fine, matched blades to the Faceless Lord. The cloaked figure studied the swords for a moment, then nodded in satisfaction.
'Clear a circle fifteen paces across, in the center of the floor!' he commanded. The crowd surged back in response to his voice. Conversation fell to an excited buzz as the players whispered and speculated.
Jack found himself standing on one side, a gleaming sword in his hand, watching Lord Panther stalk back and forth, working his muscles to loosen up. The other man seemed bigger, stronger, and not anywhere near as drunk as he should have been.
'Jack, please be careful,' Illyth begged.
'I cannot abide his insults,' Jack said calmly. 'Justice must be attended to.'
The Red Lord moved to the center of the circle and raised his hands. 'Gentlemen, shall three touches serve honor tonight?'
'Fine,' grunted Lord Panther.
'Of course,' Jack replied.
'Excellent. Whoever leaves the circle, loses his weapon, or asks for quarter shall lose on the instant. When I lower my hand, you may commence.' The Red Lord backed away, his arm high. Then he dropped it like an executioner's axe.
'Have at you!' Panther bellowed. He leaped forward, lashing out in a head-high cut that might have decapitated Jack outright if the smaller man hadn't ducked under the swing. Jack riposted with a sturdy thrust straight ahead, but Lord Panther twisted his lean hips and allowed Jack's point to glide past without making contact. Panther countered with a backhanded slash under Jack's blade, and now Jack had to leap as far as he could straight up into the air, drawing his feet up under his body and grunting with effort. 'Ho! Stand still!'
'Careful!' Jack said. 'You might hurt someone.'
He dashed aside, and spent the next ten or twenty heartbeats darting round and round inside the circle, trying to stay ahead of Lord Panther's powerful swings. The man was no casual student of swordplay-he was well acquainted with what he was doing, and he didn't seem to care if a 'touch' took off one of Jack's limbs by mistake. When Jack tried to stand his ground, the man launched a reckless flurry of slashes and thrusts that instantly threw the rogue into complete defense, ducking and parrying to keep Panther's blade at some safer distance. He decided he'd picked the wrong man to pickpocket.
'Stand and fight!'' the lord roared.
Two quick passes of the blades, and then Lord Panther hammered through Jack's guard and slammed the blade into the thief's upper thigh, a blow that spun Jack to the ground and made the dueling sword flash a brilliant white light. The bystanders gasped and roared in delight.
'One touch for Lord Panther!' the Red Lord cried.
Stunned, Jack gingerly felt for his wound, expecting to see his blood pouring out of a gash half a hand deep, but he felt nothing, other than a deep, shocking sting. He rolled over and looked at his leg. There wasn't a mark on him. The swords, he realized. They're enchanted! They don't cut!
'Do you yield?' his opponent snarled.
'Hardly,' Jack said. He pushed himself to his feet. His left leg would stiffen up later, but for now it held his weight well enough. He could take a sting or two. 'A child's blow, feebly struck. I permitted it so that you would not lose your spirit.'
'Excellent,' the Panther said. 'I shall endeavor to strike you harder then!'
'Continue!' the Red Lord commanded.
Lord Panther charged up fast, his blade flashing, but this time Jack dived forward and rolled up underneath his opponent's guard. He felt Panther's sword miss the crown of his head by inches, whickering past his ear, and then he stabbed the point of his own blade into Panther's groin. The blade flashed white and jolted in Jack's hand, imparting its painful message.
'Ha!' he cried.
The audience groaned in dismay. Lord Panther made a strangled sound and dropped to his hands and knees beside Jack.
'Basely struck,' he gasped.
'One touch for Lord Fox,' the Red Lord said. Some in the audience hissed in disapproval. 'That was an ignoble blow, sir.'
'My apologies, lord,' Jack said, scrambling to his feet. He hopped away on his good leg, grinning devilishly. 'I thought my opponent was shorter. Would you care to yield?'
Lord Panther climbed to his feet and stood a moment with his hands on his knees. 'I'm not ready to yield yet,' he said slowly. With great care, he straightened up and swung his blade slowly left to right, right to left, as if reminding himself of its weight.
'Gentlemen, continue,' the Red Lord said.
This time, both combatants circled cautiously. Thrust and parry, thrust and parry, the blades clanged against each other with shrill rings. Jack held his own for a time, although he recognized that Panther was a better swordsman than he-and then Lord Panther launched a feint that caught Jack squarely on his weakened left leg, and as Jack's knee buckled, Panther reversed his attack and whipped the blade of his sword fast and hard against the back of the rogue's head.
White lights exploded in Jack's eyes. He tumbled to the marble floor like a puppet with its strings cut. His right ear was filled with a roaring sound that wouldn't go away, and the sword went skittering from his hand across the stone. He lay on his back, staring at the bright lights popping in front of his eyes for what seemed to be just a moment. Then he drifted down into deep, soft, darkness.
The next thing Jack knew, he found himself staring up at a lovely, pastoral scene of green fields and dancing nymphs, his skull aching as if it had been split in two. He was in a small, dark-paneled room, resting on a large, soft divan. The ceiling was painted elaborately and finished with a lovely gold filigree, framing the picture above him. There was no sign of the Red Lord or Lord Panther or any of the other guests.
'I seem to have misplaced the party,' he announced to no one in particular.
'The Game's over for tonight,' said Illyth from somewhere behind him. She sat down beside him and leaned over to study his eyes. 'You've been unconscious for almost an hour. Do you think you can walk?'
'Aid me, dear Illyth, and I'll find out,' Jack said. He accepted her arm and gingerly sat upright. His legs were rubbery but serviceable. Very carefully, he reached up to feel his head, and discovered a long knot the size of a hen's egg just above and behind his right ear. 'Ooooh,' he moaned.
'A hard blow. I'm surprised you woke up at all.' Disapproval tightened Illyth's voice, and there was no gentleness in the viselike grip she maintained on his upper arm. 'You could have gotten yourself killed, Jack. You're no swordsman!'
'It may seem that my talents lie elsewhere,' Jack admitted. 'My style is unorthodox, though, and it would be difficult for the untrained observer accurately to measure my skill. Lord Panther simply struck me a lucky blow.'
'But you refused to back down, even when you could see that your opponent was better than you.'
Jack's wits must have been addled from the knock on his head. Without thinking about it, he told the truth. 'I couldn't disappoint you,' he said. 'I know you've had your heart set on the Game.'
'Perhaps you should have considered that before you tried picking pockets,' Illyth scolded him. 'Honestly, Jack, I'm dumbfounded. You should know better than that!' She walked him toward the door, steadying him with one arm. Jack valiantly ignored the nausea and dizziness and allowed her to lead him through the abandoned banquet hall to the foyer and the driveway outside. Jack's coach was long gone, but it seemed that the master of the house had hired a couple of carriages for the convenience of his guests, and Illyth had a footman hail one. 'I can't believe you resorted to stealing clues!' she hissed as they waited for the coach.
'It wasn't quite like that,' Jack said. They clambered into the carriage and settled themselves. Then the coach clattered off into the night. They rode together in silence for a few minutes. Each jolt of the wheels sent fiery spikes through Jack's skull; he groaned softly with each rut or misplaced cobblestone. Between bumps he looked over at Illyth, but the noblewoman was glowering out the window at the city streets. Jack winced-he couldn't allow
