The Blade Itself

“I’m so lucky I caught you, what with both of us leaving so soon! My master has all manner of errands for me.” He gave a deep sigh. “Never the slightest peace, eh?”

“No, I know what you mean.”

“Still, an honour indeed to see you, and victorious at the Contest! I saw the whole thing, you know, it was a privilege to bear witness.” He smiled broadly, different coloured eyes glittering. “And to think, you were set on giving it up. Hah! But you stuck at it, just as I said you would! Yes you did, and now you reap the rewards! The edge of the World,” he whispered softly, as though to say the words out loud was to invite disaster. “The edge of the World. Can you imagine? I envy you, indeed I do!”

Jezal blinked. “What?”

“What! Hah! ‘What’, he says! You are dauntless, sir! Dauntless!” And Sulfur strode off across the wet Square of Marshals, chuckling to himself. Jezal was so bemused that he had not even the presence of mind to call him a damn idiot once he was out of earshot.

One of Marovia’s many clerks ushered him through an empty, echoing hallway towards a pair of enormous doors. He stopped before them, knocked. At an answering cry he turned the handle and pulled one of the doors back, standing aside politely for Jezal to pass through.

“You may go in,” he said quietly, after they had been stood there for a while.

“Yes, yes, of course.”

The cavernous chamber beyond was eerily silent. Furniture was strangely sparse in that huge, panelled space, and what there was seemed oversized, as though for the use of people much bigger than Jezal. It gave him the distinct feeling that he was arriving at his own trial.

High Justice Marovia sat behind an enormous table, its surface polished to mirror brightness, smiling at Jezal with a kindly, if slightly pitying expression. Marshal Varuz was seated to his left, staring down guiltily at his own blurry reflection. Jezal had not thought he could feel more depressed, but on seeing the third member of the group he realised he had been wrong. Bayaz, wearing a self-satisfied smirk. He felt a mild surge of panic as the door shut behind him: the clicking of the latch felt like the clank of the heavy bolt on a prison cell.

Bayaz started up from his chair and came round the table. “Captain Luthar, I am so glad you could join us.” The old man took Jezal’s damp hand in both of his and squeezed it firmly, leading him forward into the room. “Thank you for coming. Thank you indeed.”

“Er, of course.” As if he had been given a choice.

“Well now, you’re probably wondering what this is all about. Allow me to explain.” He stepped back and perched on the edge of the table, like a kindly uncle holding forth to a child. “I and a few brave companions—chosen people, you understand, people of quality—are engaging on a great journey! An epic voyage! A grand adventure! I have little doubt that, should we be successful, there will be stories told of this for years to come. Very many years.” Bayaz’ forehead crinkled as he raised his white eyebrows. “Well? What do you think?”

“Er…” Jezal glanced nervously over at Marovia and Varuz, but they were giving no clues as to what was going on. “If I may?”

“Of course, Jezal—I may call you Jezal, may I?”

“Yes, er, well, yes, I suppose. Er, the thing is… I was wondering what all this has to do with me?”

Bayaz smiled. “We are short a man.”

There was a long, heavy silence. A drop of water trickled down Jezal’s scalp, dripped from his hair, ran down his nose and pattered against the tiles beneath his feet. Horror crept slowly through his body, from his gut to the very tips of his fingers. “Me?” he croaked.

“The road will be a long and difficult one, most likely beset with dangers. We have enemies out there, you and I. More enemies than you would believe. Who could be more useful than a proven swordsman, such as yourself? The winner of the Contest, no less!”

Jezal swallowed. “I appreciate the offer, really I do, but I am afraid I must decline. My place is with the army, you understand.” He took a hesitant step back towards the door. “I must go north. My ship will soon be sailing and—”

“I am afraid it has sailed already, Captain,” said Marovia, his warm voice stopping Jezal dead in his tracks. “You need not concern yourself with that any longer. You will not be going to Angland.”

“But, your Worship, my company—”

“Will find another commander,” smiled the High Justice: understanding, sympathetic, but horribly firm. “I appreciate your feelings, indeed I do, but we consider this more urgent. It is important that the Union be represented in this matter.”

“Terribly important,” murmured Varuz, half-heartedly. Jezal blinked at the three old men. There was no escape. So this was his reward for winning the Contest? Some crackpot voyage to who-knew-where in the company of a demented old man and a pack of savages? How he wished now that he had never started fencing! That he had never even seen a steel in his life! But wishing was useless. There was no way back.

“I need to serve my country—” mumbled Jezal.