K Parker: Shadow

He was appalled at the sight of it, for some reason; he felt so stupid… But the man was still trying to get the knife; he hopped back two-footed and steadied himself. 'For God's sake,' his friend was shouting behind him. He made a conscious effort, pretended he was back in the fencing school, about to perform an exercise. Come on, he was good at this… He struck out, narrowly missing the ball of the man's right shoulder (but at least it was a legitimate fighting shot, not like that horrible confused grabbing and pulling away), and brought his arm back and down for a stomach thrust. The big man (his eyes were cold now) blocked that with his left forearm to the wrist, reached behind his back and drew his own knife (at last; I thought we'd never get there…). He was so relieved that he didn't realise he was out of position and horribly open until it was almost too late.

But, as his friend had said earlier, he was quick. Another jump back, and he landed well, on the balls of his feet, good balance. The man was serious now, either angry or resigned; his back was bent too, his hands forward and low. The knife in his hand was one of those long, thin, square-section stilettos, the kind engineers and artillerymen carry, with a scale of inches engraved on the blade-no cutting edges, but extremely efficient for stabbing with. For the first time it occurred to him that he might easily get killed… He shivered, felt his stomach churn. He was an expert fencer, sure, but this was the first time in his life he'd ever tried to kill anybody, or face someone who was trying to kill him. He didn't like it at all.

The hell with it, he thought, and tried his best shot. It was a complex manoeuvre, made up of three parts-feint at the eyes, drop low for another feint to the hands, snap back up for a killing shot to the head-but it was a guaranteed match-winner if it worked and he'd practised it over and over again. The man stepped back on the first feint, read it (as he was meant to do), moved his left arm to block the blow shot, read that too -And what he should have done, if he'd learned his knife-fighting in the Purple Ring instead of an alley behind some dockside tavern, was sidestep for a counterattack, right into the path of the oncoming blade. Instead, quite improperly, he switched his weight on to his right foot and struck out hard with his left. The boot landed squarely in the younger man's crotch. He dropped his knife and doubled over, hearing his own shriek of pain as he found himself suddenly and unexpectedly staring at the grass between his feet. Fuck, I'm going to die, he thought, just as the older man's left fist crashed into the side of his head and dumped him on the ground.

For a long time, nothing happened. He was lying on his left arm, not really aware of very much beside the splitting pain in his head and groin. He heard his friend screaming, 'You idiot!' but he was past caring now about what other people thought of him; in fact, nothing really registered apart from his extreme discomfort. Then he saw the man's boots coming towards him-that's it, he'll finish me off now, oh well-and tried to move, but he was wasting his time.

The other man lifted his right foot and kicked him hard in the stomach.

'All right,' he heard the man say, 'you can get up now. And you-' Presumably to his friend, though it hardly mattered. 'You stay out of it. Don't I know you from somewhere?'

'I don't think so,' his friend stuttered-spineless bastard! Get him for that… 'I was just sitting here…'

'Yes, all right.' The man sounded annoyed, that was all. And I do know you, come to think of it. You're Galien-I beg your pardon, Prince Galien. Your idea, was it?'

'No, really,' Galien replied, terrified. 'Like I said, I was just…'

'Bugger off.'

'But I…'

'I said bugger off.' Apparently Galien did as he was told because he heard nothing more from him; instead he felt the man's hand on his collar, hauling him up. His legs weren't working very well, and he ended up hanging off the man's hand, like a little kid. 'And you, Tazencius,' the man was saying, 'you really ought to know better. You really thought you could pull off something like this? You two?'

'Let go of me,' he gasped.

'All right,' the man said, and let go. Of course, he ended up back on the ground again. He had the feeling he'd turned his ankle over. 'Now then, when you're ready.' He felt himself being hauled up again, like a fish on a line, and found himself looking straight into the man's face. 'You clown,' the man said.

'You-' It was all he could manage to keep himself from bursting into tears. 'You're going to tell my father, aren't you?'

Oh, the scorn in the man's eyes… 'No,' he said. 'That'd only make things worse, he'd have to punish you and then everybody would hate me, instead of just nearly everybody. Dear God, what is it with you people? Can't you just leave me alone?'

'I'm sorry.' He said it without thinking, because it was what he felt. Suddenly the man smiled.

'You're sorry,' he repeated. 'Well, that's all right, then.' He let go. 'Apologise nicely, or it's straight up to bed and no pudding. You lot, you're amazing.' But he didn't seem angry any more; the contempt was still there, but it probably always had been. And it was tolerant contempt, the sort he sometimes caught sight of in the eyes of the older servants, the ones who'd been at court a long time. 'Now go away,' the man went on, 'before somebody comes along and sees us. And listen, Tazencius; next time you and your devious cousin want to play at politics, don't try picking a fight with a soldier, or you might get hurt; and you're a prince, and I've sworn to protect all the members of the royal family with my life, including, God help us all, you. I'd hate to get drawn into a fight with a grown-up just to stop you getting your silly throat cut. Got that?'

He nodded and started to back away.

'Hold on,' the man said, 'you've forgotten something.'

'Have I?'

The man stooped down, picked something up. 'Your knife,' he said. 'Can't leave things like this lying about; somebody might cut himself on it. Worth a lot of money, too,' he added. 'A year's pay, when I was your age.' He handed it over solemnly. 'Watch out,' he warned, 'it's sharp.'

'Thank you,' he said automatically.

'You're welcome.'

'Actually-' Why was he saying this? Just making conversation. 'Actually it isn't my knife, it's Galien's.

'Mind you give it back, then,' the man replied. 'His idea, was it?'

He nodded. 'Yes.'

'Thought so. Takes after his father.' The man looked at him seriously. 'Really,' he said, 'you want to stay away from him. You think he's on your side, but he isn't.' Then he looked sad, and added, 'Nobody is, that's the bloody awful thing about it.'

For some reason, he was shocked. 'Nobody?'

'Nobody' The man's eyes were large and soft. 'Except possibly me, but you shouldn't count on it.'

He took a deep breath. 'Tell me something, General,' he said quietly. 'Whose side are you on? Really?'

'Really?' The man smiled. He was the sort of man who preferred to smile if he could. 'You know, I wish I knew, sometimes.'

'But, General…'

But, General…

'What did you say?' asked the woman, Copis, in the dark beside him.

He woke up. 'Huh?'

'Did you just say something?'

'I don't think so.'

'I thought I heard you say something.'

He rubbed his eyes. 'Maybe you did,' he said. It was just starting to get light. In spite of everything he'd hoped that somehow he'd wake up and all his memories would be back. They weren't. On the other hand, he could remember what had happened the previous day, from the moment when he woke up in the mud. That was something, after all. 'We'd better get going,' he said, realising as he tried to move that he'd cricked his neck horribly in his sleep. Also, his head hurt.