He saw the truth of Lacey's assessment. He might have to kill her to get past her. The sudden knowledge that he didn't want to kill her filled him, and even as they were making their salutes he racked his mind for alternatives. A meat wound wasn't going to stop this one, nor even a slash across the face. She'd fight as long as she could hold her blade ...
Red-sash nodded and she was on him, inside the reach of Vandien's blade and coming after him. Damn, she was quick! He found himself retreating, standing more upright and fighting her from the outside, reaching over and around as he tried to attain a more threatening position. With a clash of steel she beat his blade aside, was once more inside his range. As he brought his guard back down, he could almost see her decision cross her face. A coupe. Stupid. A harsh answer to his dilemma came to mind, and before he had time to weigh it, she was moving. Her blade lifted in an attempt to go over his and dart in. He closed his mind on the decision, let his own blade shoot in. His found flesh first, entering the back of her arm just above the wrist. He felt his point slip between the two bones of her arm, then emerge. He heard the clatter of her weapon on the bricks, hoped if was over. But no - with her free hand she groped after her weapon, her eyes full only of her fury. She hissed at him in her pain and hatred, making it seem he had spitted some small, savage animal on his rapier. Neither blood nor pain was going to stop this one. Disabling her was his only alternative to killing her, for the Duke was making no move to put an end to the match. So he would have to do it himself. The decision was made. It seemed to Vandien that it was someone else who levered his blade between the bones of her arm, bringing pressure down until he felt the clean snap of the smaller bone.
She screamed, pain driving the intensity of her hate from her face. She fell, jerking her arm free of his blade, forgetting her weapon as she clutched at her arm. She'd fence no more today. Perhaps never again. His stomach lurched within him as he turned, moved to the end of the strip. She never saw the grave salute he accorded her as someone helped her stand and guided her from the strip. But Lacey did. Vandien glanced away from the man's sickened face. He had set these wheels in motion, not Vandien. Let him live with what they crushed; at least the girl was alive.
He glanced to the Duke, who was again in consultation with a red-sashed official. Three other bouts were still in progress, one involving two young men who seemed bent on seeing how much noise they could make with their weapons. The Duke didn't spare them a glance, not even when one finally managed a shoulder-smashing hit on his fellow. Plainly he was content to let them battle it out until one conceded. Vandien watched them idly until Red-sash spoke behind him.
'This way, please,' he said politely, and something in the way he avoided touching Vandien put him in mind of the crowd parting before the Brurjans. He wondered if he shimmered with violence and disdain as they did. Within, he felt only the thundering of his own heart, and wondered if it was the work of thepoison or the antidote that held the poison at bay. The rapidity of its beating pushed him on, hurrying him to work as much destruction upon his destroyers as he could before their poison stopped him. He followed Red-sash across the threshing floor, felt the eyes of the Duke following him. He didn't condescend to notice the Duke.
Red-sash gestured, and Vandien took his place opposite his new opponent. He had a few moments to observe him; it was another of Lacey's foils, the one in lace. He had noticed him earlier, a dandyish, prancing man who obviously loved playing to the crowd. He had reminded Vandien of a brightly feathered cockerel strutting through the barnyard.
He didn't look so jaunty now. He was not watching Vandien, but staring across the floor to where someone was only now retrieving Darnell's blade. He scratched his nose with the back of one belaced wrist; not an elegant gesture. And when Blume turned to face Vandien, he could almost see the sweat pop out on the man's upper lip. He looked at Vandien as he might look at a rabid street cur — something ordinarily despised had suddenly become dangerous. Vandien ignored him as he saluted the Duke, marked the snide challenge on the Duke's face; he kept his own expressionless. Blume's salute to Vandien was sloppy, as if the man could not quite make his blade stop where it should. Fear was spoiling his posturing. The tip of his weapon trembled as their blades met.
'Begin,' said Red-sash, and Blume lunged, then jumped back as if he had surprised himself. Vandien replied to his attack, and the man parried wildly, his wagging blade reminding Vandien of an ecstatic hound's tail. He leaped back as he did so, taking himself out of Vandien's reach. Vandien paused where he was, brought his blade up to challenge and stayed there. Obviously waiting for Blume to regain his nerve and resume the bout. Blume stared at him, and a flush rose over his face. Vanity warred with fear; he took a moment to straighten his cuffs, shot a falsely bright smile to someone among the spectators, and then brought his own blade up and stepped back into the match. But Vandien's first feint was met with another of his wild parries, and then a beat that knocked his blade aside.
Blume charged in, meeting Vandien chest to chest. 'Have you gone mad, man? I'm one of Lacey's men! You don't have to ...'
Vandien's free hand pushed him off, and as he went back he brought his rapier down to cut swiftly, opening a slash beside Blume's nose and down his upper lip. He saw a flash of teeth before the blood covered them. 'Keep your distance,' he said coldly, and fell back on guard.
He watched the realizations follow one another swiftly as they crossed Blume's face: he was bleeding, it hurt, his face was ruined, this man wants to kill me. And Vandien was ready when Blume suddenly decided he had better end this quickly, even if it meant being noticed by the Duke. And the Duke was paying attention, leaning forward on his chair, his face both alarmed and puzzled. Every one of Vandien's acts had been done with intent to cause great injury. The reports he had received on this man had obviously left something out. The Duke did not like unknown factors. He scowled as Blume plunged back into the bout.
Blume was fighting energetically now, but without finesse. Blood had drenched the front of his shirt, soaking the lace but leaving the face above it more pale than the linen had been. Pain and dizzying fear were making him careless. He dashed in with a sloppy attempt at a double, attacking toward the back of Vandien's body. He dropped under Vandien's guard so that his blade could move in as Vandien parried. He got in under Vandien's blade and knew brief satisfaction as his weapon gouged a ragged cut over the top of Vandien's hip. But the satisfaction was cut short by the tip of Vandien's rapier slipping quietly into the soft spot at the base of his throat. For an instant they stood frozen in tableau, Blume's terrified eyes meeting Vandien's cold ones over their blades. Then Vandien withdrew his tip as smoothly as he had entered it, and Blume fell backward, clutching at his throat as he screamed a fine spray of blood.
Vandien stood still for an instant, waiting to feel satisfaction. The moment passed and he still stood, waiting to feel anything. But there was nothing. Only the thundering of his heart in his ears, and now the pain, hot and sickening, flooding up from his hip. He felt himself sway. It took an effort to sheathe his rapier; the tip wavered and circled the opening of the sheath, and went in with a smear of Blume's blood on the leather. The hammering of his heart in his ears had become a constant sound like the rushing of wind. Darkness edged in on him, narrowing his vision of the world. He felt something bump against his thigh. He glanced down, watched his sword arm hanging by his side. With his good hand he lifted it to his chest, held it against himself. It was like holding a stick of kindling. No feeling left in it at all. Damn.
He forced his eyes to stay open, lifted his head. A cluster of people stood before him. They were lifting Blume to carry him away. He couldn't tell if the man was alive or dead. Suddenly Lacey broke free of the group, stood before him. 'Bastard's whelp by a she-cur!' he grated.
Vandien forced a smile. 'Do you really think you should be talking to me? The Duke's watching.'
Lacey spun about, looked up. The Duke nodded congenially to them both. Lacey whitened, began to walk away.
'Not so fast.' Vandien spoke softly, but he knew his voice carried. Lacey halted. 'I need more Thwartspite. It's wearing off. Without it, I'll never get as far as the Duke. It will all have been for nothing.'
'Die in your tracks,' said Lacey, and walked away.
So. He had gambled and lost. He had thought Lacey would be so attached to his cause that he would give him the Thwartspite to keep him going, in spite of what he had done. He wouldn't. So. Vandien felt himself sway again. So get off the floor, or die here. Someone took his arm. It was hard to see in the darkness, and he didn't recognize her until he heard her speak to Red-sash. 'No. He's not withdrawing. We're just going to staunch the bleeding on his hip, and then he'll be back ... with the Duke's permission.'
It must have been given by a nod or some other sign, for Willow knelt by him and pressed a flat pad of bandages to his hip. It sent a wave of red pain coursing through him, and the darkness became two shades blacker. 'Take what I give you. Chew it, but don't swallow it. Hold it in your cheek.' She fumbled at his good hand,
