“He is. He made a name for himself in the town. He’s working his way up through the ranks, and I think being such a fantastic swordsman has made him quite unpopular. Courtiers scent rumors and seek him out to prove themselves, but Wrenn refuses to know when to lose. He gave Veery Carniss more of a flaying than a dueling scar. If he was nobility, he could have been promoted higher. It’s a shame; I suppose he was frustrated by the cut-glass ceiling which is why he’s trying a Challenge.”
“They both look tired.”
“Jant, they started at six o’clock.”
“Shit!”
Lightning gestured at the crowd, “Long enough for the Eszai and the whole of Demesne village to join us. Hush now. He’s such a short boy, I don’t know how he keeps going.”
There was no blood on the sawdust. “Four hours and they haven’t touched each other?”
“They’ve broken a sword each, though. Sh!”
Wrenn had obviously trained in broadsword techniques as well as the ideal figures of fencing. An overhead blow down to the face, a thrust to the belly, adapted to the rapier-duelist’s weapons designed by humans for settling disputes between themselves in their city.
Winning is all. The Castle’s constitution is simple: two men on a field and by the end of the day one of them will be immortal, and the other may as well be down among the dead men.
They used identical rapiers, damask steel blades with the same length and heft, issued by the Castle to ensure the Challenge is fair. The Challenger is allowed to set the time of the competition, but the Challenged immortal decrees the type of contest. Serein was formerly a fencing master; he had popularized the art across the Plainslands and Morenzia. Three centuries ago, he won his place in the Circle by broadsword combat but since then he has usually stipulated that Challengers use his accustomed rapier and poniard. Wrenn was so thickset that I could tell the long blade hadn’t been chosen to favor him, but he had no problems wielding it. He cut straight at Serein’s chest.
Serein flung both hands up and bounded back. He landed in high guard, with both blades pointing at Wrenn’s face. Wrenn ducked below them to attack-he flattened himself to the floor, one leg out behind, lunged forward with the rapier at arm’s length.
Serein got low to thrust, but Wrenn was quick to his feet. Serein stood still, parried with dagger, thrust with sword. Wrenn pulled his cut to keep out of distance. He thrust under Serein’s arm.
“That’s three from the left,” muttered Lightning. “He’ll change now.”
That’s what Wrenn wanted us to think. He attacked from the left. He traversed to the opposite leg and changed dagger grip, so the blade was down. He leaned in, back straight, made a wide sweep, but too close and almost ran onto Serein’s rapier. The crowd inhaled, expecting a double kill, but Wrenn, off balance, gave ground and the two began to circle again.
Wrenn launched a heavy cut to Serein’s shoulder.
If this was me, I would-
Serein jumped and stopped it with just his dagger before it gained momentum.
Well, I wouldn’t do that.
Then he tried to kick Wrenn in the balls.
Wrenn leapt away, threw his weight back and returned a reverse thrust at the same time.
I gasped. I’d never seen a fencer move that accurately before.
Serein couldn’t turn inside the thrust, and retreated, face sallow. He allowed his rapier point to drop from guard for the first time. It gave Wrenn time to rally; he tried a cleaving blow. Serein beat it aside, turned his sword and cut at Wrenn’s exposed hand. Wrenn backed off just fast enough to keep his hand. He parried, the dagger coming up beneath his rapier for support. He lifted Serein’s blade, but Serein snatched it free. Wrenn faced Serein squarely, his whole body curved into a hollow, his middle held away and his left foot down securely.
They found new strength, remembering that they’re fighting for immortality. San forbids his immortals to kill their Challengers, although genuine accidents happen now and again. Serein looked furious at how long this was taking, he was channeling all his brilliance at getting first blood from the young man.
Of course, no money Serein’s novices could offer him would lead him to reveal his finest moves. He never taught his students enough for them to Challenge him. But it seemed that Wrenn had reinvented all Serein’s techniques from scratch, and added his own innovations.
Serein deliberately made an out-of-distance attack, trying to draw Wrenn in. Wrenn was having none of it, he kept his body well away. Serein tried a better angle, this time Wrenn’s dagger parried low. Serein’s rapier drove straight at it. The blades shunted together. Serein punched his swept hilt at Wrenn’s fist. The dagger shot from Wrenn’s stunned hand like a dart.
Wrenn did not look for it but changed his rapier to his right hand, wringing his fingers. He was at a serious disadvantage. Serein’s eyes tracked Wrenn’s expression as he deigned a smile.
“It’s only a matter of time…” Lightning said.
Wrenn knocked Serein’s rapier up with his sword’s forte, sliced across Serein’s stomach. Serein kept his arms out of the way. His confidence peaked; he didn’t need to give ground. He could just wait.
“Serein will stick him like a pig.”
Wrenn made a straight thrust in
Serein was lining up a way to end this. He feinted with the dagger, swung his rapier around in an outside moulinet for force, straight down at Wrenn’s head.
And Wrenn stepped into the blow.
He caught the inside of Serein’s hand on the grip with his own wrist, forced it aside. His rapier arrested Serein’s dagger and he stretched that arm fully to the other side. He tilted his blade; the tip lowered to Serein’s throat. Serein struggled, stopped. Face-to-face they were so close their chests nearly touched. Wrenn looked Serein straight in the eyes, made an almost imperceptible movement of the point and a red trickle ran down below the Swordsman’s larynx, between his collar bones into the front of his shirt. First blood.
Wrenn punched both arms into the air. “Yes!” he yelled. “I did it! I really fucking did it!”
For a second there was silence, and I could tell the same thought was running through every mind in the throng: how brave have you got to be to step into a cut in prime? Wrenn was prepared to die if his trick failed. Knowing he has to die sometime, he risked it for the ultimate reward. Serein had lost that mortal determination- well, all us Eszai are living on borrowed time.
The crowd erupted. A lady next to me put her hands over her ears, the cheering was so loud.
“What timing,” Lightning breathed. “What bloody timing.” He vaulted the low wall and sprinted across the pitch. I got to the duelists first, saw Lightning throw a brotherly arm around Wrenn’s shoulders. Wrenn lowered his rapier, swayed on his feet. He was about to faint.
I was suddenly at the focal point, and almost deafened by the crowds. Outside the lit ground the stands were invisible but the applause was like a wall of sound. A chant caught like city-fire and spread through the stands: “Wrenn for Serein! Wrenn for Serein!” Fyrd swordsmen stamped their feet on the wooden benches; the thunder went on and on. Soldiers in civvies began to spill out onto the pitch. I clapped my hands until the palms stung.
“Yes!” yelled Tornado, with one fist in the air. He stuck two fingers in his mouth and gave a long whistle.
“Well done!” Lightning exclaimed. “Well done, my friend!” He turned Wrenn to the yelling crowd and raised Wrenn’s shaking arm. “The victor!”
Serein, beaten, opened his hands and let his dagger and rapier fall to the trodden sand. They smelled weakly of disinfectant. He looked around for a place to lie, knelt down, then curled up from humiliation and sheer exhaustion with his hands over his head.
Wrenn seemed frightened. He looked more terrified the more he realized how many people were out there. His face had a luster from the grease smeared on his forehead to stop sweat running into his eyes. He was beyond the limits of mental and physical endurance; he stumbled. Lightning walked him toward the Doctor’s bench, but the crowd swallowed them in and then hoisted up Wrenn in the center, hands on his legs and backside like a crowd- surfer. They carried him high above their heads, into the square passageway and rapidly out of the fencing
