The man put his hand to the wound and stared in disbelief at the blood that ran between his fingers, then he looked up and grinned, stepping forward to attack.
Riordan slowed and invited the attack in the first, exposing the outside low line and letting the other take the initiative. After a few feeble defensive moves, he decided it was time. Taking a tight grip on the hilt, he lunged, swinging down and under the Soorenar's blade, knocking the weapon to the side with a beat and reversing. The man laughed and continued the movement until his sword was back in position. Riordan pulled back at the last minute to avoid a riposte that would gut him like a fish.
"A pretty move, boy."
The big man's blade flickered and danced in front of him. Like a snake, it slithered under his guard and raked his chest, cutting a bloody furrow across his ribs and taking his breath away with a sudden, burning pain. The man kicked him in the stomach and Riordan gagged, falling to his knees in the street.
Riordan spat the sand from his mouth. He rolled away from a slashing cut that sent sparks up from the stone, and scrambled to his feet. One of the guardsmen laughed and Riordan glanced in his direction. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Soorenar's movement and cursed his inattention. He blocked, catching the man's blade and, without thinking, beat the other's sword out and swung under for a stroke that cut the big man across the thigh.
The Soorenar roared and charged in a series of lightning moves that Riordan could barely block. The invader's weapon caught Riordan's blade and spun the tips in the air hi narrow circles. Before Riordan could disengage, the raider closed and slammed his shoulder into Riordan's chest, knocking him backward. He straightened reflexively and the man smashed the bell of his guard into Riordan's face. Riordan dropped his weapon and collapsed to the ground struggling to remain conscious. The Soorenar's foot caught him on the side of the head and sent him sprawling.
From the corner of his eye Riordan saw the man's sword come up.
The blow never came. There was a clash of steel above him and a groan as the body of the Soorenar sprawled beside him.
His eye was swelling shut and it was hard to see, but Riordan recognized the voice of Morka Kodolan, Swordmaster of the Watch, yelling at the two watchmen. "You may hate him, but by Tchazzar he's a member of the Dragon Watch and we stand together. I should teach you all a lesson for this."
Riordan rolled over and tried to stand up. He started to thank Morka but the swordmaster's face was dark with fury. Ropy veins stood out on his forehead and his broad nose flared. Morka was short, squat, and heavily muscled. His head was shaved except for a single long braid growing from the back of his head. Barracks rumors said only a southern sect of specially trained warriors wore their hair like that.
Everyone on the watch was afraid of Morka and for good reason. He was like a berserker when angered. Right now he was very angry. He pushed Riordan against a crate and waved a fist the size of a plate in Riordan's face.
"Shut up, recruit! You're more trouble than you're worth. The clerics tell me it will be at least another tenday before Kendrick gets the use of his arm back. Last tenday your foolishness cost me the use of a good man and could have gotten him killed. Now this…"
Morka nodded to someone behind Riordan and said, "Get him cleaned up. Get him out of my sight." He slammed his sword into his scabbard and stalked away.
Rough hands jerked Riordan to his feet and pulled him toward the barracks. His head was spinning and he couldn't see from his right eye.
It was dark and cool inside the barracks and someone shoved a wet rag in his hands as he collapsed on his bunk. The man cut his shirt away and began to clean the slashes on his chest and arm. Riordan bit back a scream. He felt something in his hand and tried to see what it was.
The swelling will go away faster if you put this on your face."
Riordan couldn't make out the face of the speaker. The rag in his hand was sticky and smelled like rotten garbage. He grimaced and dropped it onto the floor.
"Easy, milor'…" The other bent down and picked it up again. "It's a special poultice."
Riordan tried to pull away, but the man put the rag over his eyes. He struggled for a minute, but the rag was cool and he relaxed as the pain went away.
Thanks."
Think nothing of it, mi-Riordan."
"I can't see you."
"It's Bashar."
Riordan was surprised. Bashar was Morka's corporal. Bashar, the barracks drunk. A burned-out husk of a warrior fit for nothing but to follow Morka around during drill and inspections. Yet the one man who'd decided to help.
Thanks, Bashar."
There was a moment of silence, then the man spoke again. "Rumor says you're the son of Evern Marsh."
Riordan grunted. He wondered how anyone found that out, but decided it was best to say nothing.
Bashar waited, then finally nodded as if Riordan's silence had been an answer. "I knew your father."
Another rummy looking for a handout from the son of a hero, Riordan thought. He sighed, "Third son, not much left for the last. Father wanted me to become a cleric."
"And you knew better." Bashar laughed softly and handed him the wet rag again.
Riordan felt defensive. There's a war coming with Soorenar. Everybody knows it. I'm needed here."
It was as if the old corporal hadn't heard him. "I remember you, but it was a long time ago. Your father made you a toy sword and used to drill you for hours. Wanted you to be a soldier, he did. Guess he must have changed his mind."
Memories came flooding back. Fragments of events that had been buried long ago. He propped himself Up on the cot and stared at blurred image of the older man. "I'd forgotten that. You really did know my father?"
Images marched across his mind. Not of the sword, but of the studies. The faceless line of tutors that came and went under the stern and watchful eye of his crippled father. Memorizing endless books, but never meeting his father's expectations… who would believe him? Evern Marsh, not once, but twice a hero, forcing his son to become a cleric-until Riordan ran away and joined the Dragon Watch.
"Why are you doing this?" Riordan took the rag away and tried to make out Bashar's face. "It was my blunder that nearly got Kendrick killed."
"I know. You went charging into that alley and the Soorenar were waiting for you. Knocked you out and nearly killed Kendrick when he tried to protect you. Then they escaped. If you'd waited…"
In his excitement, he'd forgotten to sound the alarm. It was a stupid mistake and almost got his partner killed. He tried to explain. "I saw them run, I was right behind them. I could have gotten them all."
"Except for the rearguard they left behind in the cross alley." Bashar shook his head. "Oldest trick in the book, lad."
He hesitated a moment, then continued, "I heard you did the same thing today. The man you chased was a seasoned warrior. Morka told me he wore six skulls."
"Two guardsmen were with me, but they held back and let me fight alone."
"I heard that, too."
Bashar took the rag and dipped it in the bowl of green poultice. He wrung it out and handed it back to Riordan. The stench was terrible.
"You asked me why I'm doing this. Your father saved my life once. I owe him something."
Riordan took the poultice away from his eye. His vision cleared enough to make out the corporal. Riordan stared at him, really seeing him for the first time.
Bashar had a lined face, wrinkled like a prune, though he moved like someone much younger. Riordan realized that Bashar was probably not as old as he looked, it was just that the wars had burned away all the excess flesh. His muscles were thin and ropy like the gnarled roots of some tree. Two copper bracelets with strange runes encircled his upper arms. The top of his head was completely bald and he'd pulled the hair on the sides into a long queue.