Tal resisted the urge to glance to his left and look at Campaneal. He expected the officer of the Duke of Olasko’s guards would be standing still, eyes forward, as Tal’s were.
Finally, the history lesson was over, and the Master of Ceremonies said, “Your Majesty, before you stand the two finest combatants in the world, each eager to prove his worth before your august presence. May I present Lieutenant George Campaneal, in service to your cousin, the Duke of Olasko.’’
The Lieutenant bowed to the King.
Then the official announced, “May I present Talwin Hawkins, Squire of Morgan River and Bellcastle, Baronet of Silverlake, in service to his grace, the Duke of Yabon.’’
Tal bowed to the King.
“Gentlemen,” said the Master of Ceremonies, “you have acquitted yourself in admirable fashion, achieving success in the most demanding competition in skill-at-arms, and now one of you will be named the greatest swordsman in the world. You have been made aware of the rules, and should either of you wish to retire from this contest now, no fault will be laid at your feet.” He glanced at each man to see if either wished to withdraw; but neither man acknowledged the possibility.
“Very well, then, let the contest begin.’’
The senior master from the Masters’ Court, who had held the office nearly thirty years, walked slowly to the center of the area designated for the contest. He motioned for the two men to approach, took Tal by the wrist, and moved him slightly to his left, then did the same by moving Campaneal to the right. “Turn and face me!” he barked, his voice still strong. “Bring no dishonor upon yourself or this court,” he demanded of them.
Tal sneaked a glimpse up at the gallery above the court and saw that there were armed bowmen and crossbowmen at the ready.
The Master had the grace not to make mention of their presence. “Upon my command, commence the contest, and may the gods grant you strength and honor.’’
Tal turned to Campaneal, who bowed to him. Tal managed the slightest inclination of his head, not wishing to show any courtesy to this murderer.
The command was given, and Campaneal moved straight at Tal, his broadsword held aloft, and then suddenly it was moving in a snap blow to the side of Tal’s body. Tal flipped his wrist, bringing his blade point-down to his left to block the blow, then spun to his right. It was an unexpected move and for a brief instant his back was exposed, but by the time Campaneal could recover and turn, Tal was unleashing a blow of his own, one that should have taken Campaneal in the left shoulder.
But the seasoned swordsman from Olasko squatted slightly, and the blade passed harmlessly over his shoulder, missing it by a bare inch. Tal had to step back, for fear his momentum would turn him so his back was again exposed.
Now that the two opponents had exchanged their first blows, they circled one another, both moving to the left, away from the other’s blade. Tal measured his opponent: Campaneal was nearly as fast as the Keshian assassin, but he more than made up for his slightly slower attack by being far more practiced in the long sword. He carried a perfectly balanced weapon and knew how to execute a complex combination of blows, feints, and ripostes.
Every attack Tal made was met and answered, and several times it was only Tal’s almost supernatural reactions that saved him from losing. Within minutes, both men were panting for breath and drenched in sweat.
The cheering, the urging-on of the combatants, and all the shouted remarks faded, then died away off completely as the contest wore on. At last, the court sat silently, without even the softest murmur or whisper, as all those gathered watched every move the two combatants made. People held their breath and even tried to refrain from blinking, lest they miss the sudden resolution that was sure to come.
Tal felt the pressure mount, for Campaneal was easily the finest swordsman he had ever faced. He was cunning and refused to fall into any pattern of moves Tal could discern, and as the moments wore on, Tal felt his chances of winning slipping away. Tal also felt the need to find the perfect attack, the one that could be slightly “off” and deliver a killing blow that looked accidental. But as minutes slipped by and fatigue started to creep into arms and legs, Tal realized it would be very unlikely that he would have the opportunity to kill this man, and he might even be denied the pleasure of winning the bout.
Then Tal saw something. He watched the Lieutenant flip his sword as he swung at Tal’s off side, then pull the blade around and try to come back from Tal’s right side as Tal’s blade was moving the other way. Tal had seen that move before.