‘Not sure, sir-want me to go and look?’
‘Well, find the waif a sword. Anything will do-it’s not as If he knows how to use it in any case. And hurry, before we lose the light and the mob down there gets bored waiting.’ He smiled at the man. ‘They’ve got bloodthirsty of late-my fault, that-’
‘Yes, about Murillio…’
‘Ah, is that why you’ve come? The duel was fairly fought. He simply could not match my skill.’ *
‘Where is the boy?’
‘So he’s the reason you’re here? This is getting difficult to believe. The child’s not some orphaned prince or something, is he? Rather, was he?’
‘Was?’.
‘Yes. He’s dead, I’m afraid.’
‘I see.’
‘So, still interested?’ Gorlas asked. ‘Of course, that’s not really relevant any more, because I want you to stay. I suppose you can try to run, but I assure you, you’ll be cut down before you get astride that fine horse-a horse I will welcome in my stables. Tell me, are you a better duellist than Murillio was? You’ll have to be. Much better.’
The foreman had gone halfway down the trail before yelling instructions, and now a youth was scurrying up cradling a sword-not Murillio’s, but some-thing found in one of the workings from the look of it. Thin, tapered to a point that was slightly bent. Iron, at least, but the patina was a thick crust over the blade’s spine, and both edges were severely notched. The handle, Gorlas saw as the foreman-breath wheezing-delivered it, wasn’t even wrapped.
‘Sorry about the lack of grip,’ Gorlas said. ‘But really, you should have come prepared.’
‘How did it feel,’ the man asked, ‘killing an old man?’
‘The duel was fair-’
‘Agreed to the death? I doubt that, Vidikas.’
‘I dislike the lack of respect in using my last name like that-especially when you won’t even tell me your name.’
‘Well, your wife calls you Useless, so if you’d prefer that…’
Gorlas flung the weapon at the man’s feet, where it skidded in a puff of golden dust. ‘On guard,’ he ordered in a rasp. ‘To the death.’
The man made no move to pick up the weapon. He Stood as he had before, head tipped a fraction to one side.
‘You are a coward in truth,’ Gorlas said, drawing his rapier. ‘Cowards do not deserve to be treated with honour, so let us dispense with convention-’
‘I was waiting for you to say that.’