It was a large, broad-shouldered man. His face was covered with a dark cloth, but even so it was clear that he was neither a soldier nor the Magistrate. Chong Sang-uk did not have time to get a better look, because the thief hurled a chair at him with a low growl, and while the captain dodged, drew a curved sword. A dagger flashed in his other hand.

  Fighting one blade against two was awkward. Chong Sang-uk had to rely on his speed and tactics.

  The captain and the thief began to circle the table, watching each other. At one point the thief shoved the heavy table toward Chong Sang-uk as if trying to pin him to the wall, but the captain managed to leap aside.

  Now nothing stood between them.

  Chong Sang-uk waited for his opponent to strike first. Catching an enemy already in motion was far easier and wiser than rushing in blindly. The thief really struck from above, aiming at the head, simple and direct, but at the last instant the blade changed direction, and the captain barely managed to parry the steel aimed at his ribs.

  Swords flashed.

  The opponents exchanged several blows, and Chong Sang-uk quickly realized this person could not be underestimated. Large men were usually slower, needing more time to wind up, and those extra moments were often enough to strike or evade. This thief, however, was different. His thrusts were sharp and precise, without wasted motion, aimed straight at vital points. Throat. Liver. Heart.

  Sweat broke out on Chong Sang-uk’s brow. He was no longer attacking but defending, and for the first time he thought he might not win this fight. The thought filled him with anger, and Chong Sang-uk threw himself back into battle with renewed fury.

  If only not for that dagger in the left hand! Several times Chong Sang-uk broke past the thief’s guard, circling his blade with a fluent motion, sliding along the curved steel toward the wrist. Each time he had to spring back at the last moment to avoid a treacherous strike from the second hand.

  Once he managed to catch both blades on his sword, blocking two attacks at once, but that was pure luck. When one point struck high and the other low, there was no way to stop both. Something had to be sacrificed.

  Chong Sang-uk made his decision and clenched his teeth.

  He took the next strike of the thief on his raised sword. Predictably, the thief tried to stab under his right arm with the dagger. Chong Sang-uk blocked it with his bare palm and seized his opponent, preventing him from freeing the blood-slick blade. All that remained was to knock the curved sword aside and impale the thief’s shoulder. The plan was nearly flawless, except that the captain had misjudged his enemy’s strength.

  The sword that by every martial art rule should have slid off his blade did not. Instead it pressed down, crushing his guard, and Chong Sang-uk simply did not have the strength to hold it with one hand. They struggled for several impossibly long moments.

  The enemy blade brushed the band at his forehead. The fabric tore, then his skin burned, and blood spilled into his eyes, obstructing the view. The thief laughed mockingly, kicked Chong Sang-uk in the stomach, and sent him sprawling backward. The movement tore the dagger free from his palm. Chong Sang-uk clutched his wounded hand to himself and blindly thrust his sword forward. Blood clouded his vision, or perhaps the room had grown too dark.

  Chong Sang-uk saw the vague outline of a man raising his arm for the final blow and tried to crawl away, too slow, too clumsy.

  Then a sharp cry rang out from somewhere, steel rang again, and the figure above him vanished.

  Chong Sang-uk felt his way to the wall and wiped his eyes with his sleeve, blinking. Two figures wheeled around the room. In the twilight their clothes looked black, their builds the only difference. The one who had come to his aid was smaller and more slender than the thief, yet clearly no less skilled in fight.

  Chong Sang-uk found himself watching the deadly dance with unwilling admiration, he could fully appreciate the scene developing before his eyes. His unknown ally moved as if wings had grown from his back. It was like watching a crane fight a bear.

  The crane slipped past a heavy blow, sprang onto the table, barely touching it with his palm, the hems of his robes flew up and wrapped around him, flaring with the motion. The bear wrenched the table over, but the crane was already airborne again. He passed over the thief’s shoulder and vanished behind his back. The thief roared and spun around.

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  Chong Sang-uk craned his neck, peering into the far corner.

  Darkness rang with steel, breathed heavily, rustled with silk clothes. The fighters reappeared by the window, their silhouettes visible once again. The bear raised his curved sword and flung his other arm aside. Bracing himself against the wall, Chong Sang-uk tried to stand. He knew this technique already. The dagger and sword would strike from opposite sides, and the crane would be helpless. The crane did not even try to dodge!

  The captain barely stifled a sad cry when he saw both arms of the thief come down, to pierce… but no. Steel grated, sparks flew from the blades. The crane had a weapon in his second hand as well!

  He continued the fight, attacking and parrying, dodging heavy blows, diving under the arm, circling the bear, brushing him with the tips of his wings and driving him to enraged roars. The captain suddenly realized those light movements were no illusion. Again and again the crane clipped the thief’s hands, and with each fresh cut the thief grew angrier and less precise.

  And then the crane stumbled over an overturned chair, and the captain’s heart skipped a beat as well. His ally fell, vanishing from sight for an instant. The thief lunged down, sword raised.

  A blow, a blow.

  But steel met wood, not flesh. The crane rolled into the center of the room, swept his sword upward, and cut the thief across the cheekbone. The cloth covering his face split in two. The bear staggered back, covering his face with his elbow.

  The crane was already on his feet, driving him into a corner. Defending with one hand was clearly harder. Then the bear rushed straight at his opponent, forcing him to leap aside. Chong Sang-uk saw the crane clutch his shoulder.

  Had he been wounded?

  Taking advantage of the momentary confusion, the bear smashed through the closed shutters and leapt into the courtyard. The crane started after him, then stopped, watched the fugitive go, and headed toward the captain leaning against the wall.

  “Are you alive?” he asked in a familiar, slightly breathless voice, and Chong Sang-uk finally recognized Great Prince Seojin.

  “And I thought I was just a little away from defeating Your Highness,” Chong Sang-uk laughed nervously. His knees refused to hold him, and to his embarrassment he slid down the wall again. “It seems I still need more training.”

  “Where are you hurt?” the great prince pressed, as if it mattered. “Wait, I will light the lantern.”

  “How is your shoulder?” the captain asked in return. Any bastard who shed royal blood deserved death.

  “It is but a shameful nothing,” the great prince waved it off.

  He finished fussing with the floor lantern that had somehow survived intact, and warm light filled the room. The overturned table, chairs, and screen came into view, along with scattered scrolls and parts of broken shutters. Night and snow crept in through the window.

  “So, what do we have here?” the prince stepped closer, then froze, going pale. “Captain Chong, do not you dare die, hear me? That is an order!”

  “I had no intention of it,” Chong Sang-uk snorted, though his head was spinning. The excitement of the fight was fading, replaced by hunger, exhaustion, and recent fear. “That dog’s son ruined my hairdo.”

  “What can I bandage him with?” the prince asked distractedly, staring at the wall. Chong Sang-uk thought he might be imagining things.

  “Did you see who it was?” he asked to avoid silence. “A pity we let the bastard get away.”

  “It is fine,” the great prince said, pulling aside his burgundy robe and tearing a strip from his white under-shirt with a small slender dagger, likely the same one he had fought with. An elegant weapon. “I now know who was killed, and I think we will soon know the murderer’s name. And did you notice? He had a braid.”

  “Oh, so who is our corpse?” The captain was deeply uncomfortable that the great prince was tending to him. “Perhaps I should go already?”

  “I will bandage your head and then we will go,” Great Prince Seojin agreed. “So where else are you hurt? I see the forehead and the palm.”

  “In the heart,” Chong Sang-uk joked. “My pride is mortally wounded. First, I realized I am not nearly as good as I used to think. Second, if not for you… I owe you my life, Great Prince.”

  The prince’s hands paused as he wrapped the cloth around his head.

  “You are not obliged and you owe me nothing, Captain Chong,” the great prince said at last, tying the knot. “I dragged you into this and exposed you to needless danger. Forgive me for this.”

  “Oh, come now, it was a good idea. And it worked, too,” Chong Sang-uk was embarrassed that his wound caused so much trouble. “I am the fool for not even taking my scabbard. That cursed dagger…”

  “Can you stand?” Great Prince Seojin offered his hand and hauled him up with a firm pull. The room spun. Chong Sang-uk leaned against the wall. “Here, give me the sword, I will sheath it. Now you hold it, and I will hold you. And the jeonnip as well, yes? Have we forgotten anything?”

  The prince slung Chong Sang-uk’s right, uninjured arm around his own neck and slowly headed for the exit.

  “And where is your hat?” Chong Sang-uk asked, realizing the great prince was bareheaded, without the gat proper for city attire. Those were often removed before a fight and flung aside with a broad gesture. But amid the chaos he had not seen any black hat.

  “Hm?” Great Prince Seojin seemed surprised, then shrugged. “Must have left it at home. Just do not tell anyone about such disgrace.”

  Despite the haze of pain and darkness before his eyes, Chong Sang-uk chuckled.