The Starfollowers of Coramonde Read Online Free Page B

demonstration?”
    Bets were
going down right and left as the two squared off. Four judges were selected,
and a president of the match, from the onlookers. The contestants placed
themselves on the piste, held up dulled swords in their right hands to
salute, and began.
    They felt one
another out, their dialogue of blades sporadic. Brodur showed an inclination to
retreat, so Gale-Baiter tried a sudden fléche. Brodur, with less skill than Gil
would have expected from a money fencer, managed a firm, blocking parry-in-retreat.
But he failed to advance into an attack. He didn’t seem to be toying with the
Mariner or taking it easy, but in the next few moments the envoy pressed him
sharply. The bigger man carried Brodur’s blade from a high line to a low in
bind, barely failing to hit in opposition to the blade.
    The interplay
became more rapid. Gale-Baiter indulged in flourishes, stamping his foot,
striking Brodur’s weapon with repeated beats and calling for him to come, fence
boldly, show heart. Brodur stayed calm, counterattacked, and the jury followed
the action along the piste. The younger man was quick, but not as
confident as he should have been. Gale-Baiter began using vigorous stop- and
time-thrusts. Brodur made a false attack and his lunge drew the Mariner out in
parry-riposte. Brodur parried, hit on the counter-riposte so quickly that Gil
missed it. Both judges watching Gale-Baiter spotted it, though. The president
analyzed the phrase and gave the match to Brodur.
    Ferrian and
Gil went over. Gale-Baiter was disputing the decision. “Come, sir,” he
blustered to the president, “did you not see the man cover his target-parts
with his shoulder? What swordsmanship is in that?”
    The
president, a dignified master-of-arms, held himself rigidly. “There was no
covering, my Lord. We but officiated the duel as we saw it fought, well and
fairly.”
    The Mariner
flushed. He whirled on Brodur, who was toweling his face. “You, sir; admit it!
You touched me lucky, and not within the rules. Let us see who’s best two times
out of three!”
    Brodur
regarded the Mariner with a grin. “Beg pardon, my Lord Envoy, but shall we go
from there to three of five? I should be delighted to teach you how it is done,
but alas, I lack the time.” He extended his palm. “My winnings, please.”
    Interesting
shade of heliotrope, thought Gil, watching Gale-Baiter’s face.
    “Pestilence
take your money, Brodur! You fight only for gold, then? Would it interest you
if the bet were tenfold? Or did you beat me by guile and luck alone? Or are you
afraid?”
    Brodur balled
his hands, compressing the towel. “If I beat you once, my Lord, I can do it
twice. A man who can ignore your jigging and squawking could beat you every
time and, if I may say so, with either hand.”
    “So? Done!
Jury to their places, please. Tenfold’s the bet, and if you can defeat me with
either hand, let me see you do it with your left.”
    Brodur looked
around embarrassedly, a sense of error in his face. He stepped hesitantly to
his end of the piste, taking his sword in his left hand.
    “I thought
Brodur was a sharpie,” Gil said to Ferrian.
    The big
Horseblooded laughed. “Nay, now, you are always and ever the one for private
jests, eh? This time you must wait.”
    Gale-Baiter
and Brodur crossed points again. This time there was little hesitation. The
Mariner advanced confidently, saying, “Now I shall instruct you!”
    Brodur
stopped the attack with a perfect stop-thrust, easily avoiding the double-hit.
Gale-Baiter tried for a bind. Brodur passed his point underneath the envoy’s
with surgical precision and met him with arm extended, point still in line.
Gale-Baiter elected to retreat out of fencing distance, to ascertain just what
was happening to him. Brodur attacked-in-advance into scoring range, pressed,
and hit punctually on the redoublement, one fluid moment.
    Neither man
bothered to glance at the judges. Brodur lowered his weapon. Gale-Baiter held
his