A few days later Gord was up and around, feeling fine. Yanoh told him all about the conclusion of the matter. Blinded, the sea serpent could do little but thrash about erratically in its efforts to destroy its victims. The initial impact had badly damaged the stern of the barge, but it had also sent the vessel shooting away, even as the shock of its wounds had caused the monster to recoil. Two of the Rhennee had been killed by the collision-one crushed to death by the serpent’s massive body, the other overboard and drowned, probably-in addition to the unfortunate who was caught in the monster’s jaws.
Everyone not holding fast to something and braced had been thrown flat by the force of the creature hitting the vessel, but in a moment most of the crew were back on their feet and shooting again. Was the serpent mortally wounded by them? They would never know, for its writhing and splashing on the surface had attracted something else. Yanoh had seen something huge and dark rise beneath the sea serpent, and then the wounded monster had suddenly been jerked beneath the ochre-stained waves. Gone without a trace!
Everyone aboard was happy that whatever could take it so easily was satisfied with that meal. They’d patched the stern sufficiently to allow them to make for shore and safety in Caverncliff Cove, one of the secret places the bargefolk wintered in. The small bay was on the eastern tip of the land that surrounded Nyr Dyv’s Midbay. The vessel had made port without further trouble, and had been there for a week.
It astonished Gord to learn that he’d been unconscious for so long, but he wasn’t worried. His head was sore where it had been gashed, and he knew that his scalp would always bear the scar of the encounter. He did feel pride in having been part of the fight against the monster, and that his own skill with the dagger had been vital to the survival of the whole Rhennee “family” aboard the barge.
Because of that skill, Gord now had a place of honor in the group. Everyone-Gord included-seemed to have forgotten about his gawking and his hesitation during the early stages of the battle, and the bargers enthusiastically acknowledged him as an adopted member of the Rhennee tribe. There were only five other barges at the place, for with the advent of warm weather most of the bargefolk had set forth on their travels. Those five, however, joined in the celebration Miklos held.
At his first opportunity, Gord asked the lord of the barge for more information about the creature that had come so near to finishing them all.
“What do you call those things, anyway?” he inquired.
“Big bastards,” Miklos replied.
“No, I mean, what is its actual name?”
“Shit, I’ve never seen anything like it before!” Miklos responded. “Nor as big as that, either.”
Gord didn’t feel quite so cocky after that short exchange. He realized fully that a lot of good luck had assisted them, and their missiles had been only a part of it. Anyway, he was still alive to tell about it-and that was the important thing. With that, he dismissed the whole affair and concentrated on the celebration.
There was all sorts of food and drink, singing, music, and dancing. Gord scrutinized all of the younger women, thinking that chance might have it that Adaz, the girl he’d met and liked as a boy when he first stayed with the Rhennee, would be among the folk from the other barges.
There were several strikingly pretty girls in the crowd, and all returned his scrutiny with bold looks. This, in turn, brought him black looks from any number of the men there, and when he noticed this Gord quickly quit his flirting. A fight would not be the way to end a feast celebrating victory over a sea monster and his adoption into the bargefolk tribe. But, even though he now kept his eyes elsewhere, and conversed only with the men around him, the damage had been done. As Gord was lifting his goblet to drink more of the harsh red wine the Rhennee favored, it was struck from his hand.
“On your feet, dog! Now that you are one of us, I can challenge you to the test of the blades!”
A tallish, muscular fellow stood before him, legs spread in an aggressive posture. “Piss off!” countered Gord. “Why should I want to fight you?”
“Are you a coward?” the Rhennee replied, shouting. “All saw the way you looked at Estrella-and the way she returned your lustful gaze! She’s my woman! Honor demands that I fight you for her-now!”
Just as he was about to suggest that the fellow bugger his honor and go pick a fight with his woman, Miklos stood up and shouted back at the challenger.
“Are you calling the family of Miklos curs? Are you saying that we have no pride? Pig!” He bent down, grabbed Gord by his blouse, and pulled him upright. “He will fight, and he will teach you manners!”
“Crap…” said Gord under his breath.
“What was that?” demanded Miklos.
“I said that that man is a craphead and a stinking yellow mongrel who cannot beat even a large child in a fair fight,” Gord hastily replied.
“Good! Teach him a lesson!” shouted the captain, even as Gord’s opponent was reaching grimly for the dagger on his wide belt. Gord could feel the celebrants in the immediate area moving back to make an arena for the impending fight.
Too bad for Gord that he had only his small sheath knife. The great dagger he had thrown into the sea serpent’s orb was somewhere in the waters of the lake-or, more probably, lodged in the intestines of some leviathan. According to the test of the blades, which he had heard about from his barge-mates, Gord must face his opponent with whatever weapon he had. At least its point was sharp and its edge keen.
“Be careful, brother!” hissed Miklos, speaking nearly in Gord’s ear so that the others nearby could not hear. “Zoltan is young, but he is one of the best daggermen in the whole tribe.”
Gord heaved a long sigh. “Thank you, my lord,” he replied sarcastically, out of the corner of his mouth. The remark was lost on Miklos, for he had turned away and was already busy with the active betting going on.
Someone came out of the crowd with a leather thong and tied it to the left wrists of the combatants so that they were separated by about a yard when the cord was stretched taut. In the instant after this man stepped back, Zoltan swept his dagger through the space between them. Gord reacted well, but not quickly enough to prevent Zoltan’s blade from tracing a stinging path across the front of his blouse, breaking the skin beneath but doing him no great harm. So, thought Gord, this is how we begin!
As he circled his opponent warily, Gord could just barely distinguish the voices shouting out the odds. In the space of the few seconds following Zoltan’s opening swipe, they had risen from seven to two all the way to ten to one-in Zoltan’s favor. Even though concentrating hard on the matter at hand, Gord could not help but feel indignant at that. Hell, one little slash across his belly didn’t mean he’d lost the duel!
The rules of the ritual dictated that if either combatant cut the tie that held them together, then that person was considered the loser and must either pay the winner a dozen silver nobles or be outcast. Gord actually considered slashing the thong and ending the contest, for what did a few coins mean? But the backing of his new “family” kept him at it. Gord assumed that they had wagered everything they owned on him, judging from their shouts of encouragement and their catcalls about Zoltan’s ability. He had to go on, even though it looked bad. Miklos expected him to prove himself worthy.
The years of schooling he had undergone would now be put to a real test. These conditions were almost the same as those prescribed in practice matches with less lethal weapons, but he wished they were using swords rather than shorter blades. Gord was a better swordsman than knife fighter, though not by much.