The Fencing Master

by Dave Gross

Chapter One: The First Duel

Several onlookers cursed the driver as he forced the Red Carriage into their midst, but the crowd parted. My footman opened the door, and I stepped out.

The common folk lowered their heads. They muttered "My lord" with varying degrees of resentment. Fortunately, none required the intercession of my footman, whose slight frame and timid demeanor made him a poor substitute for my recently deceased bodyguard.

I moved forward for a better view of the duel.

Within the crowd stood a circle of eight swordsmen, all but one pressing kerchiefs to fresh wounds. The uninjured man appeared three decades older than the others, a swatch of gray at either brow. The fencing master was of a height with me, placing him a few inches above the younger men. Unlike his curious pupils, he did not turn at my arrival. His gaze was locked upon the duelists inside the ring.

One was a Varisian, native to the region, the other Chelaxian, like my mother. Neither had yet seen twenty years.

A week's stubble obscured a fresh snake tattoo wreathing the Varisian's head. Its design marked him as Sczarni, one of his people's criminal class. He glanced at me, and the tip of his small sword drooped. The trident dagger in his other hand wavered.

His opponent beat his blade out of line, lunged, and pricked the man's scalp before he could retreat. The wound left a red tear beneath the serpent's eye.

The Sczarni retreated, hissing as he restored his guard.

"Yield?" The young Chelaxian smiled with such insolence that only a craven could accept. He raised his chin, whipping his bravo's topknot like a flag.

The Sczarni danced to the left, circling in the fashion of a knife-fighter. The flashy maneuver had several weaknesses, I noted, not the least of which was that the quick steps made him vulnerable to a sudden rush.

The Chelaxian also saw the error.

With startling swiftness, he advanced and feinted a lunge. Caught mid-step, the Varisian faltered, but a wild parry saved him from the true attack. Before he could close his dagger to capture his opponent's blade, the Chelaxian had already sidestepped to attack the Sczarni's exposed right. The Sczarni tumbled across the cobblestones. He rolled and came up on both feet, gasping at a wound where had rolled over his own trident dagger.

"Is that two for me or one touch for both of us?" The Chelaxian laughed. "I can never keep track of your Sczarni rules."

Anger twisted the Sczarni's features. He assumed a knifeman's stance, presenting his chest to the foe, bringing his dagger hand forward. It was the worst possible posture for a sword duel, especially when facing an opponent with greater reach.

The Chelaxian knew it, but he also saw murder in the Sczarni's eyes. His mirth vanished as he assumed the classic guard position. From that instant, the outcome was obvious even to the untrained eye.

"Enough," said the fencing master. He raised a hand to indicate the victor.

As the Chelaxian turned to salute his fencing master, the Sczarni began to do the same. Then the trembling of his lips spread rage across his face. He lunged.

The Chelaxian reacted before I could shout a warning, but his master moved first. In a single swift motion he drew his blade and leaped. The point of his rapier pierced the Sczarni's wrist and thrust his attack out of line. An instant later, the Chelaxian struck the sword out of his weakened grip. Before the Sczarni could raise his trident dagger, the master struck it from his hand and slapped his face.

"Leave us," said the master.

"But master—" Tears glistened in the Sczarni's eyes.

Before the offending student could utter his protest, the instructor raised his left hand, palm outward, fingers to the right, hiding the Sczarni's face from his view.

The Sczarni paled at the gesture. Like the sign of the evil eye, it was as familiar to the Chelish citizens of Korvosa as it was to all Varisian people. Such a banishment was as irrefutable as it was irrevocable.

Leaving his weapons on the street, the defeated student turned away. At first he walked with slow pride, but as his shame consumed him, his pace quickened until he ran through the crowd, shoving aside those who moved too slowly.

The Chelaxian student's gaze sank to the street, his posture of triumph dissolving into an embarrassed slump. I recalculated my estimation of his age. He had yet to fill out his adult weight, and whiskers had not yet darkened his cheeks. While he carried himself like a man during a duel, he was perhaps closer to fifteen than twenty. He turned toward his master, but the man ignored him and approached me.

"Your Excellency, I beg you to pardon us for this disgraceful display." He bowed with the Korvosan flourish in vogue when we had first met, twenty years earlier.

I returned the courtesy, despite the disparity of our ranks. "No fault of yours, Master Raneiro. Not all students are worthy of their teachers."

"No," he agreed, with a glance at the victorious bravo. "This one's own father cast him out of his fencing school. He has some talent, but he cannot still his tongue."

The younger man had enough shame to blush, but he covered it with a deep bow toward me. "Your Excellency."

"You quarreled with your father?"

When the young man hesitated to answer, Master Raneiro said, "A political disagreement."

Thinking of the father I had never met and the mother I had lost far too soon, I fixed my eye upon the boy. "You should make peace with your father. One day your quarrels will weigh lightly against his absence."

He frowned, but before he answered, Raneiro caught his eye. Whatever else had been upon his tongue, what he said was, "Yes, Your Excellency." Despite the bravado he showed his opponent, he knew his place before a lord of Cheliax.

For his deference, I decided to reward him with an anecdote. "When I first studied under Master Raneiro, there was another student who quarreled with—"

An eagle's screech scattered the crowd. The buffeting wind from a pair of enormous wings lifted the awning of a nearby shop. A shadow passed over us an instant before the hippogriff landed upon the nearest roof. The impact startled a trio of imps out of the chimney. They trailed a few hectic circles of yellow smoke before correcting course and fleeing back toward the Acadamae.

The hippogriff's wings beat to steady its talons on the slope. Dislodged tiles slid off the eaves and shattered on the street. Despite the tumult, a practiced rider sat easily in the winged mount's saddle. He favored me with a jaunty salute. "Count Jeggare!"

"Captain Ornelos, have you been reduced to patrolling the streets of Korvosa?"

Laughing, the captain guided his mount to drop off of the roof. "Only at the behest of Lady Seraphina," he laughed. "After the unfortunate incident with your bodyguard—what was his name? Rad— Ru—?"

"Rudolfo."

"That's it. Poor fellow just couldn't hold his wine. Pity he chose the wrong wine house. Anyway, Lady Seraphina commanded me to ensure your safe arrival at tonight's ceremony."

"Commanded you?" A captain of the Sable Company answered only to his commandant, and the commandant only to the Seneschal of Castle Korvosa. Not even Queen Domina could interject herself into the chain of command.

"Commands me, most surely," said Ornelos. "In the manner of all beautiful women."

Beside me, where he had no right to stand, the young bravo chuckled. "It's a truth universally recognized that a beautiful woman commands all men."

Ornelos smiled upon the man, but the interjection annoyed me. There was no sign of nobility in the bravo's clothing. His speech was fair enough, but it could not conceal his common origins. A man of his station had no right to intrude upon an exchange between a captain of the Sable Company and a count of Cheliax.

To Ornelos I replied, "Please reassure Lady Seraphina that I have visited this district both to pay my respects to my old fencing master and to employ a new bodyguard."

The bravo cocked his head, considering the implications. In truth, despite my initially favorable impression of his swordplay, my hopes of finding a suitable man had sunk since he spoke out of turn.

Vencarlo has the worst kind of arrogance—the kind backed up with real skill.

Reading my expression, Ornelos said, "I could recommend a dozen better candidates. Former Sable men, handy with a sword."

Before I could reply, the bravo spoke. "I beg you to send them here," he said. "I have damaged all my fellows and could use fresh sport."

Ornelos scoffed. "My men don't brawl with street ruffians."

The bravo grinned at the implied challenge, but before he could speak, Master Raneiro stepped toward Captain Ornelos. "Do you suggest that I train brawlers, sir?"

Doubt clouded Orenlos's face as he recognized Raneiro's tone. The fencing master was a proud man. He had trained a generation of the city's finest duelists, albeit in the streets rather than in a school. While it might prove instructional for all present to see him duel Captain Ornelos, such an altercation would ultimately harm both men.

"Master Raneiro, please disregard my friend Fedele's unfortunate choice of words."

Raneiro glanced at me, noting my own careful phrasing. He could not challenge a friend of mine without offering offense to me. I harbored no illusion that he feared either my station or my skill at the blade. I set my hope for peace upon our friendship.

For an airless moment, neither man spoke. Captain Fedele Ornelos shifted atop his hippogriff, his legs uncomfortable at rest in the aerial saddle. I raised my eyebrow to prompt him.

"Yes, yes, of course I meant no offense to the estimable fencing master." He hesitated, and for a moment I feared his pride would outweigh his diplomacy. "Please forgive me, Master Raneiro."

With a nod, Raneiro accepted the apology.

With the silent invisibility of superb servants, my footman had erected a small folding table. Upon it rested an opened bottle from one of my western estates, along with two goblets. Anticipating my unspoken desire, the footman produced a third vessel by the prestidigitation unique to his class. When he felt my approving eyes upon him, he almost succeeded in concealing his hope. He knew he could not rise to the position of butler in my household, where I employed only halflings, but he also knew that the butlers of four noble houses had been hired upon my recommendation.

At my nod, the footman poured the wine. It was a deep purple vintage Raneiro favored, a blend of several grapes and, frankly, not one of my finest. Yet he so enjoyed this particular wine that I paid the proprietors of several Korvosan wine houses to keep it in stock for the master's exclusive consumption, always free of charge. No matter the street or plaza on which the wandering master found himself teaching, he would find a drink at the end of the day.

Ornelos disengaged himself from his hippogriff's saddle and joined us. I raised my cup and uttered Korvosa's motto: "Fidelity and strength."

As we three drank the toast, the bravo lingered, eyeing the rapier at my side. He noted the calluses on my hand and studied my posture. He recognized a fellow duelist, and in the furrow of his brow I saw his questions.

"I need a man to watch my back, to mingle with the other servants and report their gossip. And, if it comes to it, a man who can hold his own in a fight."

"But you can fight," said the bravo. It was not quite a question. "Even with its jeweled guard, that blade is no mere ornament."

"Would you care for a demonstration?" I turned to Raneiro. "With your permission, Master?"

"By all means, Excellency." He stepped back, signaling his other students to re-form the dueling circle. In seconds, the onlookers returned in even greater numbers than before.

The bravo hesitated. "Do I have Your Excellency's word that I shall not be arrested for wounding you?"

"We shall not fence to first blood." I showed my footman the sign. He had prepared this demonstration before.

Removing my sword belt, I drew the blade and handed the scabbard to Ornelos.

"You can't seriously mean to fence in the street with this..." With a glance at Master Raneiro, Ornelos he chose his next word with care. "...youth."

"If not to first blood..." The bravo trailed off as the footman handed him a goblet full to the brim.

Accepting my own goblet from the footman, I assumed a guard stance. "The first to spill a drop must concede defeat. If you prevail, I shall give you this blade. And if I triumph, you must serve as my bodyguard for the next three days."

The bravo's smile widened as he found a balance between sheltering the goblet and holding his guard. "An excellent test. I accept!"

"Before we begin, tell me your name."

"Of course, Your Excellency." He cradled the goblet in two fingers as he bowed. "Vencarlo Orisini, at your service."

Coming Next Week: Mystery and danger in old Korvosa in Chapter Two of "The Fencing Master" by Dave Gross!

Dave Gross's adventures of Count Jeggare (often also featuring his hellspawn bodyguard Radovan) include the Pathfinder Tales novels Prince of Wolves, Master of Devils, Queen of Thorns, and King of Chaos; the novellas "Husks" and "Hell's Pawns"; and the short stories "A Lesson in Taxonomy," "A Passage to Absalom," "Killing Time," and "The Lost Pathfinder," all available at paizo.com/pathfindertales. He also co-wrote the Pathfinder Tales novel Winter Witch with Elaine Cunningham, and has written novels for the Forgotten Realms and Iron Kingdoms, as well as short stories for such anthologies as Tales of the Far West and Shotguns v. Cthulhu. Dave is the former editor of magazines ranging from Dragon to Star Wars Insider to Amazing Stories, and was a writer for Baldur's Gate: Enhanced Edition. For more information, visit bydavegross.com.

Illustration by Ian Llanas

The Fencing Master

by Dave Gross

Chapter Two: The First Trap

"We are most grateful, Count Jeggare." In the reflected light of the glass cases, Queen Domina smiled down at me from the dais. Its position in the grand foyer leant her the aspect of an ancient caryatid guarding a collection of rare Azlanti jewels. "The first of the saplings you have brought us shall be planted here, outside the Jeggare Museum."

A Chelaxian by birth and breeding, Domina had come to Korvosa to rule. Her earliest proclamations had halved both the city's bureaucracy and its coffers. As part of her civic improvement efforts, she had reversed the ban on trees planted within the city walls—the result of a predecessor's shortsighted reaction to the destruction wrought by windstorms over a century earlier.

Beside Domina stood her adult son, Eodred. He had made some effort to pay attention to the honor Her Majesty bestowed upon me, but his gaze kept slipping back to our audience, particularly the young women.

For that I could hardly fault him. To garnish their beauty, the ladies of Korvosa had adorned themselves with exotic flowers instead of gems and gold. Among them, only the queen wore jewels. I inferred from her curious glances that she had not expected the change in fashion.

The queen offered a few more words of gratitude for my gift of two hundred saplings and a thousand seeds obtained from lands as distant as the Mwangi Expanse, Vudra, and Arcadia. Her duty discharged, Domina took her son's arm and departed, accompanied by the royal guard.

The Korvosan nobles rose in her wake, casting discreet glances at each other and at me. In the queen's absence, I became the center of attention.

Across the room, Fedele Ornelos caught my eye. He cut a splendid figure in his dress armor, black and red leather trimmed in silver. With a conspirator's wink, he drifted away from the crowd to join the soldiers who waited with their hippogriffs outside the museum. There they would take flight in the most conspicuous manner possible.

Restraining a smile at my knowledge of his mission, I turned to see Vencarlo Orisini fixing an inquisitive gaze upon me. He stood against the wall, where the other servants strove to make themselves invisible while awaiting a signal from their masters. Vencarlo had noticed my wordless exchange with the Sable Company captain.

Like a younger Fedele Ornelos, Vencarlo also appeared dashing in his new attire, acquired after our duel that morning. He took a step forward, but I shook my head. It was not his place to address me among my peers. He frowned in disappointment and began to step back when a woman crossed the floor between us.

Seraphina is difficult to impress

At rest, Seraphina Leroung was not the most beautiful woman in Korvosa, but in motion she was the epitome of grace. Men had fallen in love after seeing her walk only a few steps, and the current flattery was that none dare watch her dance for fear that they would take their own lives afterward in despair.

She wore a garland of panther lilies around her neck, with a bloom secured behind one delicate ear. The dusky flowers were subtler than those worn by the other ladies, but they were by far the rarest.

One flaw marred Seraphina's face: a neat scar directly beneath her left eye. Rumor abounded as to the cause of the injury, but I suspected it was a fencing scar.

Seraphina smiled at me. If I went to her, the eye of the city would follow—and perhaps that was her purpose, to supplant me as the object of attention. I preferred she come to me.

Before either of us yielded to the other, Vencarlo leaped forward and performed a sweeping bow before Seraphina. He reached for her right hand, but she withdrew it. He spoke quickly, and her lips parted in surprise. Whatever he said caused her to reconsider. She allowed him to kiss her left hand.

Furious, I moved toward him, prepared to discharge him on the spot, but another guest intercepted me.

"My most estimable Count Jeggare!"

Gaspare Orkatto approached with a nervous wave of his fingers beside his cheek. Lowering his voice, he concluded his conversation with the man at his side, oblivious to the fact that my half-elven hearing perceived every word.

"So you can see my concern. No matter how often I increase the rent, they somehow manage to pay. It can only be with the help of that scoundrel!"

Orkatto was a minor lord, one of the newly elevated merchants who had made himself valuable to the crown by dint of his ability to create wealth. Of late he used that wealth to acquire properties all over the city, with no discrimination as to the quality of the district. When last we had met, he tested my patience with complaints about the municipal red tape preventing him from buying whole neighborhoods in South Shore. So long as the tenants continued to pay their rent, he could not take their houses from them.

I nodded to acknowledge him. He beamed as if I'd bestowed a great compliment.

"Your Excellency, allow me to introduce Piero Cucuteni. My lord Cucuteni has a keen interest in the matter you and I discussed so recent—"

"I want that damned villain caught and punished, by Asmodeus!" snapped Cucuteni. He turned to look over his shoulder, gazing across the room to where a hard-faced woman crowned in yellow roses peered into the jewelry display. As if feeling his eyes upon her, she looked up and cast a basilisk's stare back at him. Even I felt the hair on my neck rise at her reptilian disapproval. Cucuteni gulped. "She won't let me rest until I replace her jewelry—every piece!"

Piero Cucuteni and I required no introduction. We had met at previous social affairs, where I found his conversation limited to complaints about taxation and the "wretched" Shoanti and Varisians.

"That's what I was telling you, my lord," said Orkatto. His obsequious tone would do little to ingratiate him to the older families. "Count Jeggare is well known in Cheliax for his ability to aid... our sort of people."

Cucuteni rose to his full if modest height. He had to tilt his head to look down his nose at the upstart Orkatto. Old money never loves the new.

"Very well," said Cucuteni. "Nothing else has stopped this rash of burglaries. Perhaps Count Jeggare can do the trick."

With an effort to appear interested in their exchange, I could not help but look back at Seraphina. Vencarlo stood indecently close to her, smiling as he spoke into her ear. Whatever he said caused her to cover a giggle.

I left a note in my Memory Library to never again hire such a womanizer.

Before I realized it, I was striding toward them. "Stop disturbing the lady, Vencarlo. You are here as my bodyguard, not a jester."

"But Your Excellency, I was simply ensuring the lady posed no threat to you."

My hot blood turned cold with true fury.

"Your man is quite amusing," Lady Seraphina said before I could speak. "This Vencarlo is a marked improvement on that brute you had before. Do let him stay."

Vencarlo offered me a conciliatory shrug and smiled. "A beautiful woman commands all men. Is it not so, Excellency?"

I stepped between him and the lady to shelter her from his coarse behavior. Recalling a previous visit to her father's estate and its extensive gardens, I ventured a guess. "Am I correct to surmise that you are the one responsible for the floral décor, Lady Seraphina?"

"My secret is discovered!" she said. "It seemed a pity to inflict the envy of those who have fallen victim to this villain Blackjack on those who haven't."

"You are the soul of diplomacy, my lady."

"And you are a flatterer," she said. "Although not quite as vivid in your compliments as your man has been."

During our exchange, Vencarlo's demeanor transformed. His back grew as stiff as Cucuteni's. "Blackjack is no villain, Lady Seraphina."

"Do you suggest he is not the perpetrator of the burglaries?"

"On the contrary," Vencarlo replied. "Who else could perform such daring acts? Who else could elude the Sable Company and make fools of the Korvosan Guard? But only the wealthy call him a villain. To the common people of Korvosa, he is a great hero."

"To the common people?" cried Lord Cucuteni, who along with Orkatto had followed me across the foyer. "Do you speak of the Shoanti who befoul our streets with their native stinks and rituals? Or do you mean the Varisians, each born with his hand in another's pocket?"

"Not all Varisians are Sczarni," said Vencarlo. "Most are perfectly—"

"Still your tongue," I said. "You have no right to contradict a lord of Korvosa."

"I want the blackguard found and punished," puffed Cucuteni, forgetting Vencarlo's presence. "He must suffer as I have suffered every day since he stole into my wife's chambers and took her jewels."

Vencarlo's face reddened with the effort of stifling a humorous retort to Cucuteni's ill-chosen words. This time it was I who utilized the gaze of the basilisk, turning it upon my upstart bodyguard. Fortunately, for both his sake and mine, it turned at least his tongue to stone.

Seraphina lay a hand on Cucuteni's arm. "Until they are recovered, I promise to send Agnese a different breed of fresh flowers every day. Aren't those roses lovely in her hair?"

Cucuteni's jowls worked without producing any words, until finally he murmured, "Very kind of you, dear lady. Very kind indeed."

"You must have an expansive garden," I said in an attempt to guide the conversation away. "When next you visit Egorian, perhaps you would allow me to show you my hothouse at Greensteeples. Among other rare species, I have cultivated a weed symbiotic to your panther lilies, a specimen that produces a deadly toxin used by the Zenj people of central Mwangi."

"How fascinating."

"I think the lady would prefer to witness a fencing demonstration," said Vencarlo. He, too, had identified her as a swordswoman.

"The lady can decide for herself," said Seraphina, frowning at Vencarlo. "And now I decide you have become tiresome after all."

"What?" Vencarlo could not have looked more surprised.

"You heard her," I said, trying without great success to avoid gloating. "Return to your station."

Raising his proud chin as though he had just been slapped, Vencarlo bowed, spun on his heel, and returned to his place among the servants. Unlike the rest, who stood at attention, he lounged against the wall, striking a pose he must have thought made him appear like a swashbuckler.

Seeing Seraphina's gaze flick back to him, I had to admit, if only to myself, that it succeeded.

"There," said Orkatto. "Now that we are no longer overheard by the help, Your Excellency, perhaps you would unfold your plan to Lord Cucuteni?"

"A plan? Do you mean something like a business transaction?" Seraphina scrunched her nose in distaste. "Or do you mean something thrilling? A scheme, or a plot, or—better still—a stratagem? Oh, let it be a stratagem!"

Mocking though it was, her enthusiasm enchanted me. I looked to see that the museum staff had begun ushering the guests outside to their carriages. Servants began extinguishing the lights and barring the windows. Soon it would be time to set my trap.

I signaled my agents among the servants. The one beside Vencarlo tapped him on the shoulder and gestured for him to remove his new jacket.

Inhaling, I savored the perfume of Seraphina's flowers. "I suppose there is no harm in sharing the details now, so close to the appointed hour."

Seraphina leaned close and gave me her rapt attention.

"You may have noticed that the officers of the Sable Company left soon after the queen's departure."

Orkatto, already aware of the details, nodded at an accelerating rate, eager for me to share the rest.

"And the city guard," said Seraphina. "I saw two squadrons marching quickly through the streets as our carriage approached the museum."

"They will provide a conspicuous presence at all of the most likely targets of Blackjack's larceny."

"All but one!" blurted Orkatto.

"The jewels here," said Seraphina. "You've set them as bait."

"You are as astute as you are observant."

"And as beautiful as you are astute," said Vencarlo, materializing at my elbow like a dog who cannot be kept from the supper. He beamed at Seraphina. "To praise a woman, a man must not overlook her beauty."

Behind him, the agent who bore a passing resemblance to Vencarlo shrugged on his jacket and went to the entrance. I doffed my own coat and handed it to the hireling who resembled me. Together, they would enter my Red Carriage and depart the museum, leaving us inside with the twenty guards who had gradually secreted themselves throughout the museum during the day. Several other servants had also donned finery to depart, presenting the illusion that as many nobles who had entered for the gala reception were now returning home.

Vencarlo turned to me. "Your scheme will never succeed, Excellency."

"Pray enlighten us why."

"Blackjack will detect your trap."

"How?"

"It is clever to show as many people departing as remaining, but Blackjack is also clever. He will sense a trap when he sees you have dismissed the guards."

"But I have not dismissed them. They remain at their stations, with the exception of two absences, allowing the thief a choice of entrances."

A crash and a shout alerted us to activity toward the rear of the museum.

"And there you have it. The trap is sprung."

Vencarlo's insouciant air evaporated. "You mustn't do this, Count! Blackjack is not some common thief. The jewels he steals feed the poor. He is a champion of the people!"

"That is for a magistrate to decide. Unlike your scofflaw idol, I do not take the law into my own hands. I simply introduce it to those who have strayed beyond its grasp."

"I cannot allow you do this, Your Excellency." Vencarlo bowed and reached for his weapon.

Coming Next Week: Masks, blades, and intrigue in Chapter Three of "The Fencing Master" by Dave Gross!

Dave Gross's adventures of Count Jeggare (often also featuring his hellspawn bodyguard Radovan) include the Pathfinder Tales novels Prince of Wolves, Master of Devils, Queen of Thorns, and King of Chaos; the novellas "Husks" and "Hell's Pawns"; and the short stories "A Lesson in Taxonomy," "A Passage to Absalom," "Killing Time," and "The Lost Pathfinder," all available at paizo.com/pathfindertales. He also co-wrote the Pathfinder Tales novel Winter Witch with Elaine Cunningham, and has written novels for the Forgotten Realms and Iron Kingdoms, as well as short stories for such anthologies as Tales of the Far West and Shotguns v. Cthulhu. Dave is the former editor of magazines ranging from Dragon to Star Wars Insider to Amazing Stories, and was a writer for Baldur's Gate: Enhanced Edition. For more information, visit bydavegross.com.

Illustration by Ian Llanas

The Fencing Master

by Dave Gross

Chapter Three: The Second Duel

Vencarlo Orisini tried to draw his rapier, but I lunged forward to strike the pommel and thrust it back into its scabbard. "Stop this nonsense at once!"

Vencarlo retreated, turning to free his blade. I stepped behind him, pulling the scabbard and sword out of his grasp.

"Orkatto, see Lady Seraphina safely away."

"I'll go with them," Cucuteni said, all too eager to escape the quarrel erupting between me and my bodyguard. That was just as well. I desired no witnesses to my chastising my servant.

"I won't let you take Blackjack," snapped Vencarlo. Once more he danced away, trying to draw his blade. Once more I danced after him, thrusting my arm through the crook of his elbow to prevent him from reaching the blade.

"Calm yourself," I told him. "The trap is already sprung. Even now, the Korvosan guard are surrounding the thief."

"He's a hero! You would know that if you ever stepped out of that Red Carriage and walked among the people." Vencarlo feinted right before twisting left. With my hand upon his arm, I felt his muscles tense. Anticipating his movement, I circled him, lifting his sword arm as if to allow him a turn. Instead, I drew his sword from its scabbard.

I stepped back, smiling as I showed that I had taken his blade with my left hand. He smiled back at me, tossing my own rapier from his left hand to his right. He saluted me with my own blade.

"Whichever of us survives this night must thank Master Raneiro for that trick."

"Beware, Vencarlo. I have learned many others since leaving the master's tutelage," I said. "And you have only just begun learning from him."

"Blackjack!" Surprising me, Vencarlo ran toward the east wing of the museum. "They have set a trap for you!"

"Stop this at once!" I ran after him.

The museum curator, my cousin, had ordered only the foyer fully lighted for the evening's reception of Queen Domina and Prince Eodred. In the east wing, only a few perpetual flame spells illuminated the sign reading "Local Legends," and I spied similarly muted lights throughout the gloomy halls. I had not yet visited the latest exhibit upon this visit to Korvosa. With luck, neither had Vencarlo, so we would be equally disadvantaged in the darkness.

Chasing after my disobedient servant, I stopped short as a hideous beast rose up before me. At my approach, an auditory spell unleashed a horrible whinny as a pair of enormous wings flapped at my approach. After a moment's uncertainty, I recognized it as the Sandpoint Devil.

Some disreputable "naturalist" had stitched together this patchwork falsity from the preserved corpses of a stallion, a crocodile, and a dire bat. Later I would have to speak to my cousin about this penchant for the tawdry and sensational.

Movement drew my eye past another exhibit, this one featuring a gruesome waxwork of a local murderess. From the angle, I could not make out what was written on the magically illuminated placard beneath the diorama. I leaped the low picket fence surrounding the murder house. "Vencarlo, come back here! I cannot ensure your safety if you interfere with the guards."

The bravo's laugh echoed through the darkened exhibits. I followed the sound, uncertain of its origin. Rounding a tableau of a lone elven archer fighting a goblin tribe, I found myself facing a masked man. The blade of his rapier glimmered in the dim enchanted light.

Without a thought, my body assumed the guard position. "Surrender yourself," I said. "Upon my word as a count of Cheliax, you will face justice for your crimes."

My foe stood silent and still. From the far end of the eastern wing came a shout and a flurry of footsteps.

A moment of doubt caused me to hesitate, but then I beat the man's blade with my own. It turned aside, and with it the waxwork imposter before me. Glancing around, I saw no witness to my folly—a small consolation.

I snatched up the brazier of perpetual flames beneath the placard and held them closer to the wax figure. It was indeed a depiction of the notorious thief, cloaked and cowled in black, a mask concealing his lower face. But at its feet the placard read "Blackjack, Hero of South Shore." The rest of the tableau showed the figure standing before a woman and child in rags, defending them from a pair of Sczarni cutthroats at the command of a sneering landlord holding a fat purse.

A rope creaked above me. I held the flames high to see another figure of the rogue swinging across the blackened gunwales of a sailing ship with a frightened cabin boy under one arm. This one lacked the mask of the first, and beneath him a wide-brimmed hat lay on the ground. A sign hanging beside the figure read, "Savior of the Lady Luck."

Another exhibit depicted a grizzled Blackjack leaping from the back of one tentacled hulk to plunge his sword through the maw of another. I knew of the incident in which the creatures sometimes referred to as "sewer hulks" rampaged through the city. It had occurred nearly thirty years earlier. The legend read, "Hero of Old Korvosa."

"Vencarlo, wait!" As much as I wanted to prevent him from interfering with my trap, I now also wanted an explanation. How could a man so reviled by my peers be presented by my own cousin as a hero in a museum? I needed to know more before I could—

"He's here!" cried a man from the far end of the hall. The silhouettes of four men ran into the room, toward me.

On a catwalk above us, a cloaked figure laughed back at them. "You fools will never catch me!" cried a voice I recognized despite his attempts to deepen it. "You will never catch Blackjack!"

The voice belonged Vencarlo Orisini. The evidence of his deception hung above me in the form of the unmasked waxwork, whose disguise he had obviously stolen. Yet in the darkness his disguise was more than enough to draw off the guards.

Holding the perpetual flames above my head, I called out to the guards. "It's a trick. He's leading you away from the real Blackjack."

Even as I said the words, I debated with myself whether to reveal Vencarlo's ruse. The guards arrived before I had time to decide.

They were not Korvosan guards. I did not recognize their uniforms, and their coarse expressions and unshaven cheeks suggested hired rather than sworn men. They held the points of their blades toward me as they approached.

"What is the meaning—?"

"Stand down, men. That is Count Jeggare, an ally." Gaspare Orkatto pushed past them, face glistening with sweat. "Did you see him, Your Excellency?"

"Who are these men, Gaspare? I instructed you to use the city guard."

"You did, of course you did," he said, once more waving his fingers beside his cheek in that nervous gesture of his. "But I thought it better to enlist my own men. If Blackjack is as clever as they say, he might notice if some of the Korvosan guard were off the streets tonight."

"I also asked you to look after Lady Seraphina."

"Oh, she is quite safe. I saw her and Lord Cucuteni out of the museum before joining the pursuit. Did you see him? Did he come this way?"

"It wasn't—" Another motion caught my eye, this one behind Orkatto and his men. A graceful figure moved between a pair of Shoanti shaman waxworks, discernible only in the moment when it passed between me and one of the perpetual flames spells. I pointed back toward the foyer. "He went that way!"

With a curse, Vencarlo ran across the catwalk, leading Orkatto and his guards out of the east wing. As they departed, I moved in the opposite direction, toward the silent intruder.

"Show yourself, Blackjack." I lowered the point of my blade and peered into the darkness where I knew he must be hiding. My half-elven vision revealed nothing more than the flickering shadows.

I felt the prick of his rapier's tip against my back. By enchantment or uncanny knack, he moved as swift and silent as a ghost. The moment he spoke, I recognized the liquid tones of his voice. "You have been ill used, Your Excellency."

I turned, confident he would not strike me from behind. "So it would appear, Master Raneiro."

Raneiro is a master of the blade—and so much more.

The masked figure nodded. Now that I had heard his voice, I recognized the line of his chin, the faint stubble upon his skin. He motioned in the direction the hired men had gone. "You have noticed there are no Korvosan guards within the museum?"

"Of course, but too late to understand Orkatto's intention."

"He means to kill me, not to bring me before a magistrate."

"Why?"

"Have you not already deduced his reason? What do you think I do with the jewelry I liberate from the parasites on this city?"

I thought of the tableaux surrounding us, and of Orkatto's recent travails. "The tenants of South Shore. You have been paying their rent."

"Very good," said Raneiro. "But as you said, too late."

"They are chasing after Vencarlo. You must leave before they discover the ruse."

"Without the jewels?" Raneiro chuckled. "I think you underestimate our local hero."

"Does Vencarlo know?"

Raneiro shrugged. "He suspects. He is cleverer than he sometimes appears, and twice as skilled with the blade. One day he will take over his father's academy, once he learns to guard his tongue in political matters."

"And your mask? Will he take that as well?"

"Perhaps one day. Blackjack is more than a man. He is a legend that must never die."

"I will not help you steal the jewels. But if you leave them, I will do everything in my power to ensure your safe escape—and Vencarlo's."

"How generous," Raneiro said, his tone just short of sarcasm. Once more the tip of his blade pricked me, this time above the heart. "But I must decline your charity. Blackjack does not beg for scraps. He recovers what the lords of Korvosa have stolen from the people."

With a quick retreat, I raised my guard just in time to parry his thrust—or so I thought. Raneiro bent his blade as its tip found its intended target, a brass button upon my breast. Had he intended it, he would have driven his blade through my heart.

From the far reaches of the museum, alarums rose and subsided into the clamor of a chase. Above the shouts of Orkatto's men rose a mocking laugh.

"His laugh is quite good," said Raneiro. "Don't you agree?"

"I cannot allow you steal the jewels," I repeated. "But I promise to safeguard your identity."

"You make the same mistake as the local lords, my old friend," said Raneiro. "It is no longer for you to ‘allow.' The people of Korvosa will gladly toil for their bread, but they will not abandon their homes to feed the avarice of men like Orkatto."

My blade licked out twice, a feint and an adder's strike upon his arm—a Taldan attack, one I hoped Raneiro had never seen. He parried it without effort, and his riposte sent me into a retreating Elliendo defense.

He smiled to see me pressed.

My retreating heel struck the base of another exhibit. I froze as the claw of a stuffed owl-beast appeared beside my head. For an instant I thought of the cliffs of Lepidstadt and the stand I had made against my fellow students one drunken night. But then I had not faced a master of the blade.

I could not continue to defend myself in such a tight spot. Turning my latest parry into a bind, I dipped beneath the preserved beast's arm and rolled across the open aisle. As I came up to one knee, I saw by his silhouette that Raneiro had anticipated my move. His blade was fixed upon my eye, his rear leg poised to lunge, his mouth a grim line of regret and determination.

A metallic hiss preceded a dull impact. Raneiro straightened, the point of his sword dipping. His free hand moved with aching slowness to feel his back. He coughed out a single syllable, "Ah."

A lithe figure crouched behind him. A chain dangled from one leather-clad hand, a dripping dart swinging pendulously below. Shrouded eyes caught mine from beneath a deep cowl, but only for an instant before the assassin dashed into the shadows.

I moved to pursue, but then Raneiro dropped his blade and fell to one knee. I went to him and felt the wound. Tasting a familiar poison in his blood, I knew his fate.

"Master, let me get you out of here."

At the tone of my voice, he too knew his fate. "Yes," he said, his voice already weakening. "Find me a quiet place to die."

Coming Next Week: Blades between friends in the final chapter of "The Fencing Master" by Dave Gross!

Dave Gross's adventures of Count Jeggare (often also featuring his hellspawn bodyguard Radovan) include the Pathfinder Tales novels Prince of Wolves, Master of Devils, Queen of Thorns, and King of Chaos; the novellas "Husks" and "Hell's Pawns"; and the short stories "A Lesson in Taxonomy," "A Passage to Absalom," "Killing Time," and "The Lost Pathfinder," all available at paizo.com/pathfindertales. He also co-wrote the Pathfinder Tales novel Winter Witch with Elaine Cunningham, and has written novels for the Forgotten Realms and Iron Kingdoms, as well as short stories for such anthologies as Tales of the Far West and Shotguns v. Cthulhu. Dave is the former editor of magazines ranging from Dragon to Star Wars Insider to Amazing Stories, and was a writer for Baldur's Gate: Enhanced Edition. For more information, visit bydavegross.com.

Illustration by Ian Llanas

The Fencing Master

by Dave Gross

Chapter Four: The Second Trap

As Vencarlo Orisini led Orkatto's men on a noisy chase, I strolled out the front doors with my "bodyguard." In the darkened museum, and without his mask and cloak, which I carried folded under my arm, Master Raneiro did somewhat resemble the younger man who had accompanied me into the museum. I placed my hope in the bravo's topknot and the noisy diversion behind us.

The guards at the doors bowed the moment they saw me, sparing the man at my side not so much as a glance.

Raneiro faltered, drawing the guards' attention as his foot dragged across the gravel. I took him by the arm and stage whispered, "You need only taste my wine, you fool, not guzzle it!"

A chuckle from the guards assured me of the ploy's success.

My footman held the door open, and to his credit he did not so much as raise an eyebrow as I helped my "bodyguard" into the carriage before joining him. I rapped upon the roof, and the driver slapped the reins.

"If they seize Vencarlo..." Raneiro wheezed. The paralysis was taking hold. I knew its effects all too well.

And I knew there was no cure.

"I will intercede on his behalf," I said, knowing it was an empty promise. His pursuers had no intention of taking Blackjack or any imposter alive.

I opened the rear portal and peered back at the museum entrance. His exhausted men at his side, an exasperated Orkatto questioned the door guards, who pointed in our direction. The cowled figure who had poisoned Raneiro emerged to stand by his side.

"Turn here," I told the driver.

"Let me out," said Raneiro.

"No, my men will take you somewhere quiet." I drew his cloak around my shoulders and unfolded his black mask. Looking down at its limp form in my hands, I felt as though I were looking at the face of a corpse. I pulled it across my face and raised the cloak's hood up to conceal my half-human ears. "I will draw them off."

I stepped out of the carriage door to stand upon the running board. After I gave my servants their instructions, Raneiro called my name. With the last of his strength, he lifted his rapier toward me.

I still had Vencarlo Orsini's blade at my side. "No, Master Raneiro. I am not worthy of such an—"

"Of course you aren't," he rasped. "Give it to the boy."

Blackjack is more than a single man. He’s an idea.

Our gazes locked for a long instant. I took the blade and leaped from the carriage.

With a quick calculation of where our pursuers would appear, I dashed toward a lighted intersection. Knowing precisely where the Korvosan Guard was stationed throughout the city, I plotted an escape route while waiting for Orkatto's men to arrive. They found me moments later, standing in silhouette before a street lamp.

Mimicking Vencarlo's disguised voice as best I could, I cried out, "Did you fools truly think you could capture Blackjack, the people's hero?"

"Kill him!" screeched Orkatto.

His hired guards ran toward me, but his assassin lingered at his side, staring at me. I spared only an instant before fleeing, but I noticed that cowled figure running to the side, in the direction I'd chosen for my true escape.

My diversion was proving more difficult to execute than to plan.

I fled as fleetly as I could, revealing myself only when I had extended my lead by another ten or twenty yards. Twice I failed to put myself in front of a revealing streetlight and resorted to Vencarlo's bombastic taunts. "Over here, you fools!"

The expression on their faces delighted me, even as the fear of discovery sent a cold thrill through my veins.

A hippogriff's scream alerted me to the threat I had forgotten. Captain Ornelos and his Sable Company still patrolled the skies, and one of them must have heard the alarum from Orkatto's men. A winged shadow crossed the street before me.

Standing on the other side was the cowled assassin who had slain Raneiro.

The killer moved toward me with uncanny grace, the chain-dart swinging in an accelerating circle.

Debating between defense and flight, I hesitated only long enough to catch a distinctive perfume.

"You jump at shadows, buffoons!" Vencarlo's adopted Blackjack voice—already becoming more natural with practice—boomed down from a rooftop. "Look for me in the clouds!"

With a laugh, he ran across the roof and vaulted over the peak. Moments later, a hippogriff wheeled above us and flew after him.

The assassin hesitated, glancing between me and the other Blackjack. Turning, the killer abandoned me to chase Vencarlo.

Undeterred, Orkatto's guards ran after me. They were, as Blackjack named them, fools and buffoons. It was child's play to mislead them into dead-end alleys and taunt them from two streets away.

I worried more for Vencarlo, whose pursuers were far cleverer and more deadly. A few times I dared reveal myself in hopes of drawing them off, but they knew me for an imposter. They chased the true Blackjack, while I slunk back to my lodgings to prepare my lies for the morrow.

∗ ∗ ∗

Two days later, we buried Master Raneiro beneath one of the Arcadian oaks I had delivered to Queen Domina. By quiet agreement, his students spread word across the city that the celebrated fencing master had finally succumbed to his affection for the grape. Over six dozen of his former pupils came to pay their respects. Vencarlo stood among the youngest, while I stood beside my aged cohorts.

My former bodyguard and I did not speak at the funeral, but our eyes arranged a meeting. After the final words were uttered, my agent announced that Raneiro had bequeathed the last of his wine to his students on the condition that they drink it all in his favorite wine houses before the following dawn.

By previous arrangement, Vencarlo and I met at a little wine house in Old Korvosa, the one not mentioned to the other students.

We drained the first goblet and filled the second before speaking.

"Captain Ornelos questioned me at length yesterday," I said. "I told him you stood guard at my lodgings all night after we withdrew from the museum. Eventually, he believed me."

"I hear he looks quite dashing with his new eyepatch."

"He will not forgive you that injury."

Vencarlo lifted his hands and shrugged. "It was difficult enough eluding the Korvosan Guard. I could be only so gentle when your friend joined me on the rooftops. You'll note that I left him the other eye when I could have taken both. I could have as easily slain him."

"It is better that you did not." For the most part, I believed that to be true, but I feared one day the captain would have his revenge, and the legend of Blackjack would come to an end. "Have you done what you promised?"

"I've made peace with my father. I'll return to study at the Orisini Academy." His eyes narrowed. "Have you done as you promised?"

"In gratitude for my recent gifts, Her Majesty cleared the way for me to purchase the remaining properties Gaspare Orkatto sought. The residents of South Shore will not be driven from their homes."

"Good."

"I am more concerned about your keeping your other promise. I am informed the Lady Seraphina was the victim of another burglary last night."

Vencarlo frowned. "Not ‘another.' She had never been robbed before. She only pretended so to draw suspicion from herself, while all along she conspired with Orkatto to murder Blackjack and remove the last protection of the people of South Shore."

"The rumors say there was a fire in her father's estate. Was that truly necessary?"

"I found the flowers you described, and the poisonous weeds that grew upon them. Yes, I think the fire was necessary."

I could not fault his action, no matter how much it rankled me to know a commoner had committed burglary and arson in the home of a peer. Considering the circumstances, I remained more inclined to caution than to chastise him. "She saw through my disguise, and doubtless through yours as well. You have a dangerous enemy in that one."

"More dangerous than lord Orkatto or Captain Ornelos?"

"Far more, I suspect. She cannot inform Ornelos or the Korvosan Guard of your robbery without exposing her own dual nature, but she will not hesitate to use them against you. What was it you said? ‘A beautiful woman commands all men.'"

"Not this one," he said with bitterness. "Not anymore. Anyway, did you know that just one of her rubies will feed ten families for a year?"

"I will pretend I did not hear that."

Vencarlo smiled and drank and stared through the wall, savoring his first act as the local hero.

I placed Raneiro's sword upon the table. "He wanted you to have this, along with the rest."

Vencarlo restrained his proud smile, but only barely. "It took two of us to imitate him," he said. "Perhaps we could—"

"No. I am a lord of Cheliax. It is my duty to uphold the law."

"Even when the law is unjust?"

"It is my duty," I said. "Not always my preference."

Vencarlo leaned across the table. "After what we did, you are as much an outlaw as Blackjack. We both are. Let's both take up his mask, you from the tower, I from the street. We could—"

"No," I said. "Tomorrow I return to Egorian. I will keep your secret. I can do no more than that. When next you run afoul of Captain Ornelos, Lord Orkatto, or—Desna spare you—Lady Seraphina, you cannot turn to me for help."

A sneer flickered across Vencarlo's fierce smile, and then both faded into a grim line. "You high-born lords can never understand what it is for the common folk to live under your cruel caprice."

"You are correct," I said, knowing he was utterly wrong but unwilling to explain why. Just as the common are subject to the noble, so are the noble subject to the royal, and the royal to the infernal. "But as you have seen, one man can avert that caprice. If only for a while, and only for a few."

Vencarlo refilled our goblets and raised his in a toast. "To Master Raneiro."

I held my cup to his. "To Blackjack."

Coming Next Week: A sample chapter from Dave Gross's King of Chaos, plus a brand new artistic envisioning of Radovan!

Dave Gross's adventures of Count Jeggare (often also featuring his hellspawn bodyguard Radovan) include the Pathfinder Tales novels Prince of Wolves, Master of Devils, Queen of Thorns, and King of Chaos; the novellas "Husks" and "Hell's Pawns"; and the short stories "A Lesson in Taxonomy," "A Passage to Absalom," "Killing Time," and "The Lost Pathfinder," all available at paizo.com/pathfindertales. He also co-wrote the Pathfinder Tales novel Winter Witch with Elaine Cunningham, and has written novels for the Forgotten Realms and Iron Kingdoms, as well as short stories for such anthologies as Tales of the Far West and Shotguns v. Cthulhu. Dave is the former editor of magazines ranging from Dragon to Star Wars Insider to Amazing Stories, and was a writer for Baldur's Gate: Enhanced Edition. For more information, visit bydavegross.com.

Illustration by Ian Llanas