“How is my opponent handling it all?” Ileth asked.
“He hardly spoke in the Catch Basin. Santeel is, well, you know Santeel. She can make anyone feel small, even that mountain of a man. Some of the fishermen jibed him for fighting with a girl half his age. I get the sense that the jokes were much cruder before I walked in. Gorgantern blushed. I reminded him that even a dueling sword could be deadly and told him how quickly he’d bleed to death if one of the big vessels in his leg was pierced. Dead before a dropped piece of paper would waft to the ground, I put it. That put a thoughtful look on his face, for a change.”
“Can I ask you another question?”
“Certainly,” Galia said. Her self-assurance was like a balm.
“What does swing short mean?”
“In swordplay? Hmmm. I don’t think I’ve heard that exact expression. I believe it means keep the blade in front of you. You don’t want to hack away with all your might, or you wind up off balance, gives your opponent an opportunity to strike. Do you want a quick practice? We could use rug-beaters; they’re about the right size.”
“Please,” Ileth said.
Galia went to find two appropriate instruments and they were soon knocking them against each other. Neither laughed when a blow was struck or one of them tripped.
The morning of the duel, the Master of Novices called her in for an interview. She’d pretended to sleep until the Serpentine’s cocks were crowing at each other but fell asleep just at dawn. She had to be shaken awake as it was her morning to help in the Manor kitchen for breakfast. The Manor would keep its routines, duel or no.
“Today’s the day,” the apprentice charged with supervising the breakfasts said. As if she’d forgotten, blinking out the few minutes of sleep she’d managed. What a morning to wake up exhausted. “The, uhh, fall of Gorgantern. We hope.”
Caseen’s note summoning her arrived in time to save her from the washing-up. It did specify at once in the summons.
The Serpentine lay under a blanket of fog and there was a fall chill in the air. The hot summer weather had vanished quickly, as though fall wanted to crowd in and see the duel. It suited her mood as she walked. She might be dead and cold tonight. What would they do with her body? She hadn’t seen a funeral at the Serpentine.
The Masters’ Hall was one of the newer constructions on the Serpentine. It had been built next to an old family graveyard, shaded by some now-impressive oaks growing in filled soil. An old archway was all that was left of a wall that had surrounded the burying-ground. The archway now projected out of the front wall over the threshold of the Masters’ Hall. It was built in the new Republic style, gray stone from top to bottom, a colonnade of deep arches on the first floor, triple windows above that, and then double windows on the top floor capped by a fan design. It suggested order, hierarchy, simplicity, and a good deal of labor for whoever had to keep all those windows clean.
She entered, gave her name to the page, and went up the squared-off stairs that branched out after the first grand landing to the first floor.
The place smelled like lamps and oil soap. The hallway was wide, with a black-and-white checkerboard pattern tipped so you walked down rows of diamonds.
Master Caseen’s door was open. He was sorting papers on a side table beneath a shelf of books. She entered, and he invited her to sit. He did not sit but put down his papers and paced back and forth a few times, scratching his elbows in thought. She suspected that meant trouble.
He finally settled down into the red leather button-back chair at his desk.
“I don’t care for dueling,” he said, frowning at her as best as he could manage with the scarring. A wandering calico cat entered, glanced at the two of them, thought better of it, and returned to the hall. “Duels set the whole Serpentine at the bubble until the matter is decided. The whole Academy’s talking instead of attending to their duties.”
She felt there was more, so she waited to reply.
“It’s a throwback to the Counties and the Law of Kings and affairs of state being tangled up in affairs of blood and all the petty brutalities that people fled to the Vales to escape, even if it’s dressed up in romantic stage costume.”
“Order me to m-m-miss the duel, then.”
“Remember that line in your oath where you are expected to risk all but your honor in carrying out orders? It’s just as well that line is in the oath; it keeps a tyrant from using the dragoneers for his own ends rather than the Republic’s. It also makes me powerless in an affair of honor.”
“Then why am I here?”
“You are a—young woman. No one expects you to fight a duel. Even more, no one expects you to fight a duel against a man, and even more than that, no one would think the worse of you for refusing to fight a man the size of Gorgantern. He’s twice your age and more still in physical power. You had a blow to your head. You were disoriented, spoke in pain and anger.”
She remained silent.
“I’ll compliment you by being completely frank. You’re obviously not from a part of society where blood spilled requires more blood to be spilled in return.”
“Where’s that republican ideal, sir? Law of Kings when it suits you?”
“There’s ideals and there’s not wanting to lose a promising young woman. Gorgantern has a mean streak. I was still a dragoneer when he was oathed in. I saw him in Vyenn as a youth. I don’t think he’s had much success with women. You’re old enough to at least know in an academic manner some cruel facts. Natural desires that can’t flow through the channels dug for them by society will build up. Dreadful things can happen when the blockage gives way. He won’t be thrusting his sword at you, I fear, as he’ll be hacking at his own private torments and failures with women. He has had some training with a sword and I know he has been the victor in fistfights.”
“How do you know I’ve none?”
“Not many fourteen-year-old ladies have dueling experience. But if swordplay was part of your upbringing in your lodge, I’ll wait out this day in hope that you do know what you’re doing,” Caseen said, pushing back some errant hair on his irregular scalp. “Should you embarrass him, it could solve a problem or two. I know the Master of Apprentices would like to see him gone. Most who approach anywhere near his age leave to pursue another line, once they realize they’re not destined for anything much here. The Master of Apprentices is something of a believer in destiny, as you’ll one day learn, I hope. But Gorgantern is like a limpet down in the Catch Basin. He clings and there’s not much we can do about it. He’s a good worker and obeys the rules. Still, I hope you teach him a lesson.”
Ha! Well, if she was going to go down, she’d go down defiant. “We’ll know in a few hours, won’t we?”
Caseen stood and walked around behind her, leaning in to breathe in her ear: “If you’re trying to make your name dueling, there are better places than here. Nobody wants a duelist on their staff issuing a challenge at the first slight. And every duel is a chance. Even the best of them slip up.” He paused. She remained immobile, hands clasped in her lap to keep them from giving away her utter lack of nerve. “So be it. I’ve tried to reason with you. We’re bound to lose at least one of you, and the Serpentine will be worse off for the whole mess stirring things up and setting us against each other. I don’t like factions within these walls. If you’re nothing but pride and brag, most likely you’ll be cold and dead tonight. Apparently you aren’t as smart as I gave you credit for, Ileth.”
That stung deep, intended or no.