Gonji: The Soul Within the Steel: The Deathwind Trilogy, Book Two (12 page)

Julian leaned close, attempting to intimidate Flavio. The wise old magistrate held his ground admirably and looked Julian in the eyes when he spoke.

“All right,” he said with measured calm, “with your assurance that it will only be an exhibition....”

“Good! After the lummoxes have their go, then.” He grinned toothily at Gonji under a cruelly curled lip.

The last of the mummers and a juggler were bullied out of the hall, and Klann halted the musicians’ by now cloying strains. Few women and children were left in the great hall, but all the courtesans remained at the expansive royal table, leaning forward with swollen eyes to leer at the weapons exhibition or snuggling against their escorts.

Klann looked on expectantly, licking beard-smothered lips and clapping the big smith on the back with anticipation.

A target from the practice ground was hastily procured. Soldiers bunched into standing pockets, some seated on others’ shoulders. They bellowed and cheered, sloshing their heady beverages as a brief archery contest ended in convincing victory for a squad of Llorm bowmen over their mercenary challengers.

The free companions evened the score in a clumsy staff battle; their giant champion—nearly the size of the dead Ben-Draba—knocked his Llorm counterpart senseless with a blow that sent his dented burgonet clattering halfway across the hall.

The throng heated to bloodlust, fueled by ale and wine. They weren’t going to be easy to please.

The samurai scratched at the tension itch under his topknot, breathing deeply and evenly to establish calm at the center of his being, wondering at Julian’s purpose in all this. Gonji would lose the advantage of surprise in tipping his fencing technique here. That was something Julian no doubt had thought through more clearly than Gonji himself had. He cursed to himself for having fallen into the trap so easily. Then he shrugged.

Show them what you wish them to see....

Flavio eased up close. “I know—it’s too late for you to back out honorably now,” the Elder said softly out of a corner of his mouth. “But I know that your deft handling of the situation will not disappoint me.”

Gonji looked to him admiringly. Smiled graciously and bowed. It was not what he expected to hear, and Flavio’s quiet faith at the last both fortified him and instilled respect and affection for the burdened leader of Vedun.

Ignoring a wildly popular wrestling match between two blubbery buffoons who would have given any worthy
sumo
dyspepsia, Gonji began to stretch languidly, to loosen up, wondering what he would be asked to do. The recently injured shoulder still hurt, but it would be all right, certainly no problem during an exhibition. Karma. What was more important was to be alert and cunning; the insufferable commander of free companions had maneuvered him into a tricky position.

Then Julian stepped into the center of the hall amid cheers and braying hoots. Courtesans expressed their admiration of the handsome captain as he ritually doffed his cape and breastplate, then his shirt, revealing a sleeveless tunic, sweat-stained at the armpits.

Four candelabra were placed in a square about eight feet on a side in the cleared space. Julian selected two gleaming sabers and strode to the center of the display. At his order, all but the centermost, tallest candles were removed by servants, and Julian gently stretched out with his slim blades to measure his distance from the remaining four lit tapers.

Raising one sword to direct the audience to silence, he bowed deeply to Klann.

“Milord, a demonstration of speed, blade sharpness, and the economy of movement which are the mainstays of the modern fencer.” He bowed again and took a step backward.

A calculated pause. Then—

A sharp, blurring series of saber-passes, right-left, right-left—the four candle wicks were extinguished....

A rapid movement of the shimmering right-hand blade—almost all movement confined to the wrist—and like precision machine-work one candle pattered to the floor in sausage-sized chunks. Before the last had hit the floor, the candle to Julian’s left was similarly diminished. And as approving cheers rose in pitch from the crowd, the captain performed a brisk quarter-turn and lashed out with both blades at the last two candles, the increased strain showing in broader arm movement as he reduced them to stuttering tallow droplets.

Applause and bellows of delight. Looks of disbelief and deferential chatter.

“Wonderful, Julian!” Klann called out from the royal table, where even Garth clapped his approval.

Genya stood at Gonji’s right, lips pursed petulantly. “Show-off,” she said. “I can’t stand him. I hope you show him up
good!
”

Gonji chortled and tossed his head back, but there was no minimizing the man’s brilliance of control.

Julian pointed and nodded at Gonji in invitation. Gonji bowed in return.

The samurai ambled forward with a proud, leopard-like motion. He had already warmed to the competitive atmosphere, feeding off the energy and attention of the crowd. Even the guffaws and insulting catcalls he heard were turned back at the callers in the form of a hard, menacing, self-assured gaze. He was feeling in harmony with the center of his power, and his swords were with him.

He removed his tunic to reveal a tight-muscled, wiry frame and hard, flat stomach, now glistening with a fine film of perspiration. Sarcastic snickers and predictable insults rang in the hall. He could hear the references to his body scars, especially those on the left shoulder—the long white reminder of his once-beloved Reiko’s solemn duty and the unhealed dagger-gash, trophy of a Mongol late in King Klann’s employ. Luba, the ugly, bald warrior Gonji had dispatched in the boxing match, was saying something to Gonji from across the hall, but it was indecipherable in the din.

As he re-girded his
obi
tightly about his waist, he called for uncut melons from the kitchen. These he had skewered atop the candelabra. He crossed his swords in his
obi
, the hilts in opposition, and approached the king.

He bowed deeply to Klann, then to the howling soldiers. Returning to Klann, he said:

“A very effective demonstration,
hai
—if one’s enemies are the thickness of tapers, sire—”

A roar of laughter. Julian’s ears reddened.

“So sorry. No insult was intended to the captain. But now to repeat the demonstration, with objects of greater substance.”

Gonji moved to the center of the square, swords still sashed. He stood motionless a second, stopping the breaths of the onlookers. Then his swords flashed from their scabbards with a sibilant rush from a cross-handed draw. He rapidly whirled the snaking blades with a deadly
whit-wat, whit-wat
sound....

Oohs
and
aahs
from the women and children; a sporadic chorus of “hey-heys” from the fighting men.

Then with a piercing
kiyai
he lashed out at the melons—

A crossing X-blow with both blades, and the first melon fell in wedge-shaped quarters to splatter on the parquet floor. The return backward double-slash sliced cleanly through the melons at his left and right. The top half of the left slid and dropped off, but the right seemed not to have moved. Gonji leaped into the air in a flying turn that brought him facing the last melon. As his feet touched the floor, both arms arced horizontally across his chest, ripping through the melon, which sat unmoving in neat thirds.

He came to a double-guard position that made him appear as if carved from stone. He held both stance and breath, vaguely aware that he was dissatisfied with the performance but—

A chorus of cheers and applause rang out, and as he moved from the square to bow to Klann and the throng, he swelled with gratitude and pride to realize that his feat had been better received than had that of Julian.

He smiled thinly—and, he knew, insufferably—as he bowed to the captain.

Julian’s jaw muscles pulsed with the effort at controlling his anger as he brought up an assistant from the crowd for Round 2. The assistant was a green-clad mercenary of average height with a broad, flat face, humorously oversize scoop-shelled ears, and a big Cheshire grin that radiated over the audience in a nervous effort at dealing with the sudden attention. His hands rubbed at his sides apprehensively, and he kept chewing at a large wad of something, switching from one cheek to the other. He wore a warp-brimmed slouch hat; this Julian removed and placed under the soldier’s arm.

The mercenary’s grin faded and his eyes began to poach as he grasped the captain’s intent, placing, as he was, a chunk of
oka
cheese on each of the man’s shoulders and a third atop his head.

The crowd had been sputtering quizzically, but now a great burst of uproarious laughter greeted the mercenary’s trembling as the cheese quivered off his head and bounced away along the floor. Julian retrieved it and warned the soldier to hold still if he valued his skull. The man’s chewing stopped, and his trembling subsided.

Julian raised a hand to call for silence. Then he snapped his fingers, and by some prearranged signal, a drummer in the gallery began a long, tattering melodramatic roll. Julian postured in the “invitation”
en garde
stance—left arm cocked at his hip, bared saber angled down at the floor before the again quaking mercenary.

Then he sprang, his actions punctuated by emphatic drumbeats.

He slashed right—left—the cheese fell in halved chunks from the man’s shoulders—

A retreating step—a blistering lunge like a crossbow shot—the mercenary’s mouth gaped—and Julian skewered the third cheese off the top of his head. He withdrew, held up the pierced cheese, then with a flick of his wrist and an audible
thwak!
he split the chunk on the man’s skull without marking him.

The mercenary’s legs turned to pottage, and he dropped to his knees, his face ashen, a moist
cluck
issuing from his throat as he swallowed the wad he had been chewing.

Howls of laughter and heavy clapping rocked the hall. Some were already pointing to Gonji and chattering speculatively about how the samurai would top this exhibition.

Julian smiled coldly, and Gonji bowed, affecting a look of boredom. Then Gonji bowed again to the king in a more dignified fashion, while the captain saluted his liege lord.

Julian sat with two fawning courtesans as Gonji strode to the forefront. Servants worked swiftly to clean up the melons, candle bits, and cheese.

“I, too, will require a volunteer to assist me,” Gonji called out, hands resting casually on his re-sashed swords.

“How about Smyshlev?” someone yelled, and a chorus of laughter rang out, aimed at the ale-chugging mercenary who had been Julian’s accomplice.

“Nyet,”
the soldier cried, “I’m through performing for the night.” More guffaws.

Gonji chuckled. “Someone else, then?” He had spoken first in Italian. He tried again in Spanish and German.

“I’ll do it.”

Yowls of currish delight and a spate of suggestive comments greeted Genya’s bold offer.

Gonji winced and scratched his head, eyeing her sidelong as she stepped up confidently, hands on rounded hips.

“I trust your skill—you did say you were Wilf’s friend—?” she added coyly.

Gonji had to admire her pluck. He turned around to see faces reflecting grave reservations about the girl’s participation. Flavio’s chin rested in one hand. When Gonji’s eyes met his, the Elder’s eyelids clamped shut with finality. Milorad was rubbing one temple and sipping mead like a half-drowned man gulping at air. Klann looked indecisive under beetling brows, as if about to call a halt to the proceedings rather than risk the safety of his favorite local servant. Even Garth leaned forward, palms gripping the table before him, in an anxious posture, although it was impossible to guess whether his hope was for Genya’s health or Gonji’s lack of skill.

Oh, well, if I don’t go through with it, none of them will be able to sleep, wondering....

“Tell me something,” Gonji said softly in German, “why are you obsessed with helping me show up this captain?”

“He’s a
swinia
—a pig!” she spat, curling her lip. “He pinched my behind the first day after the castle siege. Made some remarks—you know what I mean.”

“You mean you don’t find him irresistible,” Gonji asked, unable to resist baiting her, “like most of the women who stare when he passes?”

“If I weren’t such a lady I’d spit at the suggestion!”

And then the object of their discussion was standing with them.

“Don’t you think it’s rather ungallant to use a lady as an object in so vulgar a demonstration?” Julian said patronizingly.

Genya spoke up first. “
I’ll
be the judge of what’s gallant on my behalf.” Her small white-knuckled fists were clenched at her sides.

Julian shrugged. “Perhaps I was wrong about the...lady.” He turned on his heel and marched back to his table.