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"Ah! my dear, I shall never console myself!"
"It is nothing," the Dzurlord replied, carelessly brushing her hand against her leg, causing the amber-like drop of spilled wine to seep into her trousers (which were of the finest black velvet and made in the courtier style that was the height of elegance that year, for apparent reasons.) "Only I had not thought it in your nature to be clumsy, Pel; I have never seen you spill a drop before, I give you my word."
"I know what you are about to say: that I have lost any grace of movement I may have once possessed; that I am growing old. Alas, it is but too true. Two days ago - "
It can scarcely be doubted that the history which the Duke was about to unfold was an edifying one, which it would be a pleasure to lay before the reader; but we are unable to do so, for at that moment he was interrupted by a loud peal of laughter from his friend.
"Bah! You are afraid that the women will no longer sigh after you, that is all!"
Pel blushed, in a way that he knew became him well, and lowered his fine eyelashes in a show of embarrassment. "Ah, you know me so well, my friend, that it would be useless to deny it. You perceive that a woman is laughing at me this very moment."
Tazendra's mirth grew louder still when she saw the flush on his face. After a full minute she mastered herself, saying, "But do not trouble yourself on that account, my dear; your skin is as white and your hair as dark as they ever were; and, had I not made that imprudent gesture with my hand a moment ago, I believe you never would have spilled even that single drop. The fulfilment of your ambition has not cost you the least part of your prettiness."
"You are becoming a courtier, Tazendra," said Pel, deepening in color by two or three shades at her last remark, but skillfully distracting her attention by re-filling her glass; which action he performed, we should say, as smoothly as Lady Teldra herself. "But what of your own ambition? As for your beauty, I assure you that it is greater even than in our youth, and I am certain that no Count or Duke can resist it, any more than they can resist your sword."
The worthy Dzurlord flushed in her turn, and began to show a sudden interest in the toe of her right boot, which she had hitherto ignored. "Oh, as to that..."
"Did I not see you fighting with that Dzur, whose name I forget, only last night? And did I not see him speaking with you for some time after that?"
"Ah, the Count of Treetop. Yes, I passed my steel straight through his heart, and he paid me a thousand compliments."
"How, while he was dead?"
"Oh, no, you perceive I revivified him afterwards. The Lord Morrolan would have been displeased with me, had I not."
"The Count was right to compliment you, and I do so as well; I had not known it was possible to bring someone back to life."
"Bah, it is easy. I learned it from Sethra."
Pel looked at Tazendra, but her countenance showed no signs of awareness that what she had just said was in any way remarkable.
"It was not the first time I had the occasion to do it, either," she continued, "nor was he the first gentleman I have killed, and who has then paid me his compliments; which is always a pleasant way to begin a conversation. The Lord Morrolan himself -"
"You killed the Lord Morrolan?" Pel exclaimed. Tazendra looked at him, seeming as astonished as he.
"No, I did not. Do you think I ought to do so? I should like to converse with him; he is both a gentleman and a skilled fighter, as you know."
"I should think it best that you didn't, Tazendra. He might think it a discourtesy, as might that strange blade of his."
The Duke shook his head slightly, and reflected that his friend's ability to surprise him could be very surprising indeed.
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Morrolan had spent the morning in his rooms, engrossed in a thick book on magic of the most obscure and esoteric kind, and was concentrating on a passage of particular difficulty (for it is of the utmost importance to read such passages with great care, lest the practitioner of magic end up as Lord Tepper, who was struck by lightning after pronouncing a spell wrongly), when an enchantment he had placed on the door let him know, by emitting a small squeaking sound, that someone was entering. Turning, he discovered this person to be the Baroness of Daavya, or, as we better know her, Tazendra Lavode.
"My lord," said she, bowing in the flourishing manner so often seen in those of the House of the Dzur.
"My lady," Morrolan replied, returning her courtesy. "I am pleased to see you; in fact, I was about to go in search of you, for I have encountered a passage in this book that I do not quite comprehend. Perhaps you would care to explain it to me?"
"I would be honored to do so, my lord; but, however much I enjoy discussing magic with you, that is not my errand today."
"What is it, then?"
"My lord, I have come to ask you if you would do me another honor, namely that of fighting with me." The worthy Tazendra accompanied these words with a toss of her long black hair, and with her most winning smile.
"How, you wish to fight?"
She bowed once more. "That is exactly it."
Morrolan frowned. "But have I, then, been so misfortunate as to have offended you?"
"I give you my word that you have not; indeed, you have been the most accommodating host imaginable. I merely wish to play at sport, and I believe you, my lord, would make an admirable adversary, more so than any who are now at the Castle. None who had seen you in action could say any different."
Morrolan bowed, that being the fourth bow that had passed between the two of them for scarcely more than a minute; as he did so he reflected that if life at court consisted mainly of bowing, it could not be the life for him. "Very well, I accept your challenge."
"Shall I explain that text you were wondering about first, my lord, or shall we begin the game at once?"
"At once, if it is nothing to you."
"Then let us find a judge."
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Seeing a commotion in one corner of Castle Black's great ballroom, Khaavren made his way through the throng of courtiers, putting on so stern an aspect that the crowds parted, if not like butter for a hot knife, at least as easily as if the knife had been cold. The floor had been cleared and a square drawn on it; and, within the square, he discovered the Count of Southmoor as well as his friend Tazendra. The latter was removing her jacket, moving in a somewhat sinuous fashion; after which she tossed her hair, drew her greatsword, and smiled in anticipation, her eyes veritably glowing. The Lord Morrolan's sword was already in his hand, and Khaavren could feel its dreadful hunger even from his position some twenty feet away; many of the onlookers were decidedly pale.
He spotted Sethra Lavode standing next to the square and guessed that she was playing the part of judge, which guess was confirmed when she loudly ordered the combatants to begin.
On hearing this, Tazendra swung her blade in a tight arc, with such force that Morrolan would no doubt have been cut in half had he not sidestepped, lithe as a cat; one might have thought that he was the Dzur and she the Dragon, Khaavren thought.
She, however, wasted no time in proving him wrong; she pressed forward, uttering cries such as to deafen the Empress (who was in her rooms, having expressed a strong wish not to be disturbed by anyone). Far from being disturbed by Morrolan's eerie blade, she seemed spurred on by it.
Morrolan, for his part, was coolly allowing Tazendra to drive him backwards, moving in a circle. Her every blow was parried, but not reciprocated for some minutes, although his expression suggested that this coolness was not due to lack of ability to penetrate her defense, and that he could barely contain his desire to do so. Then, as her blade flashed toward his neck, he slid to the right and neatly passed his black sword through her throat.
Khaavren impulsively stepped forward as his friend collapsed onto the floor with a thud, her sword dropping next to her with a series of loud clangs; but the crowd prevented him from reaching her side before the Enchantress, who knelt, waved the spectators to a silence, and placed her hands on the fallen Dzurlord's chest. By the time the brave Captain had reached them, his friend was breathing once more.
He looked at Sethra for a moment, then bowed, saying, "I thank you."
"As do I," said Tazendra, rather hoarsely. " Where is my brave opponent? For I must thank him as well; I have never died before. Perhaps I shall benefit from the experience."
Morrolan, who was standing behind her, bowed, thus bringing his head into her line of vision (to avoid confusing the reader, we hasten to add that she was still lying on the floor.) "You are an excellent adversary, my lady, and I thank you in my turn, although I fear I have quite ruined your shirt."
Tazendra stood, as steadily as a newborn foal, then stooped to lift her fallen sword and promptly fell over. She laughed. "Ah, it is useless. Will you assist me, my Lord Morrolan?"
The Dragonlord helped her to her feet, and Khaavren watched them move towards the great doorway, Tazendra still leaning on her killer, both engaged in a discussion of the duel. The last thing the Captain overheard was, "If you will help me repair to my rooms, I should be delighted to explain that problem of magic you were asking about."
"Khaavren? What happened?" a voice, which he recognized as belonging to Pel, said in his ear. He shook his head.
"My faith, I am not sure. Tazendra dueled with our host the Count; he killed her, and Sethra Lavode brought her back to life in no more than two minutes, after which the two of them - by which I mean Tazendra and Southmoor - repaired to her rooms."
Pel stared at him for a moment, then nodded to himself; which gesture caused Khaavren's eyes to widen. "Could all of this have been your doing?"
"It was certainly not my intention, dear Khaavren, although it may have been some remark I have made that was the reason it happened."
Khaavren shook his head once more. "You are truly a Yendi; you plot without even knowing it."
"Bah," said Pel. "It is she who is truly a Dzur."