The Blood Knight - J. Gregory Keyes [156]
Curious, Cazio lunged for the exposed top of the hand. Moving the sword far faster than Cazio would have guessed was possible, Clement merely flipped his wrist, with only a slight motion of his forearm and none from his shoulder at all. That quick, simple turn brought the forte of his blade up to intersect Cazio’s thrust. The tip came up, too, and sliced quickly down along Cazio’s rapier, forcing it away and exposing his wrist to a cut that would have arrived if Cazio hadn’t been ready to take a step back.
“That’s very interesting,” he told Clement, who was following up his riposte by bounding forward, inside the point of Cazio’s weapon, dropping his tip again and raising his hand to keep Cazio’s sword parried to the outside. With that odd twist of the wrist, he cut at the right side of Cazio’s neck. Cazio lengthened his retreat and parried swiftly, bringing his hilt nearly to his right shoulder, then quickly threw himself to his left, dropping his point toward the knight’s face.
Clement ducked and made a stronger, arm-driven slash at Cazio’s flank as he closed. Cazio felt the wind of it, and then he was past his opponent, turning in hopes of a thrust to the back.
But he found Clement already facing him, on guard.
“Zo pertumo tertio, com postro pero praisef,” he said.
“Whatever that means,” Clement replied. “I’m certain I’m fortunate your tongue isn’t a dagger.”
“You misunderstand,” Cazio said. “If I were to comment on your person and call you, for instance, a mannerless pig with no notion of honor, I would do it in your own tongue.”
“And if I were to call you a ridiculous fop, I would do that in my own language for fear that speaking yours would unman me.”
Someone nearby shrieked, and with chagrin Cazio suddenly realized he wasn’t in a duel but a battle. Anne had gotten away from him, and he couldn’t look for her without risking being hamstrung.
“My apologies,” he said. Clement looked briefly confused, but then Cazio was attacking him again.
He started the same as before, lunging for the top of the hand, and drew the same result. The cut came, just as before, but Cazio avoided the parry with a deft turn of his wrist. To his credit, Sir Clement saw what was coming and took a rapid step back, dropping the point of his blade again to stop the thrust now aimed at the underside of his hand. He let his blade recede a bit and then cut violently up Cazio’s blade toward his extended knee.
Cazio let the blow come out, withdrawing his knee quickly, bringing his front foot all the way back to meet his rear foot so that he was standing straight, leaning forward a bit. He took his blade out of the line of the cut at the same time and pointed it at Clement’s face. The cutting weapon, a handsbreath shorter than Cazio’s rapier, sliced air, but Clement’s forward motion took him onto the tip of Cazio’s extended blade, which slid neatly into his left eye.
Cazio opened his mouth to explain the action, but Clement was dying with a look of horror on his face, and Cazio suddenly had no desire to taunt him, whatever he had done.
“Well fought,” he said instead as the knight collapsed.
Then he turned to see what else was happening.
He got it in sketches. Austra was still where she ought to be: away from the fighting, watched over by one of the Craftsmen. Anne was standing, looking down at the patir, who was holding one hand to his chest. His face was red and his lips were blue, but there was no evidence of blood. His guards were mostly dead, although a few still were engaged in a losing battle with the Craftsmen guarding Anne.
Their forces seemed to be winning across the square, as well.
Anne glanced up at him.
“Free the players,” she said crisply. “Then mount back up. We’ll be riding in a few moments.”
Cazio nodded, both elated and disconcerted by the strength of her command. This wasn’t the Anne he remembered from when he’d first met her—a girl, a person, someone he liked—and for the first time he feared that she was