blood smearing, making a sticky film. As, again, he tried to kick, Dumarest sprang upward and wrapped his legs around the other's waist.
'Your last chance, Mharl. Yield or die.'
It was no empty threat. Dumarest felt strength drain from him as he fought to retain his hold. Mharl was too dangerous to be given a chance, too determined to be underestimated. Too strong to be resisted if he should break free.
'Don't be a fool, man! Lift up your hands. Yield!'
A long moment then, as the hands fought to grip him, Dumarest began to close the vise formed by his arms. One powered by the muscles of his back and shoulders, the biceps, the corded sinews of his arms.
Mharl sagged, hands lifting to tear at the constriction, twisting, dropping to his knees as the pressure increased. He was dying, ears filled with the roar of his own blood, vision darkening, his chest a flame from need of air. Yet he would never yield: if nothing else he had pride.
A fact Dumarest guessed and, as Mharl fell toward the dirt he released his hold, lifted a hand, struck once and stood up with the unconscious man at his feet.
'My lady? Do you accept defeat?'
'He did not yield! He-'
'Is beaten.' Chenault spoke from where he had stood, watching. 'Would you prefer him dead? Dumarest was kind but if he made a mistake it can be rectified. Earl, if her honor demands it, finish the job. Kill him.'
He said nothing, watching her face, the play of emotions it portrayed. In the old days things had been more simple; a champion won or he died and those for whom he fought did not have to make life or death decisions. Or so, at least, the stories she had heard as a child had convinced her. As they had instilled the concept of honor which had led to Mharl lying on the dirt at her feet.
Dumarest said,'He did his best for you. He fought well and tried to kill me. Despite that I'm willing to spare him. Are you?'
For a moment she hesitated, then, with an abrupt gesture, extended her hands before her, palms uppermost.
'Honor is satisfied. Right has prevailed. The dispute between us is ended. I offer you my friendship.'
He accepted by placing his hands on her own. Beneath his fingers her skin was dry, rougher than he would have expected, warm with a febrile heat.
A woman tricked by her femininity, responding to his maleness, the euphoria of witnessed combat. Catching his fingers, holding them as, on the ground at their feet, Mharl groaned and twisted in his waking pain.
Chapter Seven
Lifting his goblet Massak said, 'A thing neatly done, Earl. If ever you are in need of employment I know a dozen who would give you rank and a command. I salute you!'
He drank and Lopakhin followed his example. 'Fast,' he said as he lowered his glass. 'The way you moved in, dodged, reacted-like lightning. Mharl didn't stand a chance.'
A lie as he must have known; no fight could ever be a certainty and Mirza's champion had been dangerous with speed and skills of his own. Dumarest turned from the group around the table set in the great hall. Vosper's doing or Baglioni's, though neither was to be seen. An oddity; the midget was never far from his master yet now there was no sign of him. As there had been none during the fight when, surely, a bodyguard would have felt his charge needed protection.
A fact Dumarest noted as he moved to stare through the open doors. Mirza had gone, taking her rafts with her, her guns, her dead and hurt. Now the valley lay in shrouded darkness, the glow of starlight broken by the brilliant streaks from the firebirds, the fan of brilliance spilling from the open portal, diminishing as the panels closed to seal the house as it was before.
'Earl?' Govinda was beside him. 'Earl?'
She looked lovelier than ever, the mane of her hair a cascade of flame, the lines of her body delineated by the close-fitting gown she wore. One which left her shoulders bare, her arms, revealing the long, silken curve of her thigh at every other step.
'I was worried, Earl,' she said. 'When Mharl hit you I felt my heart move as if it would burst. Then, when you didn't go down, I knew you would be victorious.'
Had she been watching? Dumarest frowned, trying to remember, but Mharl had demanded all his attention and she could have stayed in the shadows.
'Tama was worried too,' she said. 'I sensed it. As I sensed how that old bitch felt toward you after you'd won. At that moment she would willingly have made you her equal had that been your ambition. It made me jealous.' Govinda rested her hand on his arm. 'Would you have gone with her had she asked?'
'No.'
'Refused the chance to share the power of the Karroum? Do you mean that?'
He said, bluntly, 'I'm not in the habit of lying.'
'But-'
'It would be power short-lived. No Family would tolerate the introduction of a stranger on such terms. There are too many with too much to lose.' A threat settled by the use of an assassin, a subtle poison slipped into food or drink, a convenient accident-there were too many ways of dealing with the unwanted. 'Where is Toyanna?'
'What?' The question startled her. 'Why, with Tama, I suppose.'
'No.' He looked to where Chenault stood at one end of the table, leaning against it, using the board to steady his balance. 'No, she isn't there.'
'Why do you want her?'
'To talk.' He smiled at the expression in her eyes. 'To share a drink with her. To enjoy her company.'
For a moment her face seemed to blur, to become hateful, ugly, then it smoothed and she smiled as she looked up at him, the gleam of her eyes emerald in the shadow of her brows.
'You're teasing me, Earl. Trying to make me jealous. You're not really interested in Toyanna. No more than you are in Hilary. Not as a woman, that is. Not as someone you need to hold close.'
'Need?'
'Need.' Her voice lowered as she repeated the word. 'There is an ache inside of you which has lasted too long. A yearning for something you once had and hope to have again. Can you deny it?' Then, as he remained silent, she laughed and moved away. 'Perhaps you will find it, Earl. Stranger things have happened.'
She moved on, passing the group at the table, the servants attending them, becoming a blur as she blended in with the decor of the hall. The circus adornment he had seen before; the bars and cages and visage of clowns. The smoldering colors, the bizarre and fanciful decorations. Symbolism he could appreciate and a message which was plain; he had been accepted by the others of the entourage of Chenault. Tama Chenault who had once owned a circus-and the circus took care of its own.
'A happy ending.' Chenault nodded a greeting as Dumarest joined him at the table. 'A difficult situation neatly solved. For that you have my gratitude; I have no wish to be enemies with the Karroum.'
'Gratitude.' Dumarest helped himself to wine. 'Is that all?'
'I don't understand.'
'Words are only vibrations of the air. The cheapest form of repayment there is. From you, Chenault, I want more.'
'Such as?'
'You know the answer to that. The reason I came to see you. When are you going to give me what you promised?'
'Soon.' Chenault lifted his goblet, wine spilling to stain his chin. 'It will be soon.'
'Tomorrow?'
'I think so. Yes. Tomorrow.'
'I'll anticipate the meeting.' Dumarest took the goblet from Chenault's hand, refilled it, handed it back. 'A toast, my friend. To life!'
'To life!'
Again wine stained Chenault's chin, the goblet shattering as he lowered his hand. Dumarest reached for a
