Darkness settled over General Nikephoros’s manor. The moon hung on the horizon. Somewhere beneath the mansion, someone came up carrying a lamp and went to the second floor of the eastern tower. Red light wavered beyond the window on the landing, then vanished. Antonia stood outside the tower, watching it. When the light disappeared, she closed her eyes for a moment.
After the moon had risen about a handspan, the light appeared again on the second floor. It went down around the stairs and vanished underground. Antonia remained lost in thought until the moon rose another half-handspan. At last, she made up her mind and entered the tower.
The general’s study was on the second floor. Lately, he spent most of his time there. Only a few months earlier, he had often summoned old comrades for late-night banquets, invited musicians to perform, or passed the hours in the salon. He no longer went there. His spacious study held more old objects than books. They were mainly things bearing his personal memories, rather than valuable relics. Remaining there meant that the general was steeped in recollections.
General Nikephoros was now fifty-six. His body had begun to decline, but as a commander he was still in his prime. These days, however, there was no war great enough to call him out. It was an age of peace. Delphinad’s governor’s office had become so accustomed to resolving even small disturbances in the surrounding territories with mercenaries that it seldom assembled a regular army.
To deploy one, citizens had to be summoned for military service. Rising prices had made Delphinad’s citizens ever more expensive to employ. Meanwhile, long peace had steadily increased the number with no military experience. Rather than calling up such citizens and spending time training them, it was more convenient in every way to pay a little extra for mercenaries from other countries. There was no need to worry about supplying them either. Sometimes, because of differences in prices, they were cheaper as well.
Naturally, citizens welcomed this. If trouble arose somewhere and someone proposed forming an army, the council members opposed it unanimously. They did not want to lose popularity in their districts. As a result, General Nikephoros had been unable to take the field for nearly ten years.
His old comrades had found ways to advance, becoming officials or entering the council, but Nikephoros had no interest in such things. Battle and victory alone concerned him. In youth, he had been absorbed in single combat. With age, that had become large battles and wars. Never had he retreated, never had he lost. To such a general, the peace of the present was no different from torture.
In truth, it was not quite that he had never lost. For decades, it had been an insignificant fact, a defeat suffered when he was scarcely eighteen. Countless victories had followed. Recently, however, that day’s defeat had become the most important matter in the general’s life.
“General. It’s Antonia. May I come in?”
“Come.”
Inside the study, she found General Nikephoros standing on the carpet in a swordsman’s stance. He held an unfamiliar, keen-edged blade he did not ordinarily use. Stopping, he turned toward Antonia. His face was flushed, as though he had been moving for some time. He spoke first.
“Have you heard the report? Matteo took a few men and met the young ShadowHawk.”
Antonia looked down at the rumpled carpet, then replied, “The wounds appear serious.”
“Yes. Just as expected. He saw it clearly. Like this, and this.”
Swinging the short sword, the general aimed first at a glass ornament on the table, then at the large unlit lamp on the side table. His blade went perilously close, stopping just before contact. It was dangerous play. But Antonia knew his skill, so she was not surprised. That did not, however, ease her concern.
The general spoke.
“He must have been faster than that. I’m getting old now.”
“It was a rash action. They must be punished.”
“I know. They were caught following him rather than deliberately attacking, but poor skill is no excuse.”
His tone was unconcerned. The general seemed more interested in the ShadowHawk’s swordsmanship than in his men’s injuries or the mistake they had made. No, not merely interested. He was absorbed by it. Antonia drew a deep breath.
“General. Forgive my presumption, but there’s something I’d like to say.”
“Go on.”
General Nikephoros sheathed the sword. Even that sword bothered Antonia. Ordinarily he used a greatsword. The one in his hand was shorter and more agile. Just like a sword the ShadowHawk might use.
“You’ve won countless brilliant victories. In Delphinad’s history, perhaps only His Majesty Hermatos I achieved a greater victory than yours. Your name will remain in Delphinad for hundreds of years, as Hermatos I’s has.”
Hermatos I was the king who had founded Delphinad. After him, the city had generally avoided becoming embroiled in great wars, preserving its independence through skillful diplomacy. Thus it was also true that its history contained few outstanding commanders.
“And?”
There was little enthusiasm in the general’s voice, but Antonia continued.
“Delphinad is peaceful and prosperous today because men like you defended it. Every noble and citizen praises and reveres you. Even if you never win another victory, neither they nor their descendants will forget you. His Majesty the King, Her Majesty the Queen, and His Excellency the Governor too…”
“Enough of that. Get to the point.”
The same praise, heard countless times, could not move the general’s heart. Antonia knew it. She clasped and unclasped her hands as she considered what she had come to say. She was tense, but she had to say it, if she was General Nikephoros’s loyal subordinate.
“You can retire now.”
“What?”
The general had sat down. He raised his head and stared at Antonia. She took a step forward.
“No glory can make you shine more brightly. What you’ve done is enough. Your place could be no more honorable than it is. Why seek one small, meaningless victory that doesn’t befit that honor?”
A vein stood out on his forehead. Antonia squeezed her eyes shut. The general was of a composed temperament, but he had been shouting often lately. No, perhaps he had not originally been composed at all. Had he been, he would not have undertaken such a reckless fight at eighteen. Only after that defeat had he begun showing the rocklike composure for which he was known throughout his later wars.
“Antonia. Yes, you’re a good fellow.”
Startled, Antonia opened her eyes. The general’s face had already grown calm again. Fingering the sword in its sheath, he continued.
“I know better than you what you mean to say. But I’m bored. Like this, I can’t feel that I’m alive. What meaning has a sword, sheathed and hung on a wall as an ornament?”
“Everyone looks up to it. They know it holds a glorious past.”
“The past is the past. I’m dying now. Every day is so meaningless that I feel like a man tied to a chair, listening endlessly to slow, languid music. If I’d known it would be like this, I’d have left a bundle or two of Firran alive at Edeka. To raid me now and then.”
“General! What are you…”
“It’s useless effort. Give up. You want me to retire? I will someday. But I haven’t lived so perfectly that I can do it yet.”
“That was a small incident of your youth. No one remembers it.”
“No one remembers? I remember. Only by making up for it can I truly retire. And now the chance has come. Perhaps my last.”
Antonia could not bring herself to say it. His opponent was young, and the general was old. It might be the end rather than making amends. Nor did she fail to understand his feelings. During the years when his victories continued, a single defeat in his youth must have seemed a light thing. But now, nearly drowned in peace, what else could the general become obsessed with? She resented the man who had appeared before him at precisely this moment. But what could she do now? She could only say, “That fight will bring no glory.”
“I am not seeking glory. I’m trying to remove a blemish. Would you buy a pearl with a spot on it, however large and clean the rest? Such a thing has no value.”
The general drew his sword again and slowly examined the blade.
“I lost then because I was young and lacked experience. At thirty, no, at twenty-five, I wouldn’t have lost in a place like that. I’m older now, but I drew the first sword, so I can’t complain of unfairness. No, it’s fair enough.”
Antonia bowed her head. She had expected it, but in the end she had failed. The general could not be persuaded. What terrible thing would happen after he lost? The officiant crouching beneath the tower would be waiting for that moment alone.
Stroking the edge with a fingertip, General Nikephoros smiled and murmured. His voice was as excited as when he had looked at enemies awaiting destruction.
“I need him. The ShadowHawk. I need his head.”
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