When the bell rang, Orsey put his heels back and charged, swordstaff leveled towards my chest. I let him come on, waiting with my greatsword in a low guard. Then, at the last moment, I leaned slightly, and Tilly slipped sideways.
To Orsey’s credit, the tip of his spear followed my chest as I moved, but I was not done. As Tilly slid, she rotated, so I was parallel to the ground, and I wound my sword up, catching Orsey’s lance-point and deflecting it harmlessly past my shoulder. My blade landed across his neck. His own momentum slid him down my blade, shield sparking, until his chin hit my greatsword’s crossguard. Tilly put on a burst ofspeed, ramming Orsey’s steed from the side, while I reached out with my left hand to grab Orsey’s head.
Orsey’s hoversteed’s safety protocols kicked in, and instead of tearing his legs off, his magfield restraints deactivated, and I dragged Orsey from his saddle. Desultorily, I pushed him from me with my blade, letting him fall the three meters to the ground. His shield protected him from harm, but the glare he gave me showed that I had wounded his pride, a far bigger target.
The stadium exploded. League members gasped, demons cheered my display of combat prowess, and the Royal Commonwealth spectators politely applauded. The Federation delegation, however, rose as one and in a multitude of voices, yelled “Foul!” Orsey stood, brushed the dust from his leather chopper trousers and silk jacket, and repeated the accusation.
I shouldered my greatsword and did not reply. Foul? How? I didn’t think I’d made any illegal moves. Still, I waited for judgment from above.
The Emperor stood in her box and asked, “Foul? In what way?”
Orsey pointed at me. “Did you not see? He grappled me.”
“You mistake our tournament bouts for battleball,” I replied. “Grappling may be illegal in battleball, but it is viable in tournament melees.”
“Not in the Federation it isn’t. We have a more genteel way of jousting. Grappling is against the rules,” Orsey protested.
The Emperor’s laughter echoed down from her box. “What care I for Federation rules? This is an Imperial tournament. Any moves are legal so long as they result in victory. Had we used real zeroblades as is customary in the Empire, Senator Orsey would now be minus his head and none would worry about fair play or foul. Captain Boylan is the clear victor inthis combat.” She sat and waved her hand. “Clear the arena for the next bout. I grow bored of this yammering.”
I left, saluting Orsey and riding into the holding area to dismount, take care of Tilly, and wash up. I had no more bouts scheduled this day, and if I hurried, I could catch some of the remaining tournament.
When I joined Prince Aureli in his box, the prince glanced drolly over his shoulder at me. “Captain Boylan. Causing trouble, I see.”
“Just doing my duty, Your Highness.”
“Perhaps a little too vigorously. Remember, the Federation are our allies,” the prince said. I gritted my teeth, but kept quiet and sat to watch the remaining bouts. Archduke Darius flew against an Imperial prince, and beat him. He did not go in for a grab as I had, but flitted around the big demon, thrusting at him from afar with his long swordstaff and avoiding the demon’s counterblows. It was less dramatic than my grapple, but to the trained eye it showed a more masterful display of martial prowess. Had Orsey been a more skilled opponent, he could have avoided my grapple, or even turned it against me. Darius’s victory was slim, but definite, and against a skilled opponent.
That night, Wiktor helped dress me for dinner. I was to accompany Prince Aureli as he attempted to negotiate with the demon nobility. He might need help translating Imperial actions and idioms. Despite myself, I found myself warmly anticipating the evening. Finally, I could do what I had been brought here to do.
I was seated far from Prince Aureli during the dinner itself, but as the dining tables were cleared away, I made my way towards his side.
“Demon slayer,” a gravelly voice said. I turned to see two of the demons from last night. The two counts, if I remembered correctly.
I inclined my head slightly, not exposing my vulnerable back to either, and took a stab at their names. “Count Zukov. Count Gerasimov.”
The stouter, older demon who I thought was Zukov approximated a smile, stretching his thin, scarred lips across sharpened, black-stained teeth. “You remember us. Good.” I mentally congratulated myself, then set to repeating both names in my mind, attaching them firmly to each face. Zukov’s smile slipped. “Less good was your performance today. You were sloppy, careless. Your opponent had many opportunities to counter your grab.”
I tilted my head as I looked up at the demon. “Perhaps. But he didn’t.”
“Did you know he wouldn’t?” Zukov asked.
“I suspected. He did not win his first bout – his opponent lost. Orsey displayed no particular aptitude towards mounted combat, so I gambled. I’d not use such risky tactics against Archduke Darius, or you.”
Count Gerasimov smiled and punched Zukov’s shoulder hard enough for the fleshy slap to echo off the ceiling. “I told you he was fighting his foe more than following training-ground tactics.”
Count Zukov knelt, caught Gerasimov’s heel, then lifted, sending Gerasimov stumbling off-balance. As his companion caught himself, Zukov smirked, then returned his stern attention to me. “What tactics would you use against me?”
“As we may oppose one another in the ring tomorrow, you can’t expect me to tell you,” I replied.
A true smile spread across Zukov’s lips then. “Very good. Perhaps I shall have an enjoyable bout for once. The rest of your Allied warriors have proven disappointing. It makes me wonder how the Alliance has staved off defeat as long as you’ve managed.”
I allowed the insult to slide off me. Zukov may not have realized that he had given my army a compliment in disguise. “There’s more to war than individual combat.”
Count Gerasimov rejoined us, roughly shoving his shoulder past Zukov’s. “I suppose now you’ll lecture us on the values of supply chains?”
“No,” I replied. “I don’t make a habit of discussing my nation’s military methods with my enemies.”
“Well spoken,” Zukov said, then loudly ordered a round of tak for us. Somehow, I felt like I had back in the Academy, when I’d passed an instructor’s test.
