“The mystery lies in how they win duel after duel. If you’d seen that feint—”
“Yes, you said it was very pretty.”
“Better than pretty. Perfect. Even you would have gone for the parry. But Alsagad didn’t.”
Marissa sighed. “I admit, I’d love to find out exactly what Dromis teaches that makes his disciples so formidable. Hell, I may
“Now that you mention it.” I took another swig of the tart white wine. “And maybe my students are wise to desert me, if I can’t prepare them to defend themselves.”
Marissa rested her callused fingertips on the back of my hand. “People die in duels for all sorts of reasons, including sheer bad luck. Falnac’s death is sad, but it’s no reflection on you.”
“It is if Alsagad cheated and I didn’t catch him. I’m supposed to be an expert on every aspect of dueling, including treachery and sleights.”
“Is that what you think? Dromis is helping his pupils cheat?”
“They win and win and win, don’t they, even when facing swordsmen with more experience. How else can you account for it?”
Marissa took a drink, then wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “I don’t know. It’s hard to believe that Dromis’ system is really so much better than everybody else’s. Maestros may claim to know secret invincible techniques— I’ve done it myself to drum up trade—but you and I know that’s mostly rubbish. There are only so many ways to stick a blade in another man’s carcass.
“But if Alsagad did cheat,” she continued, “I don’t see how he could have managed it except by magic, and I assume you were on guard against that.”
“Yes.” For a moment, reminded of its presence, I felt the round shape of the talisman beneath my shirt. It should have grown hot if Alsagad were carrying a beneficial enchantment on his person or sword, and cold if anyone had cast a curse on Falnac. “Still, I’m not a wizard. It’s possible someone slipped something past me.” I suddenly wanted to be sober, and took a deep breath in a futile attempt to become so. “I’m going to find out.”
“Stick your nose into Dromis’ business, you mean.”
“Yes. If he and Alsagad conspired to deny Falnac a fair fight, then they truly are murderers according to city law, and I’ll see them hang for it.”
“Thus mending our tattered reputations and drawing our strayed students back to us. I like the idea in principle, and you do have a knack for solving puzzles.”
Or at least I’d had some luck at it. Enough that, when people sought my services as a hiresword, a trade I still practiced from time to time to supplement the money I earned teaching, it was often as much for the sharpness of my eyes and wits as the keenness of my blade. “Why do you say you like it
“Because I’m sure Dromis is at least as jealous of his secrets as any other maestro. And if his methods empower his students to kill yours, then it’s possible they would also enable him to do the same to you. So watch your back.”
I tracked down Olissimal where I should have expected to find him: in the mansion of Falnac’s kin. I had no doubt that, supported by his ivory crutches, he’d hovered over the boy’s corpse for a long time, ogling the wounds. Now, gray eyes bright, twisted, stunted leg propped on a leather footstool, he sat in a corner savoring the more rarefied nectar of everyone else’s grief.
My mouth and stomach sour from last night’s overindulgence, I felt an urge to grab him and drag him out of the room, but of course that wouldn’t do. Instead, I paid my respects to Falnac’s parents. Who didn’t reproach me, unless it was with their eyes.
Afterward, I approached Olissimal with at least a semblance of the courtesy due a scion of one of the Fifty Noble Houses. “Master Selden,” he said, the corners of his crooked mouth quirking upward, “I didn’t expect to see you here today. Come to collect for the boy’s lessons?”
I took a breath. “I came to express my sympathy and talk to you.”
“Truly?”
“If you’ll favor me with a moment of your time.”
“I suppose. It’s just that you surprise me. You are, after all, the same fellow who called me a degenerate, forbade me to observe the classes at your academy even when I offered to pay, and threatened to whip me if I ever dared watch one of your pupils fighting a duel.”
So I had. Many men who are not themselves warriors are interested in the martial disciplines, and generally that’s all right. But it had always been plain to me that Olissimal’s fascination rose from an underlying thirst to witness killing and mutilation, and while such passive cruelty was relatively harmless, it repulsed me nonetheless.
But now Dromis and his students concerned me more. “Help me,” I said, “and I’ll lift the ban. You can watch everything but the private lessons.” Those were where I passed along my own “secret” techniques, inadequate as they had begun to seem.
“How generous. What sort of help do you require?”
“Nothing difficult. I’m sure you’ve watched many of the duels Dromis’s students have fought. I want you to describe them.”
He laughed, startling the mourners and offending against the solemnity of the occasion. “Trying to figure out what makes Dromis’ proteges so deadly? Maybe you should have done that before you sent poor little Falnac out to fight one of them.”
Once again, I clamped down on my anger. “Will you do it?”
“Oh, why not? After all, there isn’t much I enjoy more than chatting about swordplay.”
To give him his due, the descriptions were clear and detailed. He was observant and understood dueling as well as a man born with a useless leg ever could. After he finished, I said, “So it’s mostly dodging, stop thrusts, and counterattacks. Aggressive responses to the other man’s attempt to score. They seldom take the initiative, give ground, or parry.”
“Exactly.”
“Damn it!” I said. “Only a truly accomplished swordsman can hope to fight that way and get away with it, and even he, only when facing an inferior opponent.”
“Yet Dromis’ pupils invariably win. Even the novices typically fell their opponents at the end of the first exchange.” He smirked as though enjoying my mystification.
“Their success aside,” I asked, “do they look like prodigies?”
“No. They display the same defects of stance, balance, guard, and what have you as other students.”
“Then ...” I groped for a sensible follow-up question. “What about when they brawl in the cockpits and brothels?” Olissimal frequented such places for the same reason he haunted the dueling grounds: he hoped to see men who could walk unaided cut one another to pieces. “Are they similarly successful?”
Olissimal frowned, his pale eyes narrowing. “Now that you mention it, it’s a strange thing. Unlike many other young blades, they rarely brawl, even though they’re as pugnacious a lot as you’ll find in the city. Whenever they give or take offense, they try to steer the dispute in the direction of a formal challenge.”
“And what happens when the other fellow insists on drawing on the spot?”
“They don’t display their accustomed superiority. Not consistently, at any rate.” He cocked his head. “Curious. What do you suppose it means?”
“I don’t know yet.” I turned and left him to play the vulture.
Clad in the nondescript garments he’d borrowed from a servant, the brim of his hat pulled down to shadow his sharp-nosed face, Tregan Keenspur smiled and looked with interest at the bustling life of the street. I realized he was enjoying walking incognito among the common herd like some eccentric prince in a ballad.
That was just as well since I needed him disguised. Dressed in his normal rich attire with lackeys in attendance, a prominent noble and wizard of House Keenspur couldn’t go anywhere and do anything without attracting attention. And I didn’t want Dromis to learn I was making a study of him.
“That’s the school up ahead,” I said. “The dark green building with the rust-colored door and shutters.”
Tregan cast about. “I need a place to work. I can’t cast spells in the middle of the lane without somebody noticing.”
“How about there?” I indicated the narrow, shaded gap between two houses. The space was a stride or two removed from the traffic, yet still afforded a view of the fencing academy.
