The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)(43)

Fallon shrugged. “He’s bored.” His eyes were focused on the knight. “The question, though, is how good should we be?”

Trynne was itching to swing her swords. She was still angry at Nellic’s deception. “No use pretending.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Fallon said with a wink. “The better we are, the faster they’ll send us to Dahomey. Either way, we need to get on the queen’s ship before it leaves.”

“Agreed,” she said.

“Do you want to go first?” he asked her.

“You can. I’d like to watch you humiliate him.”

“I don’t plan on losing,” he said.

When they reached the front of the line, Trynne watched as Fallon drew his sword, which was a much finer make than the blades the others had carried. He marched into the open space and the knight sized him up.

“You are tall,” the man said, flourishing his weapon.

“And you’ve a gift for stating the obvious,” Fallon quipped in return. “Shall we?”

Trynne felt a pulse of excitement and restrained a smile. The knight approached, holding his blade in an upper guard, crossing his legs in a battle stance as he moved. Fallon replied in kind, showing a similar technique and a complementary pose.

“You know your footwork,” the knight said as they slowly circled each other.

“I know the sharp end too.”

Then the knight came forward, dipping the sword down while swinging his armored elbow around at Fallon’s face in a surprise move that would have knocked another man to the ground. Fallon didn’t fall for the feint and stepped back as the knight’s elbow went wide. He could have taken advantage of the opening to strike at the knight’s back, but he deliberately paused, letting the man regain his defenses. Trynne suspected Fallon was purposefully prolonging the fight a little so as not to utterly humiliate the man.

“You’re quick,” the knight said approvingly. “Who trained you?”

Fallon answered with a flurry of blows that the knight struggled to answer. The group of men assembled began to whoop and cheer, and Trynne felt like joining them. After multiple attempts, Fallon eased back again, letting the knight recover his composure. His eyes were wide with surprise, his mouth quivering with delight and fear.

He’d not been tested like that in some time, and Trynne could see that he was enjoying it, even though he was losing.

“You’re playing with me,” the knight said, shaking his head and gritting his teeth.

“Noticed that, did you?” Fallon answered smugly. He lunged in, the knight countered, and the two locked hilts. Then Fallon used his size to wrench the blades, and the knight’s weapon clattered onto the yard. A chorus of cheers began to rise from the mass of men and a big smile lit the knight’s face as he stared down at his fallen weapon.

“At last! You can have my job!” he said with a barking laugh.

Fallon bent down, fetched the knight’s sword, and handed it back to him. “I’d be wasted here. My cousin and I want to spill blood in Dahomey. Their king is quite a swordsman, I’ve heard. I’ve been practicing.”

The knight laughed. “To face him? Well, that remains to be seen. Well done. You go over there through that arch and see the captain of the guard.”

“My cousin comes with me,” Fallon said, motioning for Trynne to step forward.

“Every man must earn his place,” the knight said, shaking his head as he leveled a disrespectful look at Trynne. She stepped away from the crowd and drew both of her swords. The knight’s eyes bulged when he saw her do that.

“That’s fine,” Fallon said nonchalantly. “My cousin is even better than me.”

“Captain!” the knight shouted as those around them started to guffaw.

Trynne shifted her gaze to the gatehouse, where she saw a man already watching them. He had dark brooding eyes and a graying beard, and wore a chain hood pulled down around his tunic front. The look he gave them was fierce and intense as he stepped out of the shadows. “By Cheshu, what is the matter, Sir Peter?” He had a strange accent, one that was reminiscent of Fallon’s family in Atabyrion.

“You’ll want to see these two, Captain,” the knight said.

“I saw the tall one put you to shame already,” the gruff captain said. “You can’t handle the little one either?”

“He has two swords!” Sir Peter complained.

“Aye, and so do I.”

Trynne noticed that he had two short swords belted to his waist.

He drew them, revealing two curved blades, reminiscent of tapered leaves. Sir Peter backed away quickly, as if grateful to leave this fight to the other man.

“Well, lad,” the captain said gruffly, facing Trynne with a catlike posture. He wasn’t tall, but she could sense the prowess in him. He reminded her of Captain Staeli, except this man had more hair. “My name is Martin Evnissyen, and I am captain of the queen’s guard.”

“Hello, Captain,” Trynne said. She crossed her blades in front of her.

Martin’s eyebrows knit together. “Where did you train to handle two blades, I wonder?”

Trynne summoned her magic, letting it prod the captain’s defenses. He was hale and strong for an older man. He had fought and trained for most of his life, and there were no glaring gaps or weaknesses in his defenses, except for his hands. She could tell his hands were scarred and pained him.