Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [140]
All of us returned to our seats at the long tables, clearing the floor. Two Amazigh took their places. They bowed to one another, then unwound the lower portions of their head-scarves, rewinding them in such a fashion that their eyes were bound and covered. With that, they drew their blades and commenced to spar.
What the point of it was, I couldn’t say. A reminder of their skill, I suppose. To be sure, it was an impressive spectacle. Robed and faceless, they hardly looked human. They fought with a sword in the right hand and a dagger in the left, flowing back and forth across the floor. Their blades crossed and clashed, glinting in the light of many lamps and candles.
At length, one gained the advantage of the other. Feeling the other’s sword-point against his throat, the defeated Amazigh dropped his blade, pressing the palms of his hands together in a curious gesture of surrender. I clapped politely along with everyone else.
“Do any among you think to best my loyal Amazigh at their game?” Astegal called. There were general utterances of denial. “Ah, but someone must try.” He made a show of glancing around the room, his gaze settling on me. “Leander Maignard!” he said brightly. “You were invited here to provide entertainment. Do so.”
I spread my hands. “I’m no swordsman, my lord.”
Astegal laughed. “That will make it all the more entertaining! Don’t worry, my pretty little friend. My men are skilled; you’ll take no serious hurt.”
The Carthaginian peers laughed. Even Bodeshmun allowed himself a sour smile. I glanced at Sidonie. She wasn’t amused. If Astegal thought to lessen me in her eyes by humiliating me in public as he’d humiliated Kratos in the palaestra, he was mistaken.
I rose and bowed. “As you wish, my lord.”
One of the Amazigh loaned me his sword and dagger. Someone else bound my eyes with a length of cloth. I stood very still, focusing my breathing. The noise in the great hall was distracting, voices bouncing off the walls. They were making wagers, not on who would win, but how long I would last.
Strangely, the dual blades in my hands didn’t feel entirely wrong, only . . . unbalanced. The Amazigh sword was heavier than the one I was accustomed to wielding, and it felt mismatched against the dagger.
“Go!” Astegal shouted.
I took a silent, sliding step to my left and felt the wind of a blade’s passage where I had been. I’d always been good at her ladyship’s training games. I could navigate the entire villa blindfolded, and I had sharp ears. I concentrated. Beneath the noise of the onlookers, I heard the soft scuff of my opponent’s sandals as he advanced, thinking I’d retreated. I poked him blindly with the tip of my sword, moving farther to the left as I did.
A great roar went up.
Circles, I thought. The Amazigh had battled to-and-fro in a straight line. If I could keep circling, I could keep him off guard.
For a while, it worked. Longer than anyone expected, I daresay. Long enough that the tables were turned, and the crowd began laughing at the sight of the Amazigh spinning, his robes flying as he tried to guess which way I’d gone. I kept my blades crossed before me, concentrating on defending myself.
But while the Amazigh may have been fierce in battle—who else would devise such a dangerous ritual?—they were patient, too. My opponent stalked me until he began to catch my rhythm. He landed a blow with the edge of his sword on my dagger-hand, scoring a nasty gash and causing me to drop my blade.
His dagger swept my sword aside. I sensed the blow to follow and whirled away, instinctively taking up my heavy, borrowed sword in a two-handed grip. For a moment, we were both disoriented. The crowd grumbled as the Amazigh resumed his patient stalking.
I listened for him. This felt right, the sword angled across my body. The memory of Prince Imriel practicing in the garden flashed across my thoughts, watching him move through