[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
"An apology will not suffice, not for one who provokes for empty reason," I
snapped, not thinking.
That didn't sit well with the crowd. The mutter that went around the circle
turned opinion against me. These people expected pointless duels.
I was experiencing cultural shock. I was not standing in a blood-
stained arena, on sand baked by a sun burning overhead, with a blood-
thirsty crowd jeering and cheering.
No, I was waiting in a wide, cool, and spacious corridor with the scent of
trilia flowers, or something similar, wafting around me, with well-cloaked
weapons shoppers stopping for a casual look, as if it were
the most common sight in the world to see two young men getting ready to kill
each other.
Maybe it was in High Sinopol in the Five Thousandth Century of
Glory, but as a young, time-diving Temporal Guard from Query, I had a few
reservations about the matter.
All too soon the formalities were over, and the Hunter was circling in on me.
At first, I counter-circled, trying to ignore the running comments from the
bystanders. I felt slippery under the mesh armor.
"See ... the mongrel backs off."
"Perhaps he is an imposter."
I couldn't help a shudder at the last. Imposters were dispatched beyond the
veil on the spot if discovered. Shuddering was a luxury,
and almost my last one at that. Seeing the distraction, the Hunter came in
quickly, light on his feet and perfectly balanced. His knife was like silver
fire.
Somehow I avoided it and circled back.
"The young dog has speed. Most would have been gutted on the spot."
"If he is so quick, why does he let the other control the circle?"
Tactics were becoming clearer as we circled. Given the bodymesh armor,
slashing was virtually impossible. Any successful use of the knife would have
to involve a clean and incapacitating thrust.
Now, critical jeers came from the crowd, and not all were aimed at me.
"Can't you hunt down a dog, proud Hunter?"
Sooner or later, he'd get careless with my lack of offense, I hoped.
Sooner it was. Perhaps enraged by the crowd, perhaps thinking me an imposter,
he came in with his knife too high. I threw my own blade at his face, and
half-ducked, half-slid, blurring almost into the undertime, right around his
arm. I snapped his knife wrist with the moves Sammis had drilled into me so
many times and crushed his throat with an elbow thrust.
For a moment, I guessed I must have looked at the body stupidly.
"Have you ever seen a Hunter that fast?"
"So fast ... "
"The knife was a decoy ... "
The murmurs buzzed around the circle. The bets were paid, and the bully boy
remaining, pale under his dark complexion, approached.
"Honored young Hunter, I apologize and regret any inconvenience you may have
been caused."
I nodded curtly, choking down the nausea that was climbing up my throat.
Under the customs, I got the dead Hunter's weapons and his coin purse. The
rest went to his clan or wife.
"I would be honored, Hunter of Honor," I managed, after receiving the dead
man's knife, weapons belt, and purse, "if you would convey my understanding of
the honor and bravery of such an esteemed Hunter to those who would be most
concerned."
Page 19
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
The ritual saved me. I wasn't sure I could have said anything original. The
sanitary disposal flitter appeared before I had even crossed the red pavement
back into the yellow corridor.
A few older Hunters were standing at a distance and speculating. I
took the path toward the nearest narrow corridor, and the instant I was alone,
slid undertime and straight for Baldur's room.
I made it to the funny-looking hygiene facilities and thoroughly lost the
contents of my stomach.
Two blows, delivered as taught, and a young man was dead on glowing red stone
glass. Everyone had smiled, especially the older merchant-
type who had bet on me.
I recalled looking up from the crumpled body on the pavement to see him
chuckling and collecting from a dour Hunter. What had triggered the nausea I
didn't know.
Had it been the winning smile of the young lady after my glorious victory? Or
the laughter? Or the realization that I had used techniques my opponent had no
idea were possible? I'd cheated. Cheated him of his life, and no matter how I
rationalized it, my own failure to avoid the confrontation played a big part
in his death.
Baldur was standing at the door to the facilities as I washed up.
He understood, all right.
He nodded at the weapons belt and purse I'd dropped in the middle of the
floor.
"Just like you, Loki. Had to snoop around and get in over your head."
"How could they? How could I?" I hadn't had all that much choice, but still
... "I kept thinking that you or Heimdall could have avoided it. But me, no, I
had to get into a situation where either everyone in
Sinopol would be looking for me or where I had to kill someone."
I sat down because I realized I was shaking.
Baldur seated himself on the other end of the couch and leaned back against
the wall.
"You know, Loki, you're probably the first Guard in centuries, besides Sammis
maybe, who's killed someone bare-handed. I assume you used hand-to-hand."
I mumbled an affirmative, and he went on.
"Most of the Hunters of Faffnir retire after a single tour or die in some sort
of combat. Don't put too much guilt on yourself. You seem to show some
appreciation of life."
I was afraid Baldur might start preaching again. The feeling must
have showed. He laughed.
"No, young killer, no sermons. One point. You killed one man, who possibly
deserved it, and you feel the impact. Freyda, Eranas, Martel make decisions
which kill, or leave unborn, millions. Odinthor, for all his heroics, never
killed anyone face-to-face with bare hands. He just stood back and roasted
them. Think about it."
I didn't want to think about it.
I opened the purse. Surprisingly, it was stuffed with stellar notes.
Surprising, because I had not thought such a young Hunter would have carried
so much. I handed them to Baldur.
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]