Sharbaraz King of Kings had enjoined Abivard from trying to dispose of Tzikas. From what Yeliif had said, Sharbaraz had also enjoined Tzikas from trying to get rid of him. He wouldn't have given a counterfeit copper for the strength of that last prohibition, though.
After that one near disaster at the feast the palace servitors did their best to ensure that Abivard and Tzikas did not come close to occupying the same space at the same time. Insofar as that meant keeping them far apart at ceremonial meals, the servitors' diligence was rewarded. But Abivard was free to roam the corridors of the palace. And so, however regrettable Abivard found the prospect, was Tzikas.
They bumped into each other three or four days after Yeliif had delivered the message from Sharbaraz ordering Abivard not to run down the Videssian renegade. Message or not, that was almost literally what happened. Abivard was hurrying down a passageway not far from his suite of rooms when Tzikas crossed his path. He stopped in a hurry. «I'm sor—» Tzikas began, and then recognized him. «You!»
«Yes, me.» Abivard's hand fell, as if of its own accord, to the hilt of his sword.
Tzikas did not flinch from him and was also armed. No one had ever accused the Videssian of cowardice in battle. Plenty of other things had been charged against him, but never that one. He said, «A lot of men have lodged accusations against me—all lies, of course. Not one of those men came to a good end.»
«Oh, I don't know,» Abivard answered. «Maniakes still seems to be flourishing nicely, however much I wish he weren't»
«His time approaches.» For a man who had been condemned to death by both sides, who switched gods as readily as a stylish woman switched necklaces, his confidence was infuriating. «For that matter, so does yours.»
Abivard's sword leapt halfway out of its scabbard. «Whatever else happens, I'll outlive you. By the God I swear it—and he's likely to remember me, because I worship him all the time.»
Videssian skin being fairer than the Makuraner norm, Tzikas' flush was quite visible to Abivard, who skinned his lips back from his teeth, pleased at having made a hit. The renegade said, «My heart knows where the truth lies.»
He was speaking the Makuraner tongue; he wouldn't have given Abivard that kind of opening in Videssian. And Abivard took advantage of it, saying, «Your heart knows all about lies, doesn't it, Tzikas?»
Now the Videssian snarled. His graying beard gave him the aspect of an angry wolf. He said, «Jeer all you like. I am a constant man.»
«I should say so—you're false all the time.» Abivard pointed rudely at Tzikas' face. «Even your beard is changeable. When you first fled to us, you wore it trimmed close, the way most
Videssians do. Then you grew it out to look more like a Makuraner. But when I fought you down in the land of the Thousand Cities, after Maniakes got hold of you, you'd cut it short and shaved around the edges again. And now it's getting longer and bushier.»
Tzikas brought a hand up to his chin. Maybe he hadn't noticed what he was doing with his beard, or maybe he was angry someone else had noticed. «After Maniakes got hold of me, you say?» His voice went ugly. «You gave me to him, intending that he kill me.»
«He has even better reason to love you than I do,» Abivard replied, «but I have to say I'm gaining on him fast. You're like a sock, Tzikas—you fit either foot. But whoever made you wove you with a dye that burns like fire. Whatever you touch goes up in flames.»
«I'll send you up in flames—or down to the ice,» Tzikas said, and snatched out his sword.
Abivard's sword cleared the scabbard at about the same instant The clash of metal on metal brought shouts from around corners—people knew what that sound was even if they couldn't tell whence it came. Abivard knew what it was, too: the answer to his prayers. Tzikas had drawn on him first. He could kill the renegade and truthfully claim self-defense.
He was bigger and younger than Tzikas. All he had to do, he thought, was cut the Videssian down. He soon discovered it wouldn't be so easy. For one thing, Tzikas was smooth and strong and quick. For another, the corridor was narrow and the ceiling low, cutting into his size advantage: He had no room to make the full-armed cuts that might have beaten their way through Tzikas' guard. And for a third, neither he nor the renegade was used to fighting on foot in any surroundings, let alone such cramped ones. They were both horsemen by choice and by experience.
Tzikas had a strong wrist and tried to twist the sword out of Abivard's hand. Abivard held on to his blade and cut at his foe's head. Tzikas got his sword up in time to block the blow. As they had been on horseback, they were well matched here.
«Stop this at once!» someone shouted from behind Abivard. He took no notice; had he taken any notice, he would have been spitted the next instant. Nor did Tzikas show any signs of trusting him to show restraint—and the renegade had reason, for once two enemies began to fight, getting them to stop before one was bleeding or dead was among the hardest things for individuals and empires both.
A servant behind Tzikas shouted for him to give over. He kept slashing away at Abivard nonetheless, his fencing style afoot taking on more and more of the manner in which he would have fought while horsed as he went on battling his foe. Abivard found himself making more thrusts than cuts, doing his best to adapt to the different circumstances in which he now found himself. But whatever he did, Tzikas kept beating aside his blade. Whatever else anyone said about the Videssian, he could fight.
None of the palace servitors was so unwise as to try to break up the fight by grabbing one of the contestants. If someone did try tackling Tzikas, Abivard was ready to run the renegade through, however unsporting that was. He had no doubt Tzikas would give him the same treatment if he got the chance.
One thing that would stop two parties from fighting each other was overwhelming outside force directed at them both. A shout of «Drop your sword or neither one of you comes out alive!» got Abivard's undivided attention. A squadron of palace guards, bows drawn, were rushing up behind Tzikas.
Abivard sprang back from Tzikas and lowered his sword, though he did not drop it. He hoped Tzikas might pursue the fight without checking and thus get himself pincushioned. To his disappointment, the Videssian looked over his shoulder instead. He also let his arm drop but still kept hold of his sword. «I'll kill you yet,» he told Abivard.
«Only in your dreams,» Abivard retorted, and started to raise his blade again.
By then, though, the guardsmen had gotten between them. «That will be enough of that,» the squadron leader said as if talking to a couple of fractious boys rather than a pair of men far outranking him.
Very much like a fractious boy, Tzikas said, «He started it.»
«Liar!» Abivard snapped.
The squadron leader held up a hand. «I don't care who started it. All I know is that Sharbaraz King of Kings, may his days be long and his realm increase, doesn't want the two of you brawling, no matter what. I'm going to split my men in two. Half of them will take one of you back to his lodging; the other half will take the other noble gentleman back to his. That way nothing can go wrong.»
«Hold!» That ringing voice could have belonged to only one man—or, rather, not quite man—in the palace. Yeliif strode through the guards, disgust manifest not only on his face but in every line of his body. He looked from Abivard to Tzikas. His eyes flashed contempt. «You fools,» he said, making it sound like a revelation from the God.
«But—» Abivard and Tzikas said in the same breath. They glared at each other, angry at agreeing even in protest.
«Fools,» Yeliif repeated. He shook his head. «How the King of Kings expects to accomplish anything working through such tools as you is beyond me, but he does, so long as you do not break each other before he can take you in hand.»
Abivard pointed at Tzikas. «That tool will cut his hand if he tries to wield it.»
«You know not whereof you speak,» the beautiful eunuch snapped. «Now more than ever the King of Kings prepares to gather the fruits of what his wisdom long ago set in motion, and you seek in your ignorance to trifle with his design? You do not understand, either one of you. All is changed now. The ambassadors have returned.»
