June 24th, evening: Having dinner with the Engineer

Edward returned the sigh even more deeply.

"No, perhaps not wrong as such. But it is more customary and expected to give warnings on the road. And your wording did imply more than a simple warning."

Hunter smirked, not unkindly. "Why do you think I became a soldier and not a writer?"

One corner of Edward's mouth kicked up.

"To be able to defend yourself from the results of your prose?"

His dart was thrown without heat, though. His mouth twisted a bit more, giving him a very lopsided grin.

"If I have been too harsh, I apologize - and please keep in mind that I'm only an engineer, and not a man of the cloth. My dealing with practical problems and numbers is far superior to my dealing with people - and even there I have been known to be mistaken."

Hunter smiled, thinking to himself that Torrington may actually make a decent practical man of the cloth.

"Well, my dealing with people is not stellar either. Must come from having a job that involves killing them, I am sure." Hunter said lightly.

"I'd say that this actually required dealing with them rather competently - only not in a way society generally approves of."

The weary smile was still in place when he suddenly inquired:

"Do you fence then?"

"If you could call it that... Yes, I do, though only with a sabre. I tried my hand with a smallsword and decided that I'd rather not be an object of derision. I presume from your question that you yourself do fence?"

Edward nodded.

"Yes, I do. Or rather, I did until I came here - there haven't been any chances to practice yet. Would you care to try your hand sometime?"

Hunter cocked his head to one side and looked Torrington up and down appraisingly. "You know, Captain, when I said "if you could call it that" I was not being modest. All the sabre lessons I've got were really for the purpose of going out and doing harm with the weapon and not about finesse and great skill. If you will forgive me in advance for not exercising enough control and, um, putting your arm in a lock or tripping you," Hunter smiled ruefully, "then I would be glad to spar with you."

Edward laughed out loud, suddenly looking much younger and wilder, and with a definitely rakish charm shimmering through the cracks in his cool demeanor.

"Actually, I had hoped that you would say something like that - you see, I was thinking that you would possibly be the best preparation for a bout with the French I could get at the moment."

Hunter put his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his interlocked fingers. His eyes glinted. "Oh, some French are quite honourable and would be shocked by such conduct. So, it is agreed then? I have to warn you I will not be gentle, but then I will not expect you to be gentle either, especially if you have some residual anger to work out."

"It is agreed. I'll take everything save hired assassins, and you don't need not to feel yourself under any obligation to spare me anything you would do to your enemy. Any additional rules we should agree upon beforehand? Not killing each other?"

He still seemed quite cool and collected, but inwardly he itched to get out his sabre. It had been long since he had any practice - since he left London, as a matter of fact. And Hunter believed him to be angry, possibly angry enough to press hard and even careless. He wouldn't stoop to dirty tricks, but perhaps, if he played his cards right, he could score a hit or two on that. And even if he couldn't ... he was curious what tricks Hunter had in store.

"Well, I am not going to kill you. But if you should kill me, I'll consider it my fault." Hunter smirked, then tapped a finger against his lips. "I think it is still light enough outside, especially if we get some torches. Shall we do it now?"

"Certainly, if you like!"

Edward quickly went over to his chest, opened it and pulled out a slender, deadly looking sabre with which he replaced the rather cumbersome weapon at his side.

Hunter rose, his movement rather slow and sinuous, almost cat-like. He had no need to change his weapon: the sabre he wore was the sabre he used.

He put his hand on the large, curved pommel, but refrained from pulling it out. He drew the tent's flap to one side and bowed lightly. "Then after you, my lord." He smiled slyly, perfectly aware that he was in a way stealing Torrington's host duties.

Edward grinned somewhat ferally, but with real amusement, and bowed as well, his eyes never leaving Hunter.

"After you, Captain! I don't think I should turn my back on you just now."

George put a hand over his heart, the gesture a lot more fluttering than one would expect from him. "What? You really think I would stab you in the back and lose my opportunity for having proper fun? Shame on you!" He obeyed Torrington though and stepped outside, this time not bothering to hold the tent flap up for Torrington.

Edward laughed and followed.

"I would consider you to go back on your promise not to spare me if you hadn't at least thought about it. Shall we upset the camp by finding a place near a fire or trade the better light for more space and find a place at the edge of camp?"

"Oh, more space definitely," Hunter threw over his shoulder and started making his way through the camp, fingers playing with the pommel of his sabre.

Edward followed in a strangely light mood, as if he had drunken much more wine than the small glass he had. Walking half a pace behind gave him an opportunity to study his opponent: He certainly had the longer reach, and his height would give him a small advantage, but that didn't bother Edward much. The grace in Hunter's movements promised to be more troublesome. Edward would have to be careful there. As covertly as possible, he studied the other man. Which leg did he favour? How did he react to uneven terrain? Any weakness he discovered now would be of help.

"Should we take the spot next to the river there? It's reasonably flat and as far as i recall without any holes or other obstacles that could cost us a broken leg."

"Yes, that is a good idea. Besides one of us might persuade the other to go for a dip." Hunter slowed down to walk beside Torrington. "I hope you can swim." He said seriously, like he fully expected to win.

"I have managed to hold my head above the water sofar. How about you?", Edward laughed and slowly drew his sabre - a lovely blade his father had given him, much more suited to his weight and style than the heavy regulation sabre. Then he took up his position on the dry river bank.

"You know, I have always been fond of a saying my first fencing teacher used: "He who is destined to hang - won't drown."

Hunter faced Torrington and only then drew his own sabre. It was a lighter looking weapon than most sabres in use, but it had fine balance and unlike most western sabres had now guard whatsoever, which meant a much greater degree of wrist action was possible. Hunter adopted a high hanging guard, the fist holding his sword higher than his head and the blade vertical almost in front of his face.

Hm, unusual. Of course Hunter could simply have chosen the posture to impress him, but Edward didn't believe that; the samewent for the sabre. Still, if he wanted to mislead Hunter himself, he couldn't use time to quietly study him - he had to attack. So he did, in a slightly more forceful than necessary text-book attack, skillfull but unimaginative.

It was below his level, though Hunter didn't know that - Edward could only hope that dealing with whatever Hunter cared to throw at him and observing him at the same time wouldn't be above.

George parried the thrust easily enough, while stepping to the side, letting the change in position rather than strength direct the thrust away from him. He didn't attack though, simply falling back to their initial distance and adopting the same guard.

Hm, not good, but to be expected. Edward slowly circled, feigning another thrust to the left shoulder.

"Is the light enough?", he inquired, his tone halfway between an honest question and mockery.