Dying of the Light

to instruct him?'

Bretan Braith nodded, the same curiously awkward motion of head and shoulders that Dirk had noticed that afternoon in the garage. Chell did not even seem to hear; the old Braith was still facing Vikary, mumbling and glaring.

'There are four choices to make, t'Larien,' Janacek said to Dirk. 'As challenged, you make the first. I urge you to make the choice of weapons, and to choose blades.'. 'Blades,' Dirk said softly.

'I make the choice of mode,' Bretan rasped, 'and I choose the death-square.'

Janacek nodded. 'You have the third choice also, t'Larien. Since you have no teyn, the choice of numbers is dictated. It must be singles. You may say that, or you may choose the place.'

'Old Earth?' Dirk said hopefully.

Janacek grinned. 'No. This world only, I fear. Other choices are not legal.' Dirk shrugged. 'Here, then.'

'I make the choice of numbers,' Bretan said. It was fully dark now, with only the thin scattering of outworld stars to light the black sky above. The Braith's eye flamed, and strange reflected light glistened wetly on his scars. 'I choose singles, as it must be.'

'It is set then,' Janacek said. 'You two must agree on an arbiter, and then…'

Jaan Vikary looked up. His features were dim and shadowy, with only the pale light of the glowstones to shine on them, but his swollen jaw cast an odd silhouette. 'Chell,' he said very quietly, in a deliberate and even tone.

'Yes,' the old Braith replied.

'You are a fool to believe in mockmen,' Vikary told him. 'All of you who believe such are fools.'

Dirk was still facing Bretan Braith when Vikary spoke. The scarred face twitched once, twice, a third time.

Chell sounded as if he were in a trance. 'Insult is taken, Jaantony high-Ironjade, false Kavalar, mock-man. I issue challenge.'

Bretan whirled and tried to shout. His voice was not capable of it, and he sputtered and choked instead. 'You… duel breaker! Ironjade… I…'

'It is within the code,' Vikary replied halfheartedly. 'Though perhaps, if Bretan Braith could overlook the small trespass of an ignorant offworlder, then I might find it in myself to beg forgiveness from Chell fre-Braith.'

'No,' Janacek said darkly. 'Begging has no honor.'

'No,' Bretan echoed. His face was a skull now. His jewel-eye gleamed and his cheek was twisted in fury. 'I have bent as far as I may bend for you, false Kavalar. I will not make jape of all the wisdom of my holdfast. My teyn was more right than I. In truth, I was bitter wrong to even try to avoid duel with you, liar. Mockman. There was great shame in it. But now I will be clean. We will kill you, Chell and I. We will kill all three of you.'

'Perhaps that is truth,' Vikary said. 'It will soon be done, and then we will see.'

'And your betheyn-bitch too,' Bretan said. He could not shout; his voice broke when he tried. So he spoke as low as ever, and the rawness caught in his throat, and he could not be held. 'When we have done with you, we will wake our hounds and hunt her and her fat Kimdissi through the forests they know so well.'

Jaan Vikary ignored him. 'I am challenged,' he said to Chell fre-Braith. 'The first of the four choices is mine. I make the choice of numbers. We will fight teyned.'

'I make the choice of weapons,' Chell replied. 'I choose sidearms.'

'I make the choice of mode,' said Vikary. 'I choose the death-square.'

'Last the choice of place,' Chell said. 'Here, then.'

'The arbiter will chalk only one square,' Janacek said. Of the five men on the roof, only he was still smiling. 'We need an arbiter still. The same for both duels?'

'One man will do,' Chell said. 'I suggest Lorimaar high-Braith.'

'No,' said Janacek. 'He came to us in high grievance only yesterday. Kirak Redsteel Cavis.'

'No,' Bretan said. 'He writes fair poetry, but I have no other use for Kirak Redsteel.'

'There are two of the Shanagate Holding,' Janacek said. 'I am not certain of their names.'

'We would prefer a Braith,' Bretan said, twitching. 'A Braith will rule well, uphold all the honor of the code.'

Janacek glanced at Vikary; Vikary shrugged. 'Agreed,' Janacek said, facing Bretan once more. 'A Braith, then. Pyr Braith Oryan.'

'Not Pyr Braith,' Bretan said.

'You are not easy to please,' Janacek said dryly. 'He is one of your kethi.'

'I have had frictions with Pyr Braith,' Bretan said.

'A highbond would make a better choice,' old Chell said. 'A man of stature and wisdom. Roseph Lant Banshee high-Braith Kelcek.'

Janacek shrugged. 'Agreed.'

'I will ask him,' said Chell. The others nodded.

'Tomorrow, then,' said Janacek.

'All is done,' Chell said.

And while Dirk stood and watched, feeling lost and out of place, the four Kavalars took their farewell. And strangely, before parting, each of them kissed his two enemies lightly on the lips.

And Bretan Braith Lantry, scarred and one-eyed, his lip half gone-Bretan Braith Lantry kissed Dirk.

When the Braiths had gone, the others went downstairs. Vikary opened the door to his apartment and turned on the lights. Then, in methodical silence, he began to build a fire in the great hearth beneath the mantel, taking logs of twisted black wood from a concealed storage cabinet in a nearby wall. Dirk sat on one end of the couch frowning. Garse Janacek sat on the other end with a vague smile on his face, his fingers tugging absently at the orange-red hairs of his beard. No one spoke.

The fire woke to blazing life, orange and blue-tipped tongues of flame licking around the logs, and Dirk felt the sudden heat on his face and hands. A scent like cinnamon filled the room. Vikary stood up and left.

He came back with three glasses, brandy snifters as black as obsidian. A bottle was under his arm. He handed one glass to Dirk and one to Garse, put the third down on a nearby table, and yanked the cork with his teeth. The wine within was a deep red in color, very pungent. Vikary poured all three glasses very full, and Dirk passed his under his nose. The vapors burned, but he found them oddly pleasant.

'Now,' Vikary said, before any of them had tasted the wine. He had set down the bottle and lifted his own glass. 'Now I am going to ask something very difficult of both of you. I am going to ask each of you to go beyond his own little culture for a time, and be something he has not been before, something strange to him. Garse, I ask you- for the good of each of us– to be friend to Dirk t'Larien. There is no word for it in Old Kavalar, I know. There is no need of such on High Kavalaan, where a man has his holdfast and his kethi and most of all his teyn. But we are all on Worlorn, and tomorrow we duel. Perhaps we do not duel all together, yet we have common enemies. So I ask you, as my teyn, to take the name and namebonds of friend with t'Larien.'

'You ask a good deal of me,' Janacek replied, holding his wine in front of his face and watching the flames dance in the black glass. 'T'Larien has spied upon us, has attempted to steal my cro-betheyn and your name, and now has involved us in his quarrel with Bretan Braith. I am tempted to issue challenge against him myself for all he has done. And you, my teyn, you ask me to take the bond of friend instead.'

'I do,' Vikary said.

Janacek looked at Dirk, then tasted his wine. 'You are my teyn,' he said. 'I yield to your wishes. What obligations must I fulfill in the namebond of friend?'

'Treat a friend as you would a keth' Vikary said. He turned slightly to face Dirk. 'And you, t'Larien, you have been the cause of very great trouble, but I am not sure how much of it, if any, you must truly bear the weight for. I ask something of you also. To be holdfast-brother, for a time, to Garse Ironjade Janacek.'