The Swordsman's Lament
The Swordsman's Lament
The Royal Champion
Book 1
G.M. White
Twin Star Press
Contents
A Word On Spellings
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Untitled
The Swordsman’s Descent - Preview
Afterword
Also by G.M. White
About the Author
Acknowledgments
The Swordsman’s Lament
G.M. White
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Editor: Vicky Brewster
Cover design: Get Covers
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Copyright © 2019 by G.M. White
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All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
A Word On Spellings
Please note, the author is British, and so uses British English spellings throughout.
1
It was a little after lunch, and Belasko had already killed three men. He frowned at their bodies, scattered across the duelling circle which had been crudely scratched into the dirt of the street. He should have expected that his challenger had friends that wanted in on the act, but didn’t expect them to break the rules and jump in all at once. Was nothing sacred anymore?
He touched his brow. It was as he’d said inside; he’d killed them without breaking a sweat. He flexed his foot. It was the damnable ache that slowed him, made his thrusts weaker, as he couldn’t push off properly. These three, these boys, had got closer than anyone should, and all because of the pain in his foot. He sighed before turning to wave at the gathered crowd. He really was getting older.
Thirty-seven wasn’t old by the standards of Villanese society, but it was old for a duellist. You don’t see many old duellists, or retired ones, because there will always come someone who wants to challenge you. To build their reputation on your own. Worse still for the king’s champion. No shortage of challengers for him.
All I wanted was a bite to eat and some peace and quiet, Belasko thought, not to kill three stupid boys. Still, it was a damn fine meal… He snorted. And I thought I wouldn’t be recognised in this part of town.
Belasko nursed his beer and looked around the inn. It was busy, a mix of people from different classes filling the public dining and taproom. Labourers dressed in rough cloth jostled for space on communal benches, whereas prosperous merchants paid extra for private tables. It was a middling sort of place, but he preferred those to the finer establishments the city had to offer. Less chance of recognition and the challenges that often followed. Still, the meal had been surprisingly good and the ale was very fine. When the innkeeper brought his bill, he tried to guess the worth of the food and drink he had just enjoyed.
He smiled at the older man, a stout fellow who was greying at the temples. An honest face hovered above the innkeeper’s uniform of sturdy work clothes covered by an ever-present apron, shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow, the harried look of the permanently busy about him. Belasko smiled and covered the bill with his hand.
“Now, my good man, before I look at the bill you’ve brought me, let me tell you that that was as fine a meal as I’ve eaten in any establishment in this city — and I’ve eaten at some of the very best. Before I leave, may I pay my compliments to the chef?”
The innkeeper coloured at the praise. “Kendra!” he bellowed over his shoulder before turning to smile at Belasko. “Thank you, sir, that is praise indeed. I know she’s a good cook and all—”
They were interrupted by a young woman who came bustling out of the kitchens, wiping her hands on her apron. “What is it? If it’s another—” She stopped short at the sight of Belasko and the smiling innkeeper. “Oh, sorry. How can I be of assistance?”
The innkeeper gestured at Belasko. “The gentleman here was just being very complimentary about the food and asked to meet the chef before he leaves.”
“Kendra, was it? I...” Belasko paused, noticing the similarities between the innkeeper and the cook. “Your daughter?” he asked the innkeeper, who nodded. “You must be very proud. Kendra, the meal I have just eaten was simply delicious. The seasoning both delicate and exquisite. You have a rare gift.” He looked at the innkeeper. “I must say, the beer is very fine too.”
Belasko tapped his fingers on the bill the innkeeper had brought him. “Here’s what I’d like to do. I’ll put down what I think the meal is worth before I look at the bill. If the bill is for less, you keep the difference with my compliments; if it is higher then accept my apologies, and I’ll reach into my purse again.”
The innkeeper frowned but nodded, clearly unsure.
“Now, as I said, that was as fine a meal as I’ve eaten in this city, and I’ve eaten in establishments both low and high. I’ve dined at the palace on more than one occasion. Elsewhere in the city, I would happily pay, oh, four crowns and a stag.” He laid the coins out on the table. The innkeeper’s face paled at the sight of the money. “Now let’s look at the bill.” Belasko turned it over, read the amount written, and laughed. He slid the coins over to the innkeeper. “You, sir, are seriously undercharging. Please, take these with my compliments.”
While the innkeeper and his daughter blushed at the praise, and insisted that he accept the change he was due, Belasko smiled. He liked to tip generously when he could, and the meal really had been that good.
His purse strings were a little tighter than normal, having taken a loan to acquire more land for the academy. They needed better access to water and their own logging rights if they were to get through another winter as fierce as the last. Some wondered why a man at his station in life would resort to a loan, but while Belasko’s star rode high in Villanese society, he put most of his money into the Academy and his students. When all was said and done, they were his legacy.
“No, no, please take the money. The meal was worth it. You really need to start charging more. Be careful, though. I hear the palace is looking for a new cook and they might poach Kendra right out from under you. If I didn’t have a good cook on my staff already I know I’d be tempted.”
Belasko was interrupted by a heavy hand on his shoulder. Bugger. Recognised. Here it comes.
“Here, ain’t you that duellist? Greatest swordsman in the world or some shit?”
He stood and turned, chair screeching against the flagstones, throwing the hand off his shoulder and pushing back the man it belonged to in one smooth motion.
“Am I Belasko, most gifted with a blade? Hero of Dellan Pass? Never defeated in the duelling circle? The king’s personal champion? Yes. Greatest swordsman in the world? I’ve yet to meet better, but in truth it’s a young man’s game and I’m no longer young.”
“You don’t look that old either,” Kendra said from over his shoulder.
Belasko smiled at her. “That’s very kind of you, but every year I get a little slower, relying more on skill, technique and experience than speed. I’ve yet to meet my better, but one day that will come.” He pursed his lips and eyed the young man that had recognised him, taking in his ragged clothing, the sword at his hip that although worn and battered through use, looked ill cared for. “But I think it is not today.”
The rest of the inn, which had gone deathly silent at the prospect of a challenge, stirred into laughter at this. The man who had accosted Belasko flushed.
Good. Anger. Anything that will put you out of balance, Belasko thought. He turned to the room.
“Mind you, have you lot not heard the swordsman’s lament?”
“No,” came a voice from the crowd, “what’s that?”
Belasko grinned. “The older I get, the better I was.”
The crowd laughed louder at this and Belasko turned again to the man who had recognised him. “Are you sure you’d like to put me to the test, sir? While I might be getting older—” He flexed his left foot in his boot. The pain wasn’t too bad today. “—I could still kill you and any other man in here without breaking a sweat.” He smiled apologetically at the innkeeper and his daughter. “Not that I would. I would hate to spoil a very pleasant afternoon, or do any damage to your establishment. If this young idiot insists on throwing his life away, we’ll take it outside.”
He looked back at the man he knew he’d soon be fighting, noting that his insults had hit home. Belasko sighed and rolled his shoulders, freeing them up for what was to come.
“So, what is it to be? Will you challenge, or can I go back to enjoying my afternoon in peace?”
The young man drew himself up to his not unimpressive height. Damn, he’s tall. He’ll have a better reach than me. He sneered at Belasko, hawked and spat on the inn floor. “I challenge,” he hissed from between his teeth.
Belasko sighed, before reaching into his purse and flicking another coin to the innkeeper. “Please, for the young man’s rudeness and the inconvenience.”
The innkeeper swallowed. “Inconvenience? When word gets out that Belasko fought a duel outside, our business will double.”
Belasko smiled. “Then I wish you well of it.” He turned back to his challenger, who had somehow managed to flush darker still and was almost purple with rage. “Oh yes, you. I accept. Shall we go outside?”
Ah well, another tale to add to the legend. By the time the story of this afternoon’s little adventure has spread three streets away, the number of attackers will have doubled. By the time it’s reached the next quarter, they’ll have tripled.
Belasko leaned down, wiping the blood from his blade on the shirt of his fallen challenger before sheathing it in the scabbard he wore at his hip. A rapier, light and ideal for duelling, he always wore it about town.
“Excuse me, Mr Belasko? Sir?” Belasko looked up. It was the innkeeper.
Belasko smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Just Belasko is fine, and apologies again for this incident. It’s a hazard of my trade I’m afraid. I’m sorry, I didn’t take your name?”
The innkeeper blinked. “Kander, sir — I mean, Belasko. My name is Kander.”
“Kander. I am sorry about this mess outside your establishment. No doubt the constables are already on their way to clear up. Ah, here they come now.” The sounds of whistles in the distance heralded the arrival of the city watch. Belasko would apologise to them when they arrived, both for the mess and for having them stirred from their watch house.
Kander smiled. “Please, don’t apologise. If people don’t know better than to challenge the king’s champion then they deserve what they get.” He frowned. “Particularly when they break the rules of the circle. I couldn’t believe it when the other two jumped in. That would never have happened in my day.” The innkeeper shook his head. “A sign of the times.”
“Your day? Were you a duellist?” I should have known, he carries himself well.
Kander laughed. “Oh no, sir — I mean, Belasko — not a duellist. I was a soldier in another life and we occasionally settled differences in the circle. Just to first blood, or they’d have had us hanged.”
“That sounds like the wisdom of commanding officers: ‘If you kill each other we’ll hang you!’ I was a soldier myself before — well, you know.”
“I do. We all do. I doubt there’s anyone in the country that doesn’t know your story. Listen, can I offer you a drink? On the house. You’ve already overpaid for your meal, I couldn’t charge you more.”
Belasko looked around at the dispersing crowd. The street was already returning to its normal background hubbub, people taking care not to disturb the duelling circle and the bodies within as they made their way past and in and out of the nearby businesses. He shook his head. “I’d love to, Kander, but once word gets out about this challenge others will come. More idiots looking to make their mark. I’d best be getting home.”
“I understand.” Kander squinted at Belasko. “What you said before, about the palace kitchens, them needing a chef. Is that true? Only…” The innkeeper sighed. “My Kendra’s too good for the inn. I can’t charge what her food’s worth, not in this part of town, and although it would hurt me to lose her I just want the best for my girl. She deserves her chance to shine. To show what she can do.”
Belasko nodded. “It’s true, and from what I’ve sampled she’d be more than up to the task. Would you like me to have a word, put her name forward?”
“Oh, if you could, that would be wonderful. Thank you!”
“In fact, I’ll do better than that. Do you by any chance have private dining rooms?”
“Oh yes, several.”
“Well, keep the grandest one you have free for me tomorrow night. I’ll return to sample her cooking with some people who are best placed to make the decision. Just don’t let on to anyone that I’m coming back, or that I’m bringing guests with me. Can you do that?”
Kander grinned. “Can I? Of course I can! Thank you so much, I honestly can’t thank you enough. Oh, can I tell Kendra? Just so she can make something special.”
“Of course, but no one else. Keep it secret, alright? We’ll come to the back door, so as not to advertise our presence.” Belasko reached out his hand and the two men clasped wrists, shaking on the deal.
“You know what’s responsible for too much death? More than you’d think?” Maelyn, the royal physician, looked up from her examination of Belasko’s left foot. A diminutive woman with steel grey hair, a fierce intelligence shone out of her piercing blue eyes. Her slight build belied a surprising strength.
“No, but I’m sure you’ll enlighten me.”
The next day found Belasko in the physician’s suite at the palace, her treatment room to be precise. It was a functional room with several couches and treatment tables, the charts and illustrations of human anatomy hung on the walls the only decoration. A faint aroma from the remedies Maelyn prepared and dispensed hung in the air. He was stripped to his smallclothes sitting on a low couch, as Maelyn examined his bad foot and other joints.
“Pride. Damnable, pig-headed pride. Whether that’s the pride that brings armies to battle—” Belasko winced as the physician probed the joints of his foot. “—or the pride that keeps someone from visiting their doctor so they then die of a curable illness. That last one is usually the preserve of men. You’re from farming stock, aren’t you? They’re often the worst. Work themselves into the grave while their body falls apart, but mustn’t grumble. Mustn’t complain. Right.” The little physician sat back and clapped her hands. “On with your clothes.”
“So, what do you think?” Belasko asked as he shrugged on his shirt.
Maelyn’s eyebrows rose. “What do I think? I think you have a problem that’s not going to get any better.”
Belasko reached for his breeches. “I know that, but will it get worse?”
The little physician sighed. “Yes, I’m afraid so. There are a few things you can do that should alleviate the pain and stiffness in your other joints, but I’m afraid the damage to your foot is permanent. It will only get worse. You’ve pushed your body hard over the years, and it’s coming back to haunt you. It’s rare to see such ailments in someone your age, but not unheard of. Tell me, have either of your parents had similar problems?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen them in years.”
/> “I see.”
Belasko cleared his throat. “What can I do, then? Anything?”
Maelyn pursed her lips. “You’re already doing most of what can be done. Exercise is good, gets the blood flowing, and you do plenty of that. Try to keep to things that won’t place too much impact on the joints — that’s probably how you got into this state in the first place. Swimming is good, particularly in cold water. I think you said you had somewhere suitable on the grounds of your academy?”
Belasko nodded. “Yes, there’s a small lake. More of a large pond, really. It’s deep enough for swimming, bloody cold too.”
“Good. Try to swim in it regularly. Avoid exercises that will jar your joints, such as, oh I don’t know, banging bloody great lengths of steel together.”
“Nice try. You know I can’t do that. I need to keep training, both for my students and my own sake. I still get challenged, you know.”
Maelyn frowned. “Yes, I heard about your little adventure yesterday. What was it, three at once?”
“It was only supposed to be one, then his friends joined in.”
The physician sighed. “You no doubt dispatched them with style and aplomb. Let me ask you, though: how close did they get? I heard it was three unschooled boys that should have known better. How close?”
Belasko paused in the act of pulling on one of his boots. Then, quiet, “Too close. They got too close.”