"Prince Lon! Prince Lon!"
A hissing whisper. Was it real, or the remnant of a dream?
He opened one eye, then the other, and immediately raised his right arm to shield against a blast of sunlight in his face. Tah! It was full day, the court would be buzzing already, and here he lay in someone else's bed.
Whose?
Kardl rose on one elbow and regarded the woman beside him, who was snoring lightly. Her back was to him, a coil of dark red hair falling across one creamy shoulder. Well, that narrowed it down. It was either Marsi or the Countess Kleg. He lifted the sheet gently and examined her back.
Ah. Just above the left buttock was a little tattoo. A blue rose. Kleg, then.
Double tah. Her husband could be a bother. He'd better get out of here.
"Prince Salac-Lon Kardl!"
The whisper again, not a dream, and serious about getting his attention. A little scratch at the window screen.
The count? God! He glanced wildly around for something he might use as a weapon. But after a moment he realized the count had a key and would hardly come to the window and announce himself. He rolled out of bed—Powers, his head hurt!—and padded naked across the room. Squinting against the sun, he saw his valet, Pordua, crouched below the window and glancing around, small nervous face screwed into a frown.
He rattled the screen lightly. "Pordi! Thanks for warning me! I'll be right out when I find my clothes. Head him off, will you?"
"No one's after you. Not yet, anyway. But there's a count looking for you."
"Not this count?"
"Not yet. The one looking for you is Kendrac. Salac-Tal Kendrac."
"Who's that? Never heard of him."
"Of course you have. I'll tell you when you get out of there. Come on."
"All right. You come to the hall door and we'll meet there. If…mmm. If it looks like trouble, talk in a loud voice and I'll go out this way."
Kardl found his trousers on the floor, stepped into them, pulled the tunic over his head, and scooped up his shirt, drawers, and stockings. Where were his sandals? Oh. Over there in the corner beside that empty wine cup, their straps tied in several complicated knots. Kleg had done it for a joke, he dimly remembered. He picked them up, slung them over his shoulder, planted a silent kiss in the air above the sleeping countess's ear, and hurried out into the hall, where Pordua waited. Alone, thank God.
"Here, hold this stuff for a minute." He thrust the bundle of underwear into his servant's hands and pulled the door shut, wincing as the latch snapped into place.
"For God's sake, put on your shoes."
"Can't. They're tied together, and what if I'd have to run?"
Pordua rolled his eyes. "All right. Come this way. We'll go out to the gardens."
"Why not just go home? To my suite, I mean? I need to bathe. And have some breakfast, and—"
"I told you, Count Tal is there, waiting for you. Salac-Tal. He's a prosecutor or something in Darzo Gan. Never comes to court. I told him you were out enjoying the sunshine. You can use one of the bathhouses by the lake. There's nobody down there this early."
"Small wonder! It's cold, Pordi. Why can't I just go somewhere with heated water, at least. The gymnasium—"
"Not a good idea. That's where the other count is, the one you don't want to meet. I checked. Anyway, the cold water will do you good. And be sure to wash your face. Your mouth is purple."
Kardl sighed. "Tastes like it, too. Well, all right. I'll just make a quick splash of it." They walked out onto the palace grounds, so bright with the reds and yellows of autumn that he winced. He glanced at his valet. "Thanks for taking care of me, Pordi. What do you think this Salac-Tal Kendrac wants?"
"He didn't confide in me. But he looks grim."
* * * *
Having sneaked into his suite by the servants' entrance, changed clothes hurriedly, and gulped a cup of scalding tea, Kardl gave himself a cursory inspection in his dressing room mirror. He looked somewhat better than he felt, but not much. Also, now that he'd guessed what this interview might be about, he was a bit nervous. Another count, Ainee Te Po, had visited him a month ago—or was it two?—and he'd behaved badly. Probably this one had come to tell him so.
Oh, well, a cheerful, forthright attitude might go a long way. Smiling, he strode into the small reception parlor where his guest sat, flipping through the pages of a book.
"Count Tal. Sorry to have kept you waiting. I was down at the lake. My servant found me." Well, both statements were true, although not in that order. "It's a glorious day. Have they brought you refreshment?" Belatedly he noticed the empty cup and apparently untouched plate of cakes on the table. "Yes. Good." He clapped his hands and called over his shoulder, "More tea."
"Prince Lon." The count put the book down and rose with a cool smile. He nodded very slightly, a concession to rank. He was a tall, slender man, impeccably dressed, fair-skinned, with hair and eyes so light as to be nearly colorless. A real Salac, the prince thought, and remembered with some surprise that this was a literal truth rather than the faintly sneering phrase of his childhood, when he was just Lon Kardl, before he'd known that he too was of that clan.
"I'm pleased to meet you…at last," Count Tal went on. This was polite convention, but the small pause left little doubt about what he'd meant. He'd been sitting here for a while.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," Kardl said again, feeling his face grow warm. A maid scurried into the room with a teapot and another cup.
"It's all right. I've been looking at one of your books. As you see."
He did see, to his dismay. The nature of the book was obvious. "Thank you, Jola," he said, willing the girl out of the room before she, too, saw. If she hadn't already. Tah. "Please sit down, Count. How may I help you?"
"Oh, it's Kendrac, please." Another polite convention—they were cousins, after all—but there was no warmth in it.
They settled in chairs and regarded each other. "And you, my lord prince?"
He hesitated only a second. "Kardl, of course."
It was a long time since anyone had called him that. Even Kleg or Marsi or the others. Probably because they didn't remember it. It wasn't the important part of his name, after all. He was my lord prince in public and other things in private.
"Good. Then I'll get to the point." Ignoring the tea, Count Tal steepled his fingers and sent a straight look over them. "Our cousin, Lord Ainee Te Po, whom you have met, believes for some reason that your investiture as crown prince was a good thing—or will have been a good thing—for the Confederation. And for the clan, of course. He's arranged for you to enter university at the beginning of the next term. I'm to bring you back to Darzo Gan with me. We'll leave tomorrow morning. Early. Which will give you time enough to settle any business here."
Kardl could only stare stupidly. His brain was a large ball of fuzz. "Count Ainee—"
"Our cousin. Count Ainee Te Po. You remember him, I trust?"
Kardl fumbled for words. "Yes— He— I—"
Ainee Te Po was the first Salac Kardl had ever seen, the one who'd suspected, and then verified, his father's identity as the lost "young prince." And then Kardl's identity. He'd meant well, Kardl supposed. But still...
He met Kendrac's cold eyes with difficulty. "A month or so ago, Count Ainee came here. I was impolite to him. I was… indisposed."
"You were drunk."
A flash of anger cleared Kardl's head. "Yes, I suppose I was. I'd been at a banquet. To which I was invited, as they say here. Your Salacu wine is quite strong. I was not in the habit of wine, when I was a boy. Only our Bandoru ale. That was before Count Ainee learned who my father was and invited me to the court."
He remembered the Valley of the Sun, where he'd fought to escape his captors. Where two of his friend Mardo's wranglers had been killed, to no purpose. He'd been just thirteen.
"When you were a boy," Kendrac said, with his cool smile. "How old are you now, Lon Kardl?"
"I'm fifteen." It was true; his birthday had been just over two months ago. He stood up. "And I am the crown prince. You do not give me orders, Count, and neither does our cousin Lord Ainee. You may return to Darzo Gan whenever you wish. I do not care to go with you."
Count Tal's smile widened briefly. "Ah. You have a bark, I see. Do you have a bite? I do. Sit back down, Kardl, and I'll tell you about it. Or stay on your feet, if you prefer."
Kardl's head thudded fiercely. What could he do? Order the man to leave? Throw him out? Damned if he'd be told to sit down, though. He began to stride back and forth.
After a moment Kendrac continued. "Ainee Te Po and I have friends in the city, you see. On the High Council and elsewhere. You have no standing with them. You are simply another Salac with a title, another corrupt young man playing with money here at the old court. Whatever you may be one day, if Te Po is correct in his assessment—and I personally haven't seen or heard anything to persuade me that he is—you are not that now. Yes, you're the crown prince. I'm a count, and Te Po is a count. None of that means anything at all. This country has laws, and we are subject to them."
Kardl continued to pace.
"Now," Kendrac said, "Listen carefully. There is a man here who owes a great deal of money to one of our friends. He will accuse you of seducing his daughter, a girl who hasn't yet reached her majority, and there will be witnesses—there are witnesses—who will bring evidence against you."
Marsi's father, no doubt. Who'd brought Marsi to his suite himself. Well, this could be a problem, but not much of one. The girl was a half-year older than he was, and her father had shopped her around since she was twelve, as everyone knew. Maybe he should have refused her, but she'd been very available and very, very pretty.
"Another count here," Kendrac went on, "will make your life quite difficult when your relationship with his wife is brought to his official attention."
He stopped pacing.
"Also, there's an extremely wealthy man in Darzo Gan who wished to betroth you to his daughter and whom you refused. That girl is nine years old, and her father will say that a little over a year ago you and another young gentleman of the nobility attempted to rape her."
Kardl sat down abruptly. "I did not—" he said, when his breath came back.
Kendrac waved his hand. "Be quiet. Listen. That last accusation will be a lie, I know. Which will not prevent the man from making it, if pressure's brought to bear. The others are not lies, and there are more. Your title will give you no protection if charges are brought against you, as they will be if you do not return with me to the city. And go to school. And become whatever it's in you to become."
Kardl said nothing. A little while ago he'd been ravenous, tempted to eat the greasy cakes that his cousin had wisely ignored. Now he wanted to throw up. His tongue tasted like a dirty rag.
"Hear me," the count said. "Te Po had you brought here two years ago, knowing your presence would heal the deadly rift between his faction and the supporters of my half-brother Arno and his son Irsa, who is insane. That has been accomplished. No one denies, now, that you're the true crown prince, the true head of the clan. Te Po also hoped that your unwillingness to be here at all would help you to resist the nature of this... This pit."
He glanced around the richly furnished room, as if it stood for the old court in its entirety. "Te Po was wrong about your ability to resist temptation, as he knows now.
"But you will remain the crown prince, whether in prison or at university. Arno is dead, and Irsa defeated, so there's still a chance for us and for the country.
"Kardl," he said, and leaned forward, "I know what this place is. You can get away, make something of your life. I grew up here, and I got out, thank God—or thank the Powers in the stars, as we say. You can do it too."
Anger flashed again, farther away this time somehow, but stronger, deeper. "Oh. You got out. Did you have the sort of help you're offering me? Come away to the city or we'll send you to jail?"
He stood up again, his stomach roiling. "No. I'll not come with you. And I won't go to prison, or be killed by a jealous husband. There's another way, you see. A contest. A combat. I can challenge you. It's a tradition here, isn't it, along with all these other traditions? I do challenge you, and you'd better accept. Or on my way to prison I'll let everyone know what a stinking coward you are."
He walked to the glass doors that overlooked the courtyard, stepped out into the sunlight, and vomited a quantity of thin, faintly purple liquid into a flowering plant. Wiping his mouth, he reentered the room, where Kendrac had leaned back in his chair.
"Ah," said the count. "What sort of combat do you propose?"
"Tesanh o du, as I think it's called. Single combat until one dies or admits defeat. Do you accept?"
"I accept." Kendrac might have been agreeing to attend a tea. "What weapons?"
"Swords. The Bandoru battle sword, if you can handle one. Or whatever sword you choose."
"No. It wouldn't be a fair fight. I'm a much better swordsman than you."
"What makes you think that?"
"My weapons-master was the highlander Adiso Tanh Fet. No doubt you've heard of him. He taught me well, beginning when you were kicking in your mother's belly, and I've stayed in practice. You'd be far outmatched, despite your longer reach. You'd be dead in minutes. Is that what you want?"
Was that what he wanted?
Not really, he decided. His own weapons-master, he recalled, had recently scolded him for missing lessons and taking a generally careless approach to practice. Probably Count Tal was right. Fighting him with any kind of sword would be tantamount to suicide.
"Of course not. What weapon would you suggest, then? Axes? Throwing knives?" Not that either of these would be much better.
"No blades at all. Ti fei. Surely that would suit you?"
Tah. "I am not accomplished at ti fei."
The count smiled. "At what combat are you accomplished? Fisticuffs, perhaps?"
"Yes." He'd had plenty of practice at that, God knew.
"All right, that then. Hand to hand, bare-knuckle rules. For as long as it takes."
Kardl shrugged. "That would put you at a disadvantage. I'm taller than you, heavier. As you say, I have the longer reach."
"Yes, and you're younger by nearly ten years. But I'm wilier, and I've a cooler head. I'll give you the fight you want, never fear."
Why not? "All right. Today, then? This afternoon?"
Kendrac shook his head. "You're sick from the wine you've drunk, and I need to make arrangements, send a message or two. Tomorrow morning. We'll go out of the court, into the forest. Meanwhile, I suggest you eat a meal and get some sleep."
* * * *
The sun, just risen behind them, made a million prisms on the grass as they walked through a long meadow toward the west, where a low stone wall marked the boundary of the forest. Kardl was reminded of the hills of north-central Bandor, where he'd walked, counting his 'lanu flock, as a boy with Stone Village. The woods beyond the wall were thick with dark pines, and among them the white-barked anitiu, their little round leaves like gold coins quivering in a barely discernable breeze.
Unexpectedly, his vision blurred, and he shook his head quickly to get rid of the tears. This was apparently another of life's cruel jokes. Just as things begin to look good at last, the bottom drops out. But then, just when you've decided the world's not worth living in, its sudden beauty shines so bright that the possibility of losing it makes you cry.
He and Kendrac had met briefly the previous evening to establish rules. The first of these, traditionally, was that there be at least two witnesses, whose purpose was to ensure that the combat be conducted fairly. In times past, Kardl had read, tesanh o du frequently took place before a crowd, private enmity doubling as public entertainment. This time it would be private only. Each of them had brought a witness to their meeting—Kendrac an old courtier he'd known in his youth, and Kardl his servant Pordua, who was a distant relative of the clan, though of illegitimate birth. But they'd agreed beforehand to misdirect their witnesses as to time and place of the duel. The nature of the encounter would be known after it was over, as would its outcome, but the combat itself would be their shared secret. Pordua and Ainee-Ledh Jodu would be waiting an hour past sunrise at a sandy beach north of the city, and it would take at least a few minutes for them to realize that Kardl and Kendrac were not going to arrive.
Whatever Kendrac's reasons for dispensing with witnesses, Kardl had been glad to agree. He'd been not at all confident of this duel's outcome; in fact, he'd almost wished he'd not suggested it, and he was kept from calling it off only by the fact that thinking of the possible alternatives—either following his cousin to Darzo Gan like an obedient puppy or daring him to carry out his threats—made him wild with anger all over again. So, instead, he'd spent the day with a raging headache, gloomily foreseeing his probable defeat.
He and Kendrac were unevenly matched in height and weight. He was a couple of inches taller, and perhaps twenty pounds heavier. Those things should give him the advantage, all else being equal. But of course all else was not equal. The twenty pounds were mostly superfluous, the product of good eating and little real exercise, and the count looked to be in superb shape. Also, while the ten years' difference in their ages might mean the older man would tire more quickly, it probably didn't mean that at all, but only that he'd be, as he'd said, wilier.
Kardl had expected to lie awake all night, too, in anticipation, but in fact he'd slept soundly. Whatever happened now was in the hands of God. And if—as he suspected—God was not especially concerned with the doings of a fifteen-year-old prince at an exhausted court on an obscure planet in a multitudinous universe, at least it was out of his hands.
In fact, he might even have an advantage of which his new-found cousin was unaware, one to offset the ones on Kendrac's side.
Kardl had been a fighter for a long time, from his first years in Bandor Gan schools after his mother had remarried and taken him away from his village. Until he was twelve, he'd been smaller than his schoolmates, an odd-looking bandoru-hali with brown skin and bright red hair, a bookish boy unused to city ways, the stepson of an unpopular politician. He'd been smarter than all of them, quicker-witted, and he'd never been able to resist saying the thing that would start trouble.
He'd never backed down from a tussle, either, and he'd learned from his mistakes. He'd worn his bruises as badges of honor, and as time went on there'd been fewer of them. Also, while Kendrac had been right about his temper, this had never been a problem in a fight. The minute everything started, his mind became cold and methodical. He was lucky that way. And he guessed that his cousin didn't know it.
So now, as they approached the stone fence, he was in what seemed a strange state of mind but a useful one, more fatalistic than anything else. What would happen would happen. It would be good to have it begin.
Once over the fence, they went on, into the trees and among them for a half-mile or so, following a path Kardl knew well. Neither of them spoke—they hadn't spoken since they left the gardens of the old court—so there was silence except for the rustling of their boots in the first of this year's fallen leaves, and the sounds of birdsong. When they reached the place they'd agreed upon, a little glade under a giant oak, floored with soft grass, they stopped. Both looked around, assessing the space, its possible hazards, and the advantages it might offer.
What a contrast between present and past! Kardl had been brought here for the first time, just over a year ago, by the countess Kleg, who fancied herself a sort of woodland spirit and had dressed in green homespun for the occasion. They'd smoked a little takh and drunk from the flask of light wine Kleg had produced from one of her pockets. He'd thought she wanted to talk. She'd been kind to him since his unhappy arrival at court—almost motherly, she'd seemed—and her kindness had been a comfort.
As it turned out, though, talk was the last thing on her mind. The green homespun had come off in a hurry, revealing that she wore nothing under it, and she'd danced for him. His response had been so immediate that it shocked him. But she'd laughed at his embarrassment, and when she'd asked him to take the pins from her hair, and it had tumbled down, long and springy, over her shoulders, he had been ready again.
They'd returned often, and several times this last spring and summer he'd brought Marsi, and one or two of the others, to celebrate his manhood and their pleasure, here to this glade where he'd first discovered these things. Now as he surveyed the familiar landmarks he felt excitement of a different sort—but just as visceral, surely—awaken in him. It surprised him a little. This would be no schoolyard tussle, he knew. But he was as ready for it as he might be, more confident than he'd supposed, and he'd always enjoyed his confidence being tested.
Kendrac, too, he guessed, had been here before. Glancing at his cousin's face, he saw that the cool, sea-colored eyes had narrowed with what might be memory or anticipation.
Both he and Kendrac carried packs with them. Kardl had brought a flask of water and a packet of leftovers from last evening's meal. He'd eaten almost no breakfast, forcing himself to stop after one egg and a cup of milk. He had no idea what Kendrac might have brought. They put their packs down at the base of the oak, took off their outer clothing and boots, laid them beside the packs, and walked into the clearing wearing only their long drawers. The morning was still chilly, but the sun would be above the trees soon.
Would there be some ceremony now? Some kind of traditional preamble to their fight? He remembered nothing about this from his reading, which had been pretty cursory he supposed. Still, it seemed somehow appropriate for a formal combat to be prefaced by something. Kendrac would know, he guessed.
They stood facing each other, two arms' length apart. "Shall we begin, then?" Kendrac said, his tone pleasant. Without waiting for an answer, he stepped lightly toward Kardl and punched him hard just below the breastbone.
So, no ceremony. He fell back a step, trying to breathe.
Kardl's schoolboy fights, apart from a few instances when he'd been attacked without warning, had mostly followed a pattern: the two combatants faced each other and Kardl was the first to move, wading in with a flurry of punches, kicks, and yells. This had served a couple of purposes. Even though he'd usually been the younger boy and always the smaller, his explosive, aggressive attack had startled his opponent into momentary confusion. Sometimes this gave him time enough to inflict some actual damage in the first few seconds. In any case, it often made the other boy overconfident, believing that Kardl was wildly angry, heedless of protecting himself. It gave him an edge, however slight.
Such had been his plan today. Now, obviously, he needed to come up with another. He stumbled backward, gasping, and Kendrac was on him like a cat, aiming sharp jabs at his chin, keeping his left hand between them. Some of the blows landed, but Kardl pulled his head back, fading the punches, recovering his equilibrium.
The difference in their height—a hand's breadth—was enough to lessen Kendrac's force, and Kardl began to circle to his right, looking for a chance to slip through his cousin's guard. Circling, avoiding, he watched his opponent carefully. Eventually there'd be an opportunity to use his greater height and longer reach to advantage. Meanwhile, he could learn something about Kendrac's strengths and weaknesses.
Speed was an obvious strength. The man was quick, no doubt about that. Quick and accurate—or would be, if Kardl were to give him a real opening. Was he strong enough to inflict serious damage? That first blow to the midsection had been a hard one. Surely, though, Kendrac hadn't thought it would stop him. More likely he'd meant it as a taunt, something to get his attention, to surprise him—as indeed it had—and to arouse his anger.
He hadn't been prepared for it. He was prepared now, he thought. There was still time for his old game, then. In order for it to be believable, he'd have to let another punch land first, but he could take it.
He stopped circling and took aim at Kendrac's face, jabbing with his left hand and following with a straight right, deliberately leaning toward his cousin as he put the force of his weight behind the punch. Kendrac ducked. Kardl's blow missed, and, as momentum moved him forward, Kendrac's left hand connected solidly with the point of his chin.
He fell back, exaggerating a little. He'd been hit harder, although not much harder, he had to admit. Still, it was what he'd been looking for, and the little gleam in Kendrac's eyes told him he'd been right. His head cleared and he let himself move forward again, swinging angrily and fast. Kendrac backed away.
But Kendrac was not as easy to fool as the boys in Bandor Gan had been, and he kept himself well guarded. Moreover, Kardl's show of guilelessness involved a certain amount of risk, as always. So, while he managed to get in two or three good blows—one of which opened a small cut over Kendrac's right eye—he was caught by a mighty left that sent him staggering backward. His heel slipped on a cluster of leaves and he went down, sprawling.
As he began to scramble to his feet, Kendrac held up both hands, palms out. "End of round. Take a moment's rest."
"That was a slip, not a knockdown."
Kendrac shrugged. He wasn't even breathing hard. "All right. We're not keeping score, though, so let's call it a round." He went to his pack, brought out a flask, and offered it to Kardl. "Water?"
"Thank you." He took a deep swallow and handed it back. "There's some in my pack, too. We can have that later." Perhaps Kendrac thought he was too young and stupid to have brought water.
Strangely, he felt absolutely no anger, now, at his cousin. The reason for the contest no longer seemed important. It was the contest itself that mattered. He wanted to best Kendrac, and that was going to be difficult. It was going to hurt. But the glum forebodings of defeat he'd felt yesterday were gone. Now it seemed there was a chance he would succeed. A good chance, actually. Kendrac was wily, as he'd boasted, and one of his wiles, no doubt, was to spend a little strength pretending not to tire. A good trick, but Kardl refused to believe it. The man was approaching thirty. There was no way he wouldn't give out first.
He stood up and waited for Kendrac to put the flask away.
The second round lasted longer. Kardl abandoned his pretended carelessness, which had obviously not deceived his opponent, and instead circled, circled, dodged, took what opportunities came his way. His legs were getting tired already. As a boy, until he'd come to the old court, he'd walked for miles with his village when it moved, walked for pleasure when there was no necessity, but he'd been here for two years and he'd not taken many long walks. He slowed his pace judiciously, kept up his guard as well as possible—another punch like that one to his chin might be fatal—and was careful to choose only the best moments to attack. Meanwhile Kendrac danced back and forth, came in under his punches, and concentrated on his body, battering him hard.
This went on for many minutes before Kardl saw his perfect opportunity and sent a right cross to Kendrac's face, hitting him on the left cheekbone and splitting his own knuckle at the same time. The older man went down.
It was obviously a knockdown, the end of the round. Kardl backed away and waited. In a few seconds Kendrac got up and shook himself, and Kardl went to get his own water flask. They rinsed their mouths, spat, drank, and stood for a minute, each catching his breath. Kardl wanted to sit down, but he knew it would look like weakness. He took the flask back and returned.
Kendrac nodded, and they began again.
What ensued was more of the same. Kardl grew more and more tired. His ribs were sore and his legs ached. They circled, circled. Kendrac was no longer dancing, and it seemed to Kardl that he was missing chances to go for the head. He was tiring, too much now to keep up a pretense of supernatural energy. Good. After what seemed a long while, Kardl landed another blow just above Kendrac's eye, opening the cut farther. Blood began to pour into the eye itself and down the pale cheek.
Kardl had inflicted such wounds in some of his schoolboy fights, and had himself suffered such a cut on one occasion, but he'd never before seen anyone bleed so profusely or so vividly. Kendrac shook his head and streaks of red flew out onto his shoulders. Keeping his guard up, he brushed more of the blood away, smearing his handsome face.
Kardl stepped back. "Do you want to stop?"
His cousin laughed. "Not if you don't."
"You can't see."
"I can see well enough." He moved in and planted another blow just below Kardl's rib cage. Kardl cringed, stepped forward, and went after him again. Soon both of them were bloody.
"Let's call another round," Kardl said, holding his hands out as Kendrac had earlier.
"Why?"
He considered this briefly. He wanted to defeat Kendrac, but defeating a one-eyed man would not be honorable. On the other hand, Kendrac seemed more than willing to go ahead and quite able to proceed, one-eyed or not. Which meant that he, Kardl, might well be bested by a half-blind opponent. Which was his true reason? They balanced each other out, he decided.
"Never mind."
They went back at it.
The third round ended at last when Kardl went down again, this time slipping in a patch of blood. The sun was high by now behind a veil of haze, the day warm and humid for autumn, and the little glade stank of blood and sweat. He propped himself up on one elbow and watched as Kendrac took something from his pack. His whole body ached. He'd had a beating from his stepfather, once, that had broken two ribs, loosened several teeth, and bloused both eyes almost shut. It must have hurt as much as this. Maybe more. Funny how you remembered that you'd had pain, but didn't remember the pain itself. It was brand new, every time.
Kendrac came back and sat down beside him, looking a great deal less than sprightly himself. "Here, Kardl," he said, "help me with this, will you?" He was holding an open jar and a small packet of cloth.
"What is it?"
"Court plaster. I'll tear off a few strips and put some of this goop on them. I need you to paste them on my eyebrow to hold this cut closed."
The blood flow had stopped. Kendrac had wiped the area just around the cut with water, making him look as if he were wearing a dark red mask on half his face. The eye itself had begun to swell. Gingerly, Kardl held the two edges of the cut together and spread the small cloth strips across them as his cousin directed.
"This'll be dry in a minute or two," Kendrac said. "Then we can start again."
Kardl suppressed a groan.
* * * *
Round four, it seemed, went on forever. Both were plodding now, shuffling around the small clearing like a pair of tired old men. Kendrac's eye was swollen shut. His punches had lost their snap, although each one of them fell painfully when it connected, and Kardl's efforts to dodge them were pitifully ineffective. His left arm felt leaden, and his right had all the force of a kitten's playful swing. His legs were nearly numb.
What had he been thinking yesterday when he suggested this? Kleg's husband wasn't going to kill him. Nobody was going to kill him. He was too valuable to his own faction for that to be allowed. They probably wouldn't send him to prison, either. Anyway, even prison would be better than this endless torture.
Suddenly there was a moment of clarity. He saw Kendrac's right fist coming slowly, slowly, as if through a transparent jelly, and he moved lightly aside. Then, as the force of Kendrac's intended blow carried the older man forward, Kardl called on his remaining strength and struck at his cousin's face with all the power he could muster. The cut opened again. Blood poured down into Kendrac's eye. Kardl drew back for a second blow. This one would end the contest….
And, without thought, he hesitated. Stopped.
Kendrac staggered, regained his footing, and struck again. The blow came like lightning, catching Kardl flatfooted, landing just below his left ear. He toppled over like a tree and felt the ground come up hard behind him.
For a miraculous moment everything was dark and peaceful. Then he opened his eyes to see Kendrac standing over him, blood still flowing freely down his face. Kardl struggled to sit up.
"No, no. Stay where you are," he heard Kendrac say, through the loud buzzing in his ears. "Are you all right? Rest a minute. Do you want to go on?"
Do I want to go on? "No!" he exclaimed. Or tried to exclaim—his voice sounded thin and querulous. "Please, no. No more. I concede."
"Thank God," Kendrac whispered shakily, and collapsed to his knees.
* * * *
When Kardl awakened, the sun was behind the oak, dim through low cloud, and the air, still moist, had begun to chill. Shivering, he crawled to his clothes and put on his shirt, tunic, and trousers. He attempted to pull on a stocking, but bending at the waist hurt too much and he decided to wait for a while. Kendrac was lying on his back a few yards away, his mouth open, snoring. Kardl dug a cold meat sandwich from his pack and ate as much as he could, swallowing small chunks whole because opening his mouth was difficult and chewing was sheer agony. He washed the chunks down with tepid water from his flask.
Kendrac woke up and stared at him. "Powers, cousin," he said. "You look like a reanimated corpse."
Kardl laughed and winced. Laughing hurt, too. "You should see yourself." He handed over the flask and tossed Kendrac's clothes to him. "Getting cold, now."
They sat together in silence, sharing the water. Kendrac ate part of a sandwich. "I'll have to wire Te Po," he said after a while. "Tell him it'll be another day. He'll have worried, and there's no way I can take the early train tomorrow, either. In the morning I won't be able to walk."
"I'll be all right," Kardl said. "By noon, anyway, if there's a later train. I've always healed quickly, and I don't think there's anything broken." He moved his jaw back and forth experimentally.
Kendrac looked at him. "You know, cousin, you don't have to come back with me. I can't force you. You're young. You've been made to grow up too fast, in my opinion, but in a year you'll have reached your majority. You can make up your mind then. The university would be a good choice, but that's up to you."
"Of course I'll go with you. That was the agreement. You won the challenge. Do you think I'd go back on my word?"
"No," Kendrac said after a moment. "I don't think you'd go back on your word."
The sky darkened. The sun was no longer visible as it sank farther toward the western hills. Kendrac got up and walked around, flexing his shoulders, and sat down again. "Kardl, what were you, before you came here? Came to the old court, I mean."
"Just a boy," Kardl said. "Stone Village, Honeybee clan. My real father died when I was a baby, and nobody knew he was a Salac. My mother had no idea. She thought he was of the Rydoru. He was a clerk in Bandor Gan and they got married when she was very young, fourteen or fifteen. Then when I was about six she married my stepfather and they took me to the city, but I went back to my village every time I got a chance. Lived with my uncle's family."
"What did you do there?"
He shrugged. "Took care of a lilanu flock. Went to school, when we were at winter village. Our kura had a lot of books and I used to read all the time."
"What was the best thing that ever happened to you? The best thing you remember?"
He pulled a blade of grass out of its shaft and looked at it. "There was a girl," he said. "She came through the Door from the other world when I was twelve. Almost twelve. We spent the summer together. She went home then, but she was going to come back. I was going to wait for her." He dropped the grass and, without knowing he would do it and unable to stop himself, he began to weep.
He choked and sobbed. It hurt worse than laughing. Finally he got control of himself and stopped. He picked up one of his stockings and blew his nose, stuffed it in his tunic pocket, put on the other stocking and pulled on his boots.
"We'd better go back," he said. "Otherwise they'll send someone out to look for us. And it's getting dark. Look at those clouds. It's going to rain before long."
Kendrac nodded and got to his feet, groaning. "Yes, you're right. And tomorrow—no, the day after tomorrow—we'll go back to Darzo Gan."
* * * *
The rain had come and gone—the first big rain of autumn—and it had taken the anitiu leaves. Although it wasn't really cold yet, it would be winter soon. Pordua rode to the station with them to unload Kardl's trunks from the coach and take them to be put onto the train. He clapped a hand on Kardl's shoulder as Kendrac mounted to the car.
"You'll be all right," he said. "But if you need me, send a message." He started away and then turned back. "By the way, which one of you won that fight? It's hard to tell, just by looking."
"Which one do you think?"
Pordua narrowed his eyes and gave a little shrug. He wasn't going to venture a guess, it appeared.
Kardl's grin hurt his split lower lip, but he didn't wince. "I did, of course."
It wasn't a lie.
THE END