Run.
Coryn and the Kingfisher were standing side by side at the opposite end of the Dog Run. The two mages wore solemn expressions. The lord regent, together with his aide-de-camp, the Baron Dekage, stood to their left. The Clerist Knight Inquisitor Frost stood in the traditional judge’s position, halfway around the right side of the oval floor.
The courtyard was relatively small, with high walls on all sides enclosing the interior. Jaymes came through the barred door at one end to see that someone had installed burning torches in sconces around the wall. The run was lit up almost as bright as day. In a way that was a disadvantage to the lord marshal, who had keen night vision.
Just then Selinda arrived, accompanied only by her servant, Marie. Both young women were breathless and pale, with Marie trailing the agitated princess.
“My dear! This is no place for you!” the lord regent insisted as soon as his daughter came through the gate.
“Actually, Father, this is the only place for me!” she replied coldly.
“But, my princess-” Lord Frankish began to object.
She whirled upon him, eyes flashing, spitting her words. “How dare you presume to speak to me… or for me! If you think you will win my heart by slaying anyone who stands in your path, you know me very poorly, my lord. It will be my pleasure to watch your blood spill onto the ground!”
Frankish drew himself up stiffly. “If you have so little care for your honor, at least take heart from the fact there are others who will watch out for you. Whatever bewitchment this wretch has-”
“You’re a bully and killer!” she interrupted. “And I care not a whit for your protection.”
With a visible effort she composed herself, stood tall-and she was an unusually tall woman-and glared first at Lord Frankish then at her father. Her next words were spoken carefully and with quiet dignity.
“You both should know that I have pledged my hand to Lord Marshal Jaymes Markham this night. There is nothing either of you can do to change that fact. So put aside your foolish notions of honor, all of you. Leave here and go to bed. This is a fight over nothing.”
Du Chagne’s face paled, while Frankish displayed an opposite effect: a flush of bright crimson slowly crept upward from his neck, through his cheeks, and over his forehead. His eyes were furiously fixed upon Jaymes.
“I don’t know what treachery, what villainy, you have managed to work,” Frankish addressed Jaymes. “But for those very words uttered by this gracious lady, for that alone, you must die and face an eternity of torment in the Abyss.”
Jaymes stoically ignored the taunt, glancing at Coryn, who was glaring at him with a fury that matched Frankish’s. He looked away, rather than meet her jealous gaze.
The Princess Selinda du Chagne stalked away from her father and went to stand at the opposite side of the courtyard. Selinda stared at the lord marshal with almost hypnotic intensity, her hands pressed to her mouth as the torches sputtered and smoked over her head. Her eyes were shining and her skin was taut; she looked as proud as she was terrified.
Lord Frankish came over to stand beside Jaymes, though neither man further acknowledged the other. The lord inquisitor came forward and placed a small table before the pair of combatants, upon which he set a long case. Frost opened the case to reveal two long, slender rapiers of impeccable craftsmanship, made of fine dwarven steel, with lethal, needle-sharp tips.
“Lord Frankish has issued the challenge. It falls to the lord marshal to select his weapon first,” the Clerist declared.
Jaymes merely chose the closer of the two swords, swishing it through the air a few times, admiring its balance. He took the tip in his left hand and bent the blade, impressed by the supple strength of the steel.
“This will do,” he said as Frankish grabbed the other blade and pronounced himself similarly satisfied. Immediately the table and the empty box were whisked away. The judge returned and swiftly patted down the two warriors, checking to see that neither concealed any extra weapons. The lord inquisitor declared the contestants suitably armed.
Next the two wizards circled the Dog Run slowly, methodically. Each cast a magic detection spell upon the two duelists, ensuring that neither wore a ring or other magical device. They examined the walls, the gates, and even the torch sconces for anything untoward. Sir Moorvan and finally Lady Coryn pronounced the arena free of magic.
“Take your positions,” Lord Inquisitor Frost ordered, guiding Jaymes to the left and Frankish to the right. “Ten steps away.”
The Clerist knight stood at attention, clearing his throat. Lord Frankish looked at Jaymes with undiluted hatred, while Lord Regent du Chagne’s face was a mask.
Lord Marshal Jaymes Markham bristled at all the rigmarole. It was time to get on with it, by all the gods!
Selinda blew him a kiss, even as her eyes were bright with tears.
And Coryn the White still glared at him through slit eyes.
“The Solamnic duel is a challenge of great import and tradition,” the inquisitor intoned, speaking to both combatants directly. “From the times of antiquity, the knighthood has placed full faith in the tenets of the Oath and Measure, and nowhere else are those tenets so clearly on display.”
That was patently illogical, thought Jaymes, but he betrayed no emotion as the Clerist lord continued to speak.
“This is a test of arms… and of skill… and of courage. Know that there is no shame in defeat, should a knight give his best effort in the attempt. At any time either combatant may surrender to spare bloodshed-simply by throwing down his weapon and calling for mercy. The foe is honor bound to obey such a plea and will be regarded as the winner of the duel, though the loser remains alive.”
“A waste of words, priest,” Frankish sneered. “This cur will never submit, and I will have no need for mercy.”
“Nevertheless,” Frost admonished sternly. “The disengagement is ingrained in the tradition of the duel. It will be observed.”
The two duelists eyed each other carefully. Jaymes fingered his blade. Though the rapier was not his weapon of choice, he was skilled in its use and confident in his speed and quickness.
He was not afraid.
“Now-let the combat commence,” the inquisitor pronounced after a long pause.
Lord Frankish approached swiftly, his weapon poised, feet gliding across the dusty floor of the Dog Run. Jaymes shifted slightly, anticipating his opponent’s first strike, and made ready to sidestep. But Frankish launched a whirling attack, and the lord’s sword moved faster than Jaymes’s eyes could follow. He raised his own weapon in the planned parry, but felt a slash on his arm before his blade could make its block.
The lord marshal retreated a few steps, and Frankish came on furiously and aggressively. Jaymes suddenly realized his opponent was expert, and he was fighting for his life. He slid to the side with his enemy charging undaunted. When he tried to fake to the left, Frankish drove at him from the right, lunging forward and plucking at Jaymes’s hip, carving a nasty scrape before the lord marshal could whirl away.
As nimble as he was, his enemy was impressive in his attack. When Jaymes blocked high, his foe’s blade came in low. When he retreated, Frankish advanced. And when the lord marshal offered a modest counterattack, he was belabored by such a succession of blows he could only fall back, almost stumbling as he hastily backed away.
His enemy’s blade slid under his defenses with terrifying speed. Jaymes fell to the rear again, barely knocking the blows away, but before he could catch his balance, another slash came in from the right. He twisted to the left, lunging to escape a wickedly fast strike, but could not evade before the blade tore through his sleeve near the wrist.
Across the Dog Run, the Princess Selinda screamed.
Blood coursed over his hand, dripping from his fingers, and the lord marshal fumbled as he retreated. All too soon, he felt the cold stones of the courtyard wall against his back. Frankish’s eyes lit up with a cruel gleam of triumph as he closed in. Jaymes feinted, lunged, and parried, but he felt as if he were anchored in thick mud.
He’s not that good!
