Reign of Madness (Revised Edition) (20 page)

“But, you are not a striker,” Tieran objected questioningly.

“No, I am not a striker,” Rezkin confirmed.

“It seems you are something
more
,” a quiet voice
spoke up, surprising everyone. Waylen’s eyes darted to the defeated striker and
back to Rezkin in implication. Realizing the truth of the statement, all eyes
bounced back and forth between the two warriors.

Kai smiled and rocked back on his feet, “What say you to
that, my lord?”

“To that, I say nothing. It is what it is. My
Skills
were superior to yours,” Rezkin replied unashamedly as a noble prodigy might,
while leaving the impression that it really was that simple and there was
nothing more to the matter.

Kai decided he had best attempt to get back into his liege’s
good graces, so he endeavored to assist Rezkin with a bit of explanation. “As
you all probably know, every striker must be proficient in the sword, but he
must only be a
master
of
a
weapon. It does not have to be the
sword. There are several who are Masters of multiple weapons. This, here, was
only one scenario with dissimilar weapons. Strikers are not invincible. There
are other Swordmasters who can best a striker on a given day. And, there are
other
Rules
and
Skills
with which a striker must be acquainted,
although he is not required to master them all. There is a minimum
Skill
rank one must attain before he may join the ranks of the strikers. Lord Rezkin,
here, was simply better in this scenario.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Malcius said thoughtfully.
“There are prodigies of every sort. What is your weapon of mastery, Striker?”
he asked.

Kai rubbed the back of his neck as he replied uncomfortably.
“Ah, well, mine is the sword,” he muttered and then quickly added, “but I may
have gotten a bit slow from the last several months of disuse; and as I said
before, I prefer the great sword.”

“Is that it, then? You are truly a Dual-Blade Swordmaster?”
Palis inquired of Rezkin hesitantly with restrained excitement.

Rezkin knew the question would arise once he defeated the
striker and answered simply, “Yes, I am.”

“But, you are so
young
,” Tieran argued. “How could
you have already mastered dual-blade wielding?”

Rezkin shrugged. “My age has little to do with it. Mastering
my
Skills
was my purpose in life until recently. I mastered a single blade
and then continued on to master dual blades. My instructors were insistent on
perfection and dedication.”

“That is a harsh upbringing,” Brandt interjected. “I do not
envy you. I do everything I can to avoid perfection and dedication,” he said
with a smirk.

Rezkin nodded and remarked, “A sentiment that will not aid
you in any of your endeavors.”

Brandt shrugged as though unconcerned, but in truth, the
young lord knew his antics would come back to bite him eventually, probably
sooner rather than later. Brandt was no idiot, though. While his friends and
family saw him as the louche rebel who reveled in disruption and shirked
responsibilities, he was secretly an avid reader and student. His intelligence
and ability to absorb information came naturally, leaving him more time for his
misadventures. Those who knew him thought him sloughing his studies when, in
actuality, he had completed them far in advance. He intentionally hid his
accomplishments for no other reason than to spite his overbearing father. Rezkin
caught on to the scheme only because he found books and notes hidden in the
young man’s room that were far more advanced than would have been expected of a
young delinquent.

“I should like to hear more of this upbringing of yours,”
Malcius commented.

Rezkin replied, “Perhaps another time. I have no desire to
speak of it at this time.”

Malcius nodded acceptance. “Fair enough.”

Since tensions were eased, Rezkin stepped forward and
returned Palis’s blade. The young man took the blade reverently, eyes filled
with admiration. Rezkin did not feel comfortable with such veneration and
attempted to appear more personable by smiling amicably. He crossed the deck to
return the captain’s sword and retrieve his own sword belt, which Jimson had
been left holding once again. Knowing there were enchantments on the blades
that could lead to unfortunate circumstances for anyone but the bearer did not
ease the captain’s discomfort with being in possession of the Sheyalins.

The others eyed Rezkin’s swords curiously as he buckled his
sword belt, no doubt already forming the same question –
Why would a
Dual-Blade Swordmaster carry inferior weapons?
Before Rezkin was forced to
reveal even more than he was prepared to at that time, he said, “I thought you
all wanted to get some exercise? We still have plenty of time before lunch.”

“Why do you not draw your own blades, Rezkin?” Malcius
ventured.

Rezkin scowled in irritation, hoping the man would drop the
subject with his feelings evident. “That is also something I do not wish to discuss
at this time.”

“I do not buy the story that they are inferior,” Malcius
retorted.

“I never said they were inferior,” Rezkin countered.

Malcius started to argue but stopped as he replayed the
previous instances when Rezkin avoided using his own swords, “No, I suppose you
did not. So why, then, do you not use them?”

“I do not draw my blades idly,” Rezkin muttered.

“I once read of a Swordmaster who developed a strange mental
conditioning to believe that every time he drew his sword he had to take a
life,” Palis commented. “If he drew his blade, he would not return it to its
sheath until he killed someone. At first, he thought it a curse; but after a
time, he came to believe that it eased his temperament and taught him to be
more discerning about when he turned to violence. He roved the countryside
seeking to protect the innocent and defeat evil. Before he died, he claimed to
have found the secret of complete peace and harmony within oneself. Even though
he faced many opponents, he had not drawn his blade in more than a decade.”

Rezkin knew the story, and it was hardly applicable; but it
gave the others something to which they could cling. “It is nothing so drastic
as that. However, if I draw either of these blades against a man, it is because
I intend to kill him.”

“I heard you drew on the magistrate,” Brandt remarked with
sadistic satisfaction. He hated magistrates. They were such uptight, pushy
fellows. Of course, being heir of a noble house, he was never held accountable
to one. All of his infractions were referred to his father, and if his father
did not handle it appropriately, then his entire House would endure the
consequences. Brandt’s father
always
administered harsh punishments. The
young noble simply got better at hiding his transgressions, at least in the
public eye.

“I did,” Rezkin replied darkly.

“There were rumors…” Malcius stated, his voice trailing off
as his eyes fell on Rezkin’s longsword.

Rezkin lifted a brow. “I know the rumors. It was dark, and
the firelight from the torches could play tricks on the eye.” It was not a
denial. It was simply a statement of the lighting conditions.

“Rezkin’s blades are enchanted,” the mage interjected. If
Rezkin was a less observant man, he might have forgotten the mage’s presence.

Malcius’s eyes widened as his attention darted to the mage.
“What?”

Wesson nodded and continued. “I am sure it is a source of
his hesitancy to draw them without cause. I doubt an enchanted blade would be
suitable for a simple demonstration,” he stated factually.

“No, I should say not!” Malcius remarked. “What kind of
enchantment?”

Rezkin watched the mage curiously. He had not expected the
man to speak, and he had no idea what his intentions might be in doing so. He
had known the mage only a few hours longer than Kai, and the striker had
already caused him a great deal of trouble.

“Well, a few things, really. A major one is to prevent
anyone other than Rezkin from wielding the blades, so I would avoid
investigating them out of curiosity. It could have severe, perhaps fatal
consequences,” the mage replied. “I apologize, Rezkin, for speaking out of
turn, but it seems only fair to warn them. Sometimes curiosity can be a
temptation not easily overcome.”

“No, you are correct, of course, journeyman,” Rezkin
replied. “I simply assumed no one would touch another man’s weapon without
permission, but perhaps a warning is warranted under the circumstances.”

Tieran released a low whistle. “That must have cost you a
fortune. Still, with such an achievement, I can imagine you would want to
protect your blades. What else?”

The mage shrugged and said, “Mostly minor things. One so
they require no sharpening or regular maintenance, another to prevent
oxidation, or rust, as you would say – that sort of thing.”

“Wow, I have never known anyone with an enchanted blade,”
Palis remarked.

The mage looked at him curiously and asked, “How would you
know?”

“Well, I would think someone would mention something like
that,” the young lord replied, “or it would at least be rumored.”

“A mage could sense the enchantment if within a close enough
proximity,” Wesson informed, “but mundanes would be completely unaware.
Enchanted blades are expensive and unusual, but not so rare that you have not
been around them in
your
circles. Most people do not speak of the
enchantments because such blades are extremely valuable and tend to be targeted
for theft.”

The lords all glanced at each other as if questioning
whether or not their friends were carrying enchanted blades. Wesson rolled his
eyes and stated, “I doubt any of
you
would be carrying them. Enchanted
blades are forbidden in the tournament, anyway. It is possible that some of
your fathers or their friends have enchanted blades, or you might even have a
few hanging on your walls for display.”

Palis frowned and replied, “I am sure my father would have
told us if he had an enchanted sword.”

Wesson shrugged again and responded, “I do not know about
House Jebai, but I believe General Marcum, your uncle, has a few in his
renowned collection. I know for certain House Nirius bears at least one, which
is carried by the duke.”

Tieran glanced over in surprise and asked, “How do
you
know?”

“It is not really a secret among the mage community,” the
journeyman replied as he spread his hands wide, “as a…battle mage,” he choked
out, “it is my duty to know these things. Many of the enchantments that go into
weapons are destructive magic, which is my specialty.”

“If you are all satisfied, perhaps you would like to get in
at least a bit of practice before the midday repast. Come now, you have two
Swordmasters at your disposal. Surely you would make use of us.” Rezkin
remarked.

Palis’s eyes lit up as he rushed forward. “Do you know the
Channerían Silver Wind Dance? I expect a number of Channerían to show for the
tournament, and I have yet to learn a sequence to effectively counter the
moves.”

Rezkin nodded and began discussing and demonstrating the
forms, and the others realized their opportunity for additional interrogation
had been lost. They quickly fell in to their own practices receiving helpful
advice from Striker Kai, who seemed to believe the most effective way of
teaching was to impose pain and embarrassment. The young lords were thrown to
the deck, socked in the gut and knocked in the head more times than they had
suffered in their entire lives; and, it was all inflicted with boisterous
laughter and hearty chuckles from the sadistic warrior.

When the group finally broke for lunch, the lords and Jimson
were all weary and moaning. Several eyed Reaylin with dreams of having their
aches healed. The young woman, not knowing the reason for the looks, was so
uncomfortable she eventually piled all of her meat and vegetables between
chunks of bread and took her meal to the deck. If she had known what they wanted
of her, she probably would have jumped overboard.

Lord Nasque glanced around at the somber faces covered in
bruises and welts and remarked, “It looks like you boys got into a row. Is
there a problem of which we should be aware?”

“The striker is a brutal master,” Tieran grumbled with his
face in his plate.

“Well,
I
think you all look positively dreadful,”
Shiela remarked with repugnance. “And, you smell.”

Ignoring Shiela’s comment, the baron remarked, “Ah, so it
was sword practice, then? Waylen, my boy, you do not seem much the worse for
wear.”

Waylen shrugged and answered quietly, “I received my share
of hits.”

“But my boy is fast, is he not?” the baron said with pride.

“That he is,” the striker announced. “He is certainly faster
than these louts, but he could yet be faster. What we need is to convince
Tieran, here, to pick up a
real
sword and dispense with that frilly
rapier.”

“It is a gentleman’s weapon,” Tieran protested.

“It is a pig sticker,” the striker countered. “Do you really
think that twig could hold up against one of these longswords or a great sword?
You cannot block with a sword like that against the heavier weapons. It is only
effective if you are combatting another man with a rapier. Do not get me
started on pitting it against armor. The only way you are going to survive in
battle with
that
sword is if you are far faster, more agile, and
unerringly accurate. You are none of those things.”

“Rezkin could do it,” Palis remarked.

“Perhaps,” the striker conceded, “but that just sells my
point. Tieran is
not
Rezkin. Tell me, Tieran, how old were you when you
chose the rapier?”

Tieran shifted uncomfortably, “I was twelve, I think.”

“Uh, huh. And,
why
did you choose it?” Kai prodded.