Some celebration.

Jezal himself felt tired, annoyed, and worried. Worried about the Contest, worried about the war… worried about Ardee. The letter was still there, folded up in his pocket. He glanced sidelong at West, then quickly away. Damn, he felt guilty. He had never really felt guilty before, and he didn’t like it one bit. If he didn’t meet her, he would feel guilty for leaving her on her own. If he did, he’d feel guilty for breaking his word to West. It was a dilemma alright. Jezal chewed at his thumb-nail. What the hell was it about this damn family?

“Well,” said West sharply, “I have to be going. Early start tomorrow.”

“Mmm,” muttered Brint.

“Right,” said Jalenhorm.

West looked Jezal right in the eye. “Can I have a word?” His expression was serious, grave, angry even. Jezal’s heart lurched. What if West had found out about the letter? What if Ardee had told him? The Major turned away, moved over towards a quiet corner. Jezal stared around, desperately seeking for some way out.

“Jezal!” called West.

“Yes, yes.” He got up with the greatest reluctance and followed his friend, flashing what he hoped was an innocent-seeming smile. Perhaps it was something else. Nothing to do with Ardee. Please let it be something else.

“I don’t want anyone else to know about this…” West looked round to make sure no one was watching. Jezal swallowed. Any moment now he would get a punch in the face. At least one. He had never been punched in the face, not properly. A girl slapped him pretty hard once, but that was hardly the same. He prepared himself as best he could, gritting his teeth, wincing slightly. “Burr has set a date. We’ve got four weeks.”

Jezal stared back. “What?”

“Until we embark.”

“Embark?”

“For Angland, Jezal!”

“Oh, yes… Angland, of course! Four weeks you say?”

“I thought you ought to know, since you’re busy with the Contest, so you’d have time to get ready. Keep it to yourself, though.”

“Yes, of course.” Jezal wiped his sweaty forehead.

“You alright? You look pale.”

“I’m fine, fine.” He took a deep breath. “All this excitement, you know, the fencing and… everything.”

“Don’t worry, you did well today.” West clapped him on the shoulder. “But there’s a lot more to do. Three more bouts before you can call yourself a champion, and they’ll only get harder. Don’t get lazy, Jezal—and don’t get too drunk!” he threw over his shoulder as he made for the door. Jezal breathed a long sigh of relief as he returned to the table where the others were sitting. His nose was still intact.

Brint had already started to complain, now he could see that West wasn’t coming back. “What the hell was all that?” he asked, frowning and jabbing his thumb at the door. “I mean to say, well, I know he’s supposed to be the big hero and all of that but, well, I mean to say!”

Jezal stared down at him. “What do you mean to say?”

“Well, to talk that way! It’s, it’s defeatist!” The drink was lending him courage now, and he was warming to his topic. “It’s… well, I mean to say… it’s cowardly talk is what it is!”

“Now, look here, Brint,” snapped Jezal, “he fought in three pitched battles, and he was first through the breach at Ulrioch! He may not be a nobleman, but he’s a damn courageous fellow! Added to that he knows soldiering, he knows Marshal Burr, and he knows Angland! What do you know, Brint?” Jezal curled his lip. “Except how to lose at cards and empty a wine bottle?”

“That’s all a man needs to know in my book,” laughed Jalenhorm nervously, doing his best to calm the situation. “More wine!” he bellowed at no one in particular.

Jezal dropped down on his stool. If the company had been subdued before West left, it was even more so now. Brint was sulking. Jalenhorm was swaying on his stool. Kaspa had fallen soundly asleep, sprawled out on the wet table top, his breathing making quiet slurping sounds.

Jezal drained his wine glass, and stared round at the unpromising faces. Damn, he was bored. It was a fact, he was only now beginning to realise, that the conversation of the drunk is only interesting to the drunk. A few glasses of wine can be the difference between finding a man a hilarious companion or an insufferable moron. He wondered if he himself was as tedious drunk as Kaspa, or Jalenhorm, or Brint.

Jezal gave a thin smile as he looked over at the sulking bastard. If he were King, he mused, he would punish poor conversation with death, or at least a lengthy prison term. He stood up from his chair.

Jalenhorm stared up at him. “What you doing?”

“Better get some rest,” snapped Jezal, “need to train tomorrow.” It was the most he could do not to just run out of the place.

“But you won! Ain’t you going to celebrate?”

“First round. I’ve still three more men to beat, and they’ll all be better than that oaf today.” Jezal took his coat from the back of the chair and pulled it over his shoulders.

“Sult self,” said Jalenhorm, then slurped noisily from his glass.

Kaspa raised his head from the table for a moment, hair on one side plastered to his skull with spilled wine. “Going sho shoon?”

“Mmm,” said Jezal as he turned and stalked out.

There was a cold wind blowing in the street outside. It made him feel even more sober than before. Painfully sober. He badly needed some intelligent company, but where could he find it at this time of night? There was only one place he could think of.

He slipped the letter out of his pocket and read it in the dim light from the tavern’s windows, just one more time. If he hurried he might still catch her. He began to walk slowly towards the Four Corners. Just to talk, that was all. He needed someone to talk to…

No. He forced himself to stop. Could he truly pretend that he wanted to be her friend? A friendship between a man and a woman was what you called it when one had been pursuing the other for a long time, and had never got anywhere. He had no interest in that arrangement.

What then? Marriage? To a girl with no blood and no money? Unthinkable! He imagined bringing Ardee home to meet his family. Here is my new wife, father! Wife? And her connections are? He shuddered at the thought.

But what if they could find something in between, where everyone would be comfortable? His feet began slowly to move. Not friendship, not marriage, but some looser arrangement? He strode down the road towards the Four Corners. They could meet discreetly, and talk, and laugh, somewhere with a bed maybe…

No. No. Jezal stopped again and slapped the side of his head in frustration. He couldn’t let that happen, even supposing she would. West was one thing, but what if other people found out? It wouldn’t hurt his reputation any, of course, but hers would be ruined. Ruined. His flesh crept at the thought. She didn’t deserve that, surely. It wasn’t good enough to say it was her problem. Not good enough. Just so he could have a little fun? The selfishness of it. He was amazed that it had never occurred to him before.

So he had reasoned himself into a corner then, just as he had done ten times already today: nothing good could come from seeing her. They would be away to war soon anyway, and that would put an end to his ridiculous pining. Home to bed then, and train all day tomorrow. Train and train until Marshal Varuz had battered her out of his thoughts. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, turned and set off towards the Agriont.

The statue of Harod the Great loomed out of the darkness on a marble plinth almost as tall as Jezal, seeming far too big and grand for its quiet little square near the Four Corners. He had been jumping at shadows all the way here, avoiding people, doing his best to be inconspicuous. There weren’t many people around though. It was late, and most likely Ardee would have given up waiting a long time ago, provided she was even there to begin with.