'Stop! Get back.' Even from the ground, Kerin's voice commanded complete obedience among his men. 'You too, Krann, put up your weapon now.'

Isak spun around, staff raised, but faltered when he saw Kerin Kneeling on the ground, a trickle of blood running from his eyebrow.

The Swordmaster's staff lay forgotten on the floor as he clutched his shoulder.

‘All of you, put up your weapons.' Kerin dragged himself to his feet, wincing, and looked for Swordmaster Cosep and the third man,

another Swordmaster, who rolled on to his side and swore though gritted teeth, hands clamped around his right leg.

‘Damn. You two – get him to the surgeons.' The men nodded and bent

down to pick up the unfortunate Swordmaster. Putting an arm

around each of their necks, they gently slid their hands under the man's back and thighs, lifting him with as much care as they could. Isak watched them go and his anger fled. He let his quarterstaff fall

to the floor.

'I should have seen that coming. Well, I think we can assume you've been trained in weapons. Can you use a sword?' Kerin asked.

Isak nodded. 'I was taught by a sergeant of the Guard, he made me learn the forms – said I'd have to one day anyway.'

'And he was right. You were going to come and take the trials?' He gave a grim laugh that ended in a wince. 'Well, I think it's clear you would have passed. Now, Lord Bahl said to give you a sword until you get your own. A man of your rank should always wear one.' Kerin paused, as if considering something, then walked over to a bundle lying unminded on the ground. He retrieved it and unwrapped from a cloak the finest sword Isak had ever seen. It was a slender blade, an inch wide, with an ornate golden guard. The leather scabbard was a rich scarlet, bound with gold thread and lined with red-dyed raw

wool.

'Here, take this for the moment. It's rather more fitting to your

station than a cavalry blade from the armoury.'

Isak took the sword, drawing it halfway from the scabbard to inspect the blade. It looked old and worn, but it was still in fine condition. The metal was black-iron, ensorcelled steel that was both lighter and stronger that any other metal. The symbol of an eagle had been engraved near the hilt, outstretched in flight as on Bahl's personal

crest.

'Thank-' Isak's reply was cut short as one of the men watching gave a strangled cry of outrage. The Krann turned to look at him, a man of about thirty summers, obviously wealthy, with a scarlet sash draped over his shoulder and across his body; Isak saw that echoed in the dress of three or four others there. 'You have something to say, Sir Dirass?'

'Master Kerin,' the nobleman began angrily, 'he's little more than a boy. Whatever his rank, he's certainly not worthy of carrying any Eagle-blade, let alone yours. Just because he bested you with a staff-It's an insult to those of us who've dedicated our lives to earning an Eagle. If my father were to hear of this-'

'If your father were to hear of this,' Kerin interjected quietly, ‘he would remember the oath he swore when he received his Eagle-blade,

and he would also remember that I am the one who commands the Swordmasters. Suzerain Certinse's rank does not give him authority over me, as you well know.'

'So because this boy can best you with a farmer's stick he deserves ne of our highest honours?' The knight's voice was thick with contempt as he moved forward to Kerin. Cosep stepped in between the two.

'That's too far, Certinse. You will apologise now and remember your place.' Swordmaster Cosep reached out to rest a hand on Sir Dirass's shoulder, but the man shrugged him off angrily.

'Apologise? My family is not in the habit of apologising to inferiors. I don't intend to set the precedent.'

'Your family,' retorted Kerin, 'seems to be more in the habit of running away with tails between legs, if recent history is anything to go on.'

Sir Dirass made a grab for his sword, but Cosep saw it coming and slammed his fist into the knight's shoulder. Dirass stumbled back with the point of Cosep's blade at his throat.

'Do you think you're ready for an Eagle then?' Kerin asked the enraged nobleman.

Sir Dirass blinked at the question. With a slow, wary movement, he nodded.

'Do you think the Krann to be unworthy of one?'

Another nod.

Well then; if you can take it off him, the sword is yours. I don't deserve it myself if my judgement is so wrong.'

‘Kerin,' roared Cosep before Sir Dirass could accept the challenge, 'this goes too far!'

Keep out of this. This is my blade, and my decision.' Kerin rounded on his colleague, pointing a warning finger at the Swordmaster who, after staring at Kerin for a moment, threw his hands up in disgust and withdrew.

‘Sir Dirass Certinse,' the Swordmaster said formally, 'if you accept this tesst and fail, you will never receive an Eagle. If you accept, you must

disarm the Krann to take your prize. Make no mistake, this is

a duel; we've had enough blood spilled already today. If you agree, fetch a shield and make ready.'

Kerin took a teardrop-shaped shield from one of the onlookers and walked over to Isak, who was not quite sure what was happening – other than what Kerin had said about the knight's family had upset him enough to make him draw on his unarmed superior. Kerin held out the shield.

'You want me to fight a duel for you?' Isak asked.

'It's not a duel; I think you're fast enough to avoid getting anything more than a nick if you pay attention.'

'With the mood he's in? And anyway, I've not been taught to use a sword like this – this is a nobleman's blade.'

'Dirass knows the rules well enough, he's sparred like this a hundred times. If he goes too far, I'll stop the fight and have him thrown in a cell, no matter who his father is.'

'And who is his father?'

'Suzerain Certinse of Tildek, but technically you outrank the man

now.'

Isak stepped back and frowned. This wasn't his battle, but the faces around him made it clear he had no choice. 'Fine, give me the shield,'

he said.

He took the curved wooden shield Kerin handed him and watched as his opponent slid his on so the point was up by his shoulder. He did the same, gripping the leather handle at the wide end tightly, and twisted his arm back and forward to get the feel of it. Reaching his left arm out as far as he could, he looked over his shoulder to check that the tip could not catch him, no matter how far he stretched out. The edge of the shield was bound in steel, roughly hammered into shape with the tip bent outward so it would be a danger only to his

opponent.

Now Isak tugged Kerin's beautiful blade clear of the sheath. It was perfectly balanced, that much he recognised, but he knew nothing oi duelling. He needed to see how this man moved. The knight had light and quick step that belied his bulky frame. He didn't enjoy height or reach, but he did have years of experience instead.

Something deep inside Isak wanted to charge the knight immedi- ately, but Carel had sliced and battered the young man often enough to curb that instinct. Not all of the scars on Isak's body were punishment from his father; some were down to Carel's incessant drilling-

Isak walked briskly up to Sir Dirass, wasting no time, and swung a clumsy overhand swipe at the knight. It was parried easily, but the knight wasn't going to be fooled into thinking Isak was a complete novice, no matter what he claimed. The Krann's second strike was

a thrust at the nobleman's leg; Sir Dirass struck back with two neat blows, which Isak just stepped back from.

Now the knight moved into his stride, giving Isak no time to get a

feel for the delicate weapon. Sir Dirass cut right and left, fast and