Chapter 32
Chun felt Heyerdahl’s presence long before they reached the meeting. He clenched his jaw and checked the dagger in his boot.
He seeks a duel, so he will not simply attack you. Courage.
The servant led them to a room in the front of the house, as close as possible to the front door, but still inside enough to satisfy a claim of hospitality. It was large, but sparsely furnished with a pair of seats near a fireplace at one end. The rest of the space had busts on pedestals, and paintings on walls.
Montague stood by the fireplace, and at the far door Heyerdahl towered over Archibald. The nephilim was an inch or two shy of eight feet, and heavily muscled. Archibald had a fevered gleam in his eyes. Chun felt Archibald’s warped power shortly before entering the room. Peter Mont Clair and Rayle Janson stood between the two parties.
He made a bargain with a devil, and now he has power of some kind.
Chun spun out a thread of breath toward Archibald, and his eyes tracked to it immediately. Chun withdrew the thread.
He can see what I do. How much does he understand?
“Ah, Mr. Chun,” Mont Clair said. “Mr. Montague has named you, his primary. Do you accept?”
“Of course,” Chun said.
Heyerdahl’s lip twitched toward a smile. Archibald clenched his fists.
“Mr. Heyerdahl intends to represent himself. Mr. Archibald will be his second. Mr. Chun, name your second,” Mont Clair said.
“Annabeth Toy,” Chun said.
Heyerdahl’s head canted to the left, and one of his eyebrows went up. Archibald’s lips smiled, but his eyes did not. Montague took a half-step toward Chun, raised his hand, then lowered it.
“Are you certain, Mr. Chun? Women do not often duel.” Mont Clair’s voice was weighed down with elitism.
They do not understand why I chose her. Archibald’s command of his power has large gaps. Excellent.
Chun nodded. “I am certain.”
“Equipment is a sword, a short sword, and leather armor,” Mont Clair said. “The location is Turuk Hollow. The time is ten tomorrow morning. Are there any conditions you wish to amend, Mr. Montague?”
Montague looked at Chun.
“Would you accept a delay?” Chun frowned.
“How long?” Montague seemed confused by the request.
“How long will Mr. Heyerdahl live?” Chun chuckled.
Heyerdahl sneered. “I will accept no delay.”
“Are there limitations on blades?”
“Bring what you need, little man,” Heyerdahl said.
“Very well,” Mont Clair said. “Combat will take place at ten tomorrow morning at Turuk Hollow. I will referee the contest. Mr. Janson will be my second. The weapons are swords, short swords, and whatever knives the contestants feel they need. Mr. Heyerdahl will represent himself, and Mr. Archibald will be his second. Mr. Chun fights for Mr. Montague, and Miss Toy will be his second.”
“Done,” said Montague.
“Done,” said Heyerdahl.
* * *
They returned to the practice yard. Chun insisted on a break for a snack and water.
“How do I prepare?” Annabeth seemed nervous for the first time since Chun met her.
“Ask Montague to show you the armory. Select a sword and a short sword that feel good to you. I will provide you with knives.”
“Why do you need to provide the knives?” Annabeth cocked her head to the side.
Chun stared at his hands for a moment. “I don’t need to provide them. This culture is a slave to metal. Heyerdahl will come with high quality steel weapons. Archibald has real power. He will fight with his power, and with steel. If they bring weapons that are also tahlis, then we do the best we can to figure out what the investments do. If it is just plain steel, I may be able to cheat. Archibald may also be able to cheat. If you lose your primary weapons, you should have some sort of backup. Something made from wood, bone, or rock.”
Annabeth frowned. “What does cheat mean in this instance?”
“There are disarming techniques that I may be able to use. If they have sufficient training, then they will have counters ready. My hope is that they will be unprepared.”
“What about me? What do I need to do to be prepared?”
“Select a good set of weapons, make certain they are sharp, and bring them to me. Your blood will protect you from Archibald’s skills, but it may not protect your equipment and weapons. You need me for that.”
Annabeth went to find Montague. Chun drew his sword, spun out a thread of breath, and the ancient blade pulled at his grip.
He had seen the emperor train with it a handful of times, but this was the first time he had tested its investment. The investments in the scabbard and the blade were stable--not surprising for something this well made. At the base of the blade an artisan had engraved two characters, the falcon, and the wing.
It only took a few minutes to work out the basics. The sword pulled away from the thread of breath. If he wanted it to pull forward, he ran the thread straight up the pommel. If he wanted it to pull to the left, he curved the thread, so it pierced the pommel on the right.
Montague returned with Annabeth. She had a longsword, and a long, curved knife that ended in a squared off point. Chun checked her selections and nodded. They seemed entirely reasonable. He spent a few minutes placing a weak investment on the sword and repeated the process on the knife.
“What are you doing?” Annabeth crossed her arms.
“It’s easy to affect simple metals with spells. It’s hard to affect invested metals. These investments will only last a couple of days, but Archibald will have to be powerful and skillful to get around them.”
“Do they help me any other way?”
Chun shook his head. “Creating a useful investment is difficult. Every wizard has a natural form where they work best. My natural form is an orb about the size of a grapefruit. If I change the size or shape very much, then the work becomes increasingly difficult. There is no room for a grapefruit inside of a knife blade. The hilt is a bit easier, but even that is difficult. On top of those problems, steel doesn’t hold investments very well. If we wanted to create a weapon that is also a tahlis for you, we would need to start with that in mind and create it from scratch.”
He handed Annabeth’s weapons back and returned to his jian practice.
Montague cleared his throat. “I know you are under great pressure. Please tell me if I am distracting you from your training. What are you doing with the sword? It looks very much like random arm waving.”
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Chun smiled. “It’s more than that, but so far not by much. Step out here with me.”
He put the weapon in Montague’s hand, then gripped the old man’s wrist and spun out a thread of breath. The sword pulled them forward, then went up and down, back and forth.
“That is incredible,” Montague said. “Do you have to be a wizard to use it?”
“Yes. You don’t have to be particularly good, and there are nuances I have yet to grasp. I have seen the Son of Heaven wield this blade without using his hands, but for me it refuses to do anything at all unless I am touching it. For him it would move with enough force to carry him for short distances. I have seen him gain a twenty-foot rooftop that way. I am not even close to lifting myself, and with the duel coming tomorrow, I will not have time to learn more than the basics. This blade will give me a small edge in blocking, evading, and striking. I hope that will be enough.”
Montague ran his hand over the side of the blade. “Is this a name?” he asked, tracing the Hanzi with his fingers.
“Sort of,” Chun said. “It is a wish. Those are the characters for falcon and wing. This type of weapon is a flying sword, and they are rumored to be nearly impossible to make. To find this one at this moment is a miracle.”
“Perhaps,” Montague said. “It was in storage for decades. I recently moved it onto the display rack because Archibald tracked it to me and asked to buy it. I am glad I turned him down.”
“I would have found it in one of the trunks,” Chun said. “I would recognize it anywhere, so long as I got within fifty feet or so.”
Montague laughed. “Maybe it is a miracle then. It was in a warehouse in the city. I do not have enough space here to store the entire collection.”
* * *
“Why am I back to using a club for practice?” Annabeth waved the wooden weapon in disgust.
“Because that steel bar stock will damage my blade.”
She curled her lip. “That’s stupid. It’s a magic sword, made for an emperor. Shouldn’t it be unbreakable?”
Chun nodded. “I would love to have an unbreakable sword, but I do not think such a thing exists. I am confident this one will not break in tomorrow’s battle, but it will need repairs afterward. That piece of lumber will not damage it. Just take some swings. Let me get a feel for the shock.”
Annabeth took him at his word. The fence post whistled around in a powerful arc, aimed at his head. Chun blocked without powering the sword, and the shock of the hit forced him back a step.
She switched grip positions on the post from right-handed to left and spun the other direction. The post whistled through a low arc and came up at his gut. Chun powered the sword with a thread of breath and used it to stop the club. The blade bit halfway through the heavy wood, and he kept his footing.
Annabeth ripped the post backward, trying to tear the weapon out of his hands, but he compensated easily, and the sword pulled itself free with minimal effort from his muscles.
“That is enough.”
“Already?”
“We have taken enough risks today. It is best to go to the arena in good health. Eat, sleep, see to your equipment. Do not forget to check the small things. The failure of a boot or a strap can end a duel.”
The armorer helped them get their swords and knives mounted properly, adding new leather where needed, sewing, and punching new holes. An hour before sundown Chun declared his equipment ready and went to the west side of the house where he knelt and watched the sunset.
“How do you feel?” Montague asked when Chun joined the others at dinner.
“I would like to have another eight or ten years to train,” Chun said, “other than that I feel healthy, and my equipment is as good as it is going to be.”
Montague gestured to the table. “Some duelists drink only water the evening before a fight. Others eat bread and pasta. I prefer fish. Some drink alcohol, others abstain. I can offer you any of the pre-fight relaxations.”
Annabeth sat forward. “That sounds interesting.”
Chun motioned her back. “You are engaged to be married. Have a nice dinner. Do not go to battle with guilt to distract you.”
She frowned at him. “Kill joy. You’re not engaged. What would you like?”
“Rice wine, red meat, green vegetables. A good night’s sleep.”
Montague snapped his fingers and the wine and soup in front of Chun vanished. Within five minutes one of the servants put a bottle of rice wine next to him and poured into a goblet. It came out partly clear, and partly milky.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the servant said. “It must have turned. I’ll fetch another bottle.”
“Wait,” Chun said, and put a hand on his arm. “It is unfiltered. It needs to be shaken.”
“Oh.” the servant said.
Chun took the bottle, put his thumb over the top, and shook vigorously. Then he poured the milky liquid into his goblet, drew heat from around him, and left the glass warm enough to have a small column of steam wafting up. He passed it to the servant.
“Try it this way.”
“Sir?” the man asked, glancing at Montague, who nodded. He tried to smell the contents, and the fumes sent him into a coughing fit.
Chun laughed. “It is not grape wine. You must sip without inhaling.”
He sipped it, then rolled it around in his mouth. “I can see why you like it, sir.”
Chun laughed harder. “Diplomatically put, sir. Well done. My family is from the far north, and we would ship rice wine in, from the south, and save it for the winter solstice. We would go out and cut holes in the ice and swim under the ice from one hole to another, and when we were finished, we could go back in the house and sit around the fire drinking hot rice wine.”
“That is a marvelous story, sir,” the servant said, handing the goblet back. “I fear I would not have survived your childhood.”
Chun sipped. The wine was good, and the smells and flavors drew him back to a house with friends and family.
He forced himself back to the present and stood. “I am the last of my people. If I die tomorrow, we will be forgotten.”
He nodded to the others and proceeded to eat the beef and green beans they had brought him. The food was probably good, but he could not taste it through the memory of ashes and blood. When he finished he went off to bed.