When the match started, T-quin attacked with a series of front kicks. His movements appeared crystal clear to Valek. Rage no longer clouded his vision. He almost felt sorry for T-quin, but sorrow was an emotion. And Valek had taken Hedda’s advice to heart.
Valek blocked a side kick and a punch to his head, staying on the defensive.
“Come on, Wanna Be. Fight back or I might fall asleep,” T-quin said.
The crowd laughed and cheered T-quin on. Valek ignored the noise, focusing on T-quin’s attack pattern, analyzing his strikes for weaknesses. Even though they’d sparred so many times before, Valek learned more about T-quin’s fighting style in these five minutes than in the weeks before.
Valek waited for the perfect opportunity. When T-quin did his favorite shuffle side kick, backhand combo, Valek stepped in close and punched T-quin’s exposed ribs. T-quin grunted and backpedaled.
“Lucky strike, Wanna Be.”
“You wish.”
The fight continued and Valek took advantage of every opening T-quin gave him. After a series of blows to his kidneys, T-quin dropped his guard and swayed on his feet. Valek spun, windmilling him to the ground, and knelt on his shoulders.
“Pinned, Tamequintin,” Valek said.
Stunned silence filled the air until Arbon whooped. “Yes! You owe me two silvers, T-quin.”
The crowd had recovered and dispersed. Valek had flexed his muscles, assessing the damage—a few sore ribs and a tender spot on his biceps.
Hedda had approached. “Not bad, King Killer. I should have given you the ten-day deadline sooner. You do well under pressure. Now let’s see how you do with weapons training.”
“Ten days?”
“Of course.”
A knock on his office door jerked Valek from his memories. “Yes?”
Sergeant Gerik poked his head in. “The Commander has retired for the evening, sir.”
“Thank you.” Before the man could close the door, he called, “Gerik, come in here, please.”
Strain whitened Gerik’s face as he approached Valek’s desk. All the members of the Commander’s guard knew they’d be punished for letting the assassin through, but had no idea what was in store for them. Once Valek had assembled a new team, this team would be reassigned.
“Sir?”
“According to your file, you’re a recent transfer from MD-2. Been here a year. How long did you serve up there?”
“A year, sir.”
“Being assigned to the Commander’s detail is an impressive accomplishment for someone who’s only served a couple years. Most of these guys have ten or more years’ experience. What do you credit for your success?”
Gerik hesitated.
“Feel free to speak frankly.”
“I’m good, sir. Fighting hand to hand, or with weapons, is easy for me. I’ve a natural affinity for sparring.”
“Fair enough. When you were in MD-2, did you know a Captain Timmer?”
The slightest flinch creased Gerick’s face. “I’ve heard of him, sir.”
“And? Again I’m looking for an honest opinion.”
“He has a reputation for cruelty, sir.”
“Cruelty?”
“The officers believe he’s very strict and his troops are the best. No one has ever filed a complaint. It’s just gossip among the enlisted, sir.”
“If his troops are considered the best, why weren’t you promoted to his company?”
Gerik frowned. “I was offered a position, but I turned him down.”
Interesting. “Refused because of gossip?”
“Yes, sir.”
The man was lying. Valek wondered why, but he wasn’t going to push it right now. Some things couldn’t be rushed. “I also wanted to let you know that you’re being reassigned, Private Gerik.”
He straightened. “Yes, sir.” Resignation laced his voice.
“It’s a temporary assignment. If you do well, it might become permanent.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Report to the training yard tomorrow morning after exercise.”
“Yes, sir.” This time surprise tainted his tone.
“You’re dismissed.”
“Yes, sir.” Gerik left in a hurry.
Probably worried Valek would change his mind. Valek read through Captain Timmer’s file, but spotted nothing out of the ordinary. On his way to the Commander’s suite, he visited one of his operatives, assigning the man to deliver a message to Yelena, warning her about Ben Moon.
“You give this directly to her. No one else. Understand?” Valek asked.
“Yes, sir,” the man replied.
The tension in Valek’s shoulders eased as he sent another agent to seek out Arbon and let the assassin know Valek wished to talk to him. Then Valek knocked on the Commander’s door. He’d accomplished more than he’d hoped today.
“Come,” Ambrose called.
Valek entered. A glass of blackberry brandy waited for him by the empty armchair. The Commander already relaxed in his.
“Did our young assassin show up tonight?”
“She did.”
“And how did the boys react?”
“As expected.”
Ambrose laughed. “Bared teeth and raised hackles, eh?”
“Tomorrow morning should be interesting.” Valek explained what they’d learned about the smugglers.
“Good. Anything else?”
He reported about Captain Timmer in MD-2. “I need more information on him.”