Hal - The Duellist #1

Chapter Two - An Invitation

Hal awoke the following day feeling that her head had been beaten open from the inside with a mallet. She came round lying on a couch in the main salon. Emptied of guests the room was in disarray, the remains of the feast now cold upon the tables, puddles of wine upon the floor and chairs overturned. It was always the same. Once Marc's more official guests had left for the evening, the drinking and dancing grew wilder, and the Senator was famed for increasing the pace of the festivities to a dangerous level.

Hal forced herself to remember the previous night. Meracad, the fair-haired girl, had disappeared with her father quite early on. This had been disappointing for some reason but she could not recall why. She had consoled herself with taunting Braint and his wife, who left soon after, and that in turn had angered Marc. He wanted her to apologise. She refused, of course. The discussion had grown heated and they had drunk even more wine in consequence. By the early hours, maudlin and sentimental, they vowed never to argue again. A familiar story.

Fighting back waves of nausea she attempted to sit upright, the room orbiting her head in a dizzying whirl. The ghastly noise of somebody retching came from the far end of the room and then Marc himself staggered in, pasty-faced and sweating. He slumped in the chair opposite her.

"Quite a party," he said. 

Hal managed a single nod in agreement.

"Not that I can remember it of course," Marc added. "I must be getting old, you know. There was once a time when I could party the night away and actually remember who I'd insulted the following day."

"In that case perhaps memory loss has its advantages," Hal speculated. "What time is it?"

"I don't know – sometime after ten I expect."

In spite of the queasiness in her belly she sprang up and hunted around for her jacket. "Ten o'clock? Beric will kill me."

"Why?"

"I'll be late for the academy."

"Couldn't you even stay for a post-celebration drink?"

"Sorry, I have to go."

Marc sighed and lay back with a groan, burying his face in his hands as she dashed unsteadily out of the room.

Hal charged our through the main doors, bolted across the garden and out onto the streets, attempting to keep her swirling belly in check. As far as Beric was concerned, being late for training was a sin, no matter who the duellist or how great their experience.

She almost lost her balance as she sped around the corner of the city guild hall, slamming into a heavy pair of oak gates which led to the academy above. Ignoring her bruised arm, Hal flung open the doors and raced up the steps leading from the busy street outside. The door to Beric's chamber, a poky little room at the top of the stairs, was still closed, she noted with relief. She crept past and into the academy.

The hall was full of novices training: the air singing to the swish of blades slicing the air, morning sun streaming down through tall, arched windows that ran the length of the room. One or two of the younger boys turned to greet her as she entered, and then an older man ran forward, his striking green eyes punctuating a thin, sharply-defined face. Beric's deputy, Finn, was possessed of an almost feline grace which defined all his movements.

"Hal, where have you been? Beric's furious!"

"Marc had one of his parties," she replied, as if that explained everything.

"It's not the first time, Hal. He'll have something to say about it."

"Let him."

Finn shook his head in near desperation. "I'll not defend you again, Hal."