The Zenda Vendetta (TimeWars 4)

“Where is Albert Lauengram?” she asked Bersonin, crisply.

“Just one moment, Countess,” said Bersonin, somewhat patronizingly. “First, there are a few questions which-”

“I shall ask the questions, Karl, and you shall provide the answers. Now, where is Lauengram?”

“I think you presume a bit too much, Madame,” Bersonin said, in a tone of rebuke. Hentzau watched this interplay with a faint smile upon his face. “I take no orders from you.”

“And I will take no insolence from you, Karl. Now, I shall ask you only one more time. Where is Lauengram?”

Bersonin glanced at Hentzau and smirked. “I follow Michael Elphberg,” he said, “not his concubine.”

Her eyes seemed to flare. “Really? In that case, you are no more use to me than Michael is. Your sword, Rupert.”

With an arch look at Bersonin, Hentzau drew his sabre and casually tossed it to her. She caught it easily by the hilt.

“Never say I didn’t warn you,” Hentzau said.

“You must be joking,” said Bersonin.

“Draw your sword, Karl,” Falcon said.

“Against a woman? I’ll not. This is ridiculous.”

“Fine, then.” Before Bersonin could react, her sabre swished through the air between them, opening up his cheek from the left ear to the jaw.

Bersonin cried out, staggering several steps back, his hands going to his face. They came away bloody. He stared at her with livid fury. Wiping his bloody hands upon his breeches, he drew his sabre. “Have it your way, then. Michael or no Michael, you’ll die for that.”

Hentzau swung a chair around, sitting in it backward with his arms crossed upon its back, watching as Bersonin sprang at her. She parried his thrust effortlessly, disengaged with astonishing speed, beat his blade out of the way and opened up his other cheek.

With a howl of fury, Bersonin attacked, fully intending to cut her to shreds. Instead, to his amazement, he found himself at once on the defensive. The clang of steel on steel filled the hall as she drove him back, refusing to give quarter. He backed up against a table, faked a thrust and rolled backward across it, putting it between them so that his longer reach would give him an advantage. Falcon vaulted the table, coming down lightly on the other side. Bersonin lunged at her while she was in mid-air, but even before she landed, she parried his thrust, turned his blade, and went on the attack.

Lauengram chose that moment to walk in. He had been eating in the kitchen and pressing his suit against one of Michael’s pretty young serving girls. Having heard the sounds of fencing, he had come to see what was transpiring. At the sight of Bersonin dueling the countess, he froze, mouth agape. “What in God’s name…?”

“Here,” Hentzau said, reaching back and pulling out another chair. “Sit down and watch this, Albert. It should prove interesting.”

Eyes wide, Lauengram ignored the chair and simply stood there, mesmerized by the spectacle. Bersonin, an accomplished swordsman, was dueling with a woman and he seemed sorely beset.

Bersonin himself was in a panic. He could do absolutely nothing with her. Her blade was everywhere, slashing his shoulder, pricking his upper arm, deflecting each of his thrusts and lunges. She had cut him half a dozen times and he had yet to score a touch. He realized with a sudden horror that she was actually toying with him, that he, who had killed more than a dozen men in duels, was no match for her. He recoiled from that lightning blade, from those lambent, ferocious eyes that fixed him with a devilish fury, turning and running from her. He ran about ten steps, turned quickly to face her once again and threw down his sword.

“Enough! I yield! I wish no more of this!”

“Well, I do,” said Falcon. She swiftly changed her grip upon the sabre and threw it, like a javelin. It pierced Bersonin’s chest, the tip of the edged blade ripping through flesh and sinew to protrude from his back. Bersonin glanced down at it with a look of utter disbelief. Slowly, his hands came up to grasp the blade, as if to reassure him of its reality; then he toppled forward and collapsed upon the floor.

“Dear God in heaven!” Lauengram whispered, awestruck.

Hentzau stood and clapped his hands. “Bravo! Bravo! An inspired exhibition! You have been holding back on me, Sophia! Never did you fence so well in practice!”

She turned to face them both. “Does anyone else wish to question my authority?” she said.

Lauengram slowly shook his head from side to side, unable to tear his eyes away from her. He had never in his life seen a woman fight like that. He, himself, had been no match for Bersonin and she had disposed of him as casually and with as little apparent effort as a fencing master in a match with a new pupil.

“Not I!” he said.

“And I am yours unswervingly!” cried Hentzau, flashing a handsome grin. “By God, Sophia, what a pair we two shall make! You were wasted on that fool, Michael. Together, we shall-”

“Be quiet, Rupert,” she said. “Have someone clean up that mess. We are leaving tonight for Zenda Castle. I want the two of you to take Michael in the coach and depart at once. Inform the other three that I shall be taking charge. Should they have any reservations, you can inform them also of what happened to Bersonin. Tell them as well that their pay is to be doubled henceforth.”

“Is there to be a change of plan then?” Lauengram said, hesitantly.