“I will denounce him myself and ask it as a boon.” Sezarre nodded. “You look to finish him as soon as possible?”
“How stiff is your leg? You need to be able to move against a mace.” Grival wiped moisture from his own brow. “A blade may glance off a hauberk but that mace will leave a bruise wherever it lands. That could hamper you if he lands too many blows.”
“I’ll be looking to cut him as early as I can,” I said grimly. “He’s going to bleed freely with the exertion and the heat. I want him to weaken quickly; with luck that’ll stop his magic as well.”
Sezarre and Grival nodded as one, their faces grim at the thought of enchantment polluting this fight. “Try not to shed his blood outside the circle,” warned Grival solemnly. “You are here to protect the domain as well as assert the truth.”
I wondered exactly what he meant by that and looked up at the sky again; the sun didn’t appear to have moved any further on. “Have either of you ever fought like this, as a test of truth?”
Sezarre shook his head. “It is very rare. I can understand why Laio did not expect such an outcome.”
I grimaced a little at his implied rebuke, only too aware that he and Gar must have heard all my dealings with Laio the previous night. To my relief everyone was continuing to treat me just as they always had, and anyway I was too preoccupied with this forthcoming fight to feel particularly self-conscious.
“I saw such a test in the domain of Lys Izat,” Grival looked up from wrapping his sword-cleaning kit in its cotton bag. “It was to resolve an accusation of murder, but that was three years ago.”
“Why do you think Shek Kul chose to do this?” I was curious to know what they thought.
“It will send a message through all the domains,” stated Sezarre with considerable satisfaction. “That magic will not be tolerated, in any form.”
“If these enchanters are looking to worm their way into our lands, I don’t suppose Kaeska is the only fool they had seduced,” Grival added. “Her fate will give any others who are tempted pause for thought.” I liked the certainty in his tone, his confidence that Kaeska’s doom was already sealed. I wondered if he was right—were other Elietimm trying to suborn those with influence among the Aldabreshi and, if so, just what was their plan? I tucked the question away, one more to address after I had met this present challenge.
“Do you fight like this on the mainland at all, one to one? Have you experience that will help you?” Sezarre’s hesitant question surprised me, given how much effort he and Grival always put in to reminding me I was supposedly an Islander now, all past life as surely lost as the morning mists off the mountain.
I leaned back against the wall of the bath-house and shut my eyes for a moment, trying to summon up a memory of the fresh frosts of a Toremal winter amidst the heavy and humid heat of the Archipelago. “We fight one man against another as a test of skill sometimes, when all the Great Lords gather to make treaties with each other.” That was going to be about as much explanation as Grival and Sezarre would understand of the Convocation of Princes at Winter Solstice. “Each Lord puts forward his best men and a contest decides the finest.” Aiten had won the last time we’d both attended and carried off a heavy purse, soon lightened by our celebrations. Esquire Camarl, Messire’s nephew, had asked me privately if I had wanted to compete this time and understood instantly when I told him I hadn’t the heart for it.
I opened my eyes abruptly. This wasn’t the time to be dwelling on memories of home, though I made a mental note to watch for the bastard striking at my head. Such strokes were banned in the formal contests I was used to and I didn’t want to be caught unawares, lulled into expecting the same rules to apply.
“You have killed before?” Grival was clearly expecting that I had.
“Yes, when I have had to.” My unemotional reply won satisfied nods from them both.
The signal horn sounded and we all started. I rose to my feet and began some stretching exercises, determined to meet this challenge with every possible preparation. People began filing into the practice ground, the early arrivals taking the best spots under the broad-leafed trees. Some eager youngsters decided to forsake shade in the hopes of a better view and climbed on to the roof of the bath-house, sharing pockets of nuts and waterskins. As I looked round I realized most of the free Islanders were here; another occasion when the main gates would be standing open, thronged with people, while I had no chance of slipping out unnoticed. I discarded the irrelevance as Sezarre and Grival began to armor me, focusing my mind entirely on the contest to come.
A rise in the level of sound all around alerted us to the arrival of Shek Kul and his wives. Three chairs had been set below a broad canopy on the far side of the practice ground and Gar and Laio took their seats composedly, tucking their silk skirts around their ankles. Each was dressed in a modest, everyday dress, scant makeup and limited jewels. Laio raised her hand in a half-wave and I nodded to her, noting her calm face and posture. For all her abandoned passion last night, her manner to me this morning had been the same as it ever was, something I had to admit came as a relief.
Shek Kul was standing in the center of the charcoal circle, robed in much the same style as the women, a slave at his elbow carrying a carved and pierced gourd. The Warlord released a lizard from it, all eyes on the scaly creature as it darted this way and that before finally dashing for the cover of a bush laden with blossoms. A murmur of approval ran around the crowd and I was pleased to see Grival and Sezarre nodding and smiling at me. Whatever the nonsense signified, it seemed to be working in my favor.
The crowd then lost interest in the bush and parted to admit Kaeska and the Ice Islander. Kaeska wore a similar dress to Laio and Gar but had a long and quite dense veil covering her face, secured with an ornate arrangement of hairpins. I looked across the killing ground to see Laio and Gar exchange a questioning look and a shrug of incomprehension.
“Why has she covered her face?” I asked Grival as he laced my hauberk tight to my hips. “Is that usual?” I hauled my belt in another notch and then loosened it again, finding it constricted my breathing too much.
Grival looked puzzled. “No, not as I understand the rite.” He shrugged. “May be she is worried that something in her looks will give her away.”
As good as his word, Sezarre had crossed the circle to speak to Shek Kul. The Warlord inclined his head and nodded with a serious expression; his gaze followed Sezarre’s hand, outstretched toward the Elietimm. Shek Kul summoned the priest with an imperious wave of his hand and spoke to him sternly, emphasizing his words with a series of sharp gestures. The Elietimm bowed his head in acquiescence, nodding humbly, too readily for my peace of mind, given enchantment had to be part of his strategy somehow. Moving slowly to the place marked for me inside the dark circle, I wondered what the bastard was going to try first as I flexed my fingers inside my close-fitting gloves.
His face gave me no hint, barely visible beneath a helm that reached down to his neck and curved around to guard his cheeks. I studied his armor; laced mail plates protected his shoulders and gut over what looked to be a boiled leather base. With the padding I could see under it, he was going to be sweating like a dray horse, but then so was I, so that would balance the runes. My beard was already soaked with perspiration, but I ignored the unpleasant sensation. This was no time to give way to petty distractions. A flexible leather cuirass covered the priest’s thighs above steel greaves. As always, that left his knees the most vulnerable point. All in all, I had more protection from my mail and helm, especially with the studded leather leggings Grival had produced from somewhere, but I was carrying much more weight and in this heat, with the water we would be sweating away, that was going to count if the fight went on too long. More than ever, I decided to finish this as fast as I could, settling my helm firmly on my head and sliding the nasal bar down to lock it in position.