Broken Glass (Glass Complex Book 1) (2 page)

Steg regained his feet and stood back, sword held point down, grounded, allowing his opponent to recover. The gesture was a studied insult. The visitor’s face reddened and he charged towards Steg, finesse forgotten, sword raised as anger drove him into the fight. Steg moved aside with none of the clumsiness he had earlier displayed, effortlessly parrying a series of ill-aimed blows. His opponent steadied himself and began a more sophisticated routine intended at least to disarm Steg if not to injure him. Aware of the threat, Steg moved in closer to the visitor, crudely feinted and struck as by accident his opponent’s sword hand with numbing force. T
he Imperial swordsman,
his hand muscles momentarily deadened, dropped his sword with a clatter. It fell and landed out of his immediate reach. His curse echoed around the drill hall. He flexed feeling back into his hand.

One of the watching visitors moved forward, his arrogance seeming at last to overcome courtesy, caution, and orders.

“Here, Varus. Use a real sword and finish off this clumsy barbarian,” he called as he threw his sword, its killing blade flashing as it spun across the training hall. Steg’s opponent caught the sword carefully by the hilt and stood still, momentarily undecided. Suddenly, he lunged, moving with a deadly swiftness, the blade signaling his intent. Steg feinted, appearing to move away from his opponent. Instead, he moved closer and struck with his practice sword, the sudden blow breaking his opponent’s arm. The killing blade dropped to the floor. Steg ignored the now crippled and pale visitor and moved to the fallen sword. He placed his foot on the weapon and raised his own sword and rested it on his shoulder. He looked at the drill sergeant and then at the visitors.

“I challenge the owner of this dishonorable sword.” The formal phrasing dropped each word into the depths of a sudden hush.

The junior lieutenant looked startled and raised his hand as though in protest, stopping his gesture when he saw the severe expression on Steg’s face. An intense debate broke out amongst the visitors. Steg’s companions moved as though to arm themselves from the weapons rack along the near wall of the drill hall, only to be stopped by a savage gesture from the drill sergeant, who was speaking into a small comunit. The response he received caused him to move quickly to the center of the practice square.

“Gentlemen.” His voice stilled both Homeworlders and Imperials. “A valid challenge has been issued. According to the code of Homeworld, and confirmed in our treaty with the Western Star Empire, the owner of the sword may claim it back. First, he must cleanse its honor. To decline the challenge is possible. If the challenge is declined, the owner of the sword will be subject to arrest and will face disciplinary charges here, on Homeworld. The maximum penalty is limited to ten years imprisonment, because no one has been killed.”

The visitors continued their huddled conference. Some were apparently shocked at the situation, although some wore expressions of satisfaction. The owner of the sword stepped down from the raised gallery. He was dressed in Imperial finery, almost foppish. He was as tall as Steg, and moved with confidence, unconcerned that he was facing a duel that could result in injury or death of either participant.

“The sword is mine and I defend its honor.”

Steg moved back. The drill sergeant nodded his approval.

“Please state your name for our records.” The drill sergeant held out his comunit towards the visitor.

“Marius, of House of Aluta. And barbarian, what is your name?”

“Steg de Coeur.”

Marius appeared startled for a moment. However his expression quickly adjusted. He collected his sword and stepped back to join the Imperial group.

“Ten minutes, gentlemen,” called the drill sergeant.

Steg commenced to discard the protective padding and was quickly assisted by two of his fellow officers. The drill sergeant and the junior lieutenant joined them.

“He’s their ship champion,” commented Hall. “You were foolish to challenge.”

“No, he was correct to challenge.” The speaker was Major Reading; he had arrived in response to the communication from the drill sergeant. Steg and his assistants snapped to attention. The major continued. “Easy. de Coeur had no option but to challenge. We ran the monitor tape through quickly and apart from some unnecessary clowning and minor discourtesies, you have behaved correctly. However you have an unenviable issue to resolve. Kill him, a visitor on a goodwill mission, and you insult the Empire. Let him win or worse and we have lost honor, at least. You must defeat him without causing his death. A challenge, indeed.”

“Yes, Major. I realized I ran some risks in this. Obviously the Imperials were seeking just this type of opportunity to discredit Homeworld.” Steg turned to Thomas. “Should I get my sword?”

“No, stay here. I sent a runner to Swordmaster Brioude. He’ll bring your sword, I daresay. And counsel you.”

A challenge of honor was a real battle and Steg knew he would need all his skills, not only to ensure his own survival, but also to safeguard the life of his experienced opponent. He began the relaxing mantra taught by the Swordmaster. The drill hall was quiet, voices subdued. A number of Acolytes had gathered at the far end of the drill hall and he noted some saffron robes as well, in the group. He paused as a flurry at the doorway heralded the arrival of an elderly man and his two younger assistants. Steg heard one of the Imperial visitors recognize and identify the elderly man as Swordmaster Brioude. Steg stepped forward and bowed his head.

“Master, your presence honors me.”

“Young Steg, what mischief are you up to now? I know, I have been told your challenge was necessary, but perhaps some of the circumstances could have been avoided. Unless—” He peered at the major. “Yes, I see. Very well. Steg, my young friend, I’ve been waiting for a suitable occasion for this.” He reached for the black sword carried by one of his assistants and handed it to Steg.

“Here. Ebony is yours. Take it. Honor it. I’m a frail old man and will not use it again. The sword is now keyed to you, to your DNA.”

Steg was surprised at the unexpected gift. Almost reluctantly he accepted the proffered sword. Brioude appeared to falter and sway, and his two assistants rushed to steady him. Steg momentarily was speechless, his throat tight. The words of the Swordmaster stunned him. The Acolytes had re-keyed Ebony; all the hilt-hidden bio-nanite and micronic protective technology was now focused, not on the Swordmaster, but on him, Steg de Coeur. As he held the sword in both hands, he understood the presentation portended more than a need to defeat his Imperial opponent.

“But Swordmaster, I cannot—” he began, as questions raced through his mind.

“Nonsense. We have been waiting for the opportunity. I have been the custodian—you are of the right line to wield it as intended. I repeat—take it, use it with honor. I’ll wait and watch from over here.” He moved away with the help of his assistants.

Steg unsheathed the weapon. His Homeworld audience watched in silence. All knew of the general history of the sword, although few had indeed been privileged to wield the weapon itself. According to rumor it had been constructed for the First Earl and used by him in battle against star pirates and invaders. Steg, with the Swordmaster’s consent, had previously examined the etched patterns along the blade, and had translated the coded patterns into a graphic and detailed dramatic history of the weapon and its owners over the centuries, validating most of the rumors.

Now he gripped the black hilt and felt a sudden flow of power. His head throbbed, his vision blurred; for a moment he was unable to see anything at all. Then his head cleared, his vision returned. He relaxed. Ebony was his. He was ready.

“Gentlemen.” The drill sergeant’s firm voice drew the attention of the small groups of onlookers. “Ten minutes have passed. Are you ready?”

Thpmas looked first at Steg, who nodded. He then turned to the Imperial visitor. “And you, sir?”

Marius also nodded.

The drill sergeant again withdrew from the marked drill square. Steg noted the small stunner in his hand.

“The rules are known to you both. I will repeat the important points, which I will enforce. At first blood you will separate. If honor has been satisfied the duel is over. The challenger has the right to make that determination. If honor has not been satisfied the duel will continue. Quarter will be given at the cry. Any infringement of these rules will result in arrest of the defaulter. You now may proceed.”

“Ready for your lesson, barbarian?”

Steg hung his head in parody of a formal bow. “You honor me, oh champion.”

The visitor executed the formal engagement salute with polished ease. Steg acknowledged to himself that he faced an experienced and capable foe. He recalled the traditional challenge of the Cazanae, aliens who had visited Homeworld and had shared their skills and techniques. The Cazanae were swordmasters, one and all, and even the Master Brioude acknowledged their abilities far surpassed his own. Steg spun and cartwheeled across the square, duplicating the Cazanae challenge, Ebony’s black blade flashing counter to each spin and wheel. With each action he increased the height of his leap until at the finale he was six feet above the floor, the circle of flashing steel forming an impenetrable barrier. He landed with perfect balance, facing his opponent who had watched the ceremonial display with a disdainful expression. Steg did not hear the soft ripple of applause from the watching Homeworlders.

“Come now, is that the best you can do?”

Steg ignored the jibe. He had intended to unsettle his opponent and thought he may have succeeded. They stood facing each other with swords raised, and began their dance of steel. Each move, each feint, each thrust and parry, was a component of a formal and structured dance intended to seek out the weaknesses of the other. Steg maintained a solid wall of steel beyond which his opponent could not reach. Suddenly Steg moved out, changing both style and strategy. Attack instead of defense. Marius countered. The two swords clashed and rang out their songs of battle. Steg felt a wave of exhilaration as adrenalin flowed. Power surged. He pressed forward, spinning Ebony furiously against the now defensive Marius. A flash of concern touched the visitor’s face.

Marius disengaged and stepped back and the two combatants paused in their furious exchange.

“You have potential, barbarian.” His breathing was labored.

“If you need a rest, I’m sure it can be arranged.”

Steg defended against the savage response and instead of retreating, pressed forward. Marius feinted and stepped sideways, his blade thrusting as he detected an unguarded opportunity. However, Steg had turned away and utilizing another Cazanae maneuver, leapt high, spinning up and over his opponent, still maintaining his wall of steel. At the apex of the leap, he used the hilt of his sword to touch Marius on the head. The maneuver was a calculated insult. Marius lashed out as Steg hit the floor, but he parried the blow with ease. They circled, continuing to assess and re-assess each other. The two swords were never still. The fight was a dazzling display of pyrotechnic energy from spinning and clashing blades. They were wielded by two well-trained and expert swordsmen, each seeking the slightest sign of weakness in the other. Steg was exceptionally fit and his confidence increased as he detected the beginning of his opponent’s exhaustion.

Marius spun, feinting and striking at his opponent’s body. Steg saw the play and accepted the challenge. The sequence was too rapid for the audience to follow. Steg spun Ebony and for a moment it appeared to leave his hands. Marius misread the maneuver and attacked. Steg stood back, blood dripping from a fine line drawn down his cheek. The visitors cheered.

Then Marius dropped his sword, a shocked and savage expression spreading over his face. He clasped his right shoulder. His right arm hung limply down his side. Blood seeped through his fingers and started to flow down his arm. Steg stood still, head bowed, Ebony at rest. His cheek cut was superficial.

The drill sergeant stepped forward into the drill square.

“Gentlemen, I declare honor has been satisfied.” He caught Marius as he sagged. “Do you wish our medic or your own to attend?”

“My own, damn you,” came the response through pale and clenched lips. The drill sergeant signaled the visitors to assist Marius. One of the Imperials stopped near Steg.

“Be aware, barbarian—be wary of dark nights. Marius or his family will seek revenge. And we’ll help him. Hide yourself well.”

The offworlder moved on before Steg could respond. He shrugged and turned to Master Brioude who had joined the group of concerned Homeworlders now surrounding Steg.

“Your sword, Master.” He proffered Ebony, almost reluctantly.

“No, no. Ebony is yours, now. You’ve earned it with honor. And your medic is here, to attend to your cut.”

Steg nodded and turned to the waiting medic. Waves of exhaustion washed through him as the cut began to smart. His system was descending from its adrenalin and possibly Ebony-induced high. He clung possessively to the weapon as the medic applied first aid.

“It’s not a deep cut, no scar this time,” the medic smiled as she applied a small dressing.

“Thanks for your help,” Steg acknowledged.

The major stepped closer. “A good win, Steg, although I think you’ve earned an enemy for yourself.” The major held up his hand for silence as he listened to his comunit. He acknowledged the message and addressed Steg and his companions. “It’s started already. They reacted very quickly. A formal protest has been delivered to the Castle Commandant by the Imperials, demanding your arrest for malicious assault and illegal wounding of one Marius, of the House of Aluta. No mention of a properly challenged duel. Just as well our monitor cams were running—we can deliver video in rebuttal. In the meantime, the Commandant suggests all of you take some well-deserved leave—think of it as an order rather than a suggestion. Go to your homes, even further, if you wish. I don’t want to see any of you here for the next tenday. If you remain, you will be exposed to action by the Imperials—they don’t like losing face, and accidents may happen. Don’t worry; you’ll get news of your postings, wherever you are. Now go.” He watched as the group dispersed.