Prince Thief by David Tallerman Read Free Book Online Page B

patience to exhaust itself. Suddenly Ludovoco was moving, feet dancing in quick sidesteps, blade outstretched and weaving. Alvantes drifted back behind it and then span aside, curling an offhand blow away.
    Ludovoco stepped into space and nodded, as though the exchange were a performance they’d been acting out and he acknowledged that Alvantes had kept to his part. He shifted his pose, tucking his free arm behind his back; another mockery, perhaps? Briefly, he resumed his semi-circular drift, more clearly predatory this time. Then he lashed out again.
    That altercation was over almost before it had begun. Alvantes easily tipped Ludovoco’s blade aside. The next went the same way – and the next. Between each, Ludovoco retreated; let a few moments pass by. He wasn’t trying to penetrate Alvantes’s defence, merely testing it.
    I’d have expected no less. With every advantage his, it made sense that he’d take time rather than risks. The only thing I found strange was Alvantes letting him get away with it. The fact that he was willing to defend sat badly with his lust for vengeance. Damn him, why did the man have to be so damned cryptic?
    Abruptly, Ludovoco switched hands, shifting his blade from one to the other with a casual flip, and was off again, with a whirlwind of strikes to Alvantes’s left side. Ludovoco fenced every bit as ably with his off hand, shifting constantly to keep the pressure on. Though Alvantes defended every blow, his stance was too unnatural to maintain for long. Without as much as a glove to protect his bandaged stump, his only recourse was to fight across his body.
    Finally, Ludovoco relented once more. It was clear in his face; everything Alvantes had said of him was true. He was enjoying himself, fighting to wear Alvantes down by degrees. Ludovoco’s features were still, but every so often the twitch of an eyebrow or lip would betray the tension keeping them in place. I felt sure it was only iron self-control that stopped him cackling with glee.
    Everyone’s attention was on the fight now. Even the men whose express function was to keep their crossbows trained on Alvantes’s guardsmen had let their weapons loll. I could sense my own guard, close behind my right shoulder; he’d edged forward to better view the action. The vase Alvantes had indicated was to my left – just out of reach. I edged the fraction of a step nearer, hoping against hope that my guard was too engrossed to notice.
    Luckily for me, Ludovoco chose that moment to press his attack once more. Blade high, he dashed off a rapid sequence of strikes, the tip of his blade dancing figures-of-eight towards Alvantes’s face. It was clear even to me that the fight had changed – that Ludovoco was done with toying.
    He wasn’t the only one. Alvantes twisted, side-stepped, let Ludovoco’s blade slip past his right side and smashed an elbow into Ludovoco’s shoulder. Not giving him an instant to react, Alvantes lashed out a foot for Ludovoco’s knee – and though Ludovoco recoiled in time, he still staggered. Alvantes swung for Ludovoco’s heels and then pressed close, clubbing at his opponent’s hand with his sword hilt, once and twice, so that blood splashed from his knuckles.
    This wasn’t duelling. It was the kind of brutal, dirty street-fighting that had no place in a duelling ring – but which a city guard-captain might well pick up over the years. Ludovoco was too good to be kept off his guard for long, but Alvantes had chosen his moment perfectly. They were fighting now before Alvantes’s own men, and any crossbow shot aimed at them was as likely to strike Ludovoco.
    Alvantes pressed his attack once more, abandoning any hint of style for raw, calculated violence – and making sure that wherever Ludovoco was, he made a mess of any clear shot the palace guards might risk in his defence. Alvantes’s men, meanwhile, already had their own blades out, and were pressing towards the nearest arch, with no one making any