A Snoop Without Magic, page 19
“I know the drill,” the butler said. He glanced at Sam.
Sam could detect the sparest of smiles from the man.
“Now we will work on dancing,” Worren said. “You will need to know the basic steps, at least.”
Sam groaned. “I was able to avoid such things once I left Baskin.”
“To please the ladies, you will need to practice, practice, practice,” Worren said.
After inspecting his sword, Sam nodded. “I remember a few steps.”
He remembered dancing with Winnie at her preparatory school’s dance. It was a pleasant memory and one he hoped to duplicate at some point.
“Are you going to play the part of the female?” Sam asked.
“No. I need to observe. Stefen or Kened?”
“Not me,” Kened said with a smirk on his face.
“I will assume the role,” Stefen said. “I consider myself well-schooled in dance.”
Another hidden talent of the butler, Sam thought. “Then let’s get this over with.”
“Did you pick up fencing on your first try?” Worren asked.
Sam groaned inside. “No, but I picked up forms quickly, and I look at dancing as warm-up forms more than dueling.”
“You will be dueling on the dance floor, but that is another lesson.”
The four of them spent the next hour learning a single dance. Worren seemed to enjoy punishing Sam on the floor of the private dining room. Sam quickly learned to abhor the humming that Worren used as music.
“That is enough for today,” Worren said at the end. “My voice is tired.”
“I suggest a bit of the brew to soothe that,” Stefen said.
“An admirable suggestion,” Worren said.
The pair of them walked out of the room.
“Did you know Worren before we came here?” Sam asked.
Kened shook his head. “I’ve heard of him, nothing good, but I’ve never met him. If he is pretending to be an unlikeable boor, he is an expert at his role. He is fairly good with a sword, though. I don’t think he will be an adequate sparring partner since his moves are very conventional.”
“I noticed,” Sam said thinking about the man. “I don’t trust him.”
“Another carefully crafted aspect to Worren. His mind is always in motion, I am sure.” Kened chuckled. “He may not be the most suitable swordsman, but he is a much better dance teacher than I am.”
~
Kened, Worren, Stefen, and Sam walked to the tournament’s outdoor venue. Sam looked up at the sky.
“Are you hoping it will rain?” Worren said, needling Sam.
“A little rain would be nice to wash away the blood that my sword will drink tomorrow,” Sam said. Their banter was practice to make Sam think more arrogantly than he ever had. It was all he could sometimes do to keep his temper in check. Worren was a thoroughly unlikeable man. The field had quite a few people milling about. Sam turned around to absorb the feel of the place.
Sam spotted Desmon and Glory, entering the field with Emmy. “I have friends to see,” he said and left them.
“You have finally been able to drag yourself from your three companions? Who is the new one?” Glory said.
“Worren Sander. He is my behavior coach and current sparring partner,” Sam said.
“We came to say goodbye. We assume you will let Emmy join us on our trip back to Wistall?” Desmon said.
“She can’t come with me,” Sam said. “I’d rather she be with people she knows.”
“I agree,” Glory said. “She hasn’t forgotten you. I’ve seen you play with her in the stable yard in the evenings.”
Sam nodded. “I guessed I wouldn’t be here long. I wish you luck with whatever you are doing.”
“It is all in support of your friend. Wollia wants Holding to be a stable continent and Harrison will help ensure that. Wistall and Norlank are worried, as well. It helps that they are. I won’t say more,” Desmon said. “Take care of yourself.”
Sam shook Desmon’s hand and gave Glory a quick hug before they left the way they had come. On the way back to join the others across the field, Sam nearly turned to say goodbye to Emmy, but that wouldn’t be something Effian Walk would do. He pressed his lips together and continued on.
“Your friends?” Kened said.
“They are leaving and taking Emmy with them. Effian doesn’t have a dog,” Sam said.
“That is a sad sacrifice, Sam,” Stefen said. “I am sure it is a bit of a sacrifice for Emmy, too.”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t know what it is for her.” He sighed and looked at the stands, still being finished. “We fight on dirt?”
“No,” Kened said. “There will be dueling platforms made out of pollen planks. They will lay them down tonight. The town has arranged for fifty citizens to do the job. I’m surprised they haven’t begun to prepare the field.”
“They will,” Worren said. “The city will make a lot of money during the tournament. It will be done.”
“Then let us get you registered.” Kened walked to tables set up in the direction they had been walking.
Sam realized that was the reason there were so many people wandering around the field. They got into line, and soon Kened talked to one of the registrars.
“Effian Walk, from Tolloy, Vaarek,” Kened said.
The man looked at a list of participants. “He is a master class swordsman?”
“He is,” Kened said, “but he is new to Toraltia.”
The registrar looked at Sam. “You will have to demonstrate your ability. Go through the blue curtain.”
Sam didn’t realize the colored curtains behind the registrar meant anything. Sam slipped through the opening.
“Name?” a swordsman said.
“Effian Walk.” Sam looked at the row of chairs. Two others seemed to be in front of him. Kened gave the man a paper and left Sam alone among the other contestants.
The swordsman pointed to the man on the other end. “Your turn. Show me that you are a master class swordsman.”
The poor would-be duelist wasn’t master class in the slightest. They sparred for less than a moment. The swordsman wrote on a paper and shoved it in the embarrassed competitor’s hand.
“Next.”
The person in front of Sam gave a much better accounting of himself, but Sam knew he had more experience. The swordsman played with him a little longer. At least Sam could pick apart his tester’s style and find a few areas to exploit.
“You.” The swordsman pointed to Sam.
“Me?” he said in Vaarekian, pointing to himself.
The swordsman motioned Sam to stand up. Sam drew his sword and stood. The swordsman looked at Sam’s sword and then at Sam. “You have an excellent weapon,” he said.
Sam shrugged and assumed a Baskin-style address. The swordsman gave Sam a sneer-laden smile and attacked. As usual, Sam let the man have the first two moves until he showed his weakness, a little flourish after a thrust. He quickly twisted his wrist as he parried and lightly slapped the flat of his sword on the man’s wrist, and then when the swordsman withdrew his hand, Sam followed it up with a tap on the man’s side.
“Enough,” the swordsman held up his hand. “You pass.” He looked warily at Sam. “Paper.” He scrawled ‘master’ on the paper Kened had given him and pointed out of the tent.
Sam presented it to Kened, who was chatting with Stefen.
“How did it go?” Kened said.
Stefen translated.
“I think this says I passed,” Sam said, offering the paper to Kened.
The swordmaster smiled at the word the swordsman wrote. “You impressed him.”
Stefen told Sam the same thing, and Sam responded, “Of course. Where is Worren?”
“He had something to attend to,” Stefen said.
~
The next time Sam walked on the field, large squares of pollen platforms were spread out on the dirt. They were early enough to permit Sam to test the footing. They seemed solid enough and were made to provide grippy footing. There wouldn’t be many sliding thrusts at this tournament, Sam thought. He didn’t use that technique anyway because it was so easy to be caught before recovering one’s footing.
Banners flew from the stands, which had yet to fill. Worren had shown up and offered to be Sam’s interpreter, giving Stefen some time to wander through the crowds and observe the matches. The colored curtains now hid waiting areas for the participants. Master swordsmen were ushered through the blue curtains.
The three of them walked through to see many benches that went much farther out past the stands. Sam thought they were early, but the benches were half-filled with participants and their coaches or friends.
“You shouldn’t worry too much,” Kened said.
Both of them had to wait for Worren, who hadn’t thought to translate.
“There might be two or three real masters in the field. The others are wanting to make a name for themselves. This is one of the qualifying tournaments for the Baskin Trials. You could pass the test in Baskin as you did here, but we need to create some anticipation for your arrival. I know it isn’t your style, but you need to crush your opponents.”
“No mercy?” Sam asked.
“Kened doesn’t want you to kill them, but score your points quickly and strut off the square,” Worren said, “and I do mean strut, as if you are the world’s best duelist.”
“What if I lose?” Sam said.
Worren laughed. “Then you will retreat with arrogance. The crowd wants showmanship, at least in this tournament.”
“What did you think of the dueling surface?” Kened asked.
“A bit too much grip for my taste, but I imagine it will be worse for others.”
Kened waited for Worren’s tardy translation. “My thoughts, as well. You should do well, but don’t let your role-playing antics affect your performance.”
“I will manage to control myself,” Sam said.
They could hear the tournament start. There were so many lower-level participants that it wasn’t until after midday that the master matches began.
Sam arose to go through his forms and was ready when his name was called. Worren stepped out with him to the fourth square and translated the referee’s instructions.
Three touches are maximum for the match. He would have to do two out of three, thought Sam. That would give him no margin for error. Worren was right, no freely given touches, and he had to perform with flourishes, but he couldn’t make the same mistake the swordsman had in the qualifying.
His opponent stepped onto the square dueling platform, no circles like Tolloy. Sam would have preferred stone or polished hardwood, but he had practiced on all kinds of surfaces. He looked his opponent over and realized he had missed an opportunity to watch the other masters warm up. That was a slip, in his mind. He wouldn’t do that again.
When his name was announced, Sam raised both his arms as if the crowd would cheer. A few people applauded, but his opponent drew more adoration to Sam’s none.
The referee blew on a whistle to get the match started. Sam’s opponent was big and slow, and it took Sam half a minute to earn his two-out-of-three touches. The applause wasn’t deafening, but it was more robust than the introduction.
Sam made a point of giving his opponent an elaborate bow, making the man grimace at Sam’s lack of grace. He turned and walked off the platform back to the practice tent. In twenty minutes, the space was beginning to empty out as defeated swordsmen took their things and left.
This time Sam spent more time watching his competition than warming up, and it paid off. He found more weak points, if they weren’t feints. Sam would be prepared for those as well.
His next match was with a much better opponent, and he won, but in four minutes. None of the matches took very long.
While Sam stretched out his muscles as he waited for the next matches, Kened walked up to him.
“Something is going on with the next match,” the swordmaster said. “I don’t know what, but be prepared for anything.”
The crowd roared as Sam’s opponent was introduced as the hometown hero. The next three matches were to be fought in the center square.
Even so, Sam had picked up a following and earned respectable applause as he was introduced. He looked around the crowd for signs of something, anything and noticed a few men standing in the sunlight with folders or notebooks of some kind. They hadn’t been there for the previous bouts. He wouldn’t doubt that trickery could come from that area.
Sam had watched his competitor warm up. His adoration seemed to be earned. The man had power and control in his swings. This would likely be his toughest match. He took a deep breath as the whistle blew.
His opponent didn’t attack, so the two duelists circled the platform. The man closed on Sam, but light flashed in his eyes, reflected from mirrors that the men held.
Sam held up his hand to stop the match, but his opponent tapped Sam’s side and cried out a point. The referee gave it to him. Sam summoned Worren to protest the men reflecting light in Sam’s face, but the referee demanded that the match had to continue.
“If you can’t concentrate enough to ignore distractions, you shouldn’t be out here,” the referee told Sam.
Worren translated something much more colorful to Sam, but nothing was going to happen. The next time Sam was in position, the mirrors came out again to the roar of the crowd. This time Sam was better prepared and fended off his opponent’s attacks. He walked closer to the men and flung a stink ward at them and while the men were dealing with the noxious odor that drifted over to the dueling square, Sam managed to score a point.
The men had to position themselves in a different spot, and by the time they did, clouds had covered the sun. Sam would change to the Carolank style, which wouldn’t suit his opponent’s more straightforward Toraltian technique. The confusion gave Sam the opening he needed, and he emerged victorious.
A man walked to the side of his opponent and complained to the referee about Sam using a ward in the match. The referee turned to Sam and motioned him over.
“Why shouldn’t I disqualify you?” he said.
Sam frowned as he heard Worren translate. “I admit I used a ward, but it wasn’t on my opponent. It was meant to scatter the men who flashed sunlight in my eyes. If you disqualify me, you’ll have to disqualify him,” he said in Vaarekian. “You were the one who told me about distractions.”
The referee turned red after Worren told him what Sam had said. “I did. You are the winner. Prepare for the final.” He turned and stalked over to the other referees.
“Let’s go before someone else picks a fight,” Worren said. They returned to the tent.
Sam’s former opponent stopped at Sam’s bench. “You won fairly,” he said. “My supporters sometimes get a little carried away.” The man smiled. “You beat them, and you beat me. That is Norlankian style?” he asked.
“It was my version of it.” Sam put out his hand. “Thank you for your apology.”
“We will meet again,” his former opponent said with a smirk. “I won’t be so kind on you then.” He took Sam’s hand and squeezed hard, but Sam was ready for such a thing and squeezed back.
The man walked off, looking behind his back and nodding.
“Did I just make an enemy?” Sam asked Worren.
“I don’t think so. It was like two rams sniffing over the same ewe,” the man said.
“Are you from the North?” Sam asked, remembering that most of Toraltia’s sheep were raised in the northern part of the country.
Worren gave Sam a grin and began to work on Sam’s sword.
They didn’t wait long for the next match to end. When Sam showed up to fight, the crowd was at least half in his favor, according to Worren. Sam waited for his next opponent, and a woman stepped out to a much greater roar than Sam had. So much for thinking he had won over half the crowd. She had used a different place to warm up between matches. Sam hadn’t noticed her before, and this was the final match of the day.
The woman was very attractive. She reminded Sam of Captain Darter and had none of the lankiness that Norna Hawkal did at the University of Tolloy. She held a Norlank dueling sword. Everyone else might have thought that would give the woman an advantage, but not Sam.
The whistle blew. The woman attacked Sam with a flurry, just like Captain Darter used to open. Sam matched her stroke for stroke, not letting her blade reach him, while he adjusted his mind and reactions to her style.
Their match turned into a flow of parry, thrust, and slash, all done with mostly quick wrists. Sam slid into the Lashakan style, changing the rhythm they both had used. He scored the first point.
He continued with the Lashakan style. The woman had a taste of her own medicine, fighting someone with an unfamiliar style. She couldn’t quite adjust, and that was enough for Sam. She was fast enough to sneak a point towards the end, but when Sam reached in the for the last point, he did so with a flourish that would have been unseemly if he wasn’t Effian Walk.
The crowd was silent for a moment and then broke into cheering and applause.
When the awards were given, Sam stood between his last two opponents. The woman leaned over and told Sam she was impressed that he had fought with her style as well as she did. Sam motioned Worren over to translate and made her give him the compliment, again.
“An easy victory for a Vaarekian,” Sam said giving her a little bow.
She pursed her lips and turned away.
Sam didn’t like the rejection, but Worren had told him to be arrogant, and Sam had just done arrogant as well as he could.
Chapter Twenty-Three
~
“N ot bad,” Kened said. “Your two most challenging matches, and you made enemies of both.”
“That was my assignment,” Sam said. “I don’t know if we did any good.”
“Oh, you did,” Kened said. “You have had six invitations to dinner tomorrow night. There would be more, but tonight is the winner’s banquet at the city hall.”
Sam shook his head. “Do I have to go?”
“Of course,” Kened said. “But you don’t have to stay long. Just make an appearance and then leave abruptly.”
