piece of oak, wide enough to get lost in!” The Lord Marshal illustrated his point by whacking at the beam with his short steel, making splinters fly.
“I thought you said forward,” moaned Jezal.
Varuz’ eyebrows went up sharply. “Do you seriously suppose, Captain Luthar, that Bremer dan Gorst gives his opponents reliable information as to his intentions?”
“Bremer dan Gorst will be trying to beat me, you old shit! You are supposed to be helping me to beat him!” That was what Jezal thought, but he knew better than to say it. He just shook his head dumbly.
“No! No indeed he does not! He makes every effort to deceive and confuse his opponents, as all great swordsmen must!” The Lord Marshal paced up and down, shaking his head. Jezal considered again whether to give it all up. He was sick of falling into bed exhausted each night, at a time when he should have been just starting to get drunk. He was sick of waking up every morning, bruised and aching, to face another four interminable hours of running, beam, bar, forms. He was sick of being knocked on his arse by Major West. Most of all he was sick of being bullied by this old fool.
“…A depressing display, Captain, very depressing. I do believe you are actually getting worse…”
Jezal would never win the Contest. No one expected him to, himself least of all. So why not give it up, and go back to his cards and late nights? Wasn’t that all he really wanted from life? But then what would mark him out from a thousand other noble younger sons? He had decided long ago that he wanted to be something special. A Lord Marshal himself perhaps, and then Lord Chamberlain. Something big and important anyway. He wanted a big chair on the Closed Council, and to make big decisions. He wanted people to fawn and smile around him and hang on his every word. He wanted people to whisper, “There goes Lord Luthar!” as he swept past. Could he be happy being forever a richer, cleverer, better-looking version of Lieutenant Brint? Ugh! It was not to be thought of.
“…We have a terribly long way to go, and not enough time to get there, not unless you change your attitude. Your sparring is lamentable, your stamina is still weak, and as for your balance, the less said about that the better…”
And what would everyone else think if he gave up? What would his father do? What would his brothers say? What about the other officers? He would look a coward. And then there was Ardee West. She seemed to have been much on his mind during the past couple of days. Would she lean so close to him if he didn’t fence? Would she talk to him in such soft tones? Would she laugh at his jokes? Would she look up at him with those big, dark eyes, so he could almost feel her breath on his face—
“Are you listening, boy?” thundered Varuz. Jezal felt a bit of his breath on his face alright, and a deal of spit too.
“Yes, sir! Sparring lamentable, stamina weak!” Jezal swallowed nervously. “Less said about balance the better.”
“That’s right! I am beginning to think, though I can hardly believe it after the trouble you have put me to, that your heart really isn’t in this.” He glared into Jezal’s eyes. “What do you think, Major?”
There was no reply. West was slumped in his chair, arms folded, frowning grimly and staring into space.
“Major West?” snapped the Lord Marshal.
He looked up suddenly, as though he had only just become aware of their presence. “I’m sorry, sir, I had become distracted.”
“So I see.” Varuz sucked his teeth. “It seems that nobody has been concentrating this morning.” It was a great relief that some of the old man’s anger had been deflected elsewhere, but Jezal’s happiness was not long- lived.
“Very well,” snapped the old Marshal, “if that’s the way you want it. Starting tomorrow we will begin each session with a swim in the moat. A mile or two should do it.” Jezal squeezed his teeth together to keep from screaming. “Cold water has a wonderful way of sharpening the senses. And perhaps we need to start a little earlier, to catch you in your most receptive frame of mind. That means we begin at five. In the meantime, Captain Luthar, I suggest that you consider whether you are here in order to win the Contest, or simply for the pleasure of my company.” And he turned on his heel and stalked off.
Jezal waited until Varuz had left the courtyard before losing his temper, but once he was sure the old man was out of earshot he flung his steels against the wall in a fury.
“Damn it!” he shouted as the swords rattled to the ground. “Shit!” He looked around for something to kick that wouldn’t hurt too much. His eye lighted on the leg of the beam, but he misjudged the kick badly and had to stifle the urge to grab his bruised foot and hop around like an idiot. “Shit, shit!” he raged.
West was disappointingly unimpressed. He got up, frowning, and made to follow Marshal Varuz.
“Where are you off to?” asked Jezal.
“Away,” said West, over his shoulder, “I’ve seen enough.”
“What does that mean?”
West stopped and turned to face him. “Amazing though it may seem, there are bigger problems in the world than this.”
Jezal stood there open mouthed as West stalked from the courtyard. “Just who do you think you are?” he shouted after him, once he was sure he was gone. “Shit, shit!” He considered giving the beam another kick, but thought better of it.
Jezal was in a foul mood on his way back to his quarters, so he stayed away from the busier parts of the Agriont, sticking to the quieter lanes and gardens to the side of the Kingsway. He glowered down at his feet as he walked, to further discourage any social encounter. But luck was not on his side.
“Jezal!” It was Kaspa, out for a stroll with a yellow-haired girl in expensive clothes. They had a severe- looking middle-aged woman with them, no doubt the girl’s governess or some such. They had stopped to admire some piece of minor sculpture in a little-visited yard.
“Jezal!” Kaspa shouted again, waving his hat above his head. There was no avoiding them. He plastered an unconvincing smile onto his face and stalked over. The pale girl smiled at him as he approached, but if he was meant to be charmed he didn’t feel it.
“Been fencing again, Luthar?” asked Kaspa pointlessly. Jezal was sweating and holding a pair of fencing steels. It was well known that he fenced every morning. You didn’t need a fine mind to make the connection, which was fortunate, because Kaspa certainly didn’t have one.
“Yes. How did you guess?” Jezal hadn’t meant to kill the conversation quite so dead, but he passed it off with a false chuckle, and the smiles of the ladies soon returned.
“Hah, hah,” laughed Kaspa, ever willing to be the butt of a joke.
“Jezal, may I introduce my cousin, the Lady Ariss dan Kaspa? This is my superior officer, Captain Luthar.” So this was the famous cousin. One of the Unions richest heiresses and from an excellent family. Kaspa was always babbling about what a beauty she was, but to Jezal she seemed a pale, skinny, sickly-looking thing. She smiled weakly and offered out her limp, white hand.
He brushed it with the most perfunctory of kisses. “Charmed,” he muttered, without relish. “I must apologise for my appearance, I’ve just been fencing.”
“Yes,” she squeaked, in a high, piping voice, once she was sure he had finished speaking. “I have heard you are a great fencer.” There was a pause while she groped for something to say, then her eyes lit up. “Tell me Captain, is fencing really very dangerous?”
What insipid drivel. “Oh no, my lady, we only use blunted steels in the circle.” He could have said more, but he was damned if he was going to make all the effort. He gave a thin smile. So did she. The conversation hovered over the abyss.
Jezal was about to make his excuses, the subject of fencing evidently exhausted, but Ariss cut him off by blundering on to another topic. “And tell me, Captain, is there really likely to be a war in the North?” Her voice had almost entirely faded away by the end of the sentence, but the chaperone stared on approvingly, no doubt delighted by the conversational skills of her charge.
Spare us. “Well it seems to me…” Jezal began. The pale, blue eyes of Lady Ariss stared back at him expectantly. Blue eyes are absolute crap, he reflected. He wondered which subject she was more ignorant of: fencing or politics? “What do you think?”
The chaperone’s brow furrowed slightly. Lady Ariss looked somewhat taken aback, blushing slightly as she
