Juliet McKenna - The Swordsman's Oath

“What do you mean?”

“She told me about the Ice-man and the way he got inside your minds.” Halice’s eyes were dark and unfathomable. “But she didn’t say a lot about you and that makes me think you got inside her head, if nowhere else.”

I stared down at her with no little challenge but her gaze didn’t waver.

“Livak’s a smart girl and no one’s fool, but every so often a man’ll come along and she drops the runes completely,” Halice went on in a conversational tone. “I try to make sure I’m there to help her gather the set, settle any scores, just so you know. I’m sure you don’t want to make her sorry she met you, do you?”

A roar from the crowd drowned the rest of her words and everyone turned to see some unfortunate clutching his ribs being carried off the field. When I turned back to Halice she had slipped away.

I rubbed a hand over my face and wondered what to make of that particular conversation. I’ve been asked my intentions a couple of times by stilted fathers, several times by kindly aunts with speculative eyes and once, in that heedless period of my youth, I was warned off by three angry brothers with axe-helves in a back alley due to a miscalculation born of thassin-inspired overconfidence.

I decided this came somewhere between an inquiry and a threat and couldn’t decide whether to be indignant or pleased that Livak had a friend who looked out for her interests. At least Halice hadn’t waited for an answer; that was a relief. I didn’t know where I might be going with Livak, not beyond the closest bed if I had the chance, that was. I wondered what Halice might have been saying to Livak. Dastennin curse the woman for an interfering wharf bird, I muttered under my breath; I didn’t even know what Livak’s own feelings were and, until I did, I could do without Halice scratching up the dust between us.

A shout came from the field. “We need three more to make up the numbers or we forfeit to Nyle’s men!”

On an impulse I didn’t stop to examine, I decided the game looked like an excellent way to work off some of the building frustrations of this journey. A handful of men climbed the paddock rails with me and I was chosen for the locals over a lad from South Vans who looked as if he was being fattened up for slaughter. The sand-glass was turned and the next run began. I found myself in the thick of the action, being tall enough to stand out for anyone looking to throw the staff and save himself a pounding. Luckily I have sure hands and I found the footwork I’ve spent years learning for swordwork meant I was agile enough to evade most of the tackles. I dodged and weaved and found myself yelling with the exhilaration of it all as I outstripped the pack and ran for the throwing line at the far end of the field.

One burly muleteer managed to grasp one end of the wood, but strangely no one had ever told him a staff is a two-ended weapon. He drew his hands close into his body with a snarl of triumph so I got my hip behind my end and just kept it going forward. He went down like a sack of wheat when he caught my full weight on the staff hammering into his short ribs. I went straight over him, and when I saw him later I could recognize the print of my boot on his chest. I thought I was going to be flattened like a mudfish when a heavy-set carter swung around toward me, fists clenched, but someone appeared at my elbow out of nowhere and dropped the man with a heavy shoulder straight in the stones that suggested a personal interest.

A couple of local lads who must have built their muscles wrestling bullocks proved that big men can put on a burst of speed if they need to and drew level with me. I saw Nyle and another wagoneer heading for me and I whipped my head rapidly from side to side to check where the cow handlers were. One gave me a brilliant smile, nodded to his brother, and I dug my heels into the turf to let them surge past me. They hit Nyle and another wagoneer like a rock-slide and the field ahead was clear. I heard the thunder of hammering feet behind me and knew I only had a moment. Forgetting everything I’ve ever been taught about spear throwing, I sent the length of wood spiraling through the air and saw it smack the bladder high up over the frame before I caught what felt like half a cohort in the small of my back.

When I saw daylight again I spat out a mouthful of grass and some bits of a dried clod I didn’t want to examine too closely, but my sense of elation was uncrushed.

“Good throw!” Livak’s voice cut through the roars of the crowd and I saw her bright hair and lively face close at hand, by the rail.

I waved and blew an extravagant kiss in her direction before scrambling up to avoid getting trampled into the clay. As the game continued I managed another score and took out wagoneers with some vital tackles to help make three more. We finally gave it up after nine runs when everyone was just too tired and no more replacements came forward. I wasn’t sorry; if we’d gone on, I reckoned there was a danger of it degenerating into a brawl, which is one reason it’s a game frowned on in Formalin. The final score was agreed as fifteen heads for the wagon train losing to my team’s twenty-one and the mood suggested no one was disgraced by that. Once we’d scraped off the worst of the mud, everyone moved onto the tap-room where the serious drinking began. I looked around hopefully for Livak, keen to know how much she’d made on the betting.

“Over here!” Shiv stood up from a corner table and I pushed my way through the throng, trying to evade delays for congratulations from my erstwhile team-mates.

Halice poured me an ale and I downed it in one before taking a second a little slower; I didn’t want to drink too much, too fast, not on top of all that exercise.

“I think dinner may be a little slower this evening.” Livak appeared from the direction of the kitchen and pulled up a stool next to me.

“Had a profitable afternoon?” I grinned at her.

“Very!” She flashed a smile at me and patted the billow of her shirt which clinked discreetly.

“Anyway, have either of you heard anything about our friends from the east?” Shiv was suddenly all business, voice low, although I don’t know why he was bothering given the amount of noise all around us.

“I got a good lead on a group in black about a day and a half south of here, but Halice got just as clear a nod on some blond travelers away over near the Linneyway.” I reached for my drink and tried to drag my mind back to our chase.

“When I was taking bets I made out I was asking after a bad debt and was told both tales,” said Livak.

“Where’s that map of yours? Could it be two sightings of the same group?” Halice sounded unconvinced and I didn’t blame her.

“Could they have split up?” I asked.

Shiv shook his head. “I doubt it; Viltred’s been scrying and he’s sure that everything that was taken is still together.”

“I checked and the group I heard about are definitely in local clothes, not any kind of livery,” added Halice. “I’d say we have got the thieves and another pack to worry about now.”

“But are they after us, after Viltred or after the other lot in black?” Livak frowned.

“Or going about some entirely unrelated business?” I took another drink. “It’s always possible.”

“I’ll go and talk to Viltred. He might be able to scry for this other troop if he knows the area himself.” Shiv shot a regretful glance toward the cart-girl Larrel, who was doing the rounds with a tray of bread and cut meats to placate the hungry customers.

Livak caught his arm as he moved. “Not so fast. That guard captain, Nyle, seems very keen to buy Ryshad’s sword. Did you know about that?”

Shiv shrugged. “That’s hardly surprising, is it? It’s an Old Empire sword; those blades are always in demand.”