Sergios flushed and shook his head vigorously. “Your pardon, my lord, but you misunderstand. If your men will return my sword or loan me a weapon, even a dagger, I shall be at your pleasure.”
“You’re at my pleasure, anyway, mainlander,” barked Pardos shortly. “As you are, you saw fit to insult me; as you are, you will fight me, by God. You get no weapons from my men!”
The expression on Sergios’ handsome face never altered. He bowed his head slightly while his quick mind assessed his chances, finding them slim, indeed. His leather gambeson might turn a glancing blow and its knee-length skirt with its scales of silver-washed steel would hopefully protect his loins and thighs. His helm, though highly decorated, was honest steel, but his armbands were but brass. Surreptitiously, he glanced about, then quickly crouched and both arms shot out, one to grasp the broken blade of Demetrios’ sword, the other to jerk the heavy cape from the loose grip of the woman by the barrel.
Rapidly, he whirled the cape tightly around his left hand and forearm. Then he assumed a knife-fighter’s stance, his knees slightly flexed, his left foot forward, his edgeless strip of steel at his right thigh.
“I told you, you young cur,” shouted Pardos, “that you were to have no weapons! Drop the blade and the cape … now!”
Sergios gave a tight smile. “I suggest that my lord see now if his deeds can give value to his words. You’ll take these poor weapons only from my corpse, you know.” Then his smile became mocking. “Or does my lord fear to face an armed man, eh? Take time for a cup of strong wine, my lord. Some say that it imparts courage….”
No serpent ever struck as quickly as did Pardos. Sergios managed to deflect most of the slash with his improvised shield and the flimsy armlet beneath it. Even so, the pirate’s blade drew blood. But even as he took the wound, Sergios rushed inside Pardos’ guard and the lights glinted on the blur of silvered-steel with which he lunged at the bare chest before him.
At the last split second, Pardos leaped backward and parried the thrust, meaning to beat Sergios’ blade upward. But the first contact of sword to the inferior steel shattered poor Sergios’ inadequate armament like glass.
Stamping and roaring, Pardos swung at the angle of Sergios’ neck and shoulder. The younger man’s duck saved his life. The sword struck the helmet, instead, denting the thick steel and sending it spinning through the air. The force of the blow hurled Sergios to the ground. Pardos hacked at his downed opponent again and again, but Sergios rolled from beneath the blows. Finally, he regained his footing and shrewdly kicked Pardos’ right wrist—already somewhat weakened by the repeated impacts of sword on stone. The pirate sword went clattering down the length of the courtyard.
“Now, my lord,” Sergios said, grinning, wiping the back of his right hand across his brow, trying to keep the blood from his split scalp out of his eyes, “we two are a bit closer to evenly matched.”
Pardos drew his dagger and slowly advanced. Sergios tried to bring up his left arm, but it hung limp and dripping; the slashed cape was now wet and heavy. With a snarl, Pardos leaped onto the weakened man and, even as they crashed to the tiles, he secured Sergios’ right wrist. Then he pressed the needle point of his dagger into the younger man’s throat. Blood welled up around the bluish steel.
But he stayed his hand, saying, ”You never had the ghost of a chance, Lord Admiral Sergios, and I think you knew it, yet you fought … and fought damned well. If you’ll but admit that you lied in naming me dog, then plead for your life—I’ll spare you.”
As much as the hard-pressed steel would allow it, Sergios shook his bloody head. “Thank you, my lord, but I must refuse. Men of my House do not lie, nor do they beg.”
“Nononono!” shrieked Demetrios, palms flat on his ashen cheeks. “He … he really means it, Sergios! He’ll kill you . . . and then, probably, me, tool I … I command you, tell him you lied, beg him for our life!”