Scepters (23 page)

“Yes,
sir. When does the majer suggest that this take place?”

“Within
the glass. Here in the courtyard. He does not wish to disrupt your training
schedule unduly, but he feels that for you to proceed under a misapprehension
would not be wise.”

“I
can understand misapprehensions, sir.”

“Majer
Fedosyr is considered one of the best blades in the Southern Guard, and he
would like to demonstrate that the Southern Guard is indeed expert with
weapons. He would like to have all the lancers in the post watching.”

“If
you feel it necessary, I would be more than happy to engage in such a
demonstration with Majer Fedosyr,” Alucius replied. “Our exercises have been
using rattan blades…”

“I
believe that Majer Fedosyr might find that… less than satisfactory.” Frynkel
frowned. “Yet I would find it disturbing if you were unable to carry out the
Lord-Protector’s wishes.”

Alucius
ignored the presumption implied by the marshal. “Perhaps you could suggest to
Majer Fedosyr that we begin with rattan, and that if he finds rattan
unsatisfactory, we could resume with our own sabres.”

“He
might be amenable to that. In half a glass?”

“Yes,
sir.”

After
the marshal turned and walked back toward the headquarters building, Alucius
walked the gray back inside the stable and stalled the big gelding. Feran
followed, also with his own mount. Alucius did not unsaddle his mount, but left
the stall carrying the rattan wand. He stopped in the open space beyond the
stall as Feran approached.

“Fedosyr’s
looking for an excuse to kill or disable you,” Feran said in a low voice. “Humiliate
you at least.”

“Whatever
makes you think that of the most honorable majer?”

“My
high opinion of him, I guess,” Feran replied, deadpan.

“I
thought it might be something like that.”

“What
will you do?”

“Begin
by acting in the most honorable way and assume that he won’t. Then only appear
to act honorably while doing what’s necessary.”

“You’re
using a lot of words.”

“How
about: Wait he until he tries something dirty, then do it worse before he can?”

“I
like that better,” Feran said.

“I’m
also going to my quarters for a few moments. I’ll be back shortly. I need to
get a few things.”

“Good
idea.”

Alucius
walked quickly from the stable to his quarters, where he stripped off his tunic
and donned the padded nightsilk vest that had stood him in such good stead in
the past. He’d end up sweating profusely by the time everything was over, but
that was a price he was more than willing to pay, especially given his distrust
of Fedosyr. Then he made his way back to the stable.

Feran
was not there, but returned shortly. “You’re wearing the vest, aren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t
you?”

“Might
be a good idea to wear it all the time around these sand-snakes.”

Alucius
laughed.

“I
told Jultyr and Deotyr to have their men form up in a square in the courtyard
to watch the demonstration suggested by the marshal. Also told Fifth Company.”

“Was
there any reaction?”

Feran’s
lips quirked. “Egyl suggested that the marshal must not care much for Majer
Fedosyr. Either that, or he didn’t understand herders.”

“It
could be both. We’ll see.”

“The
other companies are already forming up—Eighth Company and the two others
stationed here.”

The
last thing Alucius wanted was a sabre match in front of five hundred lancers,
but upon reflection, he couldn’t say that he was surprised. He spent the next
quarter glass doing some stretching and bending exercises. Then, he picked up
his rattan wand and walked out toward the open square area formed by the
gathered lancers. There were indeed at least five companies arrayed in the post
courtyard.

Alucius
stopped at the southern edge of the open space, in front of Fifth Company. He
still wore his sabre in the belt scabbard. The murmurs of low voices filled the
area with a low, whispering rumble.

Majer
Fedosyr was already out in the courtyard, standing beside the marshal. As soon
as Frynkel caught sight of Alucius, he said a few words to Fedosyr. Then the
marshall stepped into the center of the area flanked with lancers. The murmurs
died away.

“We’re
very fortunate to have two exceptional officers here at Krost Post. Many of you
know Majer Fedosyr, who is renowned for his skill with a blade and for his long
and devoted career in the Southern Guard. Majer Alucius of the Northern Guard
is also renowned and highly decorated. They will be demonstrating skill with
weapons.” The marshal nodded and stepped back.

With
the rattan wand in hand, Alucius moved forward into the open space, smiling,
but listening to the murmurs from the ranked lancers.

“Except
for that gray hair… looks younger n’ a fresh captain…”

“…
think he’s all that good?”

“…
no one’s as good as Majer Fedosyr…”

“…
say that this majer decorated for bravery everywhere…”

“…
doesn’t make him a good blade…”

Alucius
agreed with that, but bravery didn’t make a man a poor blade, either.

After
a moment, Fedosyr stepped away from where he had stood beside the marshal on
the northern side of the rough square.

Alucius
studied the majer closely. Fedosyr was a big man, a fraction of a span taller
than Alucius and well muscled, but not fat, and he carried himself with a
certain litheness. Fedosyr was not ifrit-possessed, but Alucius was sure now
that he could detect the faintest hint of purpleness to the man’s
lifethread—much as he had felt with Colonel Weslyn. Yet the colonel and the
majer had never met. Of that, Alucius was most certain.

Alucius
stopped a good yard short of Fedosyr and bowed slightly. “Majer.”

“I
applaud your caution in suggesting rattan, Majer, if not your confidence,” said
Fedosyr.

“I
am most cautious, Majer,” Alucius replied politely.

“That
is obvious.” Fedosyr raised his wand.

Alucius
matched the gesture, reading with eyes and Talent the next move. He began the
parry almost as Fedosyr eased to one side and swept in from Alucius’s right.

For
the first moments, Alucius reacted and observed. To him, it was obvious that he
was faster than Fedosyr and able to anticipate.

Fedosyr
seemed to stumble, going down slightly into not quite a crouch. Alucius sensed
the feint and gave the faintest hint of trying to test Fedosyr’s less protected
side. Fedosyr came out of the crouch in a focused attack, but Alucius had
anticipated the attack and struck.

In
an instant, Fedosyr’s wand lay on the ground.

“You
couldn’t do that with real weapons,” the Southern Guard officer said.

“Actually,
it would be easier with a real sabre,” Alucius replied. As soon as the words
were out of his mouth, he wished he could take them back, realizing that
Fedosyr was so hotheaded that he would take them as a challenge.

“Then
we should try real sabres.” Even before he finished the words, Fedosyr’s hand
went to the sabre at his side. He kicked the rattan wand away, and a lancer ran
up and took it away.

Alucius
stepped back, then half threw, half slid the rattan wand across the pavement
stones of the courtyard in the general direction of Feran. His own sabre was in
his left hand before the wand scraped across the stones to stop short of Feran’s
feet.

Fedosyr’s
sabre glinted in weak morning light, polished and clearly sharpened to a razor
edge. A duelist’s edge, Alucius noted, as brought his own blade into a careful guard.

The
Southern Guard majer attacked, furiously but deliberately, keeping himself well
balanced.

Alucius
circled away, easily parrying or slipping the other’s blade, not giving any
openings.

“You
see… not so easy with
real
blades,” Fedosyr
murmured.

It
wasn’t, not when Alucius didn’t really want to injure or kill the other man. He
continued to parry and defend, his own sabre weaving a defense that Fedosyr
could not penetrate.

As
the moments passed, Fedosyr’s attacks grew sharper. Then for a moment, the taller
man eased back, far enough back that Alucius did not press. Fedosyr blotted his
forehead with the back of his sleeve, then his hand dropped to his belt, as if
to wipe the sweat away. Except Alucius could sense that Fedosyr had something
in his hand.

The
Southern Guard officer held his free hand out more to the side, as if to
balance himself, then rushed Alucius.

Alucius
could sense the colorless powder that flew toward his face and eyes almost from
the moment that Fedosyr released it. Instead of parrying or blocking the other’s
thrust, Alucius darted sideways—but only for an instant. Even so, Alucius could
feel the burning on the side of his neck where some of the colorless powder had
grazed him.

Fedosyr
hesitated for a moment, as if unsure whether his powder had done its work, and
in that instant, Alucius attacked—for the first time. At the last instant,
Alucius turned the blade. Even so, there was a dull crack of bones breaking as
the flat of the sabre slammed across Fedosyr’s wrist.

The
polished sabre clanked on the stones.

“I
apologize, Majer,” Alucius said quietly, “but I don’t like duelist’s tricks.”

Fedosyr’s
face had drained of color. He just looked at Alucius blankly for a moment. Then
his left hand darted toward his belt.

Alucius
took two steps forward before Fedosyr managed to fire one shot from the small
pistol. The shell slammed into the left side of Alucius’s chest, not quite at
the shoulder, staggering him, but he managed to hang on to the sabre just long
enough for his right hand to grab it and use it to slash back across Fedosyr’s
neck.

Fedosyr
didn’t even look surprised as his lifeless body slumped to the ground.

Alucius
forced himself to bend down and wipe his blade on Fedosyr’s tunic. He
straightened and sheathed the sabre. Then he walked slowly toward the marshal.

“…
shit… how could the majer miss?”

“…
didn’t miss… see how Majer Alucius staggered…”

“…
took the shot and then killed Fedosyr… with his other hand…”

“Must
have been a duelist…”

“…
never seen someone do that…”

Alucius
stopped short of the marshal. Frynkel’s face was impassive.

“Sir,
I regret the last, but I could not afford to allow Majer Fedosyr the
opportunity for another shot. By your leave, I would like to get on with the
training.”

“You
have my leave, Majer. I will ensure that Majer Fedosyr’s kin know that he died
in overextending himself during a training exercise, one in which he disobeyed
Guard policies.”

“As
you see fit, sir.” Alucius had to struggle to keep the anger out of his voice
and wasn’t sure he had.

Frynkel
waited, then said, “You may go, Majer.”

“Yes,
sir.” Alucius stepped back and turned.

Feran
met him on the far side of the open space. “I’d forgotten how good you are with
both hands.”

“It
helps at times.”

“How
badly—” The overcaptain’s eyes flicked toward Alucius’s shoulder.

“I’ll
be bruised on the left side of my chest,” Alucius said in a low voice, “and
probably from elbow to shoulder. Better that none of them know that.”

“It’ll
be a long day.”

“It’s
already been too long. Have all three companies mount and form up here.”
Alucius turned and walked toward the stable. The lancers parted, leaving a wide
aisle. Only when he was past them did the whispers begin.

“…
made Fedosyr look like a recruit…”

“…
see why they wanted him…”

“…
wiped his blade on his tunic…”

“…
looked like he wanted to kill the marshal, too…”

After
he reached the stable, Alucius checked his chest. The vest and the nightsilk
undergarments had done their work. Nothing was broken, but the bruises were
already beginning.

After
blotting his sweating forehead, taking a long swallow of water from one of his
bottles, and readjusting his uniform, Alucius waited a quarter of a glass
before he led the gray from the stable out into the courtyard. He mounted and
rode to the front of the formation. There he looked at Feran, Captain Deotyr,
and Captain Jultyr. He waited for a moment before he raised his voice for all
of them to hear. “We’ll head out to the maneuver field. Once we’re there, we’ll
break down into two-on-two drills, trainees against Fifth Company. And you will
use rattan. You’ll have enough bruises to prove that it’s no toy. Tomorrow, we’ll
go back to working on the squad level…”

As
he finished his instructions, Alucius couldn’t help but wonder if there weren’t
an easier way to convince people than with some form of force. He also hoped he
could keep moving without betraying the pain and stiffness that was spreading
from the impact of Fedosyr’s bullet.

Stiff
and sore after finishing the last training exercises on Octdi, Alucius walked
into the headquarters building. The marshal had sent a lancer with a message
requesting Alucius’s presence when his training duties were finished for the
day. Alucius anticipated nothing good from the meeting.

Alucius
looked at the ranker behind the desk. “The marshal requested my presence.”

The
lancer bolted to his feet. “Yes, sir. He’s in the colonel’s study, sir. He’s
expecting you, sir.”

“Thank
you.” Alucius doubted that he’d ever gotten three “sirs” from a Southern Guard
before. It was truly amazing what the application of skill and force could
achieve when common sense and courtesy could not prevail. He opened the door
and stepped into the study, expecting both the marshal and the colonel, but
Frynkel was alone.