Suddenly I rose up, almost effortlessly – but no, it was entirely effortlessly, because the Magdan had grabbed me by the collar and hauled me to my feet. ‘Wake up now, Falcio. Let’s do this properly, shall we?’
He gave me a push and I stumbled around, trying to find my balance like a drunk whose eyes weren’t focusing in the harsh light of morning. I got myself into a half-decent forward guard, both rapiers extended, although for some reason, I couldn’t see the blades. That was because my hands were empty. I’d dropped my weapons somewhere in the snow.
‘You’re really not doing well, are you, First Cantor?’ the Magdan said.
‘Enough,’ Kest said. ‘There’s no fair match to be had here.’
‘Fair?’ the Magdan asked. ‘Since when is the law fair?’
I knelt down to pick up my rapiers; for once I’d leave the philosophical debate to the others. My hands tried to grasp the hilts, but for some reason I kept missing them. Your vision is failing you, some more astute part of my mind informed me.
‘For Saints’ sake,’ Brasti cried out, ‘he can barely stand!’
‘Really?’ the Magdan asked. He came into view as he walked around me, apparently inspecting me. ‘He’s standing just fine, as far as I can see.’
I gave up on the rapiers and took a swing at him. I swear I saw my fist go right through his face as if he were nothing more than an apparition.
‘See?’ he asked. ‘He’s just getting his second wind.’
Suddenly he swung the bladed end of his glaive right at my stomach, turning it at the last minute so he hit me with the flat. My stomach muscles were too slow to clench, so he knocked all the air out of me, leaving me gasping for breath. I sounded like an old man wheezing in his last moments of life.
‘Whoops – I suppose I should have said his third wind.’
‘Enough, damn you!’ Kest shouted.
The Magdan leaned forward to peer at me. ‘What do you say, Falcio? Is it enough?’
I started to say something very clever, but he struck out with his free hand, catching me in the throat – reflexively, I tried to catch my breath, but I failed: my throat wouldn’t open.
The Magdan stood back and shrugged. ‘I can’t seem to get a straight answer out of him.’
For several harrowing seconds I stood there choking, until finally something unclenched and I sucked in a desperate gasp of air.
I heard the sound of a bow being bent. ‘Touch him again and it’ll be the last thing you do,’ Brasti said.
Even dazed as I was, I saw two clear rows of white teeth as the Magdan smiled. ‘Interfering in a lawful duel, Brasti? Is there truly nothing sacred to the three of you any more?’
All of a sudden, the other Greatcoats had surrounded the Magdan and me. The duelling circle looked as if it were made up entirely of leather-clad columns. I’m pretty sure they had their weapons out, so it was clear that if Brasti or Kest tried to interfere with what was happening, the pair of them would go down as well.
‘How about this?’ the Magdan began. ‘As long as Falcio remains standing, the match continues. If he falls, we’ll call it a day.’
Excellent suggestion, I thought, letting myself start to collapse – but without warning, the blade of his glaive was inches from my neck and I was about to fall right onto it. I forced myself back upright.
‘See? There’s still some fight left in him,’ the Magdan said. Then he smacked me across the face with the back of his fist.
I spun around, too fast to keep my balance, but as I started to go backwards, he flipped his weapon around and smashed the shaft into the small of my back. The force stopped my descent, pitching me back forward, and I felt the cold blade at the back of my neck, catching the inside of my collar and pulling me back again, choking me, but keeping me upright.
‘What a remarkable dancer you are, Falcio,’ the Magdan said. ‘How long can you keep this up, I wonder?’
He kept striking me, first on one side, then as I started falling, on the other, moving me as easily as if I were a puppet.
‘Stop it, damn you!’ Kest screamed.
I realised I was dribbling vomit from my mouth – I think that was the result of the butt-end of his glaive driving into my stomach. Then my back seized up as he slammed the shaft across my spine, so hard that for a moment I couldn’t feel my legs at all. That was a bit of a relief, but he kept hitting me, over and over, and the pain quickly came sweeping back in as he kept me upright like a child’s spinning top.
‘Please,’ Kest begged.
‘“Please”?’ The beating paused for a moment, and I felt the -Magdan’s hand on my chest, holding me upright. ‘Is that what you say to the Dukes when they take more and more power for themselves? “Please, sir, may we have just a little bit for us?” Or do you suppose that’s what the common folk say as they slowly watch their children starve to death? “Please, all you Gods and Saints, give us a little food today.” Or maybe what they really plead for is a quick death?
‘Honestly, what good has all this pleading ever done for Tristia? Day after day, year after year, the country loses more and more of itself. It’s drying up like fruit left too long in the sun.’ He brought his hand up to my throat. ‘Is this how you bring justice back to Tristia, Falcio? By begging for it?’
For the first time I saw his confident, urbane mask slip, revealing nothing but the deep-down anger I recognised all too well: a red-burning rage that could melt even the ice of this frozen hell. After all, I’d found it many times in my own heart.
‘This is what you have done for your country, First Cantor.’ He spat in my face.
To Kest he said, ‘What is it you would plead for, Kest Murrowson?’
‘For mercy,’ he replied.
The Magdan held me up, his stare somehow commanding my own eyes to focus upon him and his superiority. I could feel the heat coming off him, warming me as if he were a God come to grant clemency upon the icy damned.
‘Very well. I think we’re all sick and truly tired of holding you up anyway.’
He let go and walked away from me, the snow crunching beneath the soles of his boots. After a few steps, he stopped; he must have realised he hadn’t heard me fall.
Very slowly, very carefully, so as not to lose my balance, I turned to face him again. My rapiers were on the ground at my feet but they might as well have been a thousand miles away. I raised my fists in front of me, trying to remember not to squeeze too hard, for fear of hurting my hands on what they held in each palm.
It took almost everything I had to remain on my feet, and even more to cough out my next words. ‘We’re not done yet.’
‘Falcio, no!’ Brasti shouted, and Kest caught my gaze and shook his head – he understood what I was doing and wanted me to know it wasn’t worth it. He was probably right.