Talon of the Silver Hawk by Raymond E. Feist
“Yes. If the Kingdom were to take a hand early, and if King Ryan is as clever as they say he is, he’d react as soon as he recognized the risk. He can’t attack Olasko directly without pulling Aranor and then Roldem into the war, but he can certainly hire companies of mercenaries and run them by ship to Coastal Watch, and from there either to Latagore or High Reaches. Kaspar can’t risk an army at his back.’’
“Why hasn’t someone dealt with this problem before?”
asked Tal.
Robert looked at Magnus, who said, “I could toss a fire-ball into Kaspar’s lap and after destroying the King, his family, and half the nobility of Roldem, Kaspar would still walk out of the ashes unscathed. The man we spoke of earlier is very powerful, and Kaspar has more wards against attack by magic than any man in the world, I’m certain. His bodyguards are fanatical, and he is never alone. Killing him will be no mean feat.’’
“Is this where I come in?’’
“Perhaps,” said Robert. “We don’t know yet. If you win the tournament, there’s a fair chance Kaspar may take an interest in you. He likes having people of great talent around him, musicians, singers, painters, chefs, magicians, and great swordsmen.”
“Well, then,” said Tal, “I can now see why you think it important for me to win this contest. It seems that both our aims are served if Kaspar of Olasko dies.’’
Robert sat back and looked directly at his former student. “Yes, it seems that way, doesn’t it?’’
“Then here’s my one condition,” Tal said grimly.
“Kaspar dies last.’’
“Why?” asked Magnus.
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“Because from what you say, I stand the best chance of getting myself killed in reaching him, and if I am to fail to avenge my people, I’d rather die leaving one murderer alive than letting a dozen survive. Kaspar dies after Raven and his men, but first comes Lieutenant Campaneal.”
Looking at Robert, Magnus, Caleb, and Pasko, Tal said,
“He will not make it alive out of the tournament.”
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The early rounds produced little by way of surprises, the most unexpected turn being the emergence of a young commoner from Kesh named Kakama, who had handily defeated every opponent. Those inclined to take risks in gambling bet heavily on him.
The fourth day saw Tal’s first match as the final sixty-four contestants began the last three days of contest. Over four hundred swordsmen had fought in as many as three matches a day to winnow the field down to thirty-two who would be added to the thirty-two who had already been ranked. There would be matches in the morning, then in the late afternoon until the final bout on Sixthday afternoon, before the King and his court at the palace.
Tal’s first opponent was a captain from the personal guard of a Roldemish baron. This was his third tournament and the first time he had made the final sixty-four places.
The matches were fought with naked steel to first blood, a yield, or a forfeiture. A contestant could yield at any time, and usually only did so for fear of injury or public humiliation. A man could forfeit by not appearing in time for a match, or by being disqualified by the judges, three Masters of the Court who supervised each bout. Ignoring the judges’ instructions, intentionally trying to harm an 9261.01 3/13/03 12:53 PM Page 288
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opponent, or refusing to remain in the described combat area were all grounds for forfeiture.
Tal let the captain enjoy a few moments of accomplishment and refused to shame him after twelve years spent in trying to better himself. But it was no contest. After exchanging blows, thrusts, and parries for three minutes, Tal could easily see many openings. Tal had noticed that the young captain had been wished good fortune by an adoring young woman, whom he assumed to be his wife or betrothed, so he decided to allow the man to lose with some dignity. He kept the match going for another two minutes, before lightly cutting the man on the arm, drawing first blood and the victory.
The young captain made a formal salute, which Tal returned, then he retired to the comforting embrace of the young woman.
Other matches were not so graceful. Several of the combatants were loud, boasting louts who had one gift: skill with a blade. Three serious injuries occurred in the first morning’s contests—one man undoubtedly maimed for life—and Tal watched as many as he could, to get some sense of whom he might face in later matches.
His next opponent was a large, broad-shouldered swordmaster from the Kingdom city of Rodez, named Raimundo Velasquez. He was quiet and efficient, and was cat-quick to pounce on an opening. Tal saw he would have to be wary with this man during the afternoon’s contest.
Tal retired to the cloaking room, where refreshments for the combatants were laid out in sumptuous fashion. He avoided those foods which would make him feel slow and sleepy, and ate lightly, avoiding wine or ale. He drank cold water and returned to watch the bouts.
He avoided talking to anyone, including Caleb, who kept close watch. Tal knew that Magnus and Robert were 9261.01 3/13/03 12:53 PM Page 289
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not too far away, guarding against any magical threat, but he felt no need of idle chatter. He was in the tourney, and from everything he had seen, he must surely win.
When the last of the morning bouts was over, he retired to Remarga’s for a bath and massage, so that he would be fresh when the afternoon combat began.
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The next two rounds were challenging, but Tal took the measure of both men: the Rodezian swordmaster, then a captain of the guard from the Royal household. The afternoon of the second day saw attendance swell to capacity as every noble and rich commoner who could gain entrance to the Masters’ Court wedged themselves inside to watch the field of eight reduced to four.
Tal’s first opponent was a mercenary soldier from the Kingdom, a man named Bartlet from Hawk’s Hallow. He inquired about Tal’s relationship to the more famous Hawkins, and Tal told his tale as if it were common knowledge. Bartlet remarked he had never heard of the Squire’s holdings, and he had been born in the region.
Tal waved off the remark with the observation that his father held lands quite distant from the more famous branch of the Hawkins family, and he avoided further conversation by saying that he had to ready himself for their coming duel.
Tal dispatched the mercenary in record time, within seconds after the judges called for combat. He took two steps forward, and rather than launching a feigned attack with a combination of blows, he lunged and struck the man in the upper left arm, drawing blood.
The gallery exploded in applause and the mercenary stood in stunned amazement, both because of the speed of 9261.01 3/13/03 12:53 PM Page 290
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the attack and the lack of guile, which had caught him by surprise. He looked angry, more at himself for being made to look the fool than at Tal, but he saluted, and as they left the floor, he said, “Be sure to win, will you, Squire? It makes me look far less of a buffoon if I’m disposed of by the champion.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Tal with a smile.
When the other three contests were over, Tal found that his opponent would be the surprising Keshian youngster, Kakama; while Lieutenant Campaneal was to face Count Jango Vahardak, the man who had finished second the year before to the retired champion.
Tal spent a restless night worrying more that Vahardak would defeat Campaneal than about his own match. He had watched the young Keshian and knew his victories were due to speed—perhaps even superior to his own—audacity, and a willingness to leave himself open when making a bid for a winning touch. Tal had already anticipated how he would defeat the Keshian.
He awoke early and dressed quickly, th
The two bouts to determine the finalists would start at noon, with the winners fighting before the King and his court at the palace after dark. Tal kept his mind as focused as he could on the coming match, but all he could really think about was of facing Campaneal.
Two hours before noon, he returned to the Masters’
Court and retired to the room set aside for contestants. He was not the first there, for the young swordsman from Kesh was already sitting in a corner. When the first day of the contest had commenced, the room had been crowded 9261.01 3/13/03 12:53 PM Page 291
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and loud with the chummy chatter of contestants and their servants. Today it was as silent as a tomb. Talon retired to the far corner and nodded once to Kakama. Pasko leaned over and said, “I believe that lad is Isalani, like Nakor.’’
“What of it?’’
“Just that if he’s anything like Nakor, you haven’t seen half of what he has. Just remember that.’’
“You think he’s been thinking that far ahead?’’
“I caught him watching you watching him, just before he won his third bout. I think if you saw an opening, he wanted you to see it.’’
“Why me?’’
“Because you were the favorite.”
“One of the favorites.”
“Not to anyone who knew what was going on. You’re vain, Tal, and show everything you have when you win. You don’t hold back. That boy has a complete inventory of your moves. You have no idea what he’s capable of; be careful.’’
Tal sat back, then said, “Thank you. You may have saved me another time.’’
“Well, at least this time I may have saved you from embarrassment, not from death.’’
“No, I think not.’’
“What?’’
“Look at him.’’
Pasko turned and regarded the young Keshian, who sat quietly watching Talon from under hooded eyes.
Talon said, “Call it intuition or my ‘bump of trouble,’
but unless I’m sadly mistaken, he means to kill me today.’’
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The semifinal round was conducted with more pomp and ceremony than the earlier rounds. Many members of the 9261.01 3/13/03 12:53 PM Page 292
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Royal Family were in attendance, as well as most of the important nobility.
When the combatants for the first match were announced, Tal felt his stomach flip. Campaneal and Vahardak would go first, and Tal and the Keshian afterward. He realized that as the favorite, the Masters were saving his bout for last. Even so, he wished to get it over with.
Neither he nor the Keshian watched the first match, each of them content to sit in opposite corners of the room.
Vahardak and Campaneal had done the same, each taking a corner with their retainers. The Count was accompanied by at least five servants, while Lieutenant Campaneal had a batsman and a sergeant of the Olasko Household Guard with him. Tal had Pasko, and the Keshian sat alone.
From the droning voices in the distance, Tal could tell that the Master who announced the final matches to take place in the court was indulging himself in as grand a presentation as he could muster and, from the accompanying cheers, the crowd seemed eager to savor every word.
Pasko said, “I’ve been asking around. This lad came from nowhere, it’s a fact. None of the other Keshians I’ve encountered has ever heard of him; seems odd that a youngster with his skills wouldn’t have made some sort of name for himself down in Kesh.’’
“Yes, it is odd, isn’t it?’’
“I don’t know if he’s going to try to kill you or not, m’lord, but there is something very strange about him. He hasn’t moved in an hour.”
“Perhaps he’s asleep.’’
Pasko said, “Then he has nerves of iron.’’
A shout from the hall informed Tal that the bout was over, and he watched the door to see who entered and how he carried himself. A minute later the door flew open and in 9261.01 3/13/03 12:53 PM Page 293
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strode Count Vahardak, clutching his left arm. Blood ran through his fingers. One of his attendants was trying to console him. “—a close thing, my lord. It could have gone either way, I’m certain. It was . . . luck, nothing more.’’
The Count appeared unwilling to be mollified and just barked, “Stop talking and bind this damn thing.’’
Into the room came Lieutenant Campaneal, a slight smile of satisfaction on his face. He glanced first at Tal, then at the Keshian, as if saying silently, I will see one of you in the palace tonight, but he kept silent. He acknowledged each of them with a slight nod, then went to say something to Count Vahardak.
A Master of the Court entered and announced, “Talwin Hawkins, Kakama of Kesh, places, please.’’
The Keshian carried his sword wrapped in a long black cloth rather than in a scabbard. He knelt and unrolled it, and Tal’s eyes widened at the sight of it. “That’s not the long sword he’s been using. What is it?’’
Pasko swore. “It’s a katana; they’re used either one- or two-handed and they are sharper than a razor. You don’t see many of them around, because the bad ones can’t stand against armor, and the good ones are too expensive for any but the richest noble to buy. But for cutting flesh, they’re wicked. He’s about to show you a style of fighting you’ve never encountered.”
“Talk to me, Pasko. What must I do?’’
As they rose to answer the call of the Master, Pasko said, “Whatever you saw from Nakor in his openhanded fighting, think of that. Misdirection and sudden strikes.
You’ll probably get only one look, then he’s going to be coming at you. If there was ever a time to choose luck over skill, this is it.’’
Tal took a slow, deep breath, then let it out as they walked to the door leading to the main court.
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They entered to loud applause and cheers, and each man was directed to an end of the room. Markers had been placed at the corners of the largest rectangle on the floor, so Tal knew he had a lot of room to work with.
When the din quieted, the Master in charge spoke.
“My lords, ladies and gentleman. This is our final match of the Tournament of the Masters’ Court. The winner of this bout will fight tonight in the palace for the Office of the Golden Sword and be acknowledged as the greatest swordsman in the world. On my left, I give you Kakama, from the village of Li-Pe, in the Empire of Great Kesh.’’
The applause was thunderous. Kakama was the long shot who had earned his way in from the first round, and many who had no other cause to cheer him on did so for that reason alone.
“To my right, I give you Talwin Hawkins, Squire of Morgan River and Bellcastle, Baronet of Silverlake of the Kingdom of the Isles.’’
He motioned for the two men to come to the marks on the floor which showed their starting positions. Then he said, “My lord, Master Kakama, this is a fight to first blood.
Obey the instructions of the masters and defend yourself at all times. Upon my command . . . begin!’’
Tal saw Kakama take a single step back, raising the sword with his right hand, his left hand outstretched, palm outward. Then suddenly he took a spinning step forward, much like a flying kick Nakor had shown Tal several times, his left hand coming up to join his right and the sword swirling around in an arc at incredible speed, aimed at Tal’s head.
Tal ducked and rolled, a move not seen in the tournament before, but one common to alehouse brawls. Several men
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cheered, for it was clear that the Keshian had intended to take Tal’s head from his shoulders.
“Kakama!” cried the Master of the Court. “First blood only!’’
The Keshian ignored the instruction and with three little steps made a running charge at Tal. Tal didn’t retreat, but leapt forward himself, his own blade coming around as quickly as he could execute the blow.
Steel rang out against steel and the crowd gasped, for even the slowest among them realized that this was no exhibition match, but two men attempting to kill one another.
“Halt!” came the command from the senior judge, but neither man listened. Kakama spun again and leveled a blow that would have gutted Tal had he paused to obey the command.
Tal shouted, “Pasko, dirk!’’
Pasko pulled his dirk from his belt and when Kakama lunged again and Tal leapt away, Pasko threw the dirk to him. Tal caught it in his left hand and spun away as Kakama came at him again.
The type of fighting the Keshian employed was alien to Tal, but he hoped the use of the dueling dirk in his left hand, to block his opponent’s blade or to use in close if he got inside his guard, would rebalance the contest.
The Masters were calling to the gallery for men to come and stop the contest, which was now clearly beyond the scope of the rules. No one came forth. The idea of trying to separate two of the deadliest fighters on the island didn’t appeal to anyone.
Tal thought he heard someone call for crossbows, but couldn’t spare the attention to be sure. Kakama was coming at him hard again, and Tal had run out of room in which to dodge.
He barely saved his life with the dirk, for Kakama’s 9261.01 3/13/03 12:53 PM Page 296
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overhead slash suddenly became a sideways blow to the neck with a twist of the wrists. Tal’s hand came up in reflex, and he caught the blade just enough to parry the blow.
That gave him an opportunity and he lashed out with his own sword, catching the Keshian on the shoulder.