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Chapter Six
"Swordplay"
It had been three days since the Sovereign had left port, and Deirdre had had just about enough of her ‘beloved’ half-brother Phaedron, Lady Prudence Daemira, and the never-ending stream of covert glances they directed at each other like love struck idiots. The situation was completely intolerable in her considered opinion, and she vowed that if one of them didn’t break the impasse soon she would do it for them—whether they liked it or not. It was obvious to everyone around them that both the captain and Phaedron were hopelessly attracted to each other, but neither one of them could see that the attraction was most definitely mutual. Worse yet, neither one of them seemed willing or able to overcome their nervousness and actually strike up a conversation that could end the impasse. Nine…Ten. She glanced at Phaedron once again and right on schedule he snuck yet another of his furtive glances at the captain…and right on schedule the Corsair quickly averted her own eyes before he could see that she too had been secretly watching him. Deirdre desperately wanted to walk up to both of them and snatch them up by the ears like misbehaving children, or better yet grab them by the scruff of the neck like puppies and shake some sense into them. It might actually come to that. They’re hopeless.
Of the two of them, she found that she had slightly more sympathy for Phaedron than for Lady Prudence. After all, Phaedron’s nervousness she could at least understand, for this was the Corsair, and no mere mortal could possibly think himself worthy of her attention. On the other hand, she was quite disappointed in Lady Prudence’s behavior. From all of the tales she had heard about the Corsair, she had thought the captain would show more backbone than this. She again counted to ten, and right on cue Phaedron snuck another look.
The crew had noticed the byplay as well, and they had chosen to be amused by it. Deirdre had heard the whispers and the quiet chuckles—all where the captain couldn’t hear of course—and had actually heard a few snippets of conversation on the subject. Got it bad, the Captain does. Poor lass. Poor lass? The “Poor Lass” in question was a living legend, and it was about time she started acting like it. From what Deirdre could tell, the crew was unanimous in their happiness for the captain, but not a single one of them was willing to interfere. Ten. Another look, another quickly averted gaze…and Deirdre snapped. That’s it! She whirled to the nearest crewmember and shot him a venomous look so severe that it made him drop a coiled rope he had been carrying.
“Where is the Master-at-Arms?” she demanded of the surprised sailor. He froze for a moment in complete shock, and then he raised his hands defensively and started stammering apologies, a look of terror in his eyes.
“I’m sorry, your highness! I didn’t mean to stare at you! I’ll stop, I promise! Please don’t report me!” Deirdre’s eyes rolled upward in disgust, and she sighed heavily. She put her hands on her hips, then leaned toward him and said heatedly,
“I don’t care about that. Just tell me where the Master-at-Arms is.” The sailor wilted at her acerbic tone and pointed to an older man wearing a sword and a dagger on his belt, standing near the captain. She smiled at the sailor and told him,
“Thank you. Now go about your business.” The sailor didn’t need to be told twice. The rope wound its way up his arm as if it was a living creature, and he disappeared without a second glance.
Deirdre rolled up her sleeves and marched up to the Master-at-Arms without a moment’s hesitation. He saw her coming and gave her a formal bow, then asked
“Is there something I can do for you, princess?”
“As a matter of fact, there is. I heard a story once, told by a person who claimed to have been aboard your ship. He said that any person at any time could challenge another crew member to a swordfight. Is this true?” The Master-at-Arms smiled and covered his chin in thought.
“Aye, princess. ‘Tis true. The Cap’n believes that all of the crewmembers should be ready to fight at any time, and all of their mates should be able to avoid getting killed. The rules are simple: one person can challenge another, or groups can challenge each other. The entire deck is fair play, and the duel continues until first blood is drawn, or until one person or one group is forced to yield. All of the other crewmembers are to continue working as if the duel were not taking place. It is up to the duelists to avoid the obstacles.” Deirdre nodded, then asked,
“It’s been three days. Why have there been no duels?” The Master-at-Arms smiled and said,
“Captain’s orders. She doesn’t want to disturb our guests—meaning you—any more than we have to.” Deirdre nodded again at the confirmation, and then whirled to Lady Prudence, who had obviously been too distracted to hear any of the conversation that had just taken place.
“Captain Daemira. Might I ask a favor of you?” The Corsair, who had been surreptitiously staring at Phaedron yet again, jumped slightly at Deirdre’s voice, and turned quickly towards the diminutive girl as if she had been caught red-handed playing at some mischief. When she spoke however, there was no trace of surprise in her voice.
“Of course. How may I be of assistance, Princess?”
“I was just speaking with your Master-at-Arms about your dueling policy, and I find it intriguing. Would it be too much trouble to ask for a demonstration?” The captain gave Deirdre an odd look, and then pursed her lips in thought and frowned.
“I really shouldn’t allow it, but for you I think we can make an exception.” She nodded. “Very well. Mr. Salazar, the princess would like a demonstration. You have my permission to accommodate her, providing you can find a volunteer.” The princess smiled brightly and whirled back to the Master-at-Arms.
“Oh, I have just the volunteer in mind. You can ‘accommodate’ me by challenging my older brother to a duel. He should be easy to find: he’s the one standing at the front of the ship trying desperately to pretend that he’s watching the ocean.” At that, the Master-at-Arms bellowed out a deep, loud, belly laugh that echoed over the ship like the report of a cannon. And with that, he stalked towards his unsuspecting prey like a panther, sword in hand. Deirdre settled down to watch the drama unfold with a self-satisfied smile on her face.
***
Phaedron spared a glance for Captain Daemira yet again, and he yet again found himself idly wondering what—if anything—she thought of him. It couldn’t be much, he thought despondently, for as far as he could tell, in the three days since he had boarded the ship she had never even spared him a second glance. For his part, he had often found himself looking at her, and more than a few times he had actually resolved to speak with her. But for the life of him, he couldn’t think of a single thing to say to her that wouldn’t end in humiliation or disaster. Worse still, the very thought of speaking to the impossibly beautiful woman made him break out in a cold sweat. During the six day ride to the port he hadn’t really thought about the Corsair except when Deirdre had mentioned her, and as such he hadn’t really formed much of a mental image of her. He’d dismissed the stories of her great beauty as the musings of court bards given to fanciful exaggeration. After all, she was the captain of a warship, and by extension, a soldier…and he knew a lot of soldiers. He knew very well that beauty was not a trait one would generally find in the military. Any expectations that the tales of her beauty would be even remotely close to the reality were utterly doomed, and since he knew that he hadn’t wasted time on speculation. He had never met her, and he wasn’t sure what he had expected the Corsair to look like…but when he had first set eyes on her he knew that whatever it was that he had thought, he’d been completely and utterly wrong. When he had first boarded the Sovereign, the presence of another Waterborne had distracted him. Curious to meet another water mage, he had introduced himself to Cahrick Rantrefal, and the two of them had just begun speaking to each other when his mother had called to him. He turned to see what his mother wanted, and his eyes had landed upon the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. For just a moment they locked gazes, and Phaedron was overwhelmed by what he saw in the deep green pools. The moment was fleeting however, for she had broken their eye contact to give Cahrick an order. At the time, Phaedron had been thankful for the reprieve, for when his mother had finally introduced him to the raven-haired captain he had somehow recovered at least some of his wits. Or so he had thought. When he had tried to say something to her, those few remaining wits had deserted him. He’d tried desperately to think of something charming to say and had failed utterly. No problem, he’d thought. Charming is out, so fall back to polite. Unfortunately, polite words had also failed to form, so in desperation he had said the first thing to come to mind: You don’t look like a captain. He hadn’t needed Deirdre’s pained wince to know that he’d just made an ass of himself, and at that moment he would have given all he possessed and more to have those words back again. Lady Prudence had frowned slightly in bemusement, and with more than a bit of discomfort apparent in her voice she said, Ah, yes. Well, ah, I do hear that more often than you might imagine. Even now, three days later, he wanted to throw himself overboard and drown himself in shame. You don’t look like a captain? Idiot. He heard a booming laugh far behind him, but didn’t look back to see what might have elicited it. For all he knew the person was laughing at him, and why not? Were it Valeriad in this situation, he’d be laughing just as hard. Why is this so difficult? Think, Phaedron! You have to have at least something in common with her!
Something struck his rapier’s scabbard with enough force to snap him out of his reverie, and he turned to see what had happened. To his surprise, the Master-at-Arms was standing directly behind him with his cutlass drawn, a grim expression on his face.
“Your sister says you need to be thrashed, so I volunteered. Unless you’re too busy, of course.” Phaedron glanced at the Master-at-Arm’s cutlass, and then turned to look at his sister. Deirdre was sitting close by the captain with a cheerful grin on her face, and when Phaedron caught her eye she waved happily. He turned back to the Master-at-arms and said,
“I see. Any rules to this ‘thrashing’?” The dark skinned man replied,
“Try not to kill the crewmen. Other than that, anything goes.” Phaedron nodded, for he’d expected as much. With a blinding move, he drew both his rapier and his main gauche, and settled into a dueling stance. The Master-at-Arms withdrew two paces to give himself some room, and when he was sure Phaedron was ready, he struck. The first swing was rather slow and obvious, and Phaedron knew it was meant more as a test of his abilities than a serious attempt to break through his guard. Phaedron casually deflected the blow with a deft twist of his wrist. Salazar struck again, and again his blow was harmlessly diverted with barely a move by Phaedron. The third swing was followed immediately by a flurry of strikes, each of which was a serious attempt to penetrate his defenses. Phaedron blocked all of the blows with blades that seemed to be everywhere at once, and after the attacks had been defeated, his lightning-fast counterattack caught the sailor completely by surprise. He smacked the Master-at-Arms lightly on the side of the head with the flat of his rapier and smiled.
“Quit holding back, Mr. Salazar. I think you’ll find that I won’t break.” Salazar had dropped his guard in surprise at the blow, and when Phaedron finished speaking he threw back his head and laughed uproariously for the second time that morning.
“So I see, milord! So I see!” He reached behind his belt and unsheathed a cup hilted dagger that matched his cutlass perfectly, and then smiled at Phaedron.
“Defend yourself!” And with that the battle began in earnest.
***
Lady Prudence was flatly amazed at what she was seeing. Her Master-at-Arms had 30 years of experience with his weapons—ten more years than Phaedron had been alive—but it was clearly the much younger Phaedron who was pushing the pace in this fight. Salazar’s expertise with weaponry was legendary in the Dakkadian navy, and she had had to fight hard to obtain his services for her crew. Even now some of the other captains jokingly accused her of “poaching” him, but she didn’t mind. He’d been more than worth the price of a little ribbing from the other captains. She had accounted herself an excellent swordsperson before she met him, but he’d made her even better. So much better in fact, that she was the only person aboard the ship that could force him to draw his dagger in a fight. Everyone knew that he considered using his dagger to be “unfair” in a friendly duel, so its presence here meant that he considered Phaedron to be a worthy opponent, and that he took this fight very seriously indeed.
A series of slashing attacks rained down upon Phaedron, and the young man gave ground reluctantly, concentrating completely on defense. Corsair knew what Salazar was setting him up for, because he’d used the same move on her a time or two. Here it comes. With no warning whatsoever, Salazar threw a forward kick meant to take Phaedron full in the stomach, but Phaedron spun to the side like a top and avoided the kick altogether. When he completed the move his left arm shot under the weapon master’s leg and lifted it skyward to overbalance him. The riposte worked perfectly. Salazar fell to his back with an explosive grunt, and though he had obviously had the wind knocked out of him, somehow he was still able to deflect four lightning fast blows that came at him from above. He warded off the blows with some difficulty, and then took the opportunity to spin his legs like a windmill to gain enough momentum to turn over. Phaedron pressed his attack, looking for an opening in the older man’s defense, but Salazar continued to parry with his dagger and pulled himself to his feet with his sword arm. It took a supreme effort on the part of the Master-at-Arms, but somehow he regained his footing and kept Phaedron from scoring on him.
Now it was Phaedron who again pressed the attack, forcing Salazar to give ground steadily. Not counting life or death battles Salazar had only had to fight full out a few times in his life, but this was definitely one of them, and even so it didn’t look like it would be enough to stop the young noble. He’s amazing. Where did he learn to fight like that? Apparently she had said that out loud, because with a bright voice Deirdre answered her.
“Phaedron has had a lot of really great tutors, and father says that he is one of the best natural swordsmen he has ever seen…even if he does get more than a bit grumpy when he admits it. He’s much better than Valeriad, though Valeriad is improving. Phaedron has been working with him, you see.” She paused for a moment, and a sly look crossed her cheerful face. She arched a single delicate eyebrow, and said with a smug sideways look.
“I couldn’t help but notice that you wear the same kinds of weapons that Phaedron uses. I’m sure that he would be happy to teach you a thing or two if you asked…you know, to help you improve your swordsmanship? I’m sure you could use the practice.” Corsair’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline, her mouth dropped open, and her face turned snowy white as all the blood drained away from it in an instant at the deadly insult. The nerve! She couldn’t believe that the princess had actually said that. The implication that her swordsmanship needed improvement was bad enough, but to have this wretched little girl tell her that her brother would be happy to train her made the insult absolutely intolerable! The blood returned to her face with a vengeance, and her color went from ghastly white to blood red in a heartbeat. She whipped her eyes around to glare in fury at the evil little princess, but now the princess was all sweetness and light, and the expression on her face was one of utmost innocence. Well! An insult of that magnitude couldn’t go unanswered, and if she couldn’t wring satisfaction out of the princess, well, she would just have to find herself another target. In a fury Prudence clawed at her weapons, eyes whirling back to where Phaedron was still battling the Master-at-Arms. Phaedron was clearly about to defeat the older man, but just as obviously he didn’t know what was about to descend upon him. As her green eyes attempted to bore holes right through him, she gritted her teeth and growled to the little snippet,
“We’ll just see which one of us needs practice!” At that, Corsair grinned maniacally with a malevolent glow shining in her eyes, and she leaped down to join the fray. Lord Daane, you’re a dead man!
***
The dead man in question was absolutely having the time of his life. The impromptu duel had ranged all over the deck, and for the first time in three days Phaedron was able to forget about the Corsair and simply lose himself in the swirl of combat. Mr. Salazar was an outstanding swordsman…probably one of the ten best he’d ever fought, but Phaedron had trained with the best swordsmen from three races and five countries. He’d successfully learned the elegant styles of the Fae and the Elves, and had blended their techniques into the more direct style favored by humans. The Fae were very long limbed, and their sword forms were designed to keep opponents from closing in…a technique that was working very well indeed against the short bladed cutlass and dagger used by Salazar. Elven techniques on the other hand were designed to take advantage of the Elves’ greater reflexes, and the unpredictable style that they had developed made for excellent close in defense—as long as you could duplicate their speed that was. Phaedron was only a quarter Fae, and as such his reflexes were much better than a pure human’s, but even with that advantage he had still lacked the speed an elf could obtain with a sword. The deficiency had plagued him for a while, but after careful study he’d finally hit upon an answer. The long bladed main gauche he wielded in his left hand was much smaller and lighter than an Elven broadsword, and by using the lighter weapon he was able to integrate their techniques into his own hybrid style. The few times Salazar had gotten past Phaedron’s outer defense, he’d been stopped cold at Phaedron’s inner defense, and the main gauche effortlessly turned aside blows that had been more than enough to defeat lesser men. When Salazar had finally learned that his speed couldn’t match Phaedron’s, he had tried to use his greater strength to batter through his defenses. Against an Elf or a Fae, that approach might have worked, but Phaedron was much stronger than he looked. Human techniques emphasized strength and power over speed, and Phaedron had spent the majority of his training learning to take advantage of the greater power and strength his human side had granted him. He didn’t look it, for he wasn’t as heavily muscled as King Madari, but his slender frame was rock hard and tight with muscle. After several abortive attempts, Salazar gave up trying to batter through Phaedron’s defenses with strength alone. Unfortunately, the Master-at-Arms was running out of options.
The close quarters of the ship’s confines hadn’t allowed Phaedron to truly unleash himself, but the techniques he could use were more than enough. Salazar’s attacks were coming more and more slowly, and he was giving ground much more rapidly to try and buy himself time to catch his breath. As Phaedron blocked yet another series of attacks, he thought with more than a bit of regret I wish I could have fought you at your prime, Salazar. Your age is catching up with you. Salazar’s labored breathing and ruddy complexion showed clearly that he couldn’t keep up with Phaedron, a boy less than half his age, and his lifetime of experience wasn’t enough to overcome the twin advantages of speed and youth. The long hours Phaedron had spent in training were paying dividends. In desperation, Salazar attempted one more combination and Phaedron quickly disarmed him, knocking away his cutlass with a deft counterstroke. Two more moves and I have you.
Before he could perform those two moves however, his eye caught the movement of a shadow above him. The flash of sunlight on metal was all the warning he had, but somehow he was able to raise both of his weapons to parry the descending blades. He backed up quickly, not entirely sure what was happening, but the attacking blades came at him from every direction at once like a nest of vipers. Backing up very quickly turned to full-fledged retreat at the ferocity of the attacks, and in just a couple of seconds all of the ground that he had gained against Salazar had been lost. He gritted his teeth and got himself under control, and once he was able to center himself he took stock of his situation. His eyes widened briefly when he recognized that Lady Prudence had attacked him, but after he got over his initial shock, he grinned at her and began fighting in earnest.
Corsair’s attacks were completely unpredictable, and she seemed to strike at every single opening in his defense as if her blades were drawn to them by magic. Worse yet, it quickly became apparent that she knew every inch—every last detail—of her ship, and she ruthlessly and efficiently used that knowledge to her advantage. Several of his strikes were parried not by her weapons, but by ropes that seemed to come out of nowhere, and his footwork was often hindered by obstacles such as netting or barrels. Still, despite her advantages in knowing the terrain he was getting a feel for her style, and he knew that it was just a matter of time before he defeated her.
***
Damn he’s good! She thought with heartfelt admiration. She’d used every trick she could think of, every possible advantage the terrain offered to her, and she still hadn’t managed to score on him. Worse yet, she knew he was getting used to her style, and it wouldn’t be long until he regained the initiative. As if he’d read her mind, he spun around and launched a series of attacks from an unexpected angle that caught her completely by surprise, and in desperation she tucked into a backward roll to buy herself some room. His pursuit was relentless however, and just as she got back on her feet he renewed his attacks, unphased by her acrobatics. Now she was completely on the defensive, and he pressed his advantage to the utmost. She had to do something soon to break his rhythm or she would lose.
“I see you aren’t just a pretty face, Lord Daane.” She muttered. He grinned at her and replied,
“Funny…I was just thinking the same thing about you, Lady Prudence.” He blocked yet another series of strikes from her and added, “Your footwork is exquisite. You seem to know this ship like the back of your hand.” She smiled back at him and said
“I should. It’s my ship. But you! You’ve been here three days and already you fight as if you know this ship nearly as well as I do.” She punctuated her comment with a snaking move with her rapier that nearly penetrated his guard, but his main gauche trapped her sword and threw it to the side. He took advantage of the opening she’d presented him by doing something completely unexpected. He leaped forward inside her sword’s range and battered aside her main gauche through sheer power—the same move Salazar had tried on him earlier. Unfortunately for Prudence, she wasn’t nearly as strong as Phaedron and the bold move worked flawlessly. She lost her grip on both her sword and dagger, and they flew away from her. As he angled his main gauche for the win, she turned quickly towards him and grabbed his shirt with both hands. She then fell backwards, using both her weight and his momentum to pull him down with her, and as she hit the deck she interposed her boot between their bodies and threw him completely over her. As he came crashing to the deck, she followed up the move by using her momentum to roll to her feet, and with a desperate dash, she reached for her dagger…just as Phaedron grabbed her boot from behind and tripped her. She too came crashing to the deck, but not before grabbing her main gauche and turning over, just in time to see Phaedron dive at her.
When he landed atop of her, she felt his main gauche touch her lightly on the throat and he smiled in triumph. Unfortunately for him however, as fast as he’d been he hadn’t been quite fast enough. She had had just enough time to get her own main gauche in position, and his smile disappeared completely when he felt it touching him lightly under the chin. Both of the duelists held their daggers to each other’s throat, and neither of them was sure who had won. For several seconds they held their poses, and only the sound of their labored breathing could be heard on the deck.
The stalemate was broken when a pair of heavy boots appeared next to them, and as one they turned to look at the owner. King Madari was staring at the duo, a bemused look on his face and his weapon belt held lightly in one hand. He regarded them sternly for a moment, and then turned to the crew and bellowed,
“A draw!” The crew erupted in cheers and whistles, and money began changing hands as crewmembers who had wagered on one combatant or the other settled their bets. Amidst the cheering and the backslapping, Prudence and Phaedron remained unmoving. The two of them, still lying on the deck, took their weapons away from each other’s throats slowly, almost lovingly. Prudence started to rise, but Phaedron was atop of her, and instead of letting her get up he leaned toward her, eyes shining. As his face came within inches of hers, a desperate thought came to her. Is he going to kiss me? At the very thought her cheeks turned bright red with embarrassment, but to her immense surprise she didn’t turn away. When she realized that she wasn’t moving, a second thought shocked her to the core. I want him to kiss me!
It wasn’t to be however, for instead of kissing her, he said in a low voice meant only for her,
“You were magnificent...Prudence.” She could hear the tenderness in his voice as he said her name, and she realized in an instant that perhaps her infatuation wasn’t one-sided after all. In a flash the embarrassment was gone, and she gave him a smile so bright it took his breath away.
“So were you…Phaedron.” From the look in his eyes, he had realized the same thing.
***
Deirdre smiled in victory as the two combatants slowly came to their feet, eyes still locked on each other. She thought with more than a trace of smug satisfaction, that was well done if I do say so myself! King Madari left the pair and walked over to his daughter. She wiped the smile off her face as he approached, and replaced it with one of thoughtful calm, but he wasn’t fooled.
“Somehow, you’re to blame for this aren’t you?” As the sound of steel clashing against steel had made it below deck, Madari and Morvandis had come running to the deck with their weapons drawn. They had expected to find an attack or worse, but it had taken only moments for them to recognize what was truly happening. Morvandis had simply turned around and walked back to the chart room, but Madari had remained behind to watch the duel. Madari hadn’t actually taken part in the betting, but Deirdre had felt certain that that was because no one had been near enough.
“I have no idea what you are talking about, father.” He gave her a stern look which she deftly countered with a look of supreme innocence, and after a few seconds he relented.
“I have business below. Do try and keep them from killing one another. We still have several more days of travel left, and it wouldn’t do for Lady Prudence or Phaedron to suffer a misfortune.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you, father. I’d say they are working out their differences quite nicely.” He shook his head at his daughter, and disappeared below deck.
She glanced at the couple, engaged in conversation punctuated by the odd hand movement. Recreating their fight, I see. At a comment from Phaedron, Prudence laughed brightly and struck him lightly on the chest with the back of her hand. All of the awkwardness between them was as gone as if it had never been, and the way they acted now made it seem that they had known each other all their lives. Deirdre smiled in self-satisfaction, and caught the eye of the Master-at-Arms, who smiled back at her and winked.
Yes. Very well done indeed.
*
Zarryiostrom Main Page
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Click here to read Chapter Two
Click here to read Chapter Three
Click here to read Chapter Four
Click here to read Chapter Five
Click here to read Chapter Six
Click here to read Chapter Seven
Click here to read Chapter Nine
Click here to read Chapter Ten
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