Dying of the Light

if he could not see them, and stopped near Gwen and Dirk.

But it was all illusion. The noise subsided, the Braiths began to speak, and Jaan Vikary was just a man again, larger than many but smaller than some. 'You trespass, Ironjades,' Lorimaar said in a hard angry tone. 'You were not called to this place. You have no right to be here.'

'Mockmen,' spat Chell. 'False Kavalars.' Bretan Braith Lantry made his singular noise. 'Your betheyn I grant to you, Jaantony high-Ironjade,' Pyr said firmly, but his baton moved in nervous haste. 'Discipline her as you will, as you must. The mockman is mine to hunt.'

Garse Janacek had stopped a few meters away. His eyes moved from one speaker to another, and twice he seemed about to reply. But Jaan Vikary ignored all of them. 'Remove the bindings from their mouths,' he said, gesturing toward the prisoners.

Pyr's long-limbed teyn stood over Dirk and Gwen, facing the Ironjade highbond. He hesitated a long moment, then bent and undid the gags.

'Thanks,' Dirk said.

Gwen shook her head to throw loose hair out of her eyes and climbed unsteadily to her feet, her arms still bound behind her back. 'Jaan,' she said in an uncertain voice. 'You heard?'

'I heard,' Vikary said. Then, to the Braiths, 'Cut loose her arms.'

'You presume, Ironjade,' Lorimaar said.

Pyr, however, seemed curious. He leaned on his baton. 'Cut loose her arms,' he said.

His teyn pulled Gwen around roughly and used his knife to free her.

'Show me your arms,' Vikary said to Gwen.

She hesitated, then brought her hands out from behind her back and extended them, palms down. On her left arm the jade-and-silver shone. She had not removed it.

Dirk watched, bound and helpless, feeling chill. She had not removed it.

Vikary looked down on Myrik, who still sat with his legs crossed and his small eyes set on Gwen. 'Rise to your feet.'

The man rose and turned to face the Ironjade, taking his gaze from Gwen for the first time since he had arrived. Vikary started to speak.

'No,' Gwen said.

She had been rubbing her wrists. Now she stopped and laid her right hand on her bracelet. Her voice was steady. 'Don't you understand, Jaan? No. If you challenge him, if you kill him, then I will take it off. I will.'

For the first time, emotion washed over Jaan's face, and the name of it was anguish. 'You are my betheyn,' he said. 'If I do not… Gwen…'

'No,' she said.

One of the Braiths laughed. At the sound, Garse Janacek grimaced, and Dirk saw a savage spasm come and go on the face of the man called Myrik.

If Gwen noticed, she paid no mind. She faced Myrik. 'I killed your teyn,' she said. 'Me. Not Jaan.

Not poor Dirk. I killed him, and I admit it. He was hunting us, as you were. And killing the Emereli as well.'

Myrik said nothing. Everyone was still.

'If you must duel, then, if you really want me dead, duel me!' Gwen continued. 'I did it. Fight me if your revenge is so important.'

Pyr laughed loudly. An instant later his teyn joined him, and Roseph as well, then several of the others -the fat man, Roseph's blocky stern-faced companion, the clawed ancient. All of them were laughing.

Myrik's face went blood-dark, then white, then dark again. 'Betheyn-bitch,' he said. The shuddering rictus passed across his face once more, and this time everyone saw. 'You jape me. A duel is… my teyn… and you a woman!'

He ended with a scream that startled the men and set the hounds again to howling. Then he shattered.

His hands rose over his head and clenched and unclenched, and he struck her across the face as she shied away from his fury, and suddenly he was on her. His fingers wrapped around her throat and he dove forward and she went over backwards, and then they were rolling over and over on the floor until they came up hard against the side of an aircar. Myrik came out firmly on top, with Gwen pinned beneath him and his hands digging deep into the flesh of her neck. She hit him then, hard across the jaw, but in his rage he scarcely seemed to feel it. He began to slam her head against the aircar, again and again and again, screaming all the while in Old Kavalar.

Dirk struggled to his feet only to stand uselessly with his hands bound. Garse took two quick steps forward, and Jaan Vikary was finally moving. But it was Bretan Braith Lantry who reached them first and dragged Myrik off her with an arm around his neck. Myrik flailed wildly, until Lorimaar joined Bretan and between them they held the man still.

Gwen lay inert, her head up against the plate-metal door where Myrik had slammed it. Vikary knelt at her side, on one knee, and tried to put an arm around her shoulders. The back of her head left a smear of blood on the side of the aircar.

Janacek knelt too, quickly, and felt her pulse. Satisfied, he rose again and turned back to face the Braiths, his mouth tight with anger. 'She wore jade-and-silver, Myrik,' he said. 'You are a dead man. I issue challenge.'

Myrik had stopped screaming, though he was panting. One of the hounds howled and fell silent.

'Does she live?' Bretan asked in his sandpaper voice.

Jaan Vikary looked up at him out of a face as strange and strained as Myrik's had been just a short time before. 'She lives.'

'Good fortune,' said Janacek, 'but no thanks to you, Myrik, nor will it make a difference. Make your choices!'

'Let me loose!' Dirk said. No one moved.

'Let me loose!' he shouted.

Someone sliced apart his bonds.

He went to Gwen, kneeling beside Vikary. Briefly their eyes met. Dirk examined the back of her head, where the dark hair was already beginning to crust with clotted blood. 'A concussion at least,' he said. 'Maybe a fractured skull, maybe worse. I don't know. Are there medical facilities?' He looked at each of them. 'Are there?'

Bretan answered. 'None functional in Challenge, t'Larien. The Voice fought me. The city would not respond. I had to kill it.'

Dirk grimaced. 'She shouldn't be moved, then. Maybe it's only a concussion. I think she's supposed to rest.'

Incredibly, Jaan Vikary left her in Dirk's arms and stood up. He gestured to Lorimaar and Bretan, who held Myrik prisoned between them. 'Release him.'

'Release…?' Janacek threw Vikary a puzzled glance.

'Jaan,' Dirk said, 'never mind about him. Gwen-'

'Get her inside an aircar,' Vikary said.

'I don't think we should move-'

'It is not safe here, t'Larien. Get her inside an aircar.'

Janacek was frowning. 'My teyn?'

Vikary faced the Braiths again. 'I told you to release that man.' He paused. 'That mockman, as you would call him. He has earned the name.'

'What do you intend, high-Ironjade?' Lorimaar said sternly.

Dirk lifted Gwen and laid her gently in the back of the closest of the aircars. She was quite limp, but her breathing was still regular. Then he slid into the driver's seat and waited, massaging his wrists to restore circulation.

Everyone seemed to have forgotten him. Lorimaar high-Braith was still talking. 'We recognize your right to