Yeah. Of freaking course.

The unreality of the situation hit me nearly as quickly as my own anger over having overlooked yet another crucial fact, a detail that did not seem quite important enough to notice until this very minute.

Someone had to break into Tucat Keep originally ... and one does not do that without detailed planning, information, and skill. Perhaps I'd figured Redforne had simply hired someone to get the job done, but it was now quite obvious who had broken into my keep, avoided my carefully laden traps and security devices.

I was looking at him.

Well, crap.

He was now garbed in a much more stylish outfit of almost entirely black save for some red piping and embroidery here and there, clothing that was obviously much more suited for his trim physique than his previous tunic had been. He was exuding the same sleepy confidence he'd displayed during his match at the Circles.

I looked from him back to the smoldering door, which was still popping merrily and giving off a smoky odor that fell just shy of being pleasant. It was quite ruined, and would be impossible for me to open on this side - the hinges had been fused together and no longer moved. It was a big, heavy door, specifically designed to keep very determined people out of my exercise hall.

Now it appeared to be keeping people in, rather than out.

And Redforne was enjoying this moment, I could tell. He hadn't even risen from his cross-legged position on the floor. The torches he'd doused made it dim enough that I wouldn't notice him upon entering the room ... not that I'd stood any chance of noticing him with everything going on in my head.

My stomach dropped for what seemed like the twentieth time that day. I cursed my oversight, fate, everything I could think of. I'd assumed he had no backup plan, that all of his hopes had been pinned on one shining moment of glory at the Circles.

This development had been so obvious that it was a wonder Theo hadn't spotted it. No subtle elegance, not a spot of complexity or single trace of intricate planning. Straight-forward and to the point – trap me in a room and kill me. Simple, effective...

I turned away from the door a final time while keeping my features as placid as circumstances would allow, facing the smiling young Lord who was watching my every expression with smirking glee. Doubtless he would expect me to plead with him, knowing I was by far the inferior swordsman. Doubtless he'd been imagining my reactions ever since he'd arrived in my keep, thoughts full of revenge for the thwarted attempt at achieving glory.

I wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction, I decided. Even as the complete desperation of my circumstances became apparent, I knew ... I wouldn't beg for mercy, wouldn't plead for my life.

Screw that.

I'd do what the most powerful man in Harael said I was best at.

I'd annoy him.

And there's probably nothing quite as annoying as being completely and utterly out-cooled when you're the one holding all the cards.

“I say,” I sniffed, affecting a look of slight dismay, “that door does look to be in terrible shape all of a sudden. Damnably in-convenient, and I suppose I must apologize for the smell. Terribly sorry. Would you care for some wine?”

His smile lost a great deal of intensity, and I saw his head tilt slightly to the side. Whatever reaction he’d been expecting, that certainly wasn’t it.

“That door,” I continued, nodding behind me as I walked over to the drinks cabinet, “was made from four different types of wood. At least that's what I was told when I had it made ... what do I know about wood, hey? Still, I was charged an arm and a leg for it, and I'm not even certain the craftsman who made it is still around. Tish and tosh, such a bother. Sorry, I didn't hear - did you want wine or no? Don't get up, I'll fetch it for you. There's a quite nice Aquavit I've got back here, if caraway seed is more your thing...”

My back was to him as I retrieved my gold and copper goblets, so I couldn't see the expression on his face.

Perhaps he was wondering if he truly knew everything about our situation, or if I knew something that he didn't. Had I foreseen this eventuality? Was there a counter-trap I'd left here that he'd been oblivious to?

Of course, there was none. I was damn near helpless.

Yes, okay ... completely helpless.

“Wine,” he finally said from the center of the room, voice filled with cocky amusement. “Yes, I do believe I'll have a glass of red, if you please. It seems so gauche though, drinking red at an execution. Don't you think?”

“Well honestly, I don't much care for red regardless of the circumstances. Would you rather a glass of green if you don't feel that red would go with our current, shall we say, ambiance?” I reached for the bottle I'd been fishing out of the chill water of the cooler. “It's a Tifii thirty-six, quite light with just a hint of nut in it.”

“Actually, you might want to give that green a miss, stick with the red,” he said, his voice suggesting that he had fully recovered from his surprise at my reaction and had now switched back to 'arrogantly amused'. He understood this game, and wasn't about to let me out-cool him in this, his backup moment of glory. “I suspect that green you've got there might be a little bit off.”

As I was in the process of pouring a glass of the green wine I noticed the ring on my right hand light up. It was emitting a very bright glow ... just from me holding the bottle.

Poison. Extremely strong.

Momentarily unsettled but determined not to show it, I stopped pouring and set the bottle down on the counter carefully, dumping the contents of the glass I'd been pouring onto the floor near the wall. Then I turned to the center of the room and gave Redforne an arch smile.

“Really, Lord Redforne. First you ruin my door, and then you go and spoil an entire bottle of a premier vintage like Tifii thirty-six. You know, it's things like this that will get you uninvited from my keep in future if you're not careful.”

He laughed at that in a manner that appeared quite genuine, and unfolded himself from his seated position so that he might stretch his legs as he sat on the floor.

“Well,” he smiled, “I simply couldn't make up my mind whether or not I wanted to kill you with a blade, or if I should watch as you drank poison and choked to death in front of me. And honestly, as good as the thirty-six was, thirty-nine was a much better year, even when considering the comparatively low grape harvest.”

“Really? I can't say I've had the pleasure.”

“Truly? Well, you'll forgive my terribly poor manners in not bringing a bottle with me. Pity you won't have an opportunity to sample it, it's quite lovely. As for the door, I do offer my most sincere apologies of course. I had to ensure that we were not disturbed while we,” he gave me a predatory grin, “discussed your future. As it were, I'm afraid I must also offer my most sincere apologies in advance for the actions I will visit upon you, which will no doubt ruin that fine shirt and vest you have on.”

Damn it, he wasn't getting flustered. Flustered people make mistakes. I'd lost the element of surprise, and now we were running about even when it came to overall cool - me with my relaxed lack of concern for my dire situation, him with his smarmy graciousness and banter. He still knew he had the upper hand, and had doubtless had time to check my exercise room thoroughly. He'd poisoned my wine, which made me wonder what other little surprises he'd left about the place. No doubt I'd have to scour my keep for them all later.

I almost laughed aloud at that little piece of unbridled optimism, given my current chances of survival.

Finishing pouring two glasses of red, I took a goblet in each hand and walked slowly out to the dueling circle where he remained sitting, bright eyes wide and alert for any hint of treachery on my part even as a relaxed, self-assured expression lit up his face.

I held out a glass that he took with a nod and a grin, not getting up from his relaxed pose. Much to my dismay, I noticed that my hands were trembling.

He noticed as well.

“I say, Tucat, do I make you nervous? Dreadfully sorry, old boy. I'd attempt to calm you somewhat and say that I'll make your death quick and painless, but I don't think I'd be able to pull off such a bald-faced lie with any amount of conviction whatsoever. Honest face - it's something of a curse.”

“Nervous? Me? Not really, no,” I lied, affecting distain as I swirled the contents of my wine glass. “I just returned from a meeting with the Prince, learned a few things of interest. Got rather excited is all, hasn't quite worn off yet. Sal-vachi.” I lifted my glass out to him.

He did the same, waving his own ring-adorned hand over his cup, proving that he wasn't a complete moron. Seeing no flash of color from it, he smiled an amused sort of smile and took a long sip before speaking again.

“So, how was your little meeting with the Prince? I suspect things went rather well for you, once you'd explained everything. Got to tell him the tale of how you thwarted the evil young hellion's sinister plans, made yourself out to be quite the hero. Doubtless the City Knights will be coming down to humble Teuring Keep in short order, if they're not there already, intent on hauling me in for a taste of the Prince's tender mercy. Such is the price of high-stakes politics, hey?”

“Hardly,” I said, noting the small hint of distaste that had crept into his voice during his last sentence. “In fact, while I understand the reasoning behind what he proposes, I can't say I much care for it. He is going to offer you Lordship. Well, 'was' would be a better word, I suppose, given what you're likely here to accomplish.”

That he didn't seem to expect. He dropped the act for a brief moment and lowered his glass to about chest level, looking at me with wary disbelief. I pretended not to notice, continuing to focus on swirling my wine goblet, tasting the contents periodically. A long moment passed.

“You're lying,” he said cheerfully. “No Prince in his right mind would grant me Lordship after all that I'd managed to arrange, in secret, right under his nose. He'd be daft to agree to that.”

“That's pretty much exactly what I told him, actually. It's surprising the uses he can find for people, even those as clearly deranged as yourself, given the right situation. He has his reasons. Still, I suppose it doesn't much matter now. By the by, he did know most of what you had been planning. I mean, he's a very smart fellow, and even I managed to figure that bit out.”

“Ah, as to that,” he said, putting his wine goblet down on the floor and looking at me inquisitively, “how exactly did you figure things out? What gave it all away, if you don't mind me asking? I mean, don't get me wrong,” he grinned in a manner that would give a shark pause, “I'm still killing you, obviously. Still, I wouldn't mind knowing.”

A part of me simply wanted to tell him that I'd been on to him the entire time, and start picking away at him one insult after another until he became tired of the facade of polite civility and simply attacked me.

I told that part of me that it was no longer allowed to contribute ideas. However, I did find it interesting that he didn't believe me when I told him of what the Prince had suggested.

Maybe there was a way out of this, after all.

“It started when I learned that several of the Lords around me had happened upon knowledge of the theft prior to it happening.”

“Ah yes. Well, I did have to make sure that you were informed of the plan to rob you. Multiple Lords knowing about it was necessary, alerting whatever informants you might have had in territories neighboring yours.”

I nodded. “After that, there was seeing your swords.”

He grimaced. “I was getting too excited, I admit. I wanted my swords with me just in case you challenged me prematurely, and I hadn't counted on your lack of manners. Merely handling another duelist's weapons is enough to get you executed in some places. Terribly bad form.”

I bowed my head apologetically before continuing.

“And then finally, there was your feet.”

He raised his eyebrows. “My feet?”

“You were a good swordsman pretending to be bad – your foot movements gave you away. In the tower, when I drew on you. Speaking of which, if you wouldn't mind terribly answering one of my questions in return ... was that mistake due to the drinking and smoking you were doing that night? I must say, your breath was something from the very depths of Hades itself.”

“You liked that?” he grinned. Then, without any warning he leaped up from his crouched position and onto his feet, a move that I would have thought impossible given how he'd been sitting. I found myself taking a half-step back, and cursed my involuntary reaction.

He chuckled at my sudden distress, stepped backwards from his swords a few paces and assumed an unsteady and bleary-eyed appearance very much like how I had seen in the tower the day before. For all the world he now looked like a man who was lost in the throes of epic debauchery. The transformation was impressive.

“Step forward, adjust the belt,” he said, walking towards me slowly with exaggerated movements so that I'd see what he was talking about, “palm a small pill, pretend to stumble.”

He fell awkwardly, catching himself with his hands just before coming into contact with the ground.

“Then, put the pill in your mouth as you stand, pretending to wipe your cheek with a lost sort of expression, simultaneously shaking your foot as though you may have injured it, distracting the viewer.” He stood up and finished the demonstration before me with a small bow. “Combination of aromatic herbs mixed with a very unpleasant gel, guaranteed to leave anyone with the impression that you've had far too much of just about everything. I made a point to breathe on you, all part of my 'oafish lout' routine. I'd actually been nursing the same glass of wine all evening, prior to your arrival. Aside from that, I hadn't had a thing.”

“Quite clever,” I admitted. Even that had been staged. And right in front of other Lords, no less, all without anyone suspecting a thing.

“I was fairly proud of it, and frankly I was dying to tell someone. Truly, the hard part about coming up with something clever like this is not being able to talk about it, or otherwise let it be known by those who would appreciate the effort that went into it.” He fixed me with a slightly perturbed look. “These last several years have been very trying for me in that regard.”

“Understandable,” I said, walking slowly to my drinks cabinet and setting my wine glass upon a nearby table. “Eagan, can I be frank with you?”

“By all means.”

“I don't care for you. Even now, knowing what I do about how clever you are and the reasons behind your actions, I don't care for how you've put things together or the things you've done. I agree that you are smart. Dangerously so, I might add. You have a masterful understanding of intrigue, perception ... and are perhaps the most subtle individual I've ever come across. You have talents that other Lords could only dream of, not the least of which is your expertise with a sword. In many ways I might consider myself envious of you, but ... I don't like you.”

“Lord Tucat,” he smiled, bowing extravagantly, “If you could only know the joy that your words have brought me just now.”

“The Prince,” I continued, “is not a man who concerns himself with things such as like or dislike. Perhaps 'outraged' is too strong a word, but I do confess that I was quite alarmed when he first broached his plan to me, with regards to yourself. He plans to offer you Lordship.”

“You're lying,” he repeated in a cheerful, singsong voice while shaking his head sadly. “You wish to deceive me with this notion so that I might become plagued with self doubt, because you're backed into a corner and can see no other way out. Really, Tucat. I mean, even begging would be more seemly than this last-ditch hopeless effort you're attempting here.”

“You are to be offered a small parcel of city land, which includes the old Redforne keep, and the title of Lord here in Harael.”

“Seriously, Tucat ... you-”

“Eagan, I swear on my father's grave,” I said, evenly and seriously. “It is the truth.”

That gave him pause. Mid-word, he found himself slowly closing his mouth and giving me a very new and uncertain sort of look.

He knew enough about me to understand what an oath like that meant.

I nodded. “It's true, and as I believe I may have mentioned I'm not terribly happy with it, though I do understand the rationale. The biggest problem Tenarreau sees in all of this, he says, is me. He's concerned that I shall come after you because I fear what you'll do, wishing me dead and all. I do admit, it's certainly a likely scenario, despite the fact that I hadn't even known you existed until mere days ago. Given how dangerous you are, I wouldn't feel safe knowing that you were out there, somewhere...

“I think he suspects that in the end we end up as nothing more than two cats warily circling each other in the street, hissing and spitting, constantly on guard for the slightest movement made by the other. In that sort of situation, you aren't free to do the things he predicts you might, and neither am I – we become so focused on each other that we stop behaving like ourselves. The very thought of it wearies me. Nobody wins. Unless...”

“Unless?”

“We come to an agreement, you and I,” I said, earnestly. “An understanding. Some situation where we both win, or at least have a chance to win.”

“And so, being the only one of us two able to see reason, you come forward and say 'Hey now, let's stop fighting shall we? Perhaps have a spot of lunch, talk things over,' and everyone gets to go on with their lives. How lovely,” he laughed, bitterly. “I trust it's very easy to become champion for such a plan when confronted with the knowledge that you won't live to see another dawn.”

“It's an option, Redforne ... and it's one you didn't even know you had a minute ago. Tell me, if you're so damned clever, what becomes of you after I'm killed here? Hmmm? How fares your fine actress of a wife once you-”

“Shut up,” he said, quickly.

Something about how he said that came off as terribly anxious and distressed.

I looked at him quizzically, and then my eyes widened as a very new realization dawned.

“Oh, gods! She doesn't know, does she? You haven't told anyone! Your wife, she hasn't been playing along at all – she really thinks she's Lady Teuring! You haven't told her who you are, or what-”

“Shut up!”

“And you care for her! Eagan, this is madness! Think about what you're leaving-”

“You shut your filthy mouth!” he bellowed, lurching forward as he spoke. His face had suddenly become flushed and dark, and his eyes looked daggers at me.

(The highly abstract part of my brain noticed that he completely lost his cool just then – point for me!)

“Okay, okay,” I said, raising my hands disarmingly. “The issue remains, however. There are limited options once you've committed to something like what you intend here, extremely limited, and none of the options are good. The alternative to killing me provides far more possibilities. Legitimate possibilities no less, opportunities to earn the kind of respect that your father dreamed of. Land in the city, Redforne keep. Tell me, how is that not everything you could possibly want?”

“Well for one,” he replied, recovering his former poise smoothly, “it is missing the rather significant element of your gruesome and untimely death. I'm afraid that particular point is a bit of a deal-breaker, when it comes right down to it.”

“But why?” I asked, plaintively. “Why must you kill me? How does my death improve your own situation?”

“Ah. Now we get to the part I was expecting. Next you plead, and then you beg, and it all goes rather rapidly downhill from there. No,” he said, walking back to where he'd left his swords sitting, bending over to scoop one up with one hand and picking his wine goblet up with the other. “It's been a lovely chat, and I thank you for your hospitality, but I'm afraid that it's time we got down to settling matters between you and I.”

“What matters?” I practically shouted. “What could you possibly pretend exists between us that you need to give up everything just for the sake of killing me.”

“It's about family, Tucat. It's about being raised fatherless and motherless, your family reputation in shreds, all the while knowing that there's someone out there responsible for your pain, your suffering. It's living each day with the understanding that someday you'll do something about it. These things you speak of – Lordship, property, money ... it means nothing! Material possessions fit only for the soulless wretches that crawl gleefully among this diseased wreckage of a society. No,” he shook his head, quickly draining the last of his wine and tossing the metal goblet aside to the cobbles with a clang. “I've bested this travesty of a city at its own game. I've found fitting retribution for one enemy of my family already, and I shall move on to what's fitting for the second. Time for the last son of the Tucat family to experience first hand the kind of suffering that his family inflicted upon others ... upon me. I care not a single copper mark what might happen after that.”

“Eagan,” I practically croaked, sensing opportunity slip through my fingers, “the whole thing with your father was an accident, not intentional whatsoever! If it's proof you require, I can get it. All I require is a minute to go upstairs and-”

I looked over at the blistered, smoldering door guarding the exit to the main basement hallway.

“Well, okay,” I said, scratching my jaw a little. “I'll probably need a little more than a minute, and maybe a little help getting this door open as well. Still, I know exactly where it is, and once I show you-”

“Your father's journal? Yes, I've read it,” he said, casually.

We stood in silence for a while.

I recall making an oath right about that moment. Briefly, it went like this - If I managed to survive this ordeal I vowed to travel to the single most boring place I could think of, pull up a chair and sit there for an entire week just to enjoy how it felt to not be surprised at the drop of a hat.

“You've...” I couldn't even think of the words.

“Yes. I mean, obviously I needed to find out everything I could about my father, and that meant cracking open a few of your books. So sorry, forgot to mention it. This was years ago of course, but yes ... I've read them.”

“You've read them. You've seen my father's journal - know your father's death was an accident. What reason could you have to want me dead if you know how your father died?”

“I'm sorry, was that a joke?” he spat, bending over to pick up his second priceless and razor-sharp instrument of death. “Did I hear you ask why, just now?”

He was working himself into a rage, I saw. I nodded, not trusting any of the words I might use to explain my situation. Remaining mute might not be the best course of action, but I could do little else. The sword at my hip may as well have been an arrangement of flowers for all the good it would do me at the moment.

“My father was the greatest swordsman ever to live,” he continued. “Undefeated in his lifetime ... he'd never lost a single duel, ever. To hire him as a duelist meant that your honor was secure and you were victorious in whatever petty, sordid squabble you were involved in - it was as simple as that.”

He looked to me for any sort of reaction. I warily nodded for him to continue.

“So successful was he in his endeavors that he was able to arrange for Lordship, buy an estate outright. And he became an active Lord, engaging in what could loosely be referred to as the 'politics' of the realm – the backwards, idiotic contests of no consequence that you and other Lords seem to take such great delight in. Despite his inexperience, he began building a reputation for keen intellect that could have easily matched or exceeded his reputation for sword play. And then...”

The pause was my cue to interject. Hesitantly I spoke.

“A terrible accident,” I said. “Nobody's fault.”

“And then,” he continued, as if my words held no meaning for him, “he was found. The bottom of a tall set of stairs behind Two Oaks Street, where it meets Tanners ... lying there where the prostitutes and less savory herb merchants would gather back then, and gather still to this day. It was morning when they'd found him. It had been raining all night, else he might have been found earlier.”

“Eagan, I know how-” I began.

“By the time they'd found him, it was impossible to tell who it was that lay dead there in the alley. You see, the rats had come during the night as he lay there, and there were not many present who had the stomach to look at him for very long. Half of his face had gone missing, as had both his eyes.”

I closed my mouth and swallowed uncomfortably.

“It took most of the morning to figure out who it was. I may have played a small part in that, though I was a mere child at the time, waking my uncle and informing him that father hadn't shown up for my morning fencing lesson. He never missed a single one of our sessions, you see ... ever since I could lift a foil. Later that afternoon his brother, my uncle, gently told me the terrible news. I wasn't allowed to see him as they'd brought him in, nor was I permitted to see him as he was being consigned to his crypt. I found out that there was good reason for it later, once I'd snuck away from the grief-ravaged eyes of my uncle's family, intent on seeing for myself what had become of my father, my idol.

“It was a hasty job of closing up the crypt that the workers, who weren't quite finished, had done after father had been laid to rest. Due to my rather diminutive size I was able to get in, and I found what remained of my father. Oh,” he waved dismissively, “some effort had been made to be respectful and tactful. The visor on his head masked his face and most of the damage done to it.

“Of course, I couldn't have known that myself, back then when I’d lifted it to see if it really was him that was laying upon the marble slab. I remember staring and thinking it odd that I didn't scream at the time, looking upon this eyeless, macabre horror of a face and realizing I was looking at the face of my beloved father. You can't even imagine.”

I could do better than simply imagine. Unsettling memories of my own experiences were called up in vivid detail just then, and I had to suppress a shudder.

“And then there were the gloves, yet another thing that didn't make sense to me, even as I was trying to make sense of the sight I'd subjected myself to. He never wore dueling gloves, considered them an abomination. I thought to myself, did anyone around me understand him at all? Did nobody care?

“I couldn't stand the sight of it, and I went to remove them, knowing that he would have wanted it that way. I remember being distinctly confused when I pulled the first glove away, encounter-ing no resistance.

“They'd taken his hands, you see. Trophies, I would assume. Once it became known who it was that had been laying in that alley, well it isn't hard to imagine society's dregs picking away at him like sub-human vultures. And his hands were legendary, were they not? Why, an exotic trophy like that might fetch ten, maybe fifteen gold marks!”

“My father ... he didn't-”

“Your father,” he interrupted, quiet voice filled with seething, righteous anger, “was a thoughtless, sniveling coward. For years growing up, ever since spying the name 'Tucat' in dad's journal, I thought him responsible for my father's death. Later, upon coming of age and gaining more information, I found that he was responsible for much, much more than that. Chance and misfortune took my father from me, it's true ... but your family, Tucat, destroyed who he was. His reputation, his legacy, his memory, everything my family was or could have been. Destroyed utterly and completely,” he said, lip curling slightly. “It seems only fitting that I return the favor.”

“Now, hold on just a moment!” I said hotly. “I mean, that's a bit of a stretch, isn't it? You can't think that it was intentional, what happened to your father! And even if you did, how could you possibly see fit to blame me for it?”

“Bah. Enough talking. You've already remained alive a hundred times longer than I'd planned since walking through that door.” He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck, sword at the ready in each hand.

I backed away from him.

“Look Redforne, this is pointless! Think about this for a second, dammit!”

“A second? Lord Tucat, I've thought about this all of my life,” he smiled. His swords were idly twirling on either side of him, humming softly as they parted the air.

I licked my lips nervously.

“Any last words?” he asked.

If an opportunity had existed to reason with him and possibly deflect him from his murderous course of action, that opportunity had passed. Damn it. This wasn't good. This was the opposite of good.

This, unless I missed my guess, was what might be considered 'bad'.

And yet, my anger was back with a vengeance now, rekindled by his use of 'coward' as he referred to my father. I wanted to wipe the too-confident look from his face, wash it in some mud for a while. He was facing a Tucat, after all, and it was bloody well time he came face to face with that realization.

I had to do something. And what did I, Vincent Tucat, do best?

I took a long, hard look at him.

Well, okay ... he looked plenty annoyed already. Scratch that. What else could I do exceptionally well, possibly better than any-one living?

I blinked.

And where was I, exactly?

A smile crept upon my face, and I continued backing up a few more paces, away from Redforne.

“Last words? Yes, I think I've happened upon the perfect last words. Are you ready?” I put my hand on the pommel of my sword, attempting to appear dangerous. “Trust me, they're really good...”

He cocked his head, looking at me expectantly. I grinned at him.

“More wine?” I asked.

Reaching to the drinks cabinet behind me, I grabbed the bottle of Tifii thirty-six and sent it spinning haphazardly towards him.

Realizing the nature of the missile speeding sloppily towards him, he very quickly leaped sideways out of its way, a distressed look on his face. Just holding the bottle had lit up my ring like a small emerald sun - doubtless that much poison would cause him significant difficulty if it even came into contact with the skin.

He recovered quickly, sweeping both blades towards me, his grunt of effort punctuated by the sound of breaking glass. I heard his swords connect sharply with the empty patch of stone floor I'd heroically vacated, sprinting as fast as my legs could carry me. I heard a muffled curse of surprise behind me.

Seconds later, I was at my climbing wall.

I leapt mid-stride towards one of the large wooden blocks that had been set up to simulate the lip of a balcony on the side of Lord Greybridge's keep, throwing my outstretched hands in front of me in desperation. I'd made that particular leap hundreds of times before, but had always had the benefit of stretching and warming up beforehand, never having been quite so rushed before.

My hours and hours of practicing didn't fail me.

With a quick pull I flipped myself up and onto the ledge. With-out taking the time to think about it I leapt again, towards the rope that I knew was dangling above me, next to the wall. The moment my fingers found the rough braided rope, I began to climb. I heard another clang of metal on stone come from behind me.

I continued scuttling up the swinging rope as quickly as I could, heading towards the faux parapet that loomed above, thirty feet or so from the floor. Temporary safety at best, but considering that the alternative was certain death I'd take what I could.

I heard a grunt of effort below me and decided to risk a quick look. Then, gasping, I curled into a tight ball, lifting my legs up and gripping the rope with every ounce of strength I possessed.

There was another sharp tang of metal on stone, and a muffled curse came from below me. He'd probably missed my feet by mere inches.

I looked down again. Redforne had opted to keep his main-hand weapon, leaving the other on the floor so he could pursue me up the wall one-handed. The white knuckles of his left hand were gripping an outcropping of stone as he unsteadily recovered from his swing, twisting precariously below me. I had an evil thought.

Ah, what the hell...

I relaxed my legs and loosened my grip on the rope simultaneously. A moment later I straightened my entire body, stomping downward with both feet as hard as I could.

The heel of my right boot connected with the top of Redforne's left hand very satisfyingly.

Letting out a sharp bark of pain and outrage, he released his hold on the rocky surface. He retained enough presence of mind to send his sword swinging upwards towards me as he fell, but I'd pulled myself out of harm's way by the time he did.

Instead of hitting the stone floor solidly, he managed to roll out of it at the last possible second, reminiscent of the athleticism he'd displayed against Ismir in the Circles. Leaping back onto his feet, he threw himself at the wall. Somehow, he'd managed to sheath his sword during all this, and was now employing both hands to climb up after me.

Rapidly.

I turned my attention back to climbing as fast as I possibly could.

Scaling the uneven, rocky upper wall was like greeting an old friend, and we reacquainted ourselves in record time. I quickly found myself within arms length of the ceiling, stepped onto the stony ledge of the parapet and went into a crouch, looking down.

Redforne was clawing his way upwards very quickly, hand over fist, glaring up at me balefully. I gave it about fifteen seconds before he was about level to where I was.

Frantically, I reviewed my options. He had a sword, and seemed adept at swinging it even while climbing a wall. I had swords as well, though I had a feeling that keeping them at my hip was probably about as useful as anything else I could do with them at this point. What else did I have at my disposal?

I almost wasted precious moments slapping my forehead with my palm. Quickly, my hand flew to an inside vest pocket, pulling out a small, nondescript spherical object.

You never knew when something like wrist-sling ammo was going to come in handy.

I inspected the spherical object to ensure that it was a type that I recognized. Once I had confirmed the type, I gave a small smirk and leaned over the lip of the precipice, looking down at the furious young Redforne as he climbed upwards, about a dozen or so feet below me.

“Uh-oh...” I said, carefully letting go of the sphere right above his head, a few inches from the wall.

He paused briefly to determine the nature of this new threat, and pulled himself slightly closer to the wall so that the bauble would bounce past him.

The small orb struck a jagged bit of wall directly above him, though it did not bounce away as a small marble of its size should have. Upon smacking into the irregularly shaped rock it exploded into a large ball of white, goopy, tar-like foam...

...which continued its way down until it encountered the extremely surprised-looking face of Lord Redforne.

“Glaaff!” was all he managed to say (I think that's what he said...) before I saw his arms jut out to either side of him, releasing their hold on the grey rock as he fell. Marshmallowy globs of white fluffy tar muffled any further exclamations of surprise he might have been attempting to send my way.

If a word exists to describe the sound he made upon hitting the floor, it has several amusing consonants no vowels whatsoever, and sounds really, really wet.

I sent an amused grin down at the white, sputtering, sopping mess that was Lord Redforne. Coughing, he got to his feet amid mounds of the pale, sticky foam, taking a brief moment to spread his hands palm-up and stare at them.

And he began to laugh.

“Oh, Tucat,” he said, holding his arms up in mock surrender, “that was truly well done. Ha! I swear, it's been ages since I've been so surprised.”

He coughed slightly as he chuckled, clutching his ribs, proving that he was perhaps just a little bit human, and that falling ten feet onto a stone floor might have caused him some difficulty at least.

“Glad you liked that. I've got a few dozen more surprises up here for you,” I said, holding another marble up for him to see. “Feel free to try climbing up here again, see what happens. Oh, here's a fun one! I wonder what it does...”

Redforne smiled up at me, his white, foam-streaked face looking sinister even as it projected amused good humor.

“Oh come now, Tucat. Come and face your death like a man, and not as a pathetic weeping weakling. Seriously. How long do you think you can stay up there, hiding from your fate?”

“You'd be surprised,” I called down, grabbing a rope tethered to the ceiling and leaning forward over the lip of the precipice so I could peer down at him. “I packed a lunch.”

He shook his head with a sad chuckle.

“Tucat, you know you're beaten,” he said, once again wiping a portion of the sticky white substance from his face in a tiredly amused fashion. “You seek to delay the inevitable. Come, I shall give you a sporting chance. Choose whatever manner of fencing weapons you wish, in any combination, and I will face them with but a single blade. We can finish this matter honorably, you and I.”

The man offering these terms had made Ismir look like a bumbling fool. The warning bells simply don't get any louder than that.

“Sorry, rather comfy at the moment,” I said, assuming a relaxed pose, hand still on the rope and one leg hanging over the corner of the ledge. “Can't really see myself coming down there anytime soon.”

He frowned.

“Name your terms, Tucat. Craft whatever dueling scenario you wish, and I swear upon my father's honor that I'll abide by it.”

I didn't see my likelihood of survival improving if I accepted his terms, despite how generous they sounded. To be honest, I doubted my ability to survive a contest that saw Redforne bound hand and foot, armed with nothing but a sliced pickle. If he agreed to anything, it had the potential to be lethal.

Before I could yell something frightfully witty to that effect, a third voice made itself heard.

“Vincent,” it called out in a manner that suggested it was tsk'ing, if that's even a word to begin with. “I mean, I know I've told you that you need to expand your circle of friends, become more social. But, really ... him? Do try to discriminate, please. You can't just let anyone into your keep, after all.”

Lord Theodore Haundsing stood a few yards from the secret entrance, hands on hips, looking evenly at the much-abused figure of Lord Redforne.