“Lord Feleke,” Duke Desmarais addressed him. He was the lord of the manor, and as such the natural authority to preside over the duel. It still surprised David that he had been roused to act as the judge for what should be a minor grudge match.

“You have been challenged by Count William deVale to a duel of honour,” Desmarais went on, speaking to David and the audience at once. “You are accused of cheating in the race for Countess deLande’s favour. Do you accept the challenge?”

David glared at deVale. This was news to him. He was accused of what? Cheating? Why, because he could tell a lynx apart from a fox?

The crowd jeered. No wonder that they had turned out in such numbers. This was a serious accusation. And George Louis wanted him to forfeit the match? Allow deVale to call him a cheater?

No way.

“I accept the challenge.”

“Very well. Your choice of arms?” Desmarais went on.

“The sword.”

At David’s answer, deVale brandished his own blade again.

“Your second, Lord Feleke?”

George Louis stepped forward before the other duke had finished asking. “I will act as his second.”

Desmarais frowned, but nodded. “Duke Stuard,” he said, “Lord Canter.”

He waved to the noble standing at deVale’s side, who looked at his principal rather nervously. At deVale’s nod, the man stepped forward. David was fairly certain that he had never met the guy.

“Seconds, inspect the opponents weapons now.”

David somewhat reluctantly handed over his sword to Canter, who made a show of inspecting the blade, even running a white handkerchief over it. As if David might have poisoned the blade. George Louis glanced over at deVale before doing the same.

What was going on here? DeVale was an idiot, fine, but he was known as a man of honour. Did George Louis truly think the count might resort to poison to kill David? Or was he just trying to show that he took his role seriously?

Desmarais made both seconds show him the handkerchiefs.

Maybe this was just normal procedure? It hadn’t been when David competed as a young man, but maybe things had changed since then? How many people had de Clare killed?

David shook his head and focused on loosening his muscles rather than watching. By the time George Louis returned with his arms, he was ready for the fight.

“Be careful,” the duke warned him again.

David didn’t answer. Desmarais was calling them all together.

“Lord Feleke,” the older duke addressed him, “Count deVale demands a fight to the finish.”

A hush fell over the whole arena at those words.

“Because of the severity of the accusation levied, I’m minded to allow this. Provided you agree.”

“I agree.”

Desmarais nodded and looked from the David to George Louis, to the count and his second. Desmarais’s face was grave. Gone was the pretence of the amiable grandfather when he went on:

“Very well. Then a fight to the finish it is. However. This duel will settle only the matter of whether or not Lord Feleke cheated at the race for Countess deLande’s favour. The countess’s decision on the courtship remains her own. Nor will I allow further duels to avenge the death of the losing party. Your seconds are here only to ensure a fair fight. Any man starting a feud over this will be judged accordingly.”

Desmarais looked at David again, who nodded. Maybe it was a good thing that Nathan wouldn’t be fighting for a while.

But he didn’t intend to die in any case.

With the formalities finished, Duke Desmarais stepped to the side of the ring. He pulled a small piece of blood red silk out of his breast pocket and held it in his outstretched hand.

“Duellists, take your positions,” he ordered. “On my mark.”

David raised his sword to a guard position as deVale took the spot furthest from him in the pit. If nothing else, all the decorum had made David careful. He couldn’t mess this up. One-legged or not, Nathan would not let this rest if he managed to get himself killed. Greg still needed his protection.

DeVale moved forwards as soon as the duke dropped the silk. David stepped sideways. He wanted to get a measure of the count first, find out whether or not George Louis’s worry was justified.

The crowd was clearly favouring deVale – possibly because David was a stranger, or perhaps because they truly believed he had somehow cheated while hunting the lynx. David would have loved to claim that he didn’t care what they thought, but the accusation rankled quite a bit. He had hunted werewolves all his life, and these people seriously thought he needed to resort to dishonourable means to kill a bloody cat?

Sun burn him, he’d show them.

Slowly, though, careful.

DeVale came at him with a lunge and a straight thrust right out of the text-book. David parried the attack, but it proved that the count was quicker than David had expected. His footwork was quite excellent, too. David disengaged his blade and stepped back, which made deVale growl: “Come on, fight, you coward!”

When David didn’t react to his taunt, he moved in with a flurry of attacks, nearly pushing David up to the low barrier surrounding the arena. Yes, he was fast. He was also very angry, and maybe less careful than he should be.

David circled around the arena, mostly just parrying the furious attacks, with a riposte thrown in now and then just to keep the count mad. He was quite happy to let the idiot tire himself out with his fruitless attacks. When deVale’s first anger was subsiding, David smirked at him and began to exaggerate his footwork, just as he had done with George Louis while teaching his son.

DeVale had grown more careful, though. He didn’t attack with wild abandon again, only growled: “Is this a joke to you, Lord Feleke?”

“It’s quite amusing, yes,” David lied. DeVale was sweating already. “You have never fought to the finish before, have you?”

“I’m not a killer!”

“I’ll take it as a compliment then, that I managed to make you so mad you abandoned that credo.”

“You cheated –“

David lunged. The idiot parried, but it had been a feint anyway. David disengaged the bind and attacked again. The count just barely managed to stumble out of his range.

David calmly put a few feet of distance between them and began to circle the pit again.

“You do realize that I have been hunting all my life, don’t you?” he asked. “Did you truly think I’d have to cheat to kill a lynx, or are you just not man enough to accept Countess deLande’s decision with grace?”

DeVale threw himself forward with a scream of rage so far and fast that David didn’t quite manage to evade his blade all the way. Luckily, it was just a graze, but still, hot, sharp pain shot up and down his right arm. DeVale looked a little surprised at his own success – his hesitation lasted less than a second, but it was enough for David to land a counter-attack against the count’s extended leg, causing a deep injury to the thigh just above the knee. DeVale stumbled when he moved away and nearly fell.

David wanted to use his opponent’s disturbed balance to press in, but Desmarais already called an interruption. Lord Carter must have asked for it. David cursed inwardly as he retreated to his side of the ring, gently touching his own arm. Just a graze, luckily. Up on the ranks, people were murmuring to themselves.

“Let me see,” George Louis demanded as soon as David reached him. At the sight of the blood, the duke cursed.

“It’s just a graze.”

“It’s not just a graze and it’s your sword-arm!”

“So?”

“So you’re going to fight with your left hand?”

David rolled his eyes. “It’s not that bad.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t fight like this!”

“I can. I have before,” David grumbled. “Put a bandage on it if you have to. I’m not forfeiting this challenge for a graze.”

George Louis very, very gently touched the injury again. David impatiently rolled his shoulders to show that the cut didn’t bother him. The duke still studied his face for a moment before he gave in with a huff and started to wrap a piece of clean linen tightly around the arm.

Lord Carter had already finished wrapping up deVale’s leg.

“You’re sure you can fight like this?” George Louis asked again. “Hells take me, if you die for this stupid challenge...”

“If I die for this stupid challenge, you get to do with the werewolves as you please,” David growled. “Trust me, that’s incentive enough.”

His arm did hurt. It hurt a lot, actually. But he had fought while in pain before. And he was certain that deVale’s injury was just a bad. Probably worse. Had the count ever fought on after he had been struck?

David pulled out his sword and swung it around carefully.

“Don’t tell me that doesn’t hurt.”

David didn’t answer. Instead, he gave the fencer’s greeting towards Desmarais to let him know that he was able to continue. The crowd grew louder as he took his place in the ring. DeVale was limping back, too.

A moment later, Desmarais called: “Fighters, take your places! Ready?”

David and deVale both gave the sign that they were.

“Fight!”

This time when the command came, the count moved only a small step sideways, his sword at a high guard, watching David more warily. David smiled grimly. DeVale had proven a better duellist than expected, David had to give him that, but he clearly wasn’t used to fighting trough the pain of an injury. His face was already pale and drawn and he strongly favoured his injured leg, upsetting his own balance.

Time to make good of this advantage.

David closed the distance smoothly and attacked with a thrust from above. When deVale parried, he pulled out, stepped away and aside, to attack from a different angle. He forced another parry before once again changing his position. He kept moving around to compel the count to keep turning with him or present his unguarded back.

The bandage on deVale’s leg quickly soaked through. David felt the blood run down his own arm, but it hadn’t reached his gloves yet and didn’t mess with his grip, so he didn’t worry about it.

DeVale wasn’t entirely stupid, unfortunately. He aimed to bind David’s blade as much as possible, and every time he did, leaned into the steel. They traded a few more blows, both landing minor cuts – the crowd cheered the count when he the tip of his blade connected with David’s face, slicing open his cheek. Blood welled up right away, flowing down to David’s chin. The count even backed off, as if he expected another interruption.

David didn’t even blink, though, pressing the attack instead. He could see deVale’s eyes widen. Maybe it finally dawned on him that he might have made the wrong enemy. David didn’t give him time to dwell on that mistake. He landed three more hits on his opponent’s arms and legs in quick succession – none of them life-threatening, but it clearly rattled deVale that David kept getting past his guard. He was getting more careless, his hits more desperate and less precise.

He didn’t surrender, though, which was a bit of a problem. David didn’t really want to kill the idiot. But he was getting tired, too. His injured arm hurt like hell. The longer this stupid challenge lasted, the higher the risk that he slipped up and the other man got in a lucky thrust between his ribs.

DeVale’s supporters in the crowd had gone mostly silent. The more experienced watchers could probably see the choice the count was forcing on David.

Even when the deVale landed a wild hit, there was only soft applause.

David retreated across the ring, cursing at himself inwardly. The other man had only been able to land that because he himself had hesitated to run his sword through the idiot’s throat.

“Give it up,” David called.

“Never!”

The count threw himself across the pit. David sighed softly and sidestepped the charge. The idiot just barely managed to slow before he presented his back to David.

Well, at least anyone could see that he had tried to follow the duke’s orders.

DeVale had clearly reached the end of his strength as well as his reason. He came at David again in what resembled a stumble more than a lunge. David gave up on trying not to hurt the idiot too badly. He parried easily and then followed through with a direct thrust that went in between two ribs, running the count right through. He did hope he hadn’t killed him – the injury should be far enough to the side that the steel had probably missed the heart but it might have punctured the lung.

The bastard had the gall to look surprised when David pulled his blade out of his body, sending him stumbling backwards. Lord Carter was there to catch him when he collapsed.

“Healer!” the second yelled, even though at least one man was already hurrying over, “healer!”

David ran a sleeve over his forehead to stop the sweat from running into his eyes, glancing along the ranks. More than one lady was clutching dramatically at her chest, but David wasn’t worried about them. He was wondering if one of his supporters liked deVale enough to start another fight.

But nobody moved, besides the healers and Duke Desmarais, who walked over to inquire as to deVale’s state. He straightened after a moment and declared:

“Count deVale cannot continue. Lord Feleke stands victorious. Let it be known that all charges of cheating against him are void!”