Chapter 30

They went shopping. Halloway looked dapper in a dark blue suit that showed off his broad shoulders and narrow waist. Annabeth bought a silk ladies’ suit with loose-fitting legs and a tight waist. She chose a deep red with a white blouse. Chun picked charcoal gray, in a loose cut that would hide his sidearms.

I look like a half-burned chopping block.

“What do you think, boys?” Annabeth twirled to show off her new outfit.

“I’m married,” Halloway said.

“No, you’re not,” Annabeth said.

“I’m engaged. It’s the same thing,” Halloway said.

“Chun?” Annabeth fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“You chose well.”

“Thank you. Now tell me what you actually think.”

Chun smiled. “The emperor would trade half of the empire to marry you.”

Her smile lit up the store. “That sounds like a compliment. I’ll take it.”

They paid and left the tailor.

Chun grinned at Annabeth. “You neglected to ask about the emperor’s taste in women.”

She reached around Halloway and punched Chun in the shoulder. “You meant it as a compliment. Now you’re just trying to backpedal.”

The Montague place was a palace. It had swimming pools, saunas, hot tubs, cold tubs, clay and grass courts for various games, and a garden of a few hundred acres. The building was stone, mostly of light colors, and wood accents indoors. Chun had thought the imperial palace in Fu Tan was huge, but this place was bigger. The wealth on display was staggering.

The butler met them at the front and led them through the house. Servants moved behind the scenes, invisible but Chun felt their breath. Despite the lack of natural light, potted plants were everywhere. The furnishings were all of high quality. Chun saw horsehair upholstery, various precious woods, and acres of leather.

Montague met them on a sprawling patio overlooking part of the garden. A full dining set had been moved outside for the occasion--massive table, fine chairs, side tables for lamps to sit on.

“Good evening,” he said with a bow. Chun returned the gesture, and Halloway and Annabeth gave clumsy tries as well. “Welcome to Emilia. It is named after my great-great-grandmother. Please, be at ease.”

The hostess was the Countess de Perabo, a woman of tremendous intellect and not a little beauty. She wore a green dress that left her shoulders bare, but with skirts so long they brushed the floor. Something in her eyes reminded Chun of his mother.

Rake and Dinklage were there as well, dressed in nearly matching outfits of black trousers, white shirts, and gray jackets.

“You ever do any archery?” Rake seemed to be examining Chun’s musculature.

“Some,” Chun said. “I am proficient, but not excellent.”

“Come on, let’s shoot a round or two.”

The archery target was at the far side of the patio, backed by a stack of hay bales. The bow was interesting, neither a horse bow, nor a longbow, it had tips that curved back toward the archer.

Rake strung the bow, then picked three arrows from the archery rack, fitted one, drew and loosed. It struck the bullseye dead center.

That’s strange. He holds the arrow on the left side of the bow.

“Excellent shot,” Chun said.

“Thank you. This is one of my favorite things to do when I visit here.” His second arrow hit, touching the first.

“And two suggests you can make it three,” Chun said.

Rake smiled. “This is the stressful part. When the first two shots go so well, I always worry I will flub the third.” He loosed his third arrow, and it hit touching the second, making a neat line of the three.

“Did you draw the line on purpose?”

Rake chuckled. “Yes, I was trying to do it. No, I don’t think I could do it again.”

He handed the bow and three arrows to Chun. It was mostly a ceremonial weapon. The draw weight was only about sixty pounds, and the finish was flawless. Clearly it had never been in the field.

Chun fitted an arrow with a rounded metal tip to the string, copying Rake’s style of placing the arrow on the left side of the bow, then drew, estimated the drop over the seventy-five feet they were shooting, and loosed.

The bow had a bit more power than he’d expected from the draw weight, and the arrow went over the top of the target.

“Nicely centered,” Rake said.

“It doesn’t drop off as quickly as I expected,” Chun said as he fit his second arrow to the string. He drew, estimated the amount to drop his aim from last time, and loosed. The arrow hit the target a couple of rings below the bullseye.

“Now you’re getting it.”

Chun fit his final arrow, drew, and loosed in one smooth motion. It hit the target on the upper margin of the bullseye.

They retrieved their arrows, and Rake set up again, then grouped his three arrows in a little triangle in the center of the bullseye.

Chun generally liked to take a thousand training shots before deciding to trust his aim with a bow, but that wasn’t an option this evening. He played back his memory of the first three shots, then settled into his stance, drew, and loosed. The arrow hit dead center on the bullseye.

“Fantastic,” Rake said.

Chun’s second shot was just below the bullseye, and his third was just above.

“I’m getting there.”

“Solid shooting. This isn’t your range, or your equipment. I’m quite impressed.”

“Want to make it interesting?” Chun grinned at Rake.

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you have in mind?”

“Any arrow that misses the target adds one second to your time. Fire three shots as quickly as you can.”

“That is interesting,” Rake said. “I’m in. What’s the wager?”

Chun shrugged. “I’m not sure what is appropriate.”

Montague approached. “Winner gets my platinum watch. It’s a prize worth having.” He pulled a shiny watch from his pocket by its chain, flipped it open, and waited with his finger on the button.

“That is too generous,” Chun said.

“Nonsense,” Montague said. “I’m about to ask you to risk your life. I’d like to put you in a good mood first.”

Chun took the bow and his three arrows, grasping them in his shooting hand. He dropped his arms to his side.

“Tell me when to start.”

“Now,” Montague said.

Chun brought the bow up smoothly. At the same time, he fitted the first arrow on the right side of the bow and drew. When the bowstring reached his cheek, he released. With the arrows already in his hand, all he had to do to reload was fit the next arrow to the string and draw.

The first arrow hit the upper margin of the bullseye. The second was a finger’s width to the right. The third hit the edge of the bullseye between the first two.

“Unbelievable,” Montague said. “Less than two seconds.”

“A properly trained combat archer would best me,” Chun said.

Rake and Montague exchanged wide-eyed glances.

Halloway joined them. “Chun grew up with swords, spears, and arrows. He knows things about using them that the rest of us don’t.”

“Is that true?” Montague looked at Chun with an appraising gaze.

“Yes, sir. I was born and grew up in Fu Tan. It was an empire where the ice fields of northern Solond are today.”

“But that’s impossible,” Rake said.

“That is a fact,” Halloway said. “Nevertheless, he is here.”

“I concede,” Rake said. “Would you be willing to give me a short lesson?”

“Of course,” Chun said.

Dinner was formal. Servants brought the food and drink. Montague sat at the head of the table, with the countess to his right, and Annabeth to his left. Chun was next to the countess, and across from Dinklage.

“Daral tells me you are from Fu Tan,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am. It was a magnificent place once. I miss it more than I think I can bear.”

She put a hand on his forearm. “To lose family, country, language, everything, must be awful. I have lost enough to understand the word, though nothing like you. You must find a way to go on. Your life is a gift to those of us fortunate enough to meet you.”

Chun took a sip of his wine to hide the tremor in his chin. “Thank you, ma’am. I fear you value my company too highly.”

“I’ll say,” Annabeth said. “Ask him how he met our neighbors.”

Chun put his head back and laughed. “In Fu Tan we believe that keeping birds near humans spreads disease, so when the Sikale’s prize peacock landed in the backyard it did not occur to me that it would belong to anyone. So, I killed it and cooked it for dinner.”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“You didn’t,” the countess said.

“Oh, he did,” Annabeth said. “I have to say, it was delicious.”

Dinner was an experience. They had a new drink for every course, and new foods from around the world. Chun noticed that the staff were bringing him larger portions than anyone else at the table. He decided he would be polite and pretend he was satiated.

When dessert was served a young woman brought a custard to Montague and tripped at the last moment. The custard went right onto his jacket, then tumbled into his lap, leaving a sticky trail behind it.

“Sir. I am so sorry--”

“It’s alright,” Montague said. “Please ask Cosimo to bring me a change of clothes.”

“Yes, sir. I’m so sorry--”

“What is your name?”

She hugged herself. “Louisa, sir.”

“Louisa, please go ask Cosimo to bring me a change of clothes. Then bring me a replacement custard. All will be well.”

“Yes, sir.”

Chun watched the exchange with interest. Montague’s actions seemed genuine, and his patience with the girl appeared to be natural. He turned back to Chun.

“If only this were the worst thing to happen to me recently.”

Chun sipped his wine. “Please, sir. Tell me about that.”

“We have had a series of setbacks. Arena combat has been a feature of our civilization for centuries. Over the last few decades kickboxing has appeared alongside traditional fencing and garnered a large audience.

“The fencing community is traditional and insular. Rayle Janson is the current champion, and Peter Mont Clair is his mentor. If Gratian put a candidate into the fencing circuit, there are several of us who might successfully challenge him.”

Chun scratched his chin. “You didn’t take kickboxing seriously. It was just a way to make money off of foreign audiences, but now Gratian is using it to gather influence with the people who live off of fight money.”

“Precisely,” Montague said. “To make matters worse, I thought Lotar Heyerdahl would be the enemy of my enemy. Instead, I have trapped myself between two committed foes.”

“You made a deal with the devil,” Halloway said.

Montague nodded. “I fear so.”

“What about Samuel Archibald?” Annabeth sipped her drink.

Montague shook his head. “The wizard? He is not quite so terrifying as Heyerdahl, but there is something dark in that man. He is not the real problem. If Heyerdahl were gone, I would simply order Archibald shot.”

“There must be some mistake,” Chun said. “I have met General Archibald on numerous occasions. He is not a wizard.”

“Tall, fit, imperious, always trying to go faster than circumstances allow?” Montague scowled.

Chun turned to one of the servants. “Can you please bring me a piece of paper and a pencil?”

“Of course, sir.” The man disappeared into the house and returned less than a minute later with a sheet of typing paper and a plain wooden pencil.

“Thank you,” Chun said. He pushed his place setting aside and laid the paper down, then sketched Archibald’s face in a few rough lines.

“This man?”

Montague took the sketch. “This is him.”

“How can that happen?” Halloway turned to Chun. “I thought it took years to train a wizard.”

“It does,” Chun said.

“Perhaps there are things about wizards that you do not know,” Montague said.

Chun stood and walked around to the head of the table. He put his fingertip on Montague’s wineglass and then pulled the heat from the liquid, scattering it into the stone tiles under his feet.

“You are correct, sir. There are many things I do not know about wizards. But neither am I ignorant of the subject.”

Montague turned the glass of frozen wine in his fingers, watching frost form on the outside.

“How powerful are you, Mr. Chun?”

Chun shrugged. “I don’t know how to answer. I have sensed a few wizards since awakening, but none have had real strength. Unless there is someone hiding out there somewhere, I am the most powerful living wizard.”

Montague looked at Halloway and raised an eyebrow.

“He’s not prone to exaggeration,” Halloway said. “You saw it. He said he was a proficient archer, but not an excellent one. If he says he can do something, he can do it.”

Montague breathed a relieved sigh. “Heyerdahl is still building his organization. He is selective in his recruiting. I thought six of my best men would be sufficient to eliminate his fledgling family, so last week I sent sixteen. Their orders were to kill him, and any who stood with him.”

He bowed his head. “I threw those lives away. Most of them died in the first minute of the struggle. Two were captured. Heyerdahl did not ask for ransom or concessions. He built a stone altar and burned them alive on it. The wizard went up to one of the wounded and stripped him, then ripped his skin off. All in a single piece.

“My men are terrified of them. Most will not fight, and I do not blame them.”

“Can we draw them out?” Chun’s face dropped into a severe expression. “With someone like Heyerdahl I would strongly suggest we not fight him on his own ground.”

“I believe I can entice him to accept a duel,” Montague said.

Chun shook his head. “I have dueled a nephilim before. I was lucky and got away with my life. He did not. I will not do it again unless I have no other option.”

“He is intelligent, patient, and remorseless. I am somewhat surprised he has not come for me already,” Montague said. “How do I survive him?”

Chun clenched his fists to keep his hands from shaking. “With numbers. Traps. Powerful weapons. Luck.”

“Daral,” Perabo said, “spar with him. Let me observe.” It was clear to Chun that she wanted to see his character through the lens of his skills.

Montague stood. “Mr. Chun, would you do me the honor?”

“I would.” Chun pushed himself to his feet, and within moments one of the servants exited the house with a pair of sabers.

Chun took the one offered to him. It was a high-quality weapon, blunted for training. The handle wasn’t quite big enough for his hand, but he managed to stuff his fingers into the guard. He tipped the blade around, testing its balance.

“This is not entirely unlike the foil I got to try.”

“The foil is for training and dueling,” Montague said. “The saber is for dueling and light cavalry. Some of our officers still wear them with their uniforms.”

“Rules?” Chun waved the blade around some more.

Montague smiled. “Try not to maim each other. Other than that, I am trying to help Lady Perabo gauge your skill.”

The servants set up a training area by clearing the near side of the table and lining it with lamps, then setting small tables with lamps on the other side. Montague raised his sword in the salute they used, and Chun replied.

He had talent. More than Janson. And he had at least two decades of training on the younger man, but despite his skill and fluidity he lacked the explosive speed he needed. Chun adapted and played technique against technique.

They went back and forth, thrust, parry, slash, block. For at least two minutes Montague kept up the pressure.

“Stop,” Perabo said. “As brilliant as Daral is, you are clearly better. Take the restraints off and show us.”

Chun lunged and drew a neat line on Montague’s neck, then backed up and reset. He touched the young old man’s chest over his heart, then reset and scored on the liver. He reset, got behind his host and hamstrung him. Montague shook his head.

“I cannot keep up.”

“You have great strength,” Perabo said, “and brilliant technique. According to the witness I spoke to, you faced Janson without a hint of nerves. Why are you afraid to face Heyerdahl?”

“He is stronger than I am,” Chun said. “Faster. More resilient. I think he is probably young, so I should have an edge in training, but if that is true the decisive element will be luck. A wise man always assumes luck will go against him in battle.”

Montague studied his hands. “He’s a master with modern weapons. He killed half of my assault force in the opening seconds of the fight. If we fight with guns, he will win. It makes sense to me that you have a lot of experience with blades, and he doesn’t.”

Chun shook his head. “I do not know if I can defeat him in a duel. We would be wise to seek aid. Can the bureau send anyone?”

Halloway nodded. “I would expect they can, but probably not many. I’ll call the office as soon as we get back to our rooms.”

“Whatever plan you think is best, we will back you,” Montague said. “Everything I have is at your disposal.”