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The older man’s eyes popped and his hand went to his hip. “Sack of excrement, is it?” With a flash of metal, he slid a blade out of its scabbard. “How would you like me to cut your tongue out and shove it down your scrawny throat?”

The youth grinned as he whipped his own sword free. “I would like to see you try!” he shot back.

Seeing what was about to take place, the other patrons cleared a space for the two antagonists. The Orion, who was allegedly the cause of the youth’s indignation, was the only one who remained in the vicinity-and that was only because he was still unconscious.

The governor sighed. The youth’s behavior was worse than embarrassing. It was despicable. He had actually gone out of his way to pick a fight with an innocent man.

Still, Thul didn’t do anything to stop the impending combat. He just sat there like everyone else in the tavern, drinking his ale and wondering who the victor would be.

“Serpent!” boomed the Thallonian with the scar.

“Rodent!” came the youth’s reply.

Suddenly, they were at each other, their swords clashing in a blurry web of bright metal. The scarred one thrust and the youth parried it. The youth countered and the scarred man knocked his sword away.

Back and forth they went, knocking tables and chairs aside, slashing away at each other with wild abandon. The scarred one was stronger and steadier, but the youth seemed more skilled. In time, the governor mused, skill was likelier to win out

His theory was borne out a few moments later. The scarred man saw an opening and brought his sword down at his adversary’s head, but what seemed to be an opening turned out to be a trap. The youth sidestepped the blow, then swung his blade at his opponent’s shoulder.

The metal cut deeply, eliciting a spray of blood and a cry of pain from the scarred one. Then his enemy struck again, battering the sword from the scarred one’s nerveless fingers.

The older man stood there, waiting for the death-stroke that did not come. Instead, the youth smiled and knelt beside the Orion, who had been all but forgotten in the melee.

Some of those present might have expected the youth to drag the trader to his feet, since he had claimed the fellow as his friend. But he didn’t do that at all. He merely used the Orion’s tunic to wipe his blade clean.

Finally, he stood up again and addressed the scarred one. “Next time,” he said grimly, “be careful whose wine you catch in your lap.” Then he tossed his head back and howled with laughter until the rafters rang with it.

The scarred man, who was clutching his wounded shoulder, just glared at his adversary. He glanced at the sword he had left lying on the floor, no doubt wondering if he might have a chance at revenge if he moved quickly enough. But in the end, he thought better of it and slunk away.

Remarkable, Thul reflected sourly. The youth had made an art form of arrogance and braggadocio.

Downing the remainder of his ale, the governor got to his feet and crossed the room. When he was halfway to the swordsman, the Indarrhi took note of him and said something.

The youth turned to cast a glance at the governor over his shoulder, his eyes intense in the hollows of their sockets. At the same time, his hand wandered to the hilt of his weapon.

Thul stopped in front of him. For a moment, the youth seemed ready to gut the older man where he stood. Then the governor tossed his hood back, revealing his identity.

Slowly, the fire in the swordsman’s eyes dimmed. His features softened and his hand left his hilt “Father,” he said, humor and surprise mingled in his voice-along with something like distrust.

Thul gazed at him. “Strong drink does not agree with you. You have looked better, Mendan.”

The youth grunted scornfully and cast a sidelong glance at his companion. “Have I really?”

“And you have exhibited better manners,” the governor went on, unperturbed. “Was it really necessary to create a scene? To wound an innocent man? And all to prove your valor for the hundredth time?

His son sneered at him.