Pantros then plopped the cap on top of the nearest noble's head and gracefully whirled around the noble, ending up behind the noble and wearing the noble's cape. The noble laughed and reached for the cape but Pantros cartwheeled away, disappearing into the crowd.
A moment later a drink servant walked through the party wearing the noble's cape. Bryan had, meanwhile, procured an ornamental mirrored glass ball from the banquet table and was lobbing it from hand to hand. He stumbled and the orb went flying into the crowd where Pantros caught it and immediately tossed it back. Terse gasps told Pantros that crowd was on edge, watching the fragile glass fly above the flagstones of the courtyard. At one time Pantros nearly dropped it only to kick it back to Bryan just before it would have shattered on the stones. The ball was soon exchanged for whipped-icing filled pastries, which sent the nobles scurrying off to the edges, not wanting to get the delicious cream on their silk gowns. Bryan caught one toss of a pastry on the end of a decorative skewer, and the food tossing had progressed to sharp implements. The crowd was rapt as they tossed a carving knife and fork back and forth.
Bryan carefully edged near a pair of guards and as Pantros tossed the knife a last time, Bryan quickly drew one of the guards’ swords and knocked the airborne knife aside where it stuck into the leg of the banquet table. Bryan dropped the fork from his other hand onto the table and tossed the sword, end over end at Pantros. Pantros stepped aside, reaching out just to catch the hilt of the weapon as it flew by. He spun around to face his friend who had now drawn the other guard’s sword and was moving towards him rapidly. Pantros ran forward meeting the charge. They exchanged swings and parries for only a few seconds before Pantros rolled under a swing to come to his feet and smack Bryan's rear with the flat of the blade. He quickly parried Bryan's clumsy return shot as the larger man spun back to face his friend. Bryan threw a series of wide horizontal swings. Pantros ducked the first, jumped over the second, ducked the fourth then leapt into an airborne summersault over the fourth. Pantros retaliated with an overhead swing that Bryan caught at his hilt. Pantros pressed his blade down, but the larger man laughed and threw Pantros back, where he fell sprawled to the flagstones. Hopping to his feet, Pantros beckoned Bryan to come at him. Bryan charged wildly, sword high in the air. Pantros stepped aside at the last minute spinning his leg back and sweeping Bryan off his feet. Bryan flipped forward, rolling in the air, but landing on his rear. The audience broke into applause. Pantros helped Bryan to his feet then bowed along with his friend.
An Abvi in a black and red silk doublet stepped out of the crowd. “Well done,” The Abvi praised. “I have seen staged swordplay before and that was not the same.”
Bryan and Pantros looked at each other and shrugged.
“I mean, in plays and such when there is swordplay, each move is planned, the entire fight is a step by step reenactment,” the Abvi explained. “The way you moved was not choreographed. The way your eyes watched each other, you were looking for hints as to what would your opponent do next.”
“Well, this is our first time,” Bryan admitted.
“Indeed,” The Abvi nodded, looking impressed. “And I could also tell that the larger one is the better swordsman, though your show would outwardly imply otherwise. Where did you learn the art of swordplay?”
“My father taught me,” Bryan told the Abvi, “before mother left and he crawled into a barrel of rum.”
“Your father must have been very good when he was sober,” the Abvi commented.
“My father is Captain Aaron,” Bryan mentioned. “He is very good when he is drunk. When he is sober, he is the best.”
“I know him,” the Abvi said. “I am Lord Gliyn Dane, Lord of the House of Dane. He sailed for Uytlin, did he not?”
“Yes,” Bryan nodded.
“Captain Aaron Piratesbane,” Dane pondered. “He taught me a good bit about cutlass fighting. It was from him that I learned that sailors prefer a curved blade because it will cut through ropes easier. The curve forces a rope to run along the edge as the blade passes through, giving a cutting more than a chopping effect.”
“He told me that, too,” Bryan recalled. “I understand they work in a similar fashion against flesh.”
“I would like to see how good you really are.” Dane smiled. “Would you duel me? Just to first blood, and I will have an excellent healer nearby. The danger will be minimal.”
“I don't see why not,” Bryan agreed. “Is there a wager?”
Dane laughed. “No, no wager. I won't take the four silver coins you earned tonight.”
“You are that good?” Bryan asked.
Slipping a violet trimmed black glove onto his sword hand, the Abvi just smiled at Bryan. “Go into the front hall, to the right is my library there are several swords displayed on the walls. Pick one that you are most comfortable with and meet me out here.
Bryan nodded and walked into the manse, emerging a moment later with a huge seven-foot long greatsword over his shoulder. The blade was wide and heavy and made of polished steel and the hilt seemed made of silvery metal, which had a little too much luster. It looked like silver under the thinnest layer of glass.
“I should have guessed.” Dane chuckled as he drew his own sword from his hip. His was a slender Abvi bastard sword of dark steel but a highly polished golden hilt and pommel. “Begin when you are ready.”
“Okay.” Bryan swung his blade, forcing Dane to step back, but the Abvi lord quickly bounced forward again with a thrust towards Bryans chest. Bryan flipped the heavy blade around with one hand, knocking the thrust aside and riposted with a slash towards Dane's thigh. In seconds they were locked in a frenzy of slashes and parries, leaving a screaming constant ring of steel in the air. Periodically the blades would lock and Dane would throw himself back or be thrown by Bryan and they would charge each other and the ring would start again.
As everyone at the party clamored for a better view of the fight, Pantros resisted the urge to increase his collection of jewelry as the fight continued. Bryan had used his father’s name, which made them traceable if anything went missing.
“Blood, milord!” A servant who had been watching the combat shouted. “The giant bleeds!”
Bryan stepped back and looked down at his tunic. A small tear had appeared near his shoulder on the left side of his chest. The fabric near the tear showed a tiny trickle of blood. Bryan laughed.
“Well fought, son of Aaron.” Dane spoke between heavy breaths.
“Fun,” Bryan smiled, breathing just as heavily as they both collapsed to their knees in exhaustion. “My name is Bryan.”
“Well met, Bryan Aaronson,” Dane managed, “if you need better work than clowning around, I could use a good sword at my side.”
“Sure,” Bryan accepted the offer.
“Wait until you hear me out, my large friend,” Dane said. “I am going to Novarra and I need several skilled swords at my side. For reasons that I’d rather not discuss here, I need to travel by land. What I need are men stout enough to ensure that I survive the land journey.”
“No one has survived a land journey west for centuries,” Bryan countered. Pantros knew that at least a few people did, including his sister’s bard friend, but he also knew the roads were indeed dangerous.
“Does that mean that you are not accepting my offer?” Dane asked.
Pantros stumbled into the Inn of the Haughty Hedgehog, dressed as he had left four hours earlier. The jester’s costume lay in the street somewhere between Dane’s house and the dock district.
“What's wrong boy?” James inquired. “It’s not even midnight and you are home. How much did you take in that you are calling it in so early?
Pantros didn’t answer; instead he went straight up to his room. He locked the door and lay on his bed staring into the blackness above him. Bryan had taken the offer and would be leaving the next morning. His partner was gone, most likely soon to be dead. Pantros enjoyed adventure, but not the kind Bryan chose to face. From that moment forward, Pantros would be finding and facing his own trouble-alone.
CHAPTER 1: JULIVEL
In the immense city of Fork, there may be thousands of dark, seedy taverns. Julivel had arranged to meet his potential client in the darkest and seediest of those.
