Oliva remained, with Dantio and Fabia beside her. Speaker Quarina, the high priest, Berlice, ancient Nucci… yes, the elders and only the elders, eight of them so far. They were more than a little flustered, but they were standing their ground, gathered around the catafalque.
“Fabia, you should leave, too!” Dantio said, but he was too late and knew she would not have gone anyway.
The north door flew open, shedding light that was immediately blocked by the bloodlord himself. He strode in without bothering to have his bodyguard inspect the hall. He had no need to, because a white-shrouded seer scuttled along at his side like a dog on a leash. For thirty years Witnesses of Mayn had kept him safe from harm. Incongruously, and unknown to anyone but Dantio, the stooped little woman with him was blazing joy like the sun. She did know that the compact was ended. She could smell the trap awaiting him. She luxuriated in it, savoring her hate.
Stralg slammed the door behind them, thundering rage like a sea storm. Out beyond the pillars, a steady thumping drumbeat of fear from the onlookers in the rain failed to hide one great bugle call of hatred. Dantio knew that emotional note as well as he knew his brother’s voice. Orlad saw the cause of all his troubles at last, and he had left his bodyguard outside. With his faithful Waels to help him, Orlad would never resist this temptation.
The bloodlord had been a handsome man in his youth. As he advanced into the candlelight, Dantio recalled faint memories of him on the day of the fall, mostly of how big he had seemed. He still did. While he was not battle hardened into bestiality as his brothers had been, he was not a normal human, either, standing over eight feet tall and massive in proportion. Wearing only his brass collar and a black loincloth, totally hairless, with skin as white as granular ice and a head like a boulder with ears, he resembled some oversized statue come to life.
He had not visited Celebre in ten years. The elders shrank away from his glare. He peered down at the doge’s corpse and spat on it. Then he located Oliva.
“So, now you’re a widow. Want to come back to me?”
“Never,” she said, with admirable calm, but her internal hate was almost unbearable.
“Wouldn’t want you anyway. But you, now…” He had just noticed Fabia. “Who’re you?” He licked ice-white lips with a long red tongue.
“Fabia Celebre.”
Amazingly, she was almost as calm as she looked. Oh, sister! Was she counting on Orlad to protect her from the monster, or relying on her own chthonic powers?
The Fist glanced at his attendant seer, who stayed silent behind her veils. There were, Dantio noted, definitely some Florengian Werists coming over the palace walls now, Cavotti’s men. How could he let Orlad know that help was on the way? Would that information make him wait for reinforcements? No, it would just drive him on. He would not want to share the Fist’s death with anyone.
The bloodlord had realized that all was not right. “When did you get here? Who brought you?”
“I arrived this evening.” Fabia’s voice rose. “My brothers brought me. Your sister tried to, but she was on the wrong side of the Fist’s Leap when we burned the bridge, so I wouldn’t wait up for her if I were you.”
“She is lying, isn’t she?” Stralg asked his Witness.
The answer was a shriek of triumph. “No, she’s not!”
He roared and swung a fist to smash her, but the old woman anticipated the move and dodged back.
“Stralg Hragson!” Compared to the great pillars, Orlad was only a tiny shape against the fires in the city behind him, but he had amplified his throat and lungs so his bellow carried even over the roar of riot and trumpets. “I am Orlad Celebre, Doge Piero’s son and heir. I killed your brother Therek on the hills above Tryfors. I helped kill your brother Horold on the Milky River. And your sister, also, trapped in the Edgelands without food or shelter or any way to escape. They are dead, Stralg, all dead! You stand alone, last of that vile litter, and you are about to pay for your crimes.”
The elders would not have understood the Vigaelian words, but the smell of challenge was obvious. They quickly shuffled around behind the catafalque, clearing the battlefield.
“True!” screeched the seer, scampering to safety also. “He speaks the truth, monster!”
Stralg turned his great head to look at the north door. His bodyguard was out there. He started to move that way and Orlad ran forward, with Waels at his heels. Stralg stopped and spun around to face them again. They stopped also. It was a standoff. But they were closer to Stralg than he was to the door.
“Coward!” Orlad yelled. “When I was three years old I had more courage than you have now. You held out your hands to me and I went to you! You lifted me up and threatened to smash my brains out, I’m told. Try that now; I’m bigger.” He stretched out his arms. “Come to me, coward.”
Stralg must weigh more than the two younger men put together, but he had not lived so long by accepting personal combat against odds. They would certainly be on him before he could reach the north door and open it.
Orlad moved one pace closer. “Therek is dead!” he mocked. Pace… Waels followed, still his shadow. “Saltaja is dead! Horold-”
Stralg blazed rage and hatred. He lowered his head like a bull as he watched the two of them come. It seemed to Dantio that the man’s legs were growing and his arms shrinking.
Pace…
“Hostleader Arbanerik!” Orlad chanted. Pace… “Remember Arbanerik? And Nils Frathson?” Pace… “They’ve been stealing your recruits, Stralg!” Pace… “They have forty sixty now, the largest horde in Vigaelia. They killed Horold, Stralg, with a little help from us Celebres. They took Tryfors, Stralg. The garrison switched sides rather than fight.”
Orlad stopped his slow approach. “You’ve lost Vigaelia, Stralg! And Cavotti has taken Veritano, Stralg. The game is ended, Stralg!” He beckoned mockingly. “Your turn now. Come to me, coward.”
Stralg charged. As he moved, he battleformed, ripping off his covering. His face bulged into a huge fanged muzzle, his legs stretched. He leaned forward to balance the thick tail he was growing, and his arms shrank to white claws.
“Speed,” Orlad said.
He and Waels threw off their chlamyses and shapeshifted. As Stralg’s monstrous jaws slammed shut where Orlad’s head had just been, Orlad was landing a dozen paces away. Waels slashed at Stralg’s ribs and vanished before Stralg could turn to deal with him.
Then Orlad leapt to the attack.
The contest pitted one giant white biped against two smaller black things shaped like frogs. The bloodlord spun and dodged on great taloned feet, swinging his tail like a club and snapping giant jaws. Two identical warbeasts leaped around him, all legs and black fur, bouncing up and down, making yattering noises and waving their front limbs at the giant. Soon even Dantio lost track of which was which. Their hands and feet were clawed and they moved in blurs, but their blows failed to penetrate the Fist’s scaly hide. It was as tough as chain mail and he was too enormous to wrestle.
The battle was a stalemate-he could not catch them and they could not hurt him.
Being the only other man of fighting age present, Dantio grabbed the sword of state from his father’s bier and ran forward to see what he could do to help. The first problem was going to be getting close enough. He was restricted to human speed, while the three contestants were a single black-and-white whirlwind. Waels and Orlad kept trying to come at Stralg from opposite sides, but he was armed at both ends, and his talons tore the floor tiles as he pivoted and dodged. To a seer’s senses the two smaller men were consumed with bloodlust, solely intent on the immediate fight, great waves of hatred and little else, but the wily veteran Fist retained enough tactical sense to keep edging closer to the north door.
Dantio hovered on the outskirts, seeking an opening. Again and again Stralg snapped and grabbed and failed to connect. The youngsters were everywhere except where he was, bouncing, mocking, dodging, occasionally slashing. At last Dantio thought he saw his chance and dove in, driving his sword hard into the Fist’s ribs. It slid off without making any impression at all. Stralg’s tail caught him with a glancing blow and hurled him halfway across the hall. His sword clattered away across the tiles.