David Coe: The Horsemen's Gambit

As soon as she entered the tavern, the other warriors began to stare at her, turning one by one as they realized who had come. Gradually conversations stopped, the din fading toward the back of the tavern like a receding tide. Maisaak stood near the bar, a slight smile on his face, as if he were enjoying her obvious discomfort. Enly stood near him, with the Aelean and several other warriors. His expression was far more difficult to gauge than his father's. Concern, embarrassment, even a touch of resentment: Tirnya saw all of these in his pale grey eyes, in the lines around his mouth. Enly resembled his father superficially. Both men had light eyes and black hair. Both were blandly handsome, though Enly had broken his nose as a boy and its crookedness made his face more interesting than his father's. But Maisaak always seemed to be scowling, and on those rare occasions when his expression softened there remained a touch of contempt and condescension, so that even his kindest smile seemed mocking. Enly was more open, kinder, softer, and thus, in his father's view, weaker. Today's victory couldn't have been easy for either of them.

After a silence that lasted for what seemed an eternity, Enly began to clap, stepping forward and raising his hands so that others could see him. Others began to applaud as well, until the sound grew so loud that it compelled even the lord governor to join in. After a few moments, Maisaak stepped forward, raising his hands to silence the throng. For once, Tirnya was deeply grateful to him.

"Yes, yes," the lord governor said, nodding as the applause died down. "She deserves no less." He faced her, the smile on his face appearing genuine. "Welcome, Captain Onjaef. We were starting to fear that you might not come at all, and thus deny us the opportunity to congratulate you on your fine performance today."

Tirnya bowed to him. "Thank you, Your Lordship, and forgive me for being late. Unlike my opponent in the final match, I had to spend some time with the healer afterwards."

That drew a laugh from all, and an approving nod from Maisaak. "Well, you're here now. And I hope you'll enjoy yourself."

"I will, Your Lordship. I intend to avail myself of as much of your free ale as time will allow."

More laughter followed, and slowly the other discussions resumed, leaving Tirnya in the uncomfortable position of having to make conversation with the lord governor.

"You handled that very well, Captain," he said quietly. "Someone with less courage and grace would have stayed away entirely."

It was a rare courtesy from the man, and she didn't bother to hide her surprise. "Thank you, Your Lordship. You're most kind."

"Not really. I'm just not the monster your father has made me out to be."

And there it was: the hidden knife slipped between exposed ribs. No matter the circumstance, Maisaak and Jenoe were both incapable of putting aside their animosity, even for an evening.

"Yes, Your Lordship."

Fortunately, Enly chose that moment to join them.

"She said she wanted an ale, Father. And you know she's too polite to get one so long as you're talking to her. Leave the woman alone."

A brittle smile touched His Lordship's lips. "Yes. I think I understand. I'll leave the two of you."

He walked away, joining a knot of soldiers near the back of the inn, and leaving Enly and Tirnya alone, or at least as alone as two people could be in a tavern so crowded.

"Thank you for that greeting," Tirnya said after a brief, strained silence. "It's not often that people applaud when I step into a tavern."

"Really?" Enly said. "I would have thought it happens all the time." She raised an eyebrow.

He sipped his ale, shrugged. "It was nothing." He looked away, taking another pull of ale.

She frowned slightly. It wasn't like him to be so diffident. Stepping past him to the bar, she ordered an ale, then turned to face him again. He was already watching her.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked.

He looked away again and drank more. "I'm not looking at you in any particular way."

She smiled. "You beat me, Enly. It's as simple as that. You should be used to it by now. You should he gloating, as you do every other year."

"Oh, I am used to beating you," he said, with a hint of his usual swagger.

"But I'm not used to winning this way."

"And what way is that?"

He started to drink again, but stopped himself. After a moment he met her gaze, though it seemed to take some effort on his part. "By accident. By sheer, dumb luck."

"It was a good strike," she said, unsure of why she was being so generous. "You cut me cleanly."

"That's not what I mean and you know it. I was losing. If I hadn't fallen down when I did, you would have bloodied me, probably with your next attack."

"Did you fall on purpose?" she asked.

He frowned. "I'm not that clever, Tirnya."

She laughed. "No, I don't suppose you are."

Enly's expression didn't change. If anything, he looked more and more troubled by the moment. "Everybody here knows that you should have won," he said. "My men know it. Yours know it. Certainly my father knows it."

"Good," she said. "Maybe next year a few people in the boxes will wager their gold on me."

He regarded her sourly.

"What is it you want me to say, Enly? That I'm sorry I almost beat you? That I didn't mean to fight so well?"

"That's not…" He stopped, shaking his head.

"Then what?"

He stood still for several moments, the muscles in his jaw bunched.

When he faced her again anger and wounded pride burned in his eyes. "Why didn't you bloody me when you had the chance?"

"You mean when you were down."

"Yes, when I was down! The match was yours! You should have ended it then and there!"

All around them, conversations ceased and people began to stare. Tirnya felt her face growing hot. She grabbed Enly by the arm and dragged him out into the street. The sky overhead had turned to a soft indigo, and the first bright stars shone down on the city. She could hear people singing in another tavern and two men staggered past, both of them drunk, both of them laughing at something. This was a night of celebration in Qalsyn, and not only for those who had fought in the tournament. The Harvest had begun, and this year's crops promised to be bountiful. Tirnya, Enly, and Maisaak might well have been the only unhappy people in the entire city.

"You were saying?" she asked wearily, making herself meet his glare.

"Why didn't you end our match when you had the chance?" He sounded calmer now, but there could be no masking the intensity of that look.

"An Onjaef doesn't strike at a defenseless opponent. My father wouldn't have done it, and neither would I."

"So it's all about pride. Stupid Onjaef pride."

She threw her arms wide. "Of course it is! And so are these questions of yours! You know very well that I couldn't win that way. You know what people would be saying about me. You won, Enly! The crystal dagger is yours again. The only reason we're even having this conversation is that I wounded your pride when I let you get up. Well, that's too damn bad!"

He blinked, then looked away. "This is…" He shook his head, looking very young. "It's our fathers, isn't it? This is all about them."

"Not entirely. I'd want to beat you even if your father was a cloth peddler."

"You know what I mean."

"I'm not having this discussion again, Enly."

"We have to-"

"Don't!" she said, shaking her head.

"We have to marry. You know it just as I do. It's the only way to end their feud and all the rest of this foolishness."

"You just don't want to have to fight me again next year." She smiled. He didn't. After a moment she shook her head. "That was supposed to be a joke."

"I'm serious, Tirnya."