Hal - The Duellist #1

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Three Swords

Beric always arrived early at the academy, preferring the peace and quiet of the morning before novices and duellists began the noisy process of training. In this way, he could inspect swords or read letters from parents or relatives anxious that he train their sons. The reputation of the place was such that he was never in short supply of candidates, extracting a high fee from the wealthier to supplement his income from the public duels. Something to put by for his old age, he told himself.

"Hal!" there was silence. He called again, her name echoing around the still, empty hall. Surprised, he noticed that her sleeping mat had been neatly rolled away. Perhaps she had spent the night carousing with her friends from The Emperor. Well, that would do the girl some good. Life had been hard for her of late ─ that ill advised love affair, the beating, and now to have fallen out with Remigius. He couldn't understand it. The two of them had always been so close.

He began pulling swords from racks, checking them for imperfections. Strange. Three swords missing. He counted along the racks, running his fingers across the hilts. She couldn't have taken them, could she? An uneasy feeling slowly unfurled in the pit of his stomach. Why would she take swords belonging to the academy? She had lost her own that night she'd been beaten, of that he was well aware. But she knew the rules concerning these weapons. They were not to leave the halls unless for a public duel.

Hal was up to something and whatever it was he didn't like it. She had been secretive since her return several days before, rather subdued. He had put it down to her argument with Marc, finding no reason to inquire any further. That was her business. Yet, Beric had always watched out for the girl in his own way. Granted she was now an adult, but he still saw her as the sullen sixteen year old who'd arrived at his academy. Fresh from court, she'd had to prove herself against a pack of boys, furious that a girl should train amongst them. He'd tutored her so well that she could beat them all. He found her the lodgings in Riverside, and later infuriated the court by allowing her to fight in the arena. He'd taken care of her in those early years, and he wasn't about to let her ruin herself now.

Beric hurried out of the building and into the city, sensing that Marc must know where she was. After all, there must have been some good reason for the Senator to have thrown her out. The main square was deserted at such an hour. Beric skirted the fountain, setting a brisk pace along empty streets in the direction of Marc's residence. But if Hal was in some kind of danger, surely the senator would have wanted to help her? His pace slowed. No need to overreact. Sure, she'd be back with the swords soon enough, no doubt having spent the evening showing off amongst those dubious characters at the inn. By Diodiné's own eyes, he'd have words with her if that had been her game.

Nevertheless, better not leave too much to chance. Heading through the gates, his feet crunched on the elegant gravelled pathway which led to the main entrance of the town house. Marc was a man with taste, you couldn't deny him that. Even in the moist, cold air of this autumn morning, the garden seemed immaculate with its topiary hedges and manicured lawns. He ascended the semi-circular steps, rapping loudly on the door which was opened in unhurried fashion by Lira, yawning.

"Sir," she nodded courteously. "Master's sleeping"

A pretty lass, Beric thought to himself. Marc's good taste extended to the employment of his staff.

"I need to talk to him, girl. You'll have to wake him." He pushed past her, removing hat and coat, and threw himself with little ceremony into a chair in the main salon. "I'll wait here."

Sighing, Lira closed the door and then headed off up the stairs, her footsteps lost in the cavernous spaces of the house. Beric waited, his impatience growing by the minute. Drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair, he surveyed the place, taking in its paintings, the finely fretted plaster-work ceiling: ornaments and ostentation. It all made him uneasy. Maybe that was why Hal had left. She couldn't stand the décor.

Marc finally emerged, rubbing his eyes, robed from shoulder to shin in a long, black silk dressing-gown. "By the Emperor himself, man, do you have any idea what time this is?" He slumped down in an armchair, yawning extravagantly.

"Well, Senator, I do know, and I apologise for waking you at such an hour but..." he spread his hands expansively "would you happen to know where Hal is?"

Marc's face clouded. "Of course not. I assumed she was with you. Anyway, I don't see why I should give a damn about someone who so disgracefully spurns good advice and generous hospitality when it's offered her."

"So that's what this is about. Pride."

"It's more than that, Beric. She turns up here, half dead. Lira and I go to great pains to revive her. And then..." he paused, his face paling, and then drew a hand across his face.

"What?"

"I know where she is. I thought even she couldn't be so stupid."

"Well, tell me! Stupidity can be cured, death is more of a permanent problem."

"She's at The Grove."

"What?" Beric thundered. "Don't tell me she's fighting an illegal duel, because if she is I'll kill her myself."

"It's worse than that. On the night she left, she received a challenge from Cara and Léac to fight a death-duel. It was obviously some kind of a trap, but she seemed to think she had to return the challenge. I was angry, very angry. I warned her against it, but she wouldn't listen. Finally, I was so furious I told her to leave. I believed that she would at least have the common sense to realise how dangerous it would be."

Beric stood, tugged his coat on and dropped his hat upon his head. "Senator, if there is one thing you might have realised over all these years, it's that the girl doesn't possess an ounce of common sense. I need to get to The Grove. Will you come?"

"Of course. But it might be a good idea to take a couple of your duellists with us. I don't fancy my chances against Léac's thugs. And you'll need some horses if we are to stand any chance of reaching her in time. I'll have my men bring some round."

"Thank you, Senator. We have no time to waste. If she left so early, it could already be too late, but we can at least try."

"I wish I'd come to see you."

"There's no point in worrying now, Marc. I'll be waiting for you outside the cloth hall."

"Very well, Sir."

Beric headed outside, this time running back across the garden. "I'm getting too old for this," he muttered to himself. This was the last time he would help the girl. If they got there in time, of course. And if it was too late, he would get his revenge on Salius Léac. And that bitch Cara Thæc.

He had already lost one friend to Léac. The lad had been playing with fire, carrying on like that with the merchant's wife. But Beric had seen the body which had been pulled out of the docks at Riverside and the memory had never left him. He still had dreams in which he extended a hand to rescue his lost comrade, only to witness the bruised, broken body slowly sink back beneath the water's surface. Then he was left bereft upon the river bank, swamped by an overwhelming sense of impotence and grief. He would not, he swore, experience such feelings a second time. He'd rather swing from the gallows for killing Léac in revenge.