Reign of Madness (Revised Edition) (56 page)

“Yes, most certainly, but I am not his attending healer.
This young man, here, claims to be a Master Healer of the Mundane,” the woman
replied, pointing a thick finger at Rezkin. “He has already treated the patient
and given him leave to compete.”

Everyone stared at the two competitors as they met up in the
center of the field. Malcius bowed graciously as propriety dictated, but
Hespion sneered and bowed mockingly at the count’s son. The man’s eyes darted
several times toward the gathered official, healer, and mage who were standing
near the Jebai’s friends. What were they doing on the field, anyway? No one was
permitted but the competitors and officials. The longer the group stared, the
angrier he became.

Hespion had counted on the Jebai becoming too ill to treat
before the round started. If nothing else, the healer should have held him back
from the competition for observation. Normally, in a tournament like this, the
healer would not have even checked for poison. They were here to treat serious
traumatic injuries. The woman should have just assumed the Jebai was ill. Even
if the healer had checked for poison, which she obviously did, she could not
have known the nature of the poison. There was no way she could have come up
with an antidote or treatment in that short amount of time, even if she had
known which poison had been used; and it was even more impossible that the cure
had worked so quickly.

Malcius could see that Hespion was disturbed by the fact
that he was not vomiting or passed out on the side of the field. Without a
doubt, the duke’s son had been watching and knew the poisoning had been
successful. He could see Hespion’s fury, now, and thought it might work to
Malcius’s advantage. If Malcius could keep his mind on the duel and not think
about the fact that this man had just attempted to sicken or even kill him, he
could use Hespion’s own distractions against the man.

The official raised his fist above his head and brought it
down quickly, indicating the start of the match. Before the man’s fist was
fully lowered, Hespion lunged at Malcius. Prior to Rezkin’s tutelage, Malcius
would likely not have expected such an aggressive opening attack. He might have
stumbled back quickly and lost any advantage. After the last several weeks of
training under the two Swordmasters, Malcius was not the same swordsman he was
when he left Kaibain. Rezkin was always telling him to be efficient, to embrace
an economy of moves such that the least amount of movement would not only
remove him from harm but maneuver him into the best possible position for a
counter attack.

Malcius pivoted to the side, barely missing Hespion’s blade.
He quickly brought his own sword down in a move that would have removed the
man’s arms if Hespion had not dropped and rolled to the side. Although Hespion
used some dirty tricks to win, he was still a good enough combatant to make it
into the Second Tier. As Hespion regained his feet, Malcius brought his sword
up under the man’s guard in one fluid motion. Hespion managed to shift his
weight back and block the strike at the last moment, but it was an obvious
struggle.

Hespion’s sword was at an awkward angle, and he had little leverage.
His balance was off, and when Malcius released the pressure, he stumbled
forward. In a move he had been practicing all week, Malcius abruptly reversed
his grip on his sword and slashed across Hespion’s midsection. If this had not
been an official duel, Malcius would not have held back, and Hespion would have
been gutted. As it was, the man’s clothes were slashed, and a thin line of
blood seeped from a shallow cut across his abdomen. The official called the
first point.

Malcius knew he should have performed an immediate follow-up
attack, but he had been surprised when his strike actually landed. Hespion had
quickly backed away, and now the two were circling each other once again. A
venomous hatred filled Hespion’s eyes. This was not just a tournament of skill
for the duke’s son. If the situation had been reversed, Malcius doubted Hespion
would have held back. Malcius hoped the healers on the field were truly
talented, for it looked to him that Hespion meant to run him through.

In a torrent of powerful strikes, Hespion came at Malcius in
full force. With each dodge or block, the duke’s son became increasingly
aggressive. Hespion was slightly taller and much broader than Malcius, and the
Jebai was not fully recovered since the poisoning. Every strike felt as though
the man was attempting to hammer him into the ground. The Jebai considered
waiting to see if the man would tire quickly from expending so much energy, but
Malcius was not sure he could hold out against such an onslaught for that long.
He was not nearly as fast as Palis or Waylen, and he was not able to dodge as
many of the strikes as he would have liked.

While powerful, Hespion’s form lacked the fluid grace that
Rezkin had been teaching. Malcius tried to think of what Rezkin would tell him
to do, but it was difficult when he had a sword-wielding maniac trying to take
his head. In truth, Malcius was certain that if this had been a real battle, he
would have beaten Hespion within minutes. He had seen numerous openings to
trip, shove, or otherwise pummel the larger man, but none of those tactics were
permitted in the dueling arena. Then again, Hespion was not above using devious
tactics, himself. Malcius was beginning to understand why Rezkin disdained
dueling as a sport.

The young swordsman finally noticed a pattern of weakness in
Hespion’s form. The man would slash downward to the left, reverse, strike down
toward the right, step in, slash horizontal, and lunge. He repeated this series
multiple times, sometimes maneuvering in the opposite direction, but every time
he was too slow to fill the large gap between the horizontal slash and lunge.
Malcius decided to make use of this gap, and the next time Hespion performed
the maneuver, the Jebai threw himself into the opening in a forward roll. As he
came out of the roll behind Hespion, he swung his sword out and back. He felt
the drag of the blade as it sunk into Hespion’s hamstring. Not wanting to make
the same mistake twice, Malcius immediately pivoted and lashed out with his
sword again. Hespion had collapsed to one knee, and Malcius’s blade bit through
the meaty muscles and shoulder blades of his upper back. Malcius was thankful
he remembered to lower the trajectory of his blade or he might have
accidentally removed the future duke’s head.

The official called the match with Malcius the clear winner,
having not received a single point. The young Jebai could see from Hespion’s
murderous gaze that he had made an enemy this day. He was glad his county was
under Duke Wellinven’s jurisdiction and not that of Atressian. Tieran may have
been petty, arrogant, and churlish in the past, but Hespion looked nothing less
than murderous at this moment. A couple of healers rushed forward to assist,
but the man shoved them back and berated them with harsh words. Eventually, the
eldest healer cast a spell to force the man to sleep so they could tend his
wounds and remove him from the field.

Malcius headed back to his two friends who were still standing
on the side of the field with the official, the healer and the mage. Tieran met
him with a wide grin and slapped him on the back in congratulations. Rezkin
simply nodded with a slight smile, and Malcius considered it a compliment,
since the man did not immediately ask him to begin listing everything he had
done wrong. Rezkin was a beast when it came to training. He took advantage of
every opportunity to force his students learn from their mistakes. Malcius knew
he would be giving a full accounting later, and Rezkin would not have missed a
single move.

“Can you believe it? I made it into the finals!” Malcius
exclaimed with exuberance.

“Of course you did,” Tieran replied with a grin. “You have
improved greatly since we started this adventure.”

Healer Jespia narrowed her eyes at Malcius and said, “You
seem to have done quite well for a man who was knocking at death’s door only
moments ago.”

Malcius’s face paled. “Death’s door? Surely it was not so
bad as that?” he asked with fearful eyes that bounced back and forth between
the healer and Rezkin.

“Please, Healer Jespia, let us not make it more than it was.
He would not have
died
from triania poisoning,” Rezkin replied
impassively.

“Maybe not, but he may have wished he would had he not
received treatment right away. I do not take it lightly that one of our
competitors was poisoned during the competition,” the healer remarked.

“Nor do I,” intoned the official, who had yet to provide his
name. “Have you any idea who might be the culprit?” the man inquired.

“Do you really have to ask?” Rezkin questioned with a raised
brow and nod toward the field where the duel had taken place. “Some individuals
are more difficult to accuse than others with a lack of proof.”

The man furrowed his brow as he looked in the direction the
healers had taken the heir to the Atressian duchy. His scowl deepened and he
said, “Yes, I see what you mean. What did you find, Mage Threll?”

Nanessy startled when her name was called. She had been
surreptitiously eyeing the handsome Lord Rezkin who was standing across from
her. The young mage had only ever felt drawn to one other man, and she had not
thought to experience such a feeling again, especially so soon; but she was
most definitely interested in this fine warrior …healer …whatever he was. It
was an attraction almost as strong as the one she felt when she met the
mysterious Dark Tidings. That particular attraction had caused her concern,
since the wraith also terrified her. Nanessy blushed as her mind tried to catch
up to the conversation.

“Oh, uh, yes, this water definitely contains some sort of
organic contaminant. I cannot say what it is, though. I can separate it for you
if you wish,” she said.

“I do not think that will be necessary. I believe we know
what it is. What I want to know is how you managed to treat him so quickly,”
the healer stated, redirecting her attention to the imposing man before her. “I
cannot imagine that you simply carry around that specific antidote at all times
and happened to have it on you when this young man was poisoned.”

“Actually, that is exactly what happened, Healer Jespia,”
Rezkin replied.

The woman started to argue when Tieran stepped forward. “It
was I who had the antidote.”

“You? Why did
you
have it?” the woman pressed as she
shoved her pudgy hands back onto her generous hips.

Tieran cocked his head, unconsciously copying Rezkin’s
frequent, curious motion. “Healer, you would do well to remember to whom you
speak. I am unaccustomed to being spoken to in such an accusatory manner.”

The healer’s countenance softened to one of chagrin but her
lips remained pursed and her chin lifted. A month ago, Tieran would have
berated the woman for her impertinence. Now, though, he understood and accepted
that the woman was just trying to do her job, and she was concerned for a
tournament participant who happened to be Tieran’s friend.

“Although I am not required to do so, I will answer your
question. I have been staying at the Ytrevius estate along with another
participant. In fact, it is a remarkable coincidence that the other houseguest
is Lord Hespion, who was just dueling with Lord Malcius. Anyway, someone at the
estate attempted to use the same poison on me a few days ago. Rezkin prepared
the antidote for me in case another attempt succeeded, and I have been carrying
it on me ever since.”

“You are participating in the competition as well?” the
official asked, eyeing the white ribbon wrapped around the young lord’s bicep.

“I am, but I am competing in the rapier division,” Tieran
answered as he tapped the hilt of the rapier at his side.

“The rapier division? But, why would he…” the official
started but was cut off when Tieran raised a hand.

Tieran lifted his brows and said, “Not all motives are the
same, and these are most definitely the kind you would not wish to speak aloud.”

The official snapped his mouth shut. He now understood that
there were perhaps some more serious political undercurrents to the incident,
which was something in which he did not wish to be involved.

“Sir, I did not get your name,” Rezkin said to the official.

“Oh, right. I apologize. I am LeukSergeant Yail Stratus,
currently serving as a tournament official, former Third Tier champion,” the
man said in introduction. The official had not introduced himself as a lord,
which meant he was one of the few commoners who had managed to prevail in the
tiers. One of the incentives, particularly for a commoner, to serve in the
king’s army was that after one served his five-year and was released in good
standing, he could continue the use of his former rank with the added prefix of
“Leuk” to indicate his veteran status. It provided some amount of prestige and
even notoriety if the man was of sufficient rank.

“Thank you, LeukSergeant, and thank you, Healer Jespia and
Mage Threll,” Rezkin said with a nod to each. “We must be gone, though. Lord
Malcius’s brother and another friend of ours are both competing in the Third
Tier competition, which is being held at this very moment. We hoped to arrive
before their matches conclude.”

“Yes, of course, but…ah…we will have to file a report of
this incident. We may need to filter out some of the details…in particular, the
treatment. That is, unless you desire a more thorough investigation, which may
lead to more uncomfortable questions and accusations,” Stratus remarked.

“Whatever you think best,” Rezkin said with a generous
smile.

Stratus glanced first at the young lord who had been
poisoned for his agreement. The young man looked to the strange man called Rezkin
before agreeing. The official then glanced to the healer and mage for their
cooperation. Jespia scowled and pursed her lips unhappily, but she eventually
nodded assent. The mage also nodded at Stratus’s inquiry, but her attention was
elsewhere.