Moving Targets and Other Tales of Valdemar

He glared as if my matter-of-fact way of speaking was an insult to the exaltation and tragedy enshrined in his memory. “I survived the final battle, then returned to the temple of the prophet. The unbelievers had defaced the black stone along with everything else, but it was still a holy relic, and something about it called to me. I decided to carry it with me into exile, and when I touched it, it revealed its power to me.”

“And you’ve no doubted cheated your way through life ever since.”

“I’m tired of hearing you use that word. It’s good to know that after we meet two mornings hence, I won’t have to hear it anymore.”

“Indeed not. You won’t hear anything ever again.”

Dromis laughed. “I thought you understood, Selden. You can’t win. I’ve already watched our duel. I already know the tactics you’ll employ even if you haven’t yet decided on them yourself, and I know how I’ll defeat them and cut you down. In a very real sense, you’re already lying dead at my feet.”

I found Marissa in her armory repairing a leather-and-wire-mesh fencing helmet. As she got caught up in my story, she abandoned her task and left the protective mask to lie in pieces on the cluttered worktable before her.

“I told you we should kill Dromis before the duel,” she said. “Luckily, it’s not too late.”

“Actually, it is,” I replied. “He’s hiding behind a wall of his students, and he’ll stay there until he comes to keep our appointment.”

“In that case, go to Lords Baltes and Pivar.”

“Without proof?”

“You shouldn’t need it. They owe you. They’re your friends.”

“They’re also committed to governing Mornedealth in a less arbitrary manner than their predecessors, and that’s a good thing. I won’t ask them to set aside their own rules of law just to save my arse.”

“Then what? You can’t simply refuse to fight, or people will think you a coward. No maestro or hiresword can afford that.”

I felt a jab of anger. “Don’t worry about that. Despite everything, I want to duel. I want to beat Dromis at his own rotten game and pay him back for Falnac’s death.” I took a breath. “And even if I didn’t, the dastard has evidently seen that I show up, so perhaps I don’t have a choice. Maybe, somehow, I’d wind up at the designated place and time no matter what.”

Marissa made a sour face. “That’s so contrary to common sense, it makes my head hurt just to think about it.”

“Mine too. So why don’t we try thinking like warriors?”

A dank mist blurred the mausoleums and grave markers, and the dawn was just a luminous smear on a wall of gray cloud. The birds hadn’t yet begun to sing.

I’d done my best to keep Dromis’ prophecy of doom from affecting my morale. But perhaps the dismal morning helped to dampen my spirits, for as we approached one another, I did indeed have the fey sense that my fate was sealed. That all that was about to happen had, in some ultimate sense, happened already.

I couldn’t afford to feel like a helpless sleepwalker, so I focused on Dromis’ sneer and Olissimal’s gloating smirk, stoking my hatred for them both. It wasn’t something I would have done ordinarily; I prefer to fight with a cool head. But in this instance, it steadied me.

We took our places, and then Olissimal said, “We, your friends, urge you to seek a peaceful resolution to your dispute.” I doubted that anyone in the history of swordplay had ever made that traditional plea with such a transparent lack of sincerity.

“I do not apologize,” Dromis said, “and I know for a fact that my opponent won’t, either. Isn’t that right, Selden?” He grinned at me as though sharing a secret jest.

“Yes,” I said.

“I’ll always wonder: Could you simply not accept the truth of your situation, or did your notions of honor oblige you to show up even so? Either way, you die a fool.”

I looked to Marissa. “Let’s get on with it.”

“As you wish,” she said, backing away to give Dromis and me room to fight. Shifting his crutches, Olissimal likewise hobbled clear.

Marissa then lifted a white cloth and whipped it through the air. Dromis and I started to circle one another.

Fear welled up inside me, and of course, given the life I’d led, it was scarcely the first time. But it was the first time it balked me. For a heartbeat, I couldn’t attack because the craven part of me knew that whatever technique I attempted, Dromis would offer a perfect—and perfectly lethal—response.

I screamed a battle cry to jolt myself into motion.

I sprang into the distance, feinted to the chest, and cut to the head. Dromis ducked under the stroke and thrust at my torso as he’d surely watched himself do while using the power of the stone.

It was a nasty counterattack, but fortunately, I was ready for it. I deflected it with a heavy beat-parry that weakened his grip on his hilt, then slashed at his face.