The Jester: Houses Santinetta (2)
Episode 31: "Fight Night"
When the evening’s dinner party broke up, Lirens requested Tiena’s permission to use the secret stair and tunnel to descend to the Third-Level house where Mrs. Luven and Sidy were supposedly hiding. Not only was he curious about it, but fearing his movements were being observed, he also felt the need to avoid being seen on the streets. With his wife and son far away and nothing better to do, he would stay through a shift, watching from inside the unassuming house.
After the first night of guarding and surveilling the lower house, the palace guard had handed the operation over to Prince Lirens’ company. Larger and, perhaps more importantly, currently unassigned, the company was better suited for the job. After a day, Lirens initiated rotating the surveillance platoons every four hours, staggering each squad’s arrival by an hour, which lessened both fatigue and the risk of detection by the enemy. The house guards, reduced to a half-dozen soldiers, wore palace guard uniforms to maintain the ruse.
Lieutenant Serapon whirled when the prince entered the dark house from the basement. “Just me, Lieutenant,” his commanding officer said. “You can let go of your sword hilt.”
“Yes, Commander,” Serapon replied, relaxing. “All is quiet here, lord. There has been a little more activity on the street tonight than normal. It has me a little jumpy.”
Lirens knew not to ignore Serapon’s intuition. The Leitan noticed telling details, and his warnings had saved the company from more than one blunder. “It might be significant,” he said. “Tell your platoon to stay alert and tell ‘em why.” He chuckled grimly. “Tell them I’m here to see how they perform.”
“Yes, lord.” Serapon saluted and left noiselessly by the back door, demonstrating the silent movement his Leitani ancestors were famed for.
Placing himself in front of a large front window that provided an unobstructed view of the street, the prince adjusted his eyes to the darkness. The light of the nearly full moon allowed him to see movement well enough, and he could distinguish details on the surrounding buildings. If I had to attack this place, he thought, I would not do it tonight. Too bright. I wonder when the moon is supposed to set.
The lieutenant returned to the front room a few minutes later, and his commander posed the question to him. Serapon nodded and thought about it for a minute or two. Lirens waited patiently, knowing the man’s deliberate manner of conversation. Finally, he spoke. “The moon sets not long before dawn, my lord. But clouds are coming. It may rain, if not tonight then tomorrow. The night may grow dark after midnight.”
“Would the enemy know that?” Lirens asked, talking to himself.
His lieutenant thought he was still speaking to him. “I don’t know, lord. I don’t know the enemy.”
Lirens nodded. “That's always a problem, isn’t it?” His eyes scanned the yard, street, and opposite buildings again as he thought. “Let’s assume that the young man from Tanjar is planning to attack tonight. What are the odds he would consider the full moon and the approaching cloud cover?”
Serapon surprised him by answering almost instantly. “High odds, lord. If he was trained there, they would teach him that. The Tanjari look for portents in the heavens for everything. He would not ignore the moon and the stars and the weather.”
The prince grunted. “Maybe he thinks we will get lazy under the full moon. Maybe he knows our schedule and will attack during a shift change. And maybe I’m overthinking things.”
The lieutenant shrugged, a movement Lirens could just discern in the moonlight.
He grinned. “What about doing something different tonight, Lieutenant? What do you say?” Serapon gazed at him with a blank face. “I’m bored! Let’s roll the dice! Let the next shift changes happen, but don’t let the men going off-duty leave. They can come inside and rest, eat rations, take a nap. If the enemy takes advantage of the cloud cover tonight, we’ll have many more men available than he is counting on.”
“Yes, lord,” Serapon said. “‘B’ squad will replace ‘A’ in a few minutes. ‘C’ comes at midnight, and ‘D,’ an hour later. Grevel’s platoon, ‘A’ squad, rotates in an hour after that.”
“That’s what I thought,” Lirens said. “Inform your men about the change in plans. If nothing happens, drinks are on me tomorrow.” Serapon left again.
A few silent, unremarkable hours crawled by. In that time, Serapon’s entire platoon had rotated in, hunkering down in and around the house. A soldier occupied every chair, couch, bed, and rug. A couple of soldiers in ‘C’ squad groused about sitting or lying on the bare floors, but a grunt from the lieutenant brought them back into line. Someone who could sleep anywhere, anytime, was snoring.
Lirens, standing in front of the window, called Serapon over. “It’s getting darker, Lieutenant. The clouds are coming in fast.”
Nodding, Serapon whistled faintly. The snoring stopped. His platoon came alert, and within half a minute, every soldier stood at parade rest in his squad. Their lieutenant said in a hoarse voice, “‘B,’ assemble by the back door. Be ready to assist ‘D.’ ‘A,’ you are to deploy to the front when commanded. ‘C,’ you are in reserve.” His men gave soft, almost silent affirmations of their orders.
The prince took a step toward them. “If they come, the one they call ‘Spear’ is mine.” A muted chorus responded, “Yes, Commander.”
Over the next quarter-hour, clouds raced across the sky and thickened, plunging the city into deeper darkness and dissolving Lirens’ view from the window into murky shadows. The wind picked up, and a few drops of rain fell as the leading edge of the front passed through. Far away, lightning flashed, and many seconds later, a dull boom rolled over Palisade.
The prince’s eye caught movement from the first of the attackers in a second flash a minute later. They approached from the south down the middle of the street, a shapeless bunch of guards and street thugs led by a large man with blond hair encircled by a narrow white ribbon at his temples. Shirtless and wearing white pants in the Tanjari fashion, he strode like an emperor before his retinue. His guards carried unsheathed swords, while the toughs brandished clubs or knives.
A wolfish snarl transformed Lirens’ face. “They’re here. Serapon, send ‘B’ out now but warn them to stay out of sight. ‘A’ will go out with me and spread to either side. You have ‘C.’”
“Yes, lord,” Serapon said. He turned to his men. “You heard the prince! ‘B,’ go!” The squad left by the back door.
At that moment, a horn sounded, and another answered a second later. The ruffians stopped at the edge of the property, gaping, their heads swiveling all around. The smartest or most nervous among them had realized that their surprise attack was no longer a surprise, and a few bolted. Lirens could hear Spear shouting at them, calling them cowards and worse, but they ignored him to save their skins. Those remaining took a few more steps toward the house, which still appeared undefended.
From the window, the prince counted fifteen men. He surmised Spear had estimated about six men were guarding the house, and so he calculated a three-to-one advantage would win the fight. But because of Lirens’ roll of the dice, he actually faced an entire platoon plus its officers, and troops from a second full platoon, appearing out of homes, businesses, and alleys, were forming a line behind them, cutting off all escape. The Tanjari-trained fighter now found himself at a greater than two-to-one disadvantage.
Loosening his sword in its scabbard, the prince stepped out the front door with ‘A’ squad on his heels. The members of ‘D’ squad stepped from the shadows, and ‘B’ squad came from the rear and filled the gaps. As they did so, the last members of Lieutenant Barnhart’s platoon quick-stepped into a line behind Spear’s guards and ruffians.
“Well, Spear,” Lirens said conversationally, “you are facing more than twice your own numbers, and all my men are skilled, battle-tested soldiers. I suggest you surrender before anyone gets hurt.”
Spear sneered. His Taurani contained a slight accent when he spoke. “I alone am worth fifteen men. It looks even to me. You’re the one who should worry about getting hurt—or killed.”
Lirens chuckled. “I don’t think your men are quite as confident as you are about the odds.” Spear’s fourteen hoodlums huddled behind him, shifting and scanning for any signs of aggression from the troops. “I’ll tell you what,” the prince said to Spear’s men, “if you surrender now, before any fighting starts, you’ll only be charged with disturbing the peace. If you fight, the charge is treason.”
“Hold!” Spear shouted at a couple of men who threw down their weapons, put their hands up, and walked toward the soldiers behind them. One of them hesitated momentarily but, thinking better of it, continued walking away. Spear spewed more invective at them but to no avail.
“Now you have only a dozen at your back, Spear,” the prince said. “Still even?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Spear said, his eyes narrow, voice menacing. “You cannot defeat me. I am Ta Keno Tobadon, the Invincible Spear.”
“A high-sounding name,” Lirens said, nodding. “Impressive! Maybe you earned it in Tanjar, but you aren’t in Tanjar anymore, Keno. And you’ve never crossed swords with me before.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Spear repeated. “I can beat anyone, anywhere.”
“Fine!” the prince answered, throwing a hand in the air, frustration rising. “I’ll make you a deal. We can avoid most of the bloodshed if just you and I fight. If you win, my troops will let you take the women in the house. If I win, we will take all your men into custody for aiding an act of treason. What do you say?”
Spear did not answer at once, glaring at Lirens, clearly weighing his options. Those behind him, split between guards and ruffians, grumbled and argued. The guards considered Spear an unbeatable champion, while the ruffians, recently hired from seedy taverns, preferred to take their chances in a fight and perhaps sneak away during the melee. The dispute intensified into a minor scuffle. Once the combatants were separated, four more ruffians threw down their weapons and raised their hands, surrendering themselves to Barnhart’s platoon.
“Down to eight, Keno!” Lirens said. “Your goons are deciding for you. Fight me. The winner gets his way.”
Spear answered by drawing his sword, a fine Tanjari blade, about two fingers wide and slightly curved. Unbuckling his sword belt, the prince stepped out to meet him halfway on the front lawn, unsheathing his sword and throwing the belt and scabbard aside. His broadsword he had left at the palace, preferring to duel with a longsword, a better choice when the combatants are likely to ignore the rules. Besides, it was more than a hand longer.
Having never seen Spear fight, Lirens began defensively, taking Dolphin Leaps, a middle-guard position, hands low, his sword’s point aimed at his opponent’s face. Spear, however, attacked immediately, attempting to batter the prince’s sword away for a swift lateral slash, a move Nestor Andromacles called “Fisherman Casts His Net,” but Lirens parried calmly and stepped away, not giving Spear a chance to complete it.
Realizing with just this move that the prince would be no easy kill, Spear began slowly circling Lirens, watching his footwork and gauging his skill. He found little to fault. Every probing attack Lirens easily turned aside and riposted accurately. Spear tried high, middle, and low attacks and feints, but the prince skillfully defended them all, returning powerful blows that the assassin had not experienced since leaving his Tanjari masters. And despite wielding the heavier weapon, his opponent showed no sign of tiring.
“Figured me out yet?” Lirens asked, leering. “We Ankaras have a long tradition of swordsmanship. You could say it’s in the blood. We don’t go down easily.”
“Braggart!” Spear spat, eyes blazing.
Lirens barked a laugh. “I’m not the one who said, ‘I can beat anyone, anywhere.’” With that, he shifted into Wave Form, a high guard with his blade back over his right shoulder.
Impatient, Spear viewed Lirens’ move as a mistake, an opening his speed could exploit against the heavy longsword. Taking quick steps forward, he presented in low guard, then swiftly flowed into a high attack position with his sword’s point extending toward Lirens’ head, thrusting forward with a one-hand strike at the last second. This unorthodox maneuver had won him many bouts in Tanjyn.
But this was the move Lirens had been waiting for, Eel Strikes in Satelen terminology. He had studied it thoroughly in the intervening day-and-a-half, ultimately rejecting his own and Alfons’ suggestions on how to defend it. With advice from his old sword master, Cosumo Sabbatini, he had chosen Osprey Wheels and practiced it repeatedly under his mentor’s supervision until it felt natural.
As soon as Spear transitioned from low to high, the prince began moving, knowing what was coming. His sword came forward, wrists crossing, smashing the Tanjari blade to his left long before it neared him. At the same time, he deftly stepped to his right, snapping his blade around his head and striking at Spear’s exposed neck.
Spear stumbled aside, trying to stay upright. It took him a long moment to realize that the tip of Lirens’ sword had sliced his neck open, and blood was sheeting down his chest. He fell to his knees, his sword dropping to the ground as both hands shot to his throat to contain the bleeding. But he knew he was dead, his eyes wide with fear and pain and disbelief as he stared up at the prince. A few seconds later, his body slumped over, lifeless.
Lirens’ men cheered, but he did not. Looking down at the corpse of the proud young man, he shook his head. “What a waste,” he said softly. “What a cursed waste.” He picked up the Tanjari sword and sheath, deciding to keep it, not as a trophy, but to remind himself to be humble. The proud hasten toward death, while the humble cherish life.
He took a deep breath and blew it out forcefully. He still had a little work to do.
“Serapon, Barnhart, get those men into custody,” he shouted. “Lock them up at the palace. We’ll want to question them. And make sure the Captain and Grevel know to remain at the barracks. The company’s duty here is over. ‘D’ platoon, ‘C’ squad, transport the body to the palace. Find out where the Court Physician wants it. I’m sure the king and Lieutenant Tinetta will want to see proof of his demise.”
He started to turn away but stopped himself. “I almost forgot: Any money on him or any of his men goes to Mrs. Luven, got that?” His men responded in the affirmative.
A soldier pressed a full canteen into his hand, and he drank it dry. Then, the prince picked his sword belt off the ground and buckled it, sheathing his longsword and stuffing Spear’s weapon under it at his other hip. Reentering the house, suddenly tired, he took the stairs to the basement and the secret passage. I’m sure Tiena won’t mind if I borrow a couch tonight.
A note:
Prince Lirens was the most accomplished swordsman in the Ankara family since Margonne. Mardans could take some credit, albeit indirectly, for his half-brother’s skills. After Queen Karasta had banished Mardans from the palace, Lirens was distraught and lonely, having lost his best friend. He filled his time with learning the sword, developing a close relationship with his sword master, Cosumo Sabbatini, whom Lorens II had hired just months before to train his sons in the Satelen method. Until the day of his death, he trained daily, honing his skills and learning the sword-fighting styles of other nations and schools.
Go, Prince Lirens!