Dying of the Light

betheyn and his original teyn. Today he is a superstitious dodderer with a small mind and great wealth. The holdfast rumors say the wealth is the reason Bretan Braith wears Chell's iron-and-fire. No one tells this to Bretan openly, of course. He is said to be quite touchy. And now Jaan has made him angry as well, and perhaps he is a bit frightened. He will have no mercy for you. I hope that you can manage to cut him a bit before you die. That would make it easier for us in the duel to follow.'

Dirk was remembering the confidence that had filled him up on the roof; he had been quite certain that neither of the Braiths was a real danger. He understood them; he felt sorry for them. Now he began to feel sorry for himself. 'Is he right?' he asked Vikary.

'Garse jokes and exaggerates,' Vikary said, 'yet you are in danger. No doubt Bretan will try to kill you, if you let him. This need not happen. The rules of your mode and weaponry are quite simple. The arbiter will chalk a square upon the street, five meters by five, and you and your enemy will start from opposite corners. At a word from the arbiter, each of you will advance with your sword toward the. center. When you meet, you fight. To satisfy the requirements of honor, you must take one blow and deal one. I would advise you to cut at his foot or at his leg, since this will indicate that you have no wish for a true death-duel. Then, after you have taken his first blow-try to deflect it with your sword, if you can-you can walk to the perimeter of the square. Do not run. There is no honor in running, and the arbiter will rule the duel a death-victory for Bretan, and then the Braiths will kill you. You must walk, calmly. At the perimeter line, once beyond it, you are safe.'

'To achieve this safety you must reach the perimeter line,' Janacek said. 'Bretan will kill you first.'

'If I deal my one blow, and take one, then can I drop my sword and walk away?' Dirk asked.

'In such a case Bretan will kill you with a puzzled look on his face, or what remains of it,' said Janacek.

'I would not do that,' Vikary cautioned.

'Jaan's suggestions are folly,' Janacek said. He walked slowly back to the couch, retrieved his glass, and poured himself more wine. 'You should keep your sword and fight him. Consider, the man is blind on one side. Surely he is vulnerable there! And see how awkwardly he nods or turns his head.'

Dirk's glass was empty. He held it out and Janacek filled it with wine. 'How will you duel them?' Dirk asked.

'The rules for our mode and weaponry differ from yours,' Vikary said. 'The four of us must stand at the four corners of the death-square with dueling lasers or other sidearms. We may not move except to step backwards, outside the square, to safety. And that we may not do until each man within the square had taken one shot. That done, the choice is ours. Those who remain within, if they still stand, may continue to fire. It can be a harmless mode, or a very deadly one, depending on the will of those participating.'

'Tomorrow,' Janacek promised, 'it must be deadly.' He drank again.

'I would wish otherwise,' Vikary said with a rueful shake of his head, 'but I fear you speak the truth. The Braiths are too full of anger for us to fire into the air.'

'Indeed,' Janacek said with a small smile. 'They took the insult too deeply. Chell Empty-Arms, at least, will not forgive.'

'Can't you shoot to wound?' Dirk suggested. 'Disarm them?' The words came easily, but it was odd to hear himself say it. The situation was so totally outside his experience, and yet he found himself accepting it, becoming strangely comfortable with the two Kavalars and their wine and their quiet talk of death and maiming. Perhaps it meant something, to be one of the kethi; perhaps that was why his unease was fading. All Dirk knew was that he felt peaceful, and at home.

Vikary looked troubled. 'Wound them? I might wish that too, but it cannot be. The hunters fear us now. They spare korariel of Ironjade because of that fear. We save lives. That will not be possible if we are too easy on the Braiths tomorrow. The others might not hold back their hunting if they thought that all they risked was a small wound. No, sadly, I think we must kill Chell and Bretan if we can.'

'We can,' Janacek said confidently. 'And, friend t'Larien, it is not so easy or so wise to wound an enemy in duel as you might think it is. Disarming them, well, you jape us. That is virtually impossible. We fight with dueling lasers, friend, not with war weapons. Such side-arms fire in half-second pulses and require a full fifteen seconds to recycle between firings. You understand? A man who hurries his shot, or makes it needlessly difficult, a man who shoots to disarm-he is soon dead. Even at five meters you can still miss, and your enemy will kill you clean before your laser is ready for a second shot.'

'It can't be done?' Dirk said.

'Many people are only wounded in duel,' Vikary told him. 'Far more than are killed, in truth. Yet in most cases this is not the intended result. Sometimes yes. When a man fires into the air, and his enemy decides to punish him, then horrible scars can be inflicted. But this does not happen often.'

'We might wound Chell,' Janacek said. 'He is old and slow, his sidearm will not rise quickly to his hand. But Bretan Braith is another matter. He is said to have a half-dozen kills already.'

'He will be my concern,' said Vikary. 'See that Chell's laser stays dark, Garse, and that will be enough.'

'Perhaps.' Janacek looked toward Dirk. 'If you could cut Bretan only a little, t'Larien, in the arm or hand or shoulder-give him a single painful gash, slow him a bit. That would make a difference.' He grinned.

Despite himself, Dirk found that he was returning the smile. 'I can try,' he said, 'but remember, I know damn little about dueling and less about swords, and my first concern is going to be staying alive.'

'Don't fret over the impossible,' Janacek said, still grinning. 'Just do as great a damage as you can.'

The door opened. Dirk turned and looked up, and Janacek fell silent. Gwen Delvano stood framed in the doorway, her face and clothing streaked with dust. She looked uncertainly from one face to the next, then came slowly into the room. A sensor pack was slung over one shoulder. Arkin Ruark followed her in, carrying two heavy cases of instruments under his arms. He was sweaty and panting, dressed in heavy green pants and jacket and hood, and he looked much less foppish than usual.

Gwen lowered the sensor pack to the ground gently, but her hand kept its hold on the strap. 'Damage?' she said. 'What was this? Who is going to do damage to who?'

'Gwen,' Dirk began.

'No,' Janacek interrupted. He stood very stiffly. 'The Kimdissi must leave.'

Ruark looked around, white-faced and puzzled. He threw back his hood and began to mop his forehead beneath his white-blond hair. 'Utter trash, Garsey,' he said. 'What is this, big Kavalar secret, eh? A war, a hunt, a duel, some violence, yes? I would not pry such things, no, not me. I give you privacy then, yes, yours to keep.' He started back toward the door.

'Ruark,' Jaan Vikary said. 'Wait.'

The Kimdissi paused.

Vikary faced his teyn. 'He must be told. If we fail-'

'We will not fail!'

'If we fail, they have promised to hunt them. Garse, the Kimdissi is too involved. He must be told.'

'You know what will happen. On Tober, on Wolfheim, on Eshellin, all throughout the Fringe. He and his kind will spread lies, and all Kavalars will be Braiths. It is the way of the manipulators, the mock-men.' Janacek's voice had none of the savage humor with which he had jabbed Dirk; he was cold serious now.

'His life is at stake in this, and Gwen's,' Vikary said. 'They must be told.'

'Everything?'

'The charade is over,' Vikary said.

Ruark and Gwen spoke simultaneously.

'Jaan, what-' she started.

'Charade, life, hunting, what is all this? Tell!'

Jaan Vikary turned and told him.

Chapter 7