“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.
He gave her a curious look, as if he sensed the magic coming from her. As if he were aware of it . . . But there was no time to think about it. He immediately attacked, lunging at her neck with both blades and trying to stomp on her foot at the last moment. She tucked her foot back so he stomped on the stones instead and then levered her foot behind his ankle as their blades clashed.
It happened in just a moment. She saw his intention, and suddenly he was flailing backward and landing on his back, his blades clattering from his hands.
She had done nothing to disarm him.
Sir Peter gasped in shock and surprise and Trynne found herself staring at the crowd, who gaped at her in awe. The captain, this Martin Evnissyen, shook his head at her, chortling. He had lost to her on purpose and ended the fight just as it had begun.
“Well, I’ll be a goose in a pot,” he said. He tugged off his gloves and then reached up a hand for her to help him up.
Trynne sheathed her swords and looked at him more closely, not able to understand what had happened or why. She glanced at Fallon and saw a look of concern on his face. He was trained enough to know that the fight had ended too abruptly. She stepped forward to take Martin’s hand, keeping her magic ready in case he tried to sweep her off her feet.
His grip was like iron as she pulled him up. He brushed off his legs with one hand, still gripping her hand with the other, shaking his head ruefully.
“By Cheshu, I’ve not been bested in a while,” he confessed with hearty approbation. “You both will come to the castle. Sir Peter, finish off this crowd and then lock the gate for the night.” He was still holding Trynne’s hand, and he tapped each of her fingers individually with his littlest finger. She tried to jerk her hand away but he tightened his hold on her. What was happening? Was he an enemy?
A friend?
“Come, lad,” Martin said to Fallon, taking them both by the arm and leading them to the archway he had come from. As soon as they were inside the small guardroom beyond the arch, he stopped and whirled Trynne around, pushing her back against the wall. His demeanor changed in an instant and his voice dropped to a low growl as he turned his face to Fallon.