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KARST FOUGHT AN ANGER he couldn’t afford to feel. Brial is so even tempered. What did Deheoul do to earn such a reaction? He wondered at her pale face and clenched fists. It was more than just unwanted advances. But what?
While he would not ask her, and despite knowing he could not voluntarily get the answers from Deheoul, the urge to take his sword and beat the answers out of the trader raged through Karst. "I can’t," he growled. "I cannot afford the distraction." He faced not one but two enemies. Unable to resolve the issue, he made a promise to take his anger out of Deheoul during the fight.
"I wouldn't be in such a hurry to die, hut jumper."
Battle is not a time for reflection. Karst grabbed the thought and used the insult as armor. A smile he didn't really feel twitched up one lip and he waved at Deheoul while addressing the escapee from Vreis' justice. "Who says, Medraut, it is my time to die? There will be two in the circle."
The red splotches that bloomed on Medraut's neck strengthened Karst. He rendered the other man meaningless in his mind by thinking of him only as the "road man." A final separation from his emotions and he turned to Feldt to proceed.
"Deheoul, do you still wish this challenge? No one will think the lesser of you if hands are shaken and the contest abandoned."
Surprise flickered across both the watching men.
Good, Karst thought. The more things are unexpected, the bigger advantage I will have. "Clan Leader Feldt, what is the penalty for malicious filing of a challenge?"
Although he knew the other man's chuckle was meant more to annoy Deheoul than to comfort Brial and him, Karst appreciated the effort.
"Enough," Deheoul shouted. "Karst, son of Elaisaid, escapee from Darceth, I challenge you for the hand of Brial of Clan Vreis."
Although he didn’t dare take his attention off Medraut and Deheoul, Karst risked a quick glance at Brial. Her lips tight, she gave an imperceptible nod. Knowing that he had her support for whatever decision he made, did nothing to calm the roiling in his soul.
His tight chest made it hard to breathe, but he forced out, "Deheoul, I accept the right of contest. However, Brial refuses your petition for marriage. She is neither chattel to be taken nor a prize to be won."
As he had before, Feldt stated the rules of engagement, ending with, "This contest will be held according to standard and practice. As the challenged, Karst has the choice of weapons. Contest ends at first blood."
Projecting a confidence he didn't feel, Karst pulled his sword from its sheath. "I choose swords."
"Agreed," Deheoul sneered. Instead of gripping the hilt of the sword hanging from his belt, he reached up and pulled into view a great sword that had been hidden behind his back. The naked blade sparkled in the sunlight.
A quick calculation returned the truth about the sword. Its length was a third more than the one he held. With his longer reach, Deheoul's odds of winning had more than doubled. Once again, Karst fought to slow his pulse so he could hear the other man.
As if he sensed the turmoil, Deheoul's smirk widened. "Since the choice of weapons has been made, I am afraid it cannot be changed." He turned to the watching Medraut. At the other man's nod, he shoved his blade back into its sheath. "Karst, you are not of the clan, not in the line of succession. It is beneath me to fight you."
"Then fight me," Brial hissed. "I am of the clan and of the succession."
"Fight a girl?" Deheoul laughed. "Even worse." His head shook as if in regret. "As much as I wish it, the pleasure of this battle will not be mine." A snap of his fingers and a man stepped from the shelter of the trees.
Deheoul's satisfied yell rang out. "I claim the right of champion." At his bow to her, Brial stiffened. "Don't worry, my dear. You will still be the winner's prize."
Karst cast a silent curse on Deheoul's ancestors, wishing them eternal torment in the Goddess’ fire-filled chambers. Not two enemies, but three? His pulse pounded in his ears. A third man had been hiding just within the tree line the entire time.
The coloring of the newcomer's clothes had blended with the woods making him invisible. He could have sent a volley of arrows before anyone even knew he was there.
Glacial ice formed in Karst’s chest at the image of blood soaking into the ground from arrow-riddled bodies. Fear for his friends stopped his breath. What else is Deheoul up to?
Karst pushed away the distraction presented by the clansman. He had to focus on the bigger threat. A moan Brial couldn’t hold back tore at his heart. He knew the why of her distress even before the newcomer closed the distance enough to see the man's face and the grinning Deheoul announced the newcomer's identity. "I choose as my champion, Rider Gault.
Time stopped. Karst couldn’t breathe. He felt Brial’s fear radiating from her. It grew when Feldt took a step forward. "Karst you have the right to select a champion if you wish."
Although aware Feldt waited an answer, Karst remained silent. As suspected, Deneas had moved up and stood at his back.
"Accept the proxy," Deneas soft tones at his ear held an undercurrent of emotion. "I will be your champion."
"I can’t ask you to do that. You already fought Gault once for me."
Deneas’ tight smile held an anticipation that forced him back a step. "You didn’t ask. I offered. Consider it my wedding present." She reached out to lay a hand on both his and Brial’s shoulders.
"Are you sure, Deneas?" Brial whispered.
"I already beat Gault once. That was for Telyn and the other girls. This time will be for me." Deneas' voice was barely louder than Brial's had been. "There will be plenty of other fights for both of you." Her head tilted.
"Either you accept Deneas ... or me," Brial argued.
Karst forced out, "I yield," and turned back to Feldt. "Since Deheoul is unwilling to face me, I feel no compulsion to engage him." He let a wry smile twitch his lips before resuming a solemn expression. "A champion has asked for the right to take Gault to task. I name Slayer Deneas of Darceth as my champion." He paused at the look of shock on Deheoul’s face, and felt a surge of hope at the fear that flickered across Gault’s.
"I object." Deheoul gestured at Deneas. His tone betrayed a barely-controlled anger at having his plan thwarted. "That one is not a member of Clan Vreis." His tone became more dismissive. "And she is female."
"Karst has not yet been adopted by Vreis, so he is not a ‘member.’ Yet you were willing to challenge him." Feldt’s droll retort answered. His appraising gaze raked Deneas from head to toe even as he winked. "Yes, she is female. She has also proven herself in battle." A snicker escaped. "Unlike your champion. For the record, Deneas is as close to kin as could be, barring blood." His chuckle rolled across the grass. "You should have vetted your ’champion' better. He was bested in combat by one of our youngest girls. He is no match for my granddaughter, let alone a trained slayer."
Medraut took a step closer "Since Deheoul's mother cannot be here to represent his clan, I stand in as monitor."
"You mean because none of his people would stand by him, so he had to bring in an outsider," Feldt called back.
"Be what it may," Medraut sneered. "By custom and before witnesses, a challenge has been offered and accepted, weapons chosen, and champions selected. Let it begin."
The command had barely reached Karst before the road man turned and retraced his steps back to the edge of the woods.
"Feldt, there was one more error in your formal statement," Deheoul laughed. "The custom of my clan for a contest such as this is not to first blood. It is to the death." His attention shifted and Karst felt the penetrating glare. A look which changed to a vicious grin. "But don't worry, Karst. You won't have to live long with the guilt. We will meet again. Soon." Laughing, he spun and with a determined pace headed to trees to stand beside the watching Medraut. Halting just within the shadowed woods, the clansman called over his shoulder, "Gault, she is all yours. Don’t fail."
Two steps later the darkness swallowed both men.
"NO!" THE DEPTH OF THE Brial’s need to keep Deheoul from escaping tore the cry from her throat. The paralysis that had held her since Medraut’s appearance shattered. Legs that had just heartbeats before been frozen with fear now raced after both the trader and her former patient.
Screams of "Brial, wait" from behind halted her headlong flight. A look over her shoulder revealed Karst running toward her, his face contorted with emotion too long restrained.
"Stay with Deneas," she ordered. "Keep her safe until Trelleir can return and take over."
A booming, "I have this," sounded from farther away. "Deneas, Karst, go with Brial. I will handle this one." His laugh made Brial smile. Although she couldn’t see his face, she knew her grandfather’s interpretation of "handle." The beating he had at Deneas’ hands would be nothing compared to the bruises Gault would soon sport.
Tywyll’s shriek deafened her. His talons dug into her skin. Air whooshed past her face and the helwr’s weight lifted from her shoulder. Her brain barely acknowledged that she had stopped next to her favorite weapon, a short bow.
A wave to acknowledge her kinsman and without even waiting for her friends to catch up, she snatched the bow and the quiver it leaned on, and raced after the helwr. One thought filled her mind. Kill Deheoul and Medraut.
Her world narrowed and she settled into the rhythm of the long-distance runner. Her footsteps mirrored the pulse pounding in her ears. The woods enveloped her. Scattered beams of light pierced the gloom to enable her heightened senses to follow the faint trail of bent branches and overturned leaves. Although she couldn’t see Tywyll, the helwr’s screeches provided an audible compass. Without conscious will she ducked under low-hanging branches and leaped over fallen trees. She didn’t know how long she had been chasing the men or where she was. Revenge kept one foot moving in front of the other.
A small pile of white stones stood out against the dark carpet of fallen leaves. It was not until a wagon-length farther down the trail that the significance of the cairn broke through Brial’s single mindedness. Tywyll herded his prey along a path that ended in a rocky outcrop.
Deheoul may know the convocation valley, she thought. But I know it better. Without breaking step, she weighed whether to follow Deheoul and Medraut or to take the secret cut-off to close the gap between them.
A line of three small stones lined up against a tree root forced a decision. A quick change of direction and she slipped between two trees. Ducking under the low-hanging branches, she left the main path and onto the hidden cut-off. Released from the constraints of roots and fallen limbs and aided by the thick layer of moss that covered the forest floor, her speed increased.
The sounds of the woods submerged beneath the huff of outgoing breaths. Not even the helwr's calls broke the silence. Time reduced to a count of the muffled footsteps.
The count had not reached three-hundred steps before Tywyll's scream of rang out.
Brial's heart raced. The helwr's tone held a single message. "I have him."
Screams, both human and bird raced Brial's pulse as she burst from beneath the trees in bright sunlight. Despite what had seemed like days of running, only a candlemark or two at the most had passed. The sun had not yet risen to its full height.
One source of the angry yells was Deheoul who wildly swung his sword in great arcs in an attempt to fend off the diving helwr. Streaks of blood on his face told of Tywyll's success in penetrating the trader's defenses.
By instinct, Brial notched an arrow and brought the bow into position. "Tywyll, return. Deheoul is mine."
Tywyll shrieked in protest but followed the command and flew to a narrow ledge on the stone wall. The tension in the tightly-held wings told of its attention on the people below.
Brial took a deep breath to settle her soul. The time for battle had come. "Drop your sword, Deheoul." Her tone held an off note and she took another breath to strengthen her voice. "And I may let you live." This time her words came out strong unwavering.
"You forget I fought against you," Deheoul retorted. "You don’t have the nerve." Sword held above his head, he took a step forward.