‘I am, my Queen.’
‘Then let it begin.’
‘Might I make a request, Majesty?’ said Agasarsis.
‘I am in no mood to grant you anything. But speak and I will consider it.’
‘My swords are well made, but they hold no enchantment. Skilgannon’s blades, however, are known to be spell enhanced. I request that he uses no unfair advantage against me.’
The Queen turned to Skilgannon. ‘What say you, general?’
‘This fight is already folly, Majesty. But in this he is right. I shall use other blades.’
‘So be it,’ she said. Turning to the nearest soldiers, one of whom was Servaj, she called six of them forward. ‘Take out your swords,’ she ordered them. Once they had done so she gestured to Skilgannon. ‘Choose one.’ He hefted them all, then chose the sabre carried by Servaj. ‘Now you,’
snapped the Queen, pointing a regal hand at Agasarsis.
‘I already have swords, Majesty.’
‘Indeed you do. And you have used them so often they are like a part of your body. Your own request was for no unfair advantage. So choose. And do it swiftly, for I am easily bored.’
After Agasarsis had chosen a blade the two men bowed to the Queen and moved back towards the centre of the circle. She gestured for them to begin.
The duel did not start swiftly. The men moved warily around one another, and the first clash of steel seemed more like an extension of the exercises they had undergone before the Queen’s arrival. Servaj knew that the duellists were merely accustoming themselves to the feel of the weapons. Neither Skilgannon nor Agasarsis attempted a death strike.
They were gauging each other’s strengths and weaknesses. The crowd was silent as the two masters continued to circle one another. Sunlight gleamed on the blades, and each sudden attack would see the swords create a glittering web of brightness around the combatants. The ground below their feet was slick and treacherous, and yet it seemed that they remained in perfect balance. Time passed, the action quickened, and the music of clashing steel increased in tempo. Servaj was transfixed, flicking his gaze between the fighting men. Both exuded confidence. Both expected to win. First blood went to Skilgannon, the tip of his sabre scoring a cut to Agasarsis’s shoulder. Almost immediately the champion countered, and blood appeared on Skilgannon’s torso. It seemed to Servaj that the blood was dripping from the fangs of the panther head tattooed upon his chest.
The speed and skill of the fighters was dazzling. Bets had been placed by the soldiers, but no-one in the crowd cheered or shouted for their favourite. The watchers were all fighting men, and they knew they were observing a classic encounter. Not a whisker separated the talents of the duellists, and Servaj began to believe they would be fighting all day. He half hoped it would be true.
Such a brilliantly balanced contest was rare, and Servaj wanted to savour it for as long as possible.
Yet he knew it could not last. The blades were razor sharp, and they flashed and lunged, parried and countered, within a hair’s breadth of yielding flesh.
They had been fighting for some twenty minutes when Agasarsis stumbled in the mud. Skilgannon’s sabre lanced into Agasarsis’s left shoulder as he fell, then slid clear. The champion hit the ground and rolled, coming up in time to block a vicious cut that would have beheaded him. He threw himself at Skilgannon, hammering his shoulder into Skilgannon’s chest, hurling him backwards. Both men fell heavily.
At a command from the Queen the herald beside her blew a single blast upon his curved horn.
Two soldiers ran forward, bearing towels. The combatants plunged their swords into the earth, and took the cloths. Agasarsis wiped sweat from his face, then pressed the towel into the deep wound in his left shoulder. Skilgannon approached him. Servaj did not hear what was said, but saw Agasarsis shake his head angrily, and guessed that Skilgannon was enquiring as to whether honour had been satisfied.
After a few moments the Queen ordered the horn sounded, and the two fighters took up their swords. Once again they circled. Now the duel entered into its last phase. Servaj found it fascinating. Both men were tired, but he could see desperation in the eyes of Agasarsis. Doubt had entered the champion’s mind, and was leaching away his confidence. To counter this he launched a series of reckless attacks. Skilgannon defended smoothly for a while. When the death blow came it was so sudden that many in the crowd missed it. Agasarsis lunged. Skilgannon met the attack, blocking the lunge and rolling his blade round the sabre of Agasarsis. The two men leapt back. Blood suddenly gushed from Agasarsis’s severed jugular. The champion tried to steady himself, but his legs gave way, and he fell to his knees before his killer. Servaj realized then that, even as he parried, Skilgannon had flicked the point of his sabre across the throat of his opponent.
Agasarsis pitched face forward to the earth.
Skilgannon dropped his sabre and walked back to the Queen. He bowed, and Servaj saw that his face was set, his eyes angry. ‘Agasarsis was the best cavalry commander we had, Majesty,’ he said. ‘This was madness.’
‘Indeed it was,’ she agreed. ‘Behold the man responsible.’ She gestured to the herald, who sounded the horn twice in succession.
Two of the Queen’s trusted bodyguard, Askelus and Malanek, came into sight, leading a bound man. His eyes had been torn out, and his face was a mask of blood. Even so Servaj recognized the Prince Baliel. The man was sobbing piteously.
Askelus dragged him out to stand alongside the fallen Agasarsis. The Queen rose from her chair and walked out to the centre of the circle. ‘Our war is almost won,’ she said, her voice ringing out over the seated men.
‘And why? Because of your bravery and your loyalty. Jianna does not forget those who serve her faithfully. But this creature,’ she cried, pointing to the pitiful Baliel, ‘put all your courage at risk. My gratitude to my friends is infinite. My enemies will always find that my vengeance is swift and deadly.’ Askelus drew his sword and plunged it into the belly of the blinded man. His scream was hideous. Servaj saw Askelus twist the blade, then wrench it clear. Disembowelled, Baliel fell to the ground, and began to writhe in fresh agony. The Queen let the sounds go on for a while, then signalled Askelus. The soldier drove his sword through Baliel’s neck. The silence that followed was total. ‘So die all traitors,’ said the Queen.
Someone began to chant: ‘Jianna! Jianna!’ Servaj saw it was the former swordmaster Malanek. Other men began to follow his lead, but the cheering was not enthusiastic. Jianna raised her hands for silence. ‘When we have taken Perapolis every man in my army will receive three gold pieces, as a sign of my love and gratitude.’
Now the cheering began in earnest. Servaj shouted in jubilation, along with the others. Three gold coins was a fortune. Even as he cheered, however, he glanced at Skilgannon. The general looked troubled.
Shaking himself from his memories Servaj returned to the problem at hand. The Damned had been sentenced to death, and it was left to Servaj to determine the manner of his execution.
He had under his command a number of good swordsmen, but none with the skill of Agasarsis. Skilgannon was staying at the Crimson Stag.
There would be no opportunity to poison his food.
Servaj thought the problem through. There would need to be an attack on the general. Five, maybe six men. And two men with crossbows, hidden close by. Even this was fraught with risk. He would have to visit the alchemist. If the crossbow bolts were tipped with poison, then even if Skilgannon escaped the ambush he would die later.
How, though, could he ensure Skilgannon came to the place of his execution?
249
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BACK AT THE CRIMSON STAG SKILGANNON WAS DELIGHTED TO
FIND that two merchants had vacated a room overlooking the harbour.
He paid Shivas an extortionate four silver pieces for two nights, then went upstairs to the room and closed the door. He had not been aware that his need for solitude was so great. Even the muted noise from the tavern
