Hal - The Duellist #1

Chapter Fifteen - Warnings

Hal was surprised to find Marc loitering in the duelling hall when she arrived for training the next day. Strangely ill at ease he paced the room, almost colliding with some of the novices who were already honing their skills to perfection under Finn's watchful eye.

Amused, she observed his nervous, strained expression and troubled eyes. It was not until she had tapped him on the shoulder that he span round in surprise to greet her.

"What are you doing here?" She grinned. "Felt like putting in some practice did you?"

Marc's smile was thin. "I'm here to talk, Hal."

"Oh yes? Really?"

Slinging her jacket down in one corner of the room, she began to pull swords from the rack, unnerved at his unexpected visit.

"Maybe we can head into Beric's little sanctuary? It would be more private."

She took a sword and eyed it critically, hiding her misgivings. "I'm not sure that's necessary, Marc. What did you want to say?"

As he opened his mouth to speak, the door to Beric's room suddenly flew open, his grizzled face flushed and creased into a scowl. "Get in here now!" he roared. Shocked into silence, the novices turned their attention to the unfolding drama.

Hal replaced the sword as slowly as she dared and then walked from the hall, Marc traipsing behind her. The "office," as it was termed, was really no more than a cupboard, its windows set at vantage points enabling the old master to keep an eye on his charges. A battered chair rested against the wall, a small table littered with ink wells, paper and empty wine bottles provided the only remaining furniture.

For a few moments Beric fumed in silence, his arms folded, glaring at the duellist. Marc closed the door behind him and leant against it. "It's about Meracad Léac."

She caught the tension in his voice, and realised that he knew everything. Both he and Beric must have been aware of her nightly trysts. The thought made her shudder. If Marc and Beric had found out, who else might know?

"Well, Marc," she began carefully, "I believe that is none of your business."

"I'm afraid it is, Hal. Because it seems that I may be losing a very good friend."

"Oh, really? I was not aware that any conditions had ever been attached to our friendship. Excuse me, gentlemen."

She moved to leave, but Beric grabbed her arm. "Sit down, Hal Thæc," he growled, pushing her into the chair. She winced as his fingernails dug through the fabric of her shirt. "We're going to have this out with you now, and you're going to listen, whether you like it or not."

Protesting again, she rose from the seat, but Beric shoved her back. Leaning down, he peered into her face, his whiskers almost touching her nose. "Do you know who Léac is?" He asked.

She bit down on her lips and turned her head, staring in sulky silence at the training hall, willing herself out there again. He caught her hair in one bear-like fist and forced her to look at him once again.

"Well, do you?"

"Yes I know," she spat out, her temper rising, her pulse now racing. "He's some rich merchant who wants to marry his daughter to the highest bidder. Any more questions, or may I go?"

Marc lifted the old duelling master's hand free from the girl's hair. "I think that master Beric should have rephrased the question," he said evenly. "He might rather have asked if you know what Léac is capable of doing?"

She stared up at them, fingers pressing into the arms of the chair until her knuckles grew white. Both men now blocked the door, and she realised any chance of escape had passed. She shrugged. "No. What?"