Authors: Raymond E. Feist
Tal knocked it aside effortlessly. The Prince was already overbalanced, and Tal should have without hesitation riposted with a strike to the shoulder or exposed side of the body for the point. Instead he retreated a step.
“Why don’t you try that again, Highness?” he said in a voice that merely hinted at mockery. It was almost as if he was turning a practice duel into a lesson.
Tal took his position, saber down at his side, waiting, while the Prince retreated and approached with his sword at the ready. The Prince tried the same move, even more clumsily than before, and Tal easily blocked to the side.
Prince Matthew overbalanced and was open to any number of light taps that would win Tal the match, but at the last instant, Tal slashed hard with a punishing blow to the ribs, hard enough to bring an audible grunt of pain from the Prince.
“Score, Squire Hawkins!” announced Vassily, as he looked at Tal with an expression halfway between a question and outrage.
With a gasp, Prince Matthew pulled himself upright, his left hand across his stomach, clutching his ribs. Affecting concern, Tal asked, “I trust I didn’t hurt you, Highness?”
For an instant Tal wondered if the Prince was going to be sick, for his voice sounded as if he were swallowing between words. “No . . . I’m . . . fine . . . Squire.”
Brightly, Tal suggested, “Let’s try another.”
For a moment it appeared as if the Prince might decline, but instead he returned to his position, and Tal said,
“Be careful not to overextend, Highness.”
With barely concealed anger, Master Vassily approached. There was nothing he could do, really. As Mas-
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ter of the Floor he could halt any match for any reason, and over the years he had stopped several matches in which an advanced student was bullying a novice. But this was a royal prince of the House of Roldem, and to halt this bout because Tal was punishing him would only humiliate the Crown.
Tal scored two more brutal touches, and by the time the Prince approached the line, Master Vassily whispered,
“Squire, this is more than enough!”
“If his Highness wishes to retire, I will not object,” Tal said with as much contempt as he could manage in his tone. He let his voice carry just enough that all those nearby could overhear.
Prince Matthew was a proud man, even if that pride was founded in vanity rather than achievement. He seemed to be choking back tears when he said, “I’m not going to quit.”
Brightly, Tal said, “Well said, Highness. Let’s give the gallery something to remember, shall we?”
When Vassily instructed them to start, Prince Matthew held his ground, waiting for Tal to make the first move. Tal feinted, and the Prince reacted. In quick order, Tal knocked the Prince’s saber from his hand, then slipped the point of his own sabre under the Prince’s helmet, flipping it off his head. Then he stepped past the Prince and administered as hard a blow across the buttocks as he could. The crowd’s reaction was instantaneous. Gasps of astonishment were mixed with catcalls and jeers. The blow was so hard that Prince Matthew fell forward to his knees, hand stretched out before him. His face was flushed, and his eyes swollen from the tears of pain he had not shed from the previous blows. But the last strike had reduced him to crying, and despite his best efforts, he could not help himself.
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Courtiers rushed forward and helped the humiliated Prince to his feet. Tal turned his back and walked away, another breach of decorum. In the gallery, several young women who had come to the Masters’ Court in the hope of catching Tal’s eye rose and departed, contempt in their eyes as they regarded him.
Master Vassily hurried over and said, “Are you totally bereft of reason?”
Smiling at the Prince, Tal answered, “Quite the opposite, really, Master Vassily.”
In low, warning tones, Vassily said, “If I were you, Squire, I’d consider a voyage somewhere very soon.
Champion of the Masters’ Court or not, you’ve just made a very dangerous enemy. The Prince may be many things, but forgiving is not one of them.”
Tal locked eyes across the room with Prince Matthew and saw that through the tears of anger and humiliation, barely checked rage was directed at him. “Yes, I believe you’re right,” said Tal. He let the mockery in his voice sound as he allowed his words to carry to those nearby.
“But judging from this afternoon’s bout, he’s really not all that dangerous.”
Unable to think of another thing to say, the Master of the Floor turned and left him. Tal walked to a distant corner where Pasko and Amafi waited. Pasko understood what had taken place, but Amafi said, “Magnificence, are you inclined to suicide?”
“No, not really. Why?”
“For the Prince now wants you dead.” With a bright smile, he added, “And he does have enough gold that I would at least consider betraying you.”
Tal laughed, again loudly enough for those nearby to think that he was enjoying the moment. “Then don’t betray me, and I’ll consider increasing your pay.”
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“Yes, Magnificence.”
As they headed to the changing room, Pasko whispered, “Be careful. Even before the bout was over, Matthew’s agents were leaving the building with word of his humbling. You’ve made a powerful enemy.”
Tal let out his breath slowly, as if releasing the tension he had felt inside. “Then I think it’s time to seek out a powerful friend.”
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SERVICE
Kaspar smiled.
‘So, young Hawkins, I see you’ve managed to create a decidedly uncomfortable position for yourself.” Duke Kaspar sat back in a large chair, motioning for his servant to fill a pair of wine cups on a round table in a room that was part of a large apartment given to him by the King to use on his visit.
Amafi stood just outside the door in his role of manservant, while Pasko was back at the apartment making ready for his departure. The story of a sick father was acceptable to him, and he had already purchased passage on a ship bound for Prandur’s Gate, where he would find another ship to Coastal Watch, then by wagon to Kendrick’s. He would be gone within the week.
Tal had sent the Duke a message the day before requesting an audience, and the next morning a palace page _______________
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had delivered the reply. Tal was invited for a late-afternoon meeting, but advised to use one of the palace servants’ entrances rather than the main gate, for obvious reasons.
Kaspar lounged in a brocade-trimmed tunic that buttoned up to the neck, a fashion Tal had not seen; it must be something worn in Olasko, he thought. “I judged you to be a young man of uncommon sense and calm judgment. What caused you to do such an uncharacteristic thing?”
Tal picked up his cup and sniffed the wine out of habit. He sipped, then said, “Ah, this must be the new vin-tage from Krushwin in Ravenswood!”
Kaspar’s eyebrows raised, and he said, “You know your wine, Talwin. Yes, it arrived last month, and the King was kind enough to have a few bottles waiting here when I arrived. Now, answer the question.”
The last was as pointed a command as Kaspar had ever directed at Tal.
Tal tried to look sheepish. “Prince Matthew is a boor.”
“True, but that hardly makes him unique among nobles here in Roldem. Why humiliate him in public?”
“Because I couldn’t kill him and avoid the headsman, I suppose,” said Tal, taking a sip of wine to give him pause. “Had he not been a royal, I would have called him out on a matter of honor.”
“Oh?” said the Duke, his brows rising again. “Whose honor? Certainly not yours? You seem to be a pragmatic sort, not one given to overblown principles.”
Realizing he hadn’t thought this through as thoroughly as he should, Tal said, “A lady’s honor, sir?”
“You’re in dispute with Prince Matthew over a lady?”
Tal knew this wouldn’t undergo close scrutiny if he strayed too far from a plausible story, so he improvised.
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“Not in dispute, but rather in defense. The lady in question is a widow, and the Prince has been . . . too enthusiastic over pressing his attentions on her.”
“Ah, then it would be Lady Gavorkin,” said Kaspar with a chuckle. “I have sources for gossip here as well as in my own court.”
Tal shrugged. “The lady and I have been close. While I have no interest in marriage, she is looking for a new husband should circumstances permit, for already the Crown is considering taking away some of her estates, and she fears the loss of revenue.”
Kaspar waved away further comment. “I know her situation. Had Matthew been seen in public with her, other interested noble sons would avoid her. I understand.”
Tal wasn’t certain if Kaspar believed the story or not.
All Tal had go on was one remark Lady Gavorkin had made when he had come to call upon her one afternoon: that she found the Prince repellent.
“Still,” asked Kaspar with another chuckle, “did you have to make him cry like a child in public?”
“Better than killing him,” offered Tal.
“Perhaps not.” Kaspar said, “You have made a very bad enemy, because Matthew has no shred of forgiveness in his nature. He is the only member of the King’s close family who would use his power to avenge a personal slight. Even now there may be a bounty on your head. I’d watch your back for assassins, young Hawkins.”
“That’s why I’ve come to you.”
“With the King I might have some influence, and I am in your debt. But with Matthew . . .” He spread his hands and shrugged.
“Matthew wouldn’t dare attack me directly if I were in your service, Your Grace. I have decided to take you up on your offer of employment.”
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Kaspar sat back. “I understand the cause, but it seems a sudden reversal, to be blunt.”
“I weighed your offer before, Your Grace, and seriously considered it. I had hoped, however, to be able to find a position with a trading concern out of Salador, Ran and Bas-Tyra. Perhaps you’ve met their local agent, Quincy de Castle?”
A tiny flicker in Kaspar’s eyes revealed the lie as he said, “Don’t know the man. But why trading?”
Tal paused, as if gathering his thoughts. “I’m a noble only by the thinnest thread, Your Grace. The head of my family barely knows I exist, for I am a third cousin, once removed.” He lowered his voice. “I only hold the title
‘Squire’ by a deft manipulation of a local magistrate on my father’s part, truth to tell. And the lands that come with that title provide no income.” Returning to a normal tone, he said, “To advance, I need two things: wealth and fame. I could either join the army—and truth to tell, I tried that for a little while, and thrashing goblins in the cold north is no route to either—or I could marry well.
But to marry well, I need wealth and fame. A circle, don’t you see?”
“I do.”
“So I came east. Here is where politics and trade give a man opportunity, not out in the west. There it’s all duty and service, but here a man can find prospects. So, becoming Champion of the Masters’ Court gave me fame.
And if I could rise financially with de Castle and his part-ners, then would I have wealth.”
“I appreciate the general design, Squire, but aren’t there more direct routes?”
“None that I can see. My best opportunity was Lady Gavorkin, but the Crown would never approve her marrying a poor country squire from the Isles.”
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“Especially now,” said Kaspar with a chuckle.
“Yes,” agreed Tal with a pained smile. “But even had I restrained myself regarding the Prince, I think my future lies somewhere else. And now that it appears my prospects in Roldem have diminished . . .” He shrugged.
“You thought you would ride my coattails to greatness,” finished Kaspar.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Not an unwise choice,” said Kaspar. “I have a use for clever men—assuming you resist the temptation to humiliate princes in public in the future. There’s a captaincy for you in Opardum.”
“Captaincy?” Tal smiled. “As I said, I’ve tried the military life, Your Grace, and found it less than ideal for my talents.”
“It’s a title. If you like, you may continue to call yourself ‘squire,’ for no one will salute you and no one will have you marching around a parade ground. I have captains in many capacities, and none of them wear a uniform.”
“Ah,” said Tal, as if he now understood. “You seek an agent.”
“Agent is a good word. Factor is another. Or representative, depending on the need. Whatever the title, the function will be the same: to serve me with unswerving loyalty and vigor. The rewards will be quite in keeping with the effort.”
Tal finished his wine. “Should I pack?”
“Soon,” said Kaspar. “I linger here another week, then it’s off to Rillanon and a visit with the King of the Isles, then back to Opardum. You are not officially in my service until we reach Opardum. The reasons for that will be made clear to you then.
“Until then, however, you will be under my protec-
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tion. I will send a quiet word to Prince Matthew that I would take it as a personal affront should any ill befall you, then reassure him that I’m getting you as far away from Roldem as possible.
“Perhaps in three years’ time you might return to defend your championship. It will be awkward, but at least by then Matthew will have had a chance to reflect.” He paused, then added brightly, “Or maybe by then someone else will have killed the posturing fool.”
Kaspar rose, signaling that the interview was over.
“Return to your quarters and try to stay out of trouble, Squire.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” said Tal.
The Duke left through one door, and Tal departed through the other, finding Amafi waiting outside. He gestured for his new valet to fall in, and they left the palace together, this time exiting through the main gate.