Chapter 9
'Stop right there!' Leif roared, pulling out his saber and charging up the stairs.
Of course, the intruder did no such thing. In a swirl of cloak, he darted through the doorway leading to the second floor.
Leif was right behind him.
He's got a knife, I've got a sword, Leif thought. That gives me the reach on him.
Extending his sword, Leif moved forward to attack. But as he closed on the figure, he found that the cloak had hidden more than the assassin's identity. The man whipped up a long sword from beneath black wool garment.
Leif skidded to a stop just short of impaling himself. His opponent now held a sword-an old-fashioned rapier- extended in his right hand, with a dagger held low in his left hand. The guy looked like an illustration from a book on Renaissance sword fighting. But he also looked only too competent with his chosen tools.
People had generally stopped using those big cut-and- thrust swords by the 1700s, Leif thought. The rapier was heavier and more unwieldy than his saber. It was also a good four inches longer-something he'd have to remember in finding his distance.
Stepping quickly to the side and out of range, Leif pulled a small tapestry down from the wall, wrapping it around his left arm. He'd need the padding to help protect himself against that other blade, and he'd seen this trick used in historical adventure holos.
The only problem was that Leif didn't exactly know how to use his improvised defense, while his opponent was obviously a pro.
Can't let him set the rules, Leif told himself, popping in for a quick slash while bringing his tapestry-shielded arm up to cover his chest.
The assassin didn't respond with the back-and-forth moves Leif was familiar with from the fencing strip. Instead, his opponent sidestepped, circling, the tip of his blade coming over the top of Leif's wrapped arm. Cold steel sliced through gold brocade of Leif's uniform tunic, leaving a small, shallow cut under the right side of Leif's collarbone.
Leif gave a little yip of pain and stepped back. His adversary kept moving in a deadly crouch, constantly shifting the positions of his two blades, sometimes leading with the sword, sometimes with the foot-long dagger. His obvious skill and speed only added to Leif's misery.
Physically, Leif was okay. This was veeyar, after all, and he kept his pain thresholds set at conservative levels back in the real world. But the consequences of the cut were real enough in veeyar-and would soon affect his ability to perform well in the sim if he'd sustained enough damage. The little nick he'd taken stung like anything, but as far as he could tell in the bloodred tunic, it wasn't really bleeding-at least, he hoped not. But Leif was frankly rattled at how easily the guy had touched him.
Got to be careful, he thought, watching the smooth, quick movements of his opponent's two blades. The point of that long rapier seemed almost alive, questing around in front of his face. Be very careful, he reminded himself.
Sweat must be leaking into that little cut. The stinging was getting even worse. And the last thing Leif needed right now was a distraction.
There! Was that an opening? Leif tried to seize the initiative with another attack. The assassin's rapier parried Leif's blow, while simultaneously his dagger streaked for Leif's stomach.
Again, Leif was forced to backpedal before the guy sliced him a fresh belly button. That hadn't been an opening, it had been an invitation, suckering Leif in.
Leif was suddenly reminded of his disastrous duel with the hard-faced Frenchman.
Oh God, it's happening again. I've really stepped in it this time, Leif thought, watching his opponent's sword advance, then pull back while the dagger came forward. And it's pretty damned deep.
He saw another possible opening, but shook his head. Another trap. The assassin's style seemed based on the idea of preempting any attack with an even more aggressive move. Leif wasn't eager to fool with that hair- trigger again-at least not by himself.
'Ah-guards?' he called, trying to keep the desperate tone out of his voice. 'Guards? Is there a guard around? I could really use one right now.'
No answer-unless you counted the fact that the assassin was pressing Leif much harder. Apparently, the passive testing-offering openings-was over. Now the man's two blades were attempting to get through Leif's defenses-his shorter sword and the fabric wrapped around his left forearm.
It was like a nightmare! Leif couldn't even engage his opponent's blade. Whenever he tried to put his saber against that damned rapier, the assassin's blade somehow eluded him, always coming back in line to attack.
The point bored in again, and Leif tried a circular parry, hoping to deflect the rapier while bringing his own point into position to attack.
It was as if the intruder were reading his mind. Their blades never touched, the rapier's point moving in a counter-circle to keep Leif in danger.
The nick Leif had taken felt as if someone were dabbing it with acid. Could the point of his opponent's sword be smeared with poison? No, it was just good, honest sweat, pouring down his chest-and unintentionally rubbing salt in his wound. That was the least of Leif's problems. Sooner or later one of the attacker's weapons would penetrate Leif's defense. And that meant that shortly, Leif himself would be penetrated by either forty or twelve inches of cold steel. Each time he managed to evade an attack, his adversary was moving in, the point of the rapier coming closer, and closer, and closer.
Every instinct was screaming at him to run, but there was no way he could turn his back on this killer, even in veeyar. He tried a desperate improvisation, unwrapping some of the tapestry around his left arm and flapping it in the assassin's face.
Maybe I can put a little distance between us, Leif thought just as he collided with an old wooden chair.
Every once in a while a thronelike chair or heavy trestle table was stationed along the corridors, maybe for variety in the scenery. It was just Leif's bad luck to blunder into one of them now.
The assassin leaped forward to finish the fight.
A blast of thunder nearly deafened Leif. But he wasn't so out of it not to notice his attacker suddenly flying back, tumbling like a marionette with all its strings cut.
Leif glanced over his shoulder to see Sergei Chernev- sky. The Russian boy was in his usual Hussar's uniform, but instead of his sword, he held a huge, old-fashioned revolver. That was the source of the roar that had nearly taken out Leif's eardrum. 'What-' he began.
'I took the guard duty tonight,' Sergei explained. 'I get to see enough diplomatic balls. Maybe I find something more interesting, instead.' He gestured toward the flattened assassin. 'Like this.'
Saber back at the ready, Leif approached the man in the black cloak. The rapier lay a foot from one hand, the dagger even farther away. His former adversary didn't look as though he'd be getting up anytime very soon.
Leif kicked the weapons out of reach, then cautiously prodded the prostrate form. The cloak shifted, revealing a neat hole in the intruder's chest. Leif didn't want to see where the bullet came out. Probably not a pretty sight.
The excess of adrenalin still humming through Leif's veins had him turning on Sergei. 'What did you go and kill him for?' Leif shouted. 'Now we'll never find out who sent him!'
'I thought I was saving your life,' the Russian boy replied simply.
'Oh,' Leif said. Undoubtedly true. Still-'Couldn't you have wounded him?'
Sergei gave him a look. 'Or maybe knocked both weapons from his hands with a pair of shots?' He gestured with the heavy horse pistol. 'What I have here is more like a cannon than a real gun, my friend. I count myself lucky I hit him instead of you.'
The clumping of heavy boots echoed up the stairway. At least the guards on the other floors had heard Sergei's shot, even if they hadn't noticed Leif's life-and-death fight.
Leif was still suffering from the aftereffects of his battle. His hand was trembling so badly that it took three
