The Order of the Scales Deas - The Order of the Scales

The other thing Lystra might have done was scoop up the sword and the axe and charge at Zafir with both arms flailing like windmills. It wasn’t a bad strategy for a novice, especially if Zafir was a novice too. What he certainly didn’t expect was for Lystra to pick up the sword and the axe, give them a couple of experimental swings and throw them both back to the riders lining the walls of the throne room. Then she walked over to them and eventually selected another sword and a different axe. A short stabbing sword and a hatchet. Quick weapons instead of the broadsword and the war-axe she’d been given. Meteroa tried to sit higher in Zafir’s throne and immediately regretted it. Pain hit him like the swing of a dragon’s tail. He grimaced. But I’m going to stay awake for this. I’m not going to die. Not yet. I’ll have my sport.

Lystra weighed both weapons carefully in her hands. She tested their edges. Content, she walked back to the centre of the room, the great Octagon that had all but ruled the realms for two hundred years before Vishmir and the War of Thorns. She didn’t pause, but sprang straight at Zafir, swinging the axe at her head. Zafir ducked, obviously taken by surprise. She parried the sword aimed at her face but missed the return swing of the hatchet, which caught her a solid blow on the hip. She staggered back, covering her retreat with a wild swing of her broadsword.

Meteroa sniggered, and never mind how much it hurt. Zafir’s armour had taken most of the blow, but she wasn’t quite standing straight. The shock on her face was priceless. Despite the pain it gave him, Meteroa cackled. Priceless. Lystra was Shezira’s daughter. Raised by the Queen of Flint in the deserts of sand and stone, where there really isn’t much else to do. You really shouldn’t be surprised, Zafir, you really shouldn’t. Although I admit, to look at her, who would have thought, eh?

‘Good you’ve got all that armour on. Reckon you’d already have lost otherwise,’ he croaked.

Zafir didn’t turn her head, but she must have glanced at him, because Lystra launched herself at Zafir again. She feinted at her head, parried Zafir’s backswing and then rolled underneath her axe, lashing out with her hatchet at Zafir’s ankle. Zafir saw it coming and tried to jump out the way but wasn’t quick enough. Meteroa heard Zafir gasp. She staggered and hopped a few paces. The armour had saved her again in that her foot was still attached to her leg, but she was limping. With a bit of luck, Lystra had hit hard enough to crack a bone or two.

You’re taller, you have longer arms, you have longer blades, you have armour, and yet look at you, Zafir. She’s quicker than you and better than you too. Who’d have thought, eh? ‘Who’d have thought?’ He forced a grin. If I have to die, I might as well die laughing.

Zafir changed her guard. With one foot crippled, there wasn’t much she could do, and Lystra plainly knew it. She took her time now.

‘You can concede now if you want,’ she said in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘You might as well.’

Zafir spat. ‘I’m going to have your head, girl.’

‘Jehal will destroy you.’

The speaker laughed. ‘Do you think so? When you’re dead, Jehal will climb back into my bed so fast you won’t even be cold. You were never anything but a nuisance. Did you know he tried to have you murdered? He wrote a letter.’ She glanced at Meteroa. ‘On the morning I had your mother killed, before the sword fell on her treacherous neck, your dear husband wrote a letter to have you killed. Did you know that? Little girl?’

Lystra threw Meteroa a glance. Meteroa closed his eyes. Don’t fall for it… But he could see in her face that something had crumbled, as if, deep down, she’d always known she was second-best for Jehal. Don’t believe it. Not now! Evenspire…

Evenspire. They’d only ever had Jehal’s word for what had happened at Evenspire.

Lystra’s jaw set. She advanced on Zafir a third time, now with measured purpose. ‘Is that why he snubbed you at your own councils?’ She swatted at the tip of Zafir’s sword, batting it away. Zafir was barely moving, her injured foot almost useless. ‘Is that why he left you and came back home? He told us that he was bored. If he was sharing your bed then I suppose that must have been why.’

Zafir’s jaw tightened. Meteroa coughed a hacking laugh. ‘She’s got you there, Zafir.’ He was starting to have trouble keeping his eyes open.

‘If you lose, I will take your life. If you win then I have to spare it. So you’ll just have to watch while I strangle your baby and then hang Jehal in a cage. I suppose your sisters can wait. I had your mother put down for the murderous bitch that she was and neither of them seemed to mind all that much.’

Lystra sprang. This time Zafir was ready. Sword met sword. Lystra swung her axe at Zafir’s chest; Zafir didn’t even bother to try and block it. She jumped away on a foot that wasn’t nearly as hurt as she’d let it seem. Lystra’s axe hit her in the ribs, hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to trouble her armour, and then Zafir’s axe was coming straight back, ready to cut Lystra in two and there was nowhere for Lystra to go.

Meteroa closed his eyes and sighed, but the sound of Lystra being cut in half didn’t come. His eyes snapped open again.

She’d twisted inside the blow. The swinging shaft caught her in the midriff and knocked her sideways. Zafir dropped her sword and took the axe in a double grip, hop-stepped after Lystra and caught her a blow around the head with the pommel. Lystra staggered away, dazed, and dropped her weapons. Zafir leapt after her, pressing her advantage, swinging the axe in both hands. The fight was hers. But Lystra kicked, smashing Zafir’s injured foot. Her ankle collapsed under her and she sprawled to the floor, cursing.

‘Oops,’ murmured Meteroa as loudly as he could. The pain was going away. He didn’t feel much of anything any more, except a strong urge to fall asleep. Even the Mandras still held under his nose had lost its sting. His eyes were blurred, but he could see well enough to watch Lystra snatch up her sword and jump, blade first, onto Zafir. Zafir rolled and the sword missed and then Zafir kicked Lystra’s legs out from under her and Lystra was down too, sprawled atop Zafir. He saw Lystra’s fist rise and punch Zafir in the face and then watched her fly back from a foot in the belly. Zafir struggled to her one good foot. Her face was bloody. Lystra had broken her nose as well as her ankle. Zafir picked up her axe and hopped towards Lystra, slow and heavy in her dragon-scale. The room was wobbling up and down. It took an age for Meteroa to realise that that was because he was laughing.

‘She’s a girl,’ he groaned. How long ago did she give birth? She’s still milking her brat. She’s in no state to fight. What do you think she can do? He couldn’t stop himself from shaking. The whole sorry business was too absurdly funny.

Zafir tried to lift her axe with both hands, staggered, dropped it and nearly fell over. Meteroa made strange sounds, thin merry hoots. He was weeping now. ‘She’s a girl,’ he gasped. ‘A nothing.’

Zafir hobbled away. ‘Enough. Someone give me a crossbow.’

No one moved. Lystra was still bent double on the floor, but Meteroa’s laughter grew. You can’t do that. Everyone will know. Sword and axe. That’s what you agreed to. You lose. Look at you.

‘Crossbow.’ Zafir didn’t ask a third time. She hobbled over to one of her riders who held one and snatched it. She took her time to load it.

‘Are you… so outclassed… that… you have… to cheat?’ That took all the breath he had. He wasn’t sure he was going to have any more. Lystra was on her hands and knees now, but Zafir wasn’t watching her any more. She was looking at him.