InterWorld (InterWorld 1)

“You’ve destroyed the Malefic,” he said. “The conquest of the Lorimare worlds has failed. Lord Dogknife intends to deal with you all personally. Believe me, every one of you will wish you had gone in the pot instead.”

Good, I thought. Lord Dogknife was still on the ship.

Jai tapped me on the shoulder. I moved out of the way. Jai looked down at Scarabus and said, without raising his voice, but clearly audible across the whole huge hall, “We have a deal to offer you. To all of you.”

“I don’t think you’re in any position to make deals.” Scarabus slashed his scimitar through the air.

“But we are,” said Jai. “One of us will fight you. If our champion wins, you alone will escort us up to Lord Dogknife as free folk. If our champion loses, you may march us to Lord Dogknife as your prisoners.”

Scarabus stared at Jai for a heartbeat, and then he began to laugh. It was obvious why. From his point of view, whether we won or lost, we wound up in Lord Dogknife’s clutches. I couldn’t see that it made much difference either. One could call Lord Dogknife a lot of things, most of them uncomplimentary and none in his presence, but “stupid” wasn’t one of them.

“Bring on your champion!” Scarabus shouted.

Jai shook his head. “I need you, and all your men to swear not to harm us, if our champion wins.”

The soldiers looked at Scarabus. He nodded. “I so swear!” he shouted. “And I!” “And I!” repeated the soldiers one by one. They looked vastly entertained.

“I’m ready,” I said to Jai. I knew he had a plan, and I just hoped I’d learn what it was in time.

“You?” said Jakon with scorn in her voice. “Let me take him on. I’ll rip out his throat.”

“Excuse me?” said Josef. “Biggest? Strongest? Come on, guys, do the multidimensional math.”

“It’s not a matter of strength,” said J/O. “It’s a matter of swordsmanship. Has anyone here ever gone up against a scimitar?” None of us answered. “Well,” he continued, “I was an Olympic level fencer. And I’ve done historical reenactment sword fighting, with broadswords and short swords—and scimitars.”

“This is a magical location,” said Jai. “Strong magic. You are already weakened, and you are the smallest of us, J/O. This world does not recognize your abilities.”

“It’s not a matter of nanocircuitry and augmented reflexes,” said J/O. “It’s a matter of skill. I can do it.”

They all looked at me, and I looked at Jai. He nodded.

J/O looked as smug as a cyborg face can look. “Jo, can you fly me down there?”

She nodded.

“Ask them for a sword, then.”

I shrugged. “Hey!” I called. “Have you got a spare sword, for our champion?”

One of the soldiers produced a sword, took a few steps forward, put it down on the floor, stepped back again. The laughter increased.

“Thank you,” I said. “Enjoy the show. Remember to tip your waiter.”

Jo picked J/O up then, and she flew him down to the floor. He picked up the sword—which was almost as long as he was—and bowed low to Scarabus.

The soldiers laughed louder still. If it were possible to laugh oneself to death, we would have already won. Scarabus looked up at us. “What?” he asked. “Are you sending me the smallest child in the hope that I’ll be merciful?” He grinned widely. “I shall not be merciful!” he said. And then he raised his scimitar and charged.

He was good. He was very, very good.

Trouble was, it was obvious to all of us—even him, even the soldiers—that J/O was better. From the first moment their blades crossed, he was faster. Way faster. He seemed to know exactly where Scarabus’s scimitar was at any point in the fight, and he was always somewhere else.

The main thing I remember is just how loud the fight was. Every time the blades clashed, the room rang with the sound of metal banging metal. I can still hear it.

Pretty soon Scarabus seemed to abandon the whole idea of clever sword fighting and tried to win by taking advantage of his size and strength, slamming J/O with great blows that cyber-me barely seemed able to parry or block.

Then J/O tripped, and Scarabus lunged, bringing down the blade with all his might, shouting in triumph—and J/O moved, quick as thought, to one side, raising his sword as he did so.

The tattooed man impaled himself on J/O’s sword.