Page 141 of Play of Shadows
A roar suddenly erupted from ten thousand throats as the citizens of Jereste turned on their would-be conquerors, fighting at first with fists, then their enemies’ own weapons, untrained hands wielding them with astonishing skill.
‘You’ve done it, brother!’ Beretto cried, his face alight withwonder. ‘Saint Laina’s tits, that I should live to witness—’
Then he too heard the calling of one long dead and gave a war cry full of furious joy, swiftly followed by Rhyleis – and with Ornella and Abastrini on either side, the four of them led the Knights of the Curtain into the fray– leaving my grandfather and me the sole audience.
Wiping blood from my eyes, I leaned heavily on my grandfather’s shoulder, the only thing keeping me upright, and the two of us bore witness to the unfolding war against the Iron Orchids.
Even as the last of my strength– maybe my very life– seeped out of me, I grinned, spotting two small figures perched on the top of the great arch above the main gate, skinny legs dangling as if they were paddling in a lake. Zina was firing a crossbow balanced on her lap into the mass of Orchids, while Tolsi handed her the bolts. It took both of them to wind the crossbow each time, but Zina’s aim was true and the pair of them were wreaking havoc. I suspected they had had no need of the battle memories of soldiers from the past.
I turned to look back to the stage, where nobles who’d thought themselves so very clever, even as they’d mindlessly followed the carefully laid plots of schemers long dead, stared around in confusion at the discovery that this city– this duchy, thisworld– was not theirs to play with as they willed, after all.
Let actors give us merry tales, lest we make them melancholy, said the words inscribed on the wooden sign the Orchids had hung around Roslyn’s neck after they’d crowned her in the alley.
You thought to mock us, my Lords, but we have given you our tale now. And should you ever again hunt and murder those we love, we actors will make of all the world a stage.
I felt my grandfather shudder, and turned to find the old man weeping. ‘Grandfather?’
He shook his head. ‘Don’t mind me, my boy. I just wish shewere here, that’s all.’
‘Grandmother would have loved to have been in the midst of that brawl, wouldn’t she?’
My grandfather gazed at me solemnly. ‘What Virany would have loved was to see her grandson come into his own and accomplish what a thousand duels could never achieve.’
I knew his words should fill me with pride and reconcile me to my conflicted memories of my grandmother, but I wasn’t ready yet. I still had too many other memories crowded inside me.
‘You should put me down,’ I said. ‘No doubt you’ll be taking on the recollections of some great general and leading the others in battle any second now.’
‘I don’t need orders from long-dead spear-carriers,’ Paedar Chademantaigne said as he guided me back up the steps to the stage and set me down beside one of the massive marble columns. ‘I’m a Greatcoat, boy, and my sword arm serves neither kings nor spirits.’
I caught sight of a figure moving on the other side of the stage and only then understood what my grandfather was about to do. I tried to grab the old man’s arm, to keep him safe, but was shaken off.
‘Your grandmother fought for truth, but I’ve only ever had one cause,’ the old man said, smiling.
‘Grandfather, no!’
But the old Greatcoat had turned to face the threat from which I’d tried so hard to keep him all this time.
‘How pleasing,’ said the Vixen of Jereste. She wore no orchid veil this time, and her theatrical “Masked Margravina” garb from the fight outside the Belleza had been replaced by a traditional white leather duelling vest and trousers, ‘. . . to know that avenging my mother’s degradation at the hands of Virany Chademantaigne will also put an end to her wretched grandson’s interference in the affairs of this duchy.’ She raised her slenderrapier in a mock salute. The blade was already dripping blood from whoever she’d killed on her way to get us. ‘Tonight, at last, I fight to reclaim my mother’s reputation, my city’s right and proper rule, and the world’s natural order.’
I tried to find the strength to rise, to summon up Corbier’s talents, or even my own, and finally bring the Vixen’s vendetta to an end, but I was spent. I slumped there, forced to watch as a brave man with ageing hands and an unsteady grip drew his rapier from its scabbard.
‘That all sounds terribly complicated,’ said Paedar Chademantaigne, coming into a stiff, almost antiquated guard. ‘I prefer to fight for love.’
Chapter 73
The Codger’s Duel
I had never actually seen my grandfather fight a duel. After my grandmother had died, he’d insisted on fencing with me now and then, to keep up our skills, but it was little more than routine exercises before he launched into another tale of his adventures as a Greatcoat. As I grew older, I became increasingly concerned that my grandfather was speaking of those days as if they’d never really come to an end.
They would be coming to an end now.
When I had faced Ferica di Traizo two days ago, Corbier had mocked the Vixen of Jereste for being a fencer rather than a true duellist. The Red-Eyed Raven’s influence was lost to me now, but I could see that criticism was doubly true of my grandfather, who moved with shaky sluggishness, an almost pathetic figure in a long, heavy, leather greatcoat. His light rapier trembled in the air as if the weight were too much for his arm.
The Vixen was suitably amused. ‘Does that trick work often?’ she asked, as her quick thrust was neatly parried. She responded with a disengage, followed by a slash to his face, this one evaded by a shuffling step to the right as he ducked beneath the blade.
‘Mercy, most esteemed Lady,’ he rasped plaintively. ‘Take pity on these old bones.’ His free hand plucked at his neck. ‘Naughtbut loose skin left of me. Surely too little meat to satisfy so voracious a vixen.’
Ferica waved at the courtyard, where the battle for Jereste was being fought by hundreds of Iron Orchids wielding spears and swords against commoners armed with nothing but courage and the memories of long-dead warriors. ‘Come, Master Chademantaigne,’ she urged, ‘neither of us have ever had so grand an audience to bear witness to our skills. Let’s not play idle games with each other.’
