Elvenborn

'And are we supposed to accept this bluff at face value, im­pudent puppy?' Lord Wyvarna demanded.

To their astonishment, Kyrtian laughed, albeit mirthlessly.

'You would be wise to, since it is hardly a bluff,' he replied. 'Consider what you already know about me and my—hobby. Consider that I have very little to do except train and drill my fighters in every possible style and manner of combat, and that I do not and never have sold any of them for any price. Con­sider that I have been doing this every day for the past ten years at least, personally overseeing the training and practice in every aspect. Meanwhile, what have you been doing? Entrusting the

training and practice of your gladiators to others, quite without supervision, and slaughtering the best of your men in useless exhibitions. And what stake do those you entrust with this train­ing have in your success or failure? What personal incentive have they to make certain that nothing is left to chance? And how many of your gladiators die or are crippled in training? For that matter, what incentive do your gladiators have to succeed? The best and cleverest of them are surely contriving to get themselves mildly crippled in the first week of your so-called 'training!' It would seem to me that the very smartest ones, the ones who would make the very best fighters, would see to it that they were always crippled in training, in order to avoid being slaughtered in one of your so-called exhibitions!'

Kyrtian cleverly left the questions hanging in the air, and now Aelmarkin saw a certain wariness creep over the expres­sions of the two feuding lords.

'And I suppose you have a better idea?' boomed a new voice.

Both Aelmarkin and Kyrtian turned to face the new speaker, who stood up from among his son's entourage. Aelmarkin was startled; he hadn't realized that Lord Lyon had come with his son Gildor—

Damn! Has he been there all along, or did he just arrive for the combat? Did I somehow insult him by not noticing him? Can anything else go wrong here today?

Aelmarkin's thoughts scurried after one another, like frantic slaves trying to clean up a terrible spill. V'kel Lyon Lord Kyndreth—Lord Lyon of the Great House of Kyndreth—stood wrapped in a scarlet cloak embroidered with leaping stags, his arms crossed over his chest. Aelmarkin shivered; the man was one of the most powerful lords of the Great Council. A vote from Lord Lyon was worth three from anyone with a lesser Council Seat. The number of allies he had—the number of peo­ple he could make or break with a single word—

Aelmarkin held his breath. All his own prayers might be an­swered in the next few moments. If Kyrtian insulted Lord Lyon badly enough—if he convinced Lord Lyon that he was as in­sane and unstable as Aelmarkin had been claiming ...

Elvenborn 61

Then before this day was over, Aelmarkjn might be organiz­ing his slaves for the move to his new properties.

Kyrtian looked at Lord Lyon, a veritable icon of power, as if he were no more important than any of the lesser sons and hangers-on.

'Yes,' he said, simply, 'I have. And I'm quite prepared to demonstrate it, here and now in front of you all.'

6

That's V'kel Lyon Lord Kyndreth,' Gel hissed in Kyrt-ian's ear. Kyrtian made the finger-sign for I understand, but did not look away from the tall, powerfully-built no­ble who had addressed him. That was one name he definitely recognized, and the half-formed plan he had thrown together in an instant of panic-ridden thinking took on a new importance and urgency. If he could persuade Lord Lyon to use his meth­ods, not only in training, but in challenge-matches, how many thousands of lives would be spared? For if Lord Lyon decreed it, all training and matches would be performed Kyrtian's way.

So he turned his half-formed plan into a bluff. 'In fact,' he continued, as calmly as if he spoke the truth, 'I came here hop­ing to stop this nonsense for all time with such a demonstration.'

'Really?' Lord Lyon looked amused, which boded well for Kyrtian. 'And how is that? I take it you intend a live demon­stration, and not some illusory shadow show.'

'Pit one fighter of your choosing against my bodyguard,' Kyrtian said, boldly. 'They will use my methods of fighting. They will fight to a death-wound, but neither will be harmed by the experience. You can use the best of your men—the one you would least care to lose—without any fear that harm will come to him and you will be without his services.'

'Indeed.' Lord Lyon looked from one side of the arena to the

other. 'Wyvarna, Marthien—if I proposed using my bodyguard in this combat, would you accept the results of such a duel in­stead of using your gladiators as settling your dispute?'

The lord of the white alicorn looked sullen; the lord of the blue serpent responded first. 'How would we decide which fighter represented which of us?'

'Draw lots,' Lyon said carelessly. 'I know my man takes second-place to very few, and I hardly think Lord Kyrtian's man is less expert.' He turned back to Kyrtian. 'I agree in prin­ciple that this is a waste of fighting- strength. The training is ex­pensive, and it's all gone to waste when a fighter is killed—or runs off to join those damned renegade Wizards. Before the current unpleasantness, there were no Wizards to run off to, of course, and there was no need to field battle-troops, but our present situation does call for some changes in our own cus­toms. In fact, some of the members of the Council have even asked openly if it might be wise to outlaw challenges altogether to save the waste of trained fighters.' He smiled thinly. 'Some have even suggested that if challengers are unwilling or unable to conduct duels-by-magic, that they should take sword in hand themselves to settle their quarrels.'

Astonished mutters and a few gasps followed that an­nouncement, and Lords Wyvarna and Marthien looked openly dismayed.

Lord Lyon looked down his long, aristocratic nose at Kyrtian with a hint of sardonic interest. Kyrtian raised his chin and re­minded himself that his lineage was as long and proud as that of the House of Kyndrefh. 'How much better, then, if you can have your challenges without the loss of a single fighting man or spillage of a single drop of blood?' he demanded. 'Maybe your gladiators will stop running off if they know they aren't going to be killed in a