Fencing Practice

“Press him, Jezal, press him! Don’t be shy!”

Jezal was only too willing to oblige. He sprang forward, lunging with his right. West was already off balance and he stumbled back, all out of form, only just managing to parry with his short steel. They were using half-edged blades today, to add a little danger to the proceedings. You couldn’t really stab a man with one, but you could give him a painful scratch or two, if you tried hard enough. Jezal intended to give the Major a scratch for yesterday’s humiliation.

“That’s it, give him hell! Jab, jab, Captain! Jab, jab!”

West made a clumsy cut, but Jezal saw it coming and swatted the steel aside, still pressing forward, jabbing for all he was worth. He slashed with the left, and again. West blocked desperately, staggered back against the wall. Jezal had him at last. He cackled with glee as he lunged forward again with the long steel, but his opponent had come suddenly and surprisingly alive. West slipped away, shoved the lunge aside with disappointing firmness. Jezal stumbled forward, off balance, gave a shocked gasp as the point of his sword found a gap between two stones and his steel was wrenched out of his numb hand, lodged there wobbling in the wall.

West darted forward, ducked inside Jezal’s remaining blade and slammed into him with his shoulder. “Ooof,” said Jezal as he staggered back and crashed to the floor, fumbling his short steel. It skittered across the stones and Lord Marshal Varuz caught it smartly under his foot. The blunted point of West’s sword hovered over Jezal’s throat.

“Damn it!” he cursed, as the grinning Major offered him his hand.

“Yes,” murmured Varuz with a deep sigh, “damn it indeed. An even more detestable performance than yesterday’s, if that’s possible! You let Major West make a fool of you again!” Jezal slapped West’s hand away with a scowl and got to his feet. “He never once lost control of that bout! You allowed yourself to be drawn in, and then disarmed! Disarmed! My grandson would not have made that mistake, and he is eight years old!” Varuz whacked at the floor with his stick. “Explain to me please, Captain Luthar, how you will win a fencing match from a prone position, and without your steels?”

Jezal sulked and rubbed the back of his head.

“No? In future, if you fall off a cliff carrying your steels, I want to see you smashed to bits at the bottom, gripping them tightly in your dead fingers, do you hear me?”

“Yes, Marshal Varuz,” mumbled a sullen Jezal, wishing the old bastard would take a tumble off a cliff himself. Or perhaps the Tower of Chains. That would be adequate. Maybe Major West could join him.

“Over-confidence is a curse to the swordsman! You must treat every opponent as though he will be your last. As for your footwork,” and Varuz curled his lip with disgust, “fine and fancy coming forward, but put you on the back foot and you quite wither away. The Major only had to tap you and you fell down like a fainting schoolgirl.”

West grinned across at him. He was loving this. Absolutely loving it, damn him.

“They say Bremer dan Gorst has a back leg like a pillar of steel. A pillar of steel they say! It would be easier to knock down the House of the Maker than him.” The Lord Marshal pointed over at the outline of the huge tower, looming up over the buildings of the courtyard. “The House of the Maker!” he shouted in disgust.

Jezal sniffed and kicked at the floor with his boot. For the hundredth time he entertained the notion of giving it up and never holding a steel again. But what would people say? His father was absurdly proud of him, always boasting about his skill to anyone who would listen. He had his heart set on seeing his son fight in the Square of Marshals before a screaming crowd. If Jezal threw it over now his father would be mortified, and he could say goodbye to his commission, goodbye to his allowance, goodbye to his ambitions. No doubt his brothers would love that.

“Balance is the key,” Varuz was spouting. “Your strength rises up through the legs! From now on we will add an hour on the beam to your training. Every day.” Jezal winced. “So: a run, exercises with the heavy bar, forms, an hour of sparring, forms again, an hour on the beam.” The Lord Marshal nodded with satisfaction. “That will suffice, for now. I will see you at six o’clock tomorrow morning, ice cold sober.” Varuz frowned. “Ice. Cold. Sober.”

“I can’t do this forever, you know,” said Jezal as he hobbled stiffly back towards his quarters. “How much of this horrible shit should a man have to take?”

West grinned. “This is nothing. I’ve never seen the old bastard so soft on anyone. He must really like you. He wasn’t half so friendly with me.”

Jezal wasn’t sure he believed it. “Worse than this?”

“I didn’t have the grounding that you’ve had. He made me hold the heavy bar over my head all afternoon until it fell on me.” The Major winced slightly, as though even the memory was painful. “He made me run up and down the Tower of Chains in full armour. He had me sparring four hours a day, every day.”

“How did you put up with it?”

“I didn’t have a choice. I’m not a nobleman. Fencing was the only way for me to get noticed. But it paid off in the end. How many commoners do you know with a commission in the King’s Own?”

Jezal shrugged. “Come to think of it, very few.” As a nobleman himself, he didn’t think there should be any.

“But you’re from a good family, and a Captain already. If you can win the Contest there’s no telling how far you could go. Hoff—the Lord Chamberlain, Marovia—the High Justice, Varuz himself for that matter, they were all champions in their day. Champions with the right blood always go on to great things.”

Jezal snorted. “Like your friend Sand dan Glokta?”

The name dropped between them like a stone. “Well… almost always.”

“Major West!” came a rough voice from behind.

A thickset sergeant with a scar down his cheek was hurrying over to them. “Sergeant Forest, how are you?” asked West, clapping the soldier warmly on the back. He had a touch with peasants, but then Jezal had to keep reminding himself that West was little better than a peasant himself. He might be educated, and an officer, and so forth, but he still had more in common with the sergeant than he did with Jezal, once you thought about it.

The sergeant beamed. “Very well, thank you, sir.” He nodded respectfully to Jezal. “Morning, Captain.”

Jezal favoured him with a terse nod and turned away to look up the avenue. He could think of no possible reason why an officer would want to be familiar with the common soldiers. Furthermore, he was scarred and ugly. Jezal had no use whatever for ugly people.

“What can I do for you?” West was asking.

“Marshal Burr wishes to see you, sir, for an urgent briefing. All senior officers are ordered to attend.”

West’s face clouded. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” The sergeant saluted and strode off.

“What’s all that about?” asked Jezal carelessly, watching some clerk chase around after a paper he had dropped.

“Angland. This King of the Northmen, Bethod.” West said the name with a scowl, as though it left a bitter taste. “They say he’s defeated all his enemies in the North, and now he’s spoiling for a fight with The Union.”

“Well, if it’s a fight he wants,” said Jezal airily. Wars were a fine thing, in his opinion, an excellent opportunity for glory and advancement. The paper fluttered past his boot on the light breeze, closely followed by the puffing clerk. Jezal grinned at him as he hurried past, bent almost double in his clumsy efforts to try and grab it.

The Major snatched up the grubby document and handed it over. “Thank you, sir,” said the clerk, his sweaty face quite pitiful with gratitude, “thank you so much!”

“Think nothing of it,” murmured West, and the clerk gave a sycophantic little bow and hurried away. Jezal was disappointed. He had been rather enjoying the chase. “There could be war, but that’s the least of my troubles right now.” West breathed a heavy sigh. “My sister is in Adua.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Well I do, and she’s here.”

“So?” Jezal had little enthusiasm for hearing about the Major’s sister. West might have pulled himself up, but the rest of his family were distinctly beneath Jezal’s notice. He was interested in meeting poor, common girls he could take advantage of, and rich, noble ones he might think about marrying. Anything in between was of no importance.

“Well, my sister can be charming but she is also a little… unconventional. She can be something of a handful in the wrong mood. Truth be told, I’d prefer to take care of a pack of Northmen than her.”

“Come now, West,” said Jezal absently, hardly taking any notice of what he was saying, “I’m sure she can’t be that difficult.”

The Major brightened. “Well, I’m relieved to hear you say that. She’s always been keen to see the Agriont for herself, and I’ve been saying for years that I’d give her a tour if she ever came here. We’d arranged it for today in fact.” Jezal had a sinking feeling. “Now, with this meeting—”

“But I have so little time these days!” whinged Jezal.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you. We’ll meet you at my quarters in an hour.”

“Hold on…” But West was already striding away.

Don’t let her be too ugly, Jezal was thinking as he slowly approached the door to Major West’s quarters and raised his unwilling fist to knock. Just don’t let her be too ugly. And not too stupid either. Anything but an afternoon wasted on a stupid girl. His hand was halfway to the door when he became aware of raised voices on the other side. He stood guiltily in the corridor, his ear drawing closer and closer to the wood, hoping to hear something complimentary about himself.

“…and what about your maid?” came Major West’s muffled voice, sounding greatly annoyed.

“I had to leave her at the house, there was a lot to do. Nobody’s been there in months.” West’s sister. Jezal’s heart sank. A deep voice, she sounded like a fat one. Jezal couldn’t afford to be seen walking about the Agriont with a fat girl on his arm. It could ruin his reputation.

“But you can’t just wander about the city on your own!”

“I got here alright, didn’t I? You’re forgetting who we are, Collem. I can make do without a servant. To most of the people here I’m no better than a servant anyway. Besides, I’ll have your friend Captain Luthar to look after me.”

“That’s even worse, as you damn well know!”

“Well I wasn’t to know that you’d be busy. I would’ve thought you’d make the time to see your own sister.” She didn’t sound an idiot, which was something, but fat and now peevish too. “Aren’t I safe with your friend?”

“He’s a good enough sort, but is he safe with you?” Jezal wasn’t sure what the Major meant by that little comment. “And walking about the Agriont alone, and with a man you hardly know? Don’t play the fool, I know you better than that! What will people think?”

“Shit on what they think.” Jezal jerked away from the door. He wasn’t used to hearing ladies use that sort of language. Fat, peevish and coarse, damn it. This might be even worse than he’d feared. He looked up the corridor, considering making a run for it, already working out his excuse. Curse his bad luck, though, someone was coming up the stairs now. He couldn’t leave without being seen. He would just have to knock and get it over with. He gritted his teeth and pounded resentfully at the door.

The voices stopped suddenly, and Jezal put on an unconvincing friendly grin. Let the torture begin. The door swung open.

For some reason, he had been expecting a kind of shorter, fatter version of Major West, in a dress. He had been greatly mistaken. She was perhaps slightly fuller of figure than was strictly fashionable, since skinny girls were all the rage, but you couldn’t call her fat, not fat at all. She had dark hair, dark skin, a little darker than would generally be thought ideal. He knew that a lady should remain out of the sun whenever possible, but looking at her, he really couldn’t remember why. Her eyes were very dark, almost black, and blue eyes were turning the heads this season, but hers shone in the dim light of the doorway in a rather bewitching manner.

She smiled at him. A strange sort of smile, higher on one side than the other. It gave him a slightly uneasy feeling, as though she knew something funny that he didn’t. Still, excellent teeth, all white and shiny. Jezal’s anger was swiftly vanishing. The longer he looked at her the more her looks grew on him, and the emptier his head became of cogent thought.

“Hello,” she said.

His mouth opened slightly, as if by force of habit, but nothing came out. His mind was a blank page.

“And you must be Captain Luthar?”

“Er…”

“I’m Collem’s sister, Ardee,” she slapped her forehead. “I’m such an idiot though, Collem will have told you all about me. I know the two of you are great friends.”

Jezal glanced awkwardly at the Major, who was frowning back at him and looking somewhat put out. It would hardly do to say he had been entirely unaware of her existence until that morning. He struggled to frame even a mildly amusing reply, but nothing came to mind.

Ardee took hold of him by the elbow and drew him into the room, talking all the while. “I know you’re a great fencer, but I’ve been told your wit is even sharper than your sword. So much so in fact, that you only use your sword upon your friends, as your wit is far too deadly.” She looked at him expectantly. Silence.

“Well,” he mumbled, “I do fence a bit.” Pathetic. Utterly awful.

“Is this the right man, or do I have the gardener here?” She looked him over with a strange expression, hard to read. Perhaps it was the same sort of look Jezal would have while examining a horse he was thinking of buying: cautious, searching, intent, and ever so slightly disdainful. “Even the gardeners have splendid uniforms, it seems.”

Jezal was almost sure that had been some kind of insult, but he was too busy trying to think of something witty to pay it too much mind. He knew he would have to speak now or spend the entire day in embarrassed silence, so he opened his mouth and trusted to luck. “I’m sorry if I seem dumbfounded, but Major West is such an unattractive man. How could I have expected so beautiful a sister?”

West snorted with laughter. His sister raised an eyebrow, and counted the points off on her fingers. “Mildly offensive to my brother, which is good. Somewhat amusing, which is also good. Honest, which is refreshing, and wildly complimentary to me, which, of course, is excellent. A little late, but on the whole worth waiting for.” She looked Jezal in the eye. “The afternoon might not be a total loss.”

Jezal wasn’t sure he liked that last comment, and he wasn’t sure he liked the way she looked at him, but he was enjoying looking at her, so he was prepared to forgive a lot. The women of his acquaintance rarely said anything clever, especially the fine-looking ones. He supposed they were trained to smile and nod and listen while the men did the talking. On the whole he agreed with that way of doing things, but the cleverness sat well on West’s sister, and she had more than caught his curiosity. Fat and peevish were off the menu, of that there could be no doubt. As for coarse, well, handsome people are never coarse, are they? Just… unconventional. He was beginning to think that the afternoon, as she had said, might not be a total loss.

West made for the door. “It seems I must leave you two to make fools of one another. Lord Marshal Burr is expecting me. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t, eh?” The comment seemed to be aimed at Jezal, but West was looking at his sister.

“That would seem to allow virtually everything,” she said, catching Jezal’s eye. He was amazed to feel himself blushing like a little girl, and he coughed and looked down at his shoes.

West rolled his eyes. “Mercy,” he said, as the door clicked shut.

“Would you care for a drink?” Ardee asked, already pouring wine into a glass. Alone with a beautiful young woman. Hardly a new experience, Jezal told himself, and yet he seemed to be lacking his usual confidence.

“Yes, thank you, most kind.” Yes, a drink, a drink, just the thing to steady the nerves. She held the glass out to him and poured another for herself. He wondered if a young lady should be drinking at this time of day, but it seemed pointless to say anything. She wasn’t his sister, after all.

“Tell me, Captain, how do you know my brother?”

“Well, he’s my commanding officer, and we fence together.” His brain was beginning to function again. “But then… you know that already.”

She grinned at him. “Of course, but my governess always maintained that young men should be allowed their share of the conversation.”

Jezal gave an ungainly cough as he was swallowing and spilled some wine down his jacket. “Oh dear,” he said.

“Here, take this a moment.” She gave him her glass and he took it without thinking, but then found himself without a free hand. When she started dabbing at his chest with a white handkerchief he could hardly object, though it did seem rather forward. Being honest, he might have objected if she wasn’t so damn fine-looking. He wondered if she realised what an excellent view she was giving him down the front of her dress, but of course not, how could she? She was simply new here, unused to courtly manners, the artless ways of a country girl and so forth… nice view though, there was no denying that.

“There, that’s better,” she said, though the dabbing had made no apparent difference. Not to his uniform anyway. She took the glasses from him, drained her own quickly with a practised flick of her head and shoved them on the table. “Shall we go?”

“Yes… of course. Oh,” and he offered her his arm.

She led him out into the corridor and down the stairs, chatting freely. It was a flurry of conversational blows and, as Marshal Varuz had pointed out earlier, his defence was weak. He parried desperately as they made their way across the wide Square of Marshals, but he could barely get a word in. It seemed as though it was Ardee who had been living there for years and Jezal who was the bumpkin from the provinces.

“The Halls Martial are behind there?” She nodded over at the looming wall that separated the headquarters of the Union’s armies from the rest of the Agriont.

“Indeed they are. That is where the Lord Marshals have their offices, and so forth. And there are barracks there, and armouries, and, er…” He trailed off. He could not think of much else to say, but Ardee came to his rescue.

“So my brother must be somewhere in there. He’s quite the famous soldier, I suppose. First through the breach at Ulrioch, and so on.”

“Well, yes, Major West is very well respected here…”

“He can be such a bore, though, can’t he? He does so love to be mysterious and troubled.” She put on a faint, faraway smile and rubbed her chin thoughtfully, just as her brother might have done. She had captured the man perfectly, and Jezal had to laugh, but he was starting to wonder if she should be walking quite so close beside him, holding his arm in quite so intimate a way. Not that he objected of course. Quite the reverse, but people were looking.

“Ardee—” he said.

“So this must be the Kingsway.”

“Er, yes, Ardee—”

She was gazing up at the magnificent statue of Harod the Great, his stern eyes fixed on the middle distance. “Harod the Great?” she asked.

“Er, yes. In the dark ages, before there was a Union, he fought to bring the Three Kingdoms together. He was the first High King.” You idiot, thought Jezal, she knows that already, everyone does. “Ardee, I think your brother would not—”

“And this is Bayaz, the First of the Magi?”

“Yes, he was Harod’s most trusted adviser. Ardee—”

“Is it true they still keep a vacant seat for him in the Closed Council?”

Jezal was taken aback. “I’d heard that there’s an empty chair there, but I didn’t know that—”

“They all look so serious, don’t they?”

“Er… I suppose those were serious times,” he said, grinning lamely.

A Knight Herald thundered down the avenue on a huge, well-lathered horse, the sun glinting on the golden wings of his helmet. Secretaries scattered to let him pass, and Jezal tried to guide Ardee gently out of the way. To his great dismay she refused to be moved. The horse flashed past within a few inches of her, close enough for the wind to flick her hair in Jezal’s face. She turned to him with a flush of excitement on her cheek, otherwise utterly undaunted by her brush with severe injury.

“A Knight Herald?” she asked, taking Jezal’s arm once again and leading him off down the Kingsway.

“Yes,” squeaked Jezal, desperately trying to bring his voice under control, “the Knights Herald are entrusted with a grave responsibility. They carry messages from the King to every part of the Union.” His heart had stopped hammering. “Even across the Circle Sea to Angland, Dagoska, and Westport. They are entrusted to speak with the King’s voice, and so forbidden from speaking except on the King’s business.”

“Fedor dan Haden was on the boat on our way over, he’s a Knight Herald. We talked for hours.” Jezal attempted unsuccessfully to contain his surprise. “We talked about Adua, about the Union, about his family. Your name was mentioned, actually.” Jezal failed to look nonchalant once again. “In connection with the coming Contest.” Ardee leaned even closer to him. “Fedor was of the opinion that Bremer dan Gorst will cut you to pieces.”

Jezal gave a strangled cough, but he rallied well. “Unfortunately, that opinion seems widely held.”

“But not by you, I trust?”

“Er…”

She stopped and took him by the hand, staring earnestly into his eyes. “I’m sure that you’ll get the better of him, no matter what they say. My brother speaks very highly of you, and he’s stingy with his praise.”

“Er…” mumbled Jezal. His fingers were tingling pleasantly. Her eyes were big and dark, and he found himself greatly at a loss for words. She had this way of biting on her lower lip that made his thoughts stray. A fine, full lip. He wouldn’t have minded having a little chew on it himself. “Well, thank you.” He gave a gormless grin.

“So this is the park,” said Ardee, turning away from him to admire the greenery. “It’s even more beautiful than I’d imagined.”

“Erm… yes.”

“How wonderful, to be at the heart of things. I’ve spent so much of my life on the edge. There must be many important decisions made here, many important people.” Ardee allowed her hand to trail through the fronds of a willow tree by the road. “Collem’s worried there might be war in the North. He was worried for my safety. I think that’s why he wanted me to come here. I think he worries too much. What do you think, Captain Luthar?”

He had been in blissful ignorance of the political situation until a couple of hours before, but that would never do as a reply. “Well,” he said, straining to remember the name, and then with relief, “this Bethod could do with a rap on the knuckles.”

“They say he has twenty thousand Northmen under his banner.” She leaned towards him. “Barbarians,” she murmured. “Savages,” she whispered. “I heard he skins his captives alive.”

Jezal thought this was hardly suitable conversation for a young lady. “Ardee…” he began.

“But I’m sure with men like you and my brother to protect us, we womenfolk have nothing to worry about.” And she turned and made off up the path. Jezal had to hurry once again to catch up.

“And is that the House of the Maker?” Ardee nodded towards the grim outline of the huge tower.

“Why, yes it is.”

“Does no one go inside?”

“No one. Not in my lifetime anyway. The bridge is kept behind lock and key.” He frowned up at the tower. Seemed strange now, that he never thought about it. Living in the Agriont, it was always there. You just got used to it somehow. “The place is sealed, I believe.”

“Sealed?” Ardee moved very close to him. Jezal glanced around nervously but nobody was looking. “Isn’t it strange that nobody goes in there? Isn’t it a mystery?” He could almost feel her breath on his neck, “I mean to say, why not just break the door down?”

Jezal was finding it horribly difficult to concentrate with her so close. He wondered for a moment, both frightening and exciting, whether she might be flirting with him? No, no, of course not! Just not used to the city was all. The artless ways of a country girl… but then she was very close. If only she were a little less attractive or a little less confident. If only she were a little less… West’s sister.

He coughed and looked off down the path, hoping vainly for a distraction. There were a few people moving along it, but no one that he recognised, unless… Ardee’s spell was suddenly broken, and Jezal felt his skin go cold. A hunched figure, overdressed on this sunny day, was limping toward them, leaning heavily on a cane. He was bent over and wincing with every step, the faster-moving travellers giving him a wide berth. Jezal tried to steer Ardee away before he saw them, but she resisted gracefully and made a direct line for the shambling Inquisitor.

His head snapped up as they approached and his eyes glinted with recognition. Jezal’s heart sank. There was no avoiding him now.

“Why, Captain Luthar,” said Glokta warmly, shuffling a little too close and shaking his hand, “what a pleasure! I’m surprised that Varuz has let you go so early in the day. He must be mellowing in his old age.”

“The Lord Marshal is still most demanding,” snapped Jezal.

“I hope my Practicals didn’t inconvenience you the other night.” The Inquisitor shook his head sadly. “They have no manners. No manners at all. But they are the very best at what they do! I swear, the King doesn’t have two more valuable servants.”

“I suppose we all serve the King in our own way.” There was a little more hostility in Jezal’s voice than he had intended.

If Glokta was offended he didn’t show it. “Quite so. I don’t believe I know your friend.”

“No. This is—”

“Actually, we’ve met,” said Ardee, much to Jezal’s surprise, giving her hand to the Inquisitor. “Ardee West.”

Glokta’s eyebrows rose. “No!” He bent down stiffly to kiss the back of her hand. Jezal saw his mouth twist as he straightened up, but the toothless grin soon returned. “Collem West’s sister! But you are so much changed.”

“For the better, I hope,” she laughed. Jezal felt horribly uncomfortable.

“Why—yes indeed,” said Glokta.

“And you are changed also, Sand.” Ardee looked suddenly very sad. “We were all so worried in my family. We hoped and hoped for your safe return.” Jezal saw a spasm run over Glokta’s face. “Then when we heard you were hurt… how are you?”

The Inquisitor glanced at Jezal, his eyes cold as a slow death. Jezal stared down at his boots, a lump of fear in his throat. He had no need to be scared of this cripple, did he? But somehow he wished he was still at fencing practice. Glokta stared at Ardee, his left eye twitching slightly, and she looked back at him undaunted, her eyes full of quiet concern.

“I am well. As well as can be expected.” His expression had turned very strange. Jezal felt more uncomfortable than ever. “Thank you for asking. Truly. Nobody ever does.”

There was an awkward silence. The Inquisitor stretched his neck sideways and there was a loud click. “Ah!” he said, “that’s got it. It’s been a pleasure to see you again, both of you, but duty calls.” He treated them to another revolting smile then hobbled off, his left foot scraping in the gravel.

Ardee frowned at his twisted back as he limped slowly away. “It’s so sad,” she said under her breath.

“What?” mumbled Jezal. He was thinking about that big white bastard in the street, those narrow pink eyes. The prisoner with the bag on his head. We all serve the King in our own way. Quite so. He gave an involuntary shiver.

“He and my brother used to be quite close. He came to stay with us one summer. My family were so proud to have him it was embarrassing. He used to fence with my brother every day, and he always won. The way he moved, it was something to see. Sand dan Glokta. He was the brightest star in the sky.” She flashed her knowing half-smile again. “And now I hear you are.”

“Er…” said Jezal, not sure whether she was praising him or poking fun. He could not escape the feeling that he had been out-fenced twice that day, once by each sibling.

He rather fancied that the sister had given him the worse beating.