Radu pressed the towel to the back of his neck, where his long black hair descended in a simple braid. Tal noticed that Radu perspired very little.
"It is concluded," said Radu.
"Say," ventured Tal, "I've been meaning to thank you for your advice."
Radu raised one eyebrow and awaited an explanation.
"About my fencing," said Tal. "You remember, last winter. I was clowning around with Chaney, and you reminded me of the difference between stage fencing and real fighting."
Radu said nothing while he donned a thin white tunic and his padded armor, but Tal could see that he remembered the conversation. At the time, Radu refused even to practice with him until Tal demonstrated more respect for the dueling circle.
"Well," said Tal, his easy manner faltering in the face of Radu's indifference, "I took it to heart, and it's helped- both here and at the playhouse." He shrugged on his own armor.
"Good," said Radu.
Without invitation, Tal secured the straps on the back of Radu's armor, then turned to receive the same help.
"Who knows?" said Tal. "If I win today, maybe I'll be ready to challenge you in a month or two?"
"Who knows?" said Radu. He made a brief smile, but it never reached his eyes.
Master Ferrick called the students to the circle for the challenges. There were sixteen in this, the most advanced class. While they sometimes drilled with the less experienced fencers, challenges were the exclusive province of those who had proven themselves.
"First challenge," called Ferrick. "Talbot Uskevren and Perron Karn."
Tal stood on the outer ring, while the defender took the center. Perron was Tal's second cousin on his mother's side, a stout man of thirty-four years. His reddish beard curled up on all sides, giving him the appearance of a man caught in a sudden gust of wind.
The swordsmen bowed to Master Ferrick, then saluted each other before donning their masks.
"Begin!"
Both advanced at once, Tal shifting left while Perron cut at his legs. Tal parried and feigned a high thrusting riposte. Perron ignored the bogus attack and cut at Tal's wrist, forcing Tal to open his upper right guard. Perron's blade darted toward Tal's shoulder, but Tal let his knees sag and rapped Perron on the elbow.
"Challenger's point," announced Ferrick.
Perron rubbed his elbow. It had been a smart blow, harder than necessary. Beneath his mask, Tal smiled.
"Mind your control, Talbot," warned Ferrick.
Tal's grin vanished, and his face flushed hot. He already knew he could defeat Perron. What he wanted now was to make the man concede or to win a perfect round, but all he had managed was to earn a rebuke in front of the entire class. Worst of all, he'd done it in front of Radu Malveen, whom he'd wanted to impress.
"Begin!"
Tal's mind had drifted, and he was not prepared for the second pass. Perron's vertical cut forced Tal's blade down against his mask and pressed hard. As Tal pushed back with all his strength, Perron stepped back and executed a perfect horizontal stroke across Tal's padded chest.
"Two points defender," declared Ferrick, holding one finger toward Tal and two toward Perron. A growl rose from Tal's chest, causing Ferrick to give him a questioning glance. Tal set his jaw and took his place, focusing on his opponent.
"Begin!"
Tal rushed forward and beat Perron's weapon aside, then smashed it again as Perron brought it back in line. He made no attempt to move beyond Perron's guard, only to batter it from all directions. At last, Perron saw the flaw in Tal's attack-there was no attempt to guard low. He faded back and slashed at Tal's knees.
Which was exactly what Tal had been expecting.
Tal leaped over the sweeping blade and struck the top of Perron's mask. The blow made a resounding crack.
The other students stifled their laughter, but Tal saw hands fly up to cover smiles. Only Radu and Master Ferrick seemed unimpressed.
Perron was already in position on the middle ring. Tal took his place. Ferrick pointed his fingers, three and two. "Begin!"
Tal expected Perron to be more cautious this time, but the older man surprised him with a quick, feinting advance. Tal parried and retreated, concentrating on defense. Perron persisted with a steady stream of careful thrusts at Tal's wrist and arm. As long as Perron's attacks remained so modest, Tal had to maintain his own defense.
Perron suddenly shifted to a flurry of high cuts. When Tal deflected them and riposted with a thrust, Perron beat Tal's blade so hard it struck the floor. His own sword nearly found its target before Tal recovered with an awkward full-center parry.
Tal nearly laughed. Perron wasn't a small man, but he couldn't beat Tal in a contest of strength. Still, if that was how he wanted it…
Tal met the next attack with his own, lunging forward even as Perron came at him. The wooden blades cracked as they came together. The top foot of Tal's snapped away, and the splintered remainder ran through Perron's guard and into his mask. Tal felt the thick, sickening impact as his shattered blade passed through the wicker bands and into his cousin's face.
Horrified, Tal let go of the blade. It stuck fast through the mask.
Perron fell to his knees and clawed at his mask, but it wouldn't come off. A trickle of blood ran out from under his bib, down the front of his white armor.
Tal reached out to help, but someone got in the way. He couldn't see who it was, because all the faces in the room whirled about more quickly than he could recognize them. An oceanic roaring filled his ears, and he heard distant voices shouting his name and "get away!" Then he felt hands pulling him, and he had no more strength to resist them.
Later, they called it an accident. In the hours after the event, Tal heard Master Ferrick's opinion. He knelt as the swordmaster lectured him for nearly two hours after the others had left. Tal's knees hurt, and his legs turned numb, but he did not complain. He deserved far worse and knew it would come later.
When he was dismissed, Tal bowed one last time to the master, recovered Perivel's sword from where he'd left it in the dressing room, and walked quietly down the stairs for the last time.
It was an hour after noon. The street was hot, and the Warehouse District stank of fish and tar. Tal headed west on Larawkan, stamping his feet to force some feeling back into them. The rhythm of hitting the cobblestones soon became hypnotic as Tal imagined the punishments he had yet to face.
There was no way Thamalon would protect him from whatever just retribution the Karns demanded. Even his mother was unlikely to stand long between him and the righteous anger of her family. Even after paying the temple for healing Perron's mangled face, there was the matter of the eye. Regenerative magic was neither common nor cheap. This would mean the end of Tal's relative freedom in the tallhouse. It was just the excuse Thamalon needed to cut off his stipend and force him back to live at Storm-weather Towers, where they could keep an eye on him.
Tal noticed that people where scurrying out of his path. He looked back, expecting to see a drover trying to regain control of a panicked ox or perhaps a captive griffin breaking out of its chains on its way to the Hulorn's Palace, but there was nothing frightening back there. The people were avoiding the huge thundering dolt who was muttering to himself.
"Wonderful," he said aloud. "Let's frighten everyone in Selgaunt."
He tried to relax and walk in a way that didn't suggest he was on his way to a murder. Once he even forced a smile at a pair of young women, but they took one look at him and crossed to the other side of the street.
As he turned onto Alaspar Lane, Tal heard a whistle from an ivy-laden trellis. Crouched behind it was Chaney Foxmantle.