aside for a private
discussion. “Palis told me what you said about not being seen with you in
public.”

“Yes,” Rezkin nodded, “you are aware of my loyalties. I
would not want for you to suffer should others learn of them as well. You are
the heir to your House, and I have come to respect you. I would not have you
deemed guilty by association.”

Malcius shook his head and spoke with conviction. “Look,
Rez, I may not be prepared to make any decisions regarding the information you
revealed, but I do understand your position. If it were only up to me,
personally, I would not hesitate to stand beside you. While I do not support
the current…conditions, neither can I accept an alternative without seeing the
proof. I hope you understand.”

“Of course, Malcius, and I respect your caution and
reasoning. I would be concerned for your House otherwise,” Rezkin remarked.

Malcius smiled genuinely and said, “You are always so
reasonable. It is one of the things I like about you. I have no intention of
avoiding you, however. If…interested parties…choose to make assumptions
pertaining to my allegiance on the mere fact that I am seen in your presence,
then so be it.” The noble paused and then said, “I would have you know, Rez,
that I consider you to be a friend. I hope that you accept me as the same. If
you come to me in need, I will not turn you away for fear of association.”