The contest was to take place in an area called the Dog Run, which was actually a small courtyard to the rear of du Chagne’s massive palace. Jaymes was making his way there, alone through the empty hall, when he spied a white shape among the shadows. Coryn stepped into view from between two pillars where she had been waiting for him.
“Hello,” he said lightly. “I imagine you’ve heard the news. Came for the spectacle, did you?”
“I came to warn you,” she snapped. “Du Chagne is up to something. This whole match smells of his doing, and he’s not enough of a gambler to take chances with such a game. They must have something rigged, some kind of treachery.”
“I don’t doubt that for a moment,” he agreed. After a pause, he added, “Thanks for the warning, though. I’ll be careful. I had hoped… that is, would you second for me?”
She nodded curtly. “Yes, Kingfisher Moorvan and I have agreed to keep an eye on things. The Clerist inquisitor will be the judge of the event. He’s du Chagne’s man, but I think he still has a conscience-unlike some of the rest of that circle.”
“If you say so,” Jaymes replied. He did not appear overly concerned about the matter.
“Listen. You have to understand, I won’t be able to do anything to help you,” Coryn warned.
“I realize that. Don’t worry; I can take care of myself.”
“Can you? It was only two nights ago that the Kingfisher distracted you with a spell, so much so that you completely forgot your purpose in coming here. If it wasn’t for that misadventure, we wouldn’t be in this mess today.”
He glared at her. “Well, I will count on you to guard against any further magical treachery. As for Frankish’s steel, I shall meet that threat on my own terms.”
She drew a harsh breath. “What were you thinking, letting him goad you into a match like this? He’s the most accomplished swordsman in Palanthas; he kills for sport. While you-you have far more important things to do, like winning the war against Ankhar! Instead, you’re risking your life in a duel over a woman!”
“Believe it or not, winning this duel might aid the war campaign more than anything else I could be doing right now. This duel is not over just any woman, remember. And I told you: I didn’t instigate the challenge, Frankish did. But now that I have agreed to a duel, I think I can turn the situation to my advantage.”
“How?” she demanded.
“You’ll have to wait, but you’ll see, just like everyone else. Meanwhile, you might be interested to know that your potion seems to be very effective.”
“Dammit, why do you have to be so difficult?” she cried, tension cracking her voice. Angrily she clamped her mouth shut, her lips set in a thin line. “Just try not to get your head lopped off!” she snapped before turning and stalking away into the darkness.
“I will try,” he said, too quietly for her to hear, before he followed her to the gate leading to the Dog Run.
Coryn and the Kingfisher were standing side by side at the opposite end of the Dog Run. The two mages wore solemn expressions. The lord regent, together with his aide-de-camp, the Baron Dekage, stood to their left. The Clerist Knight Inquisitor Frost stood in the traditional judge’s position, halfway around the right side of the oval floor.
The courtyard was relatively small, with high walls on all sides enclosing the interior. Jaymes came through the barred door at one end to see that someone had installed burning torches in sconces around the wall. The run was lit up almost as bright as day. In a way that was a disadvantage to the lord marshal, who had keen night vision.
Just then Selinda arrived, accompanied only by her servant, Marie. Both young women were breathless and pale, with Marie trailing the agitated princess.
“My dear! This is no place for you!” the lord regent insisted as soon as his daughter came through the gate.
“Actually, Father, this is the only place for me!” she replied coldly.
“But, my princess-” Lord Frankish began to object.
She whirled upon him, eyes flashing, spitting her words. “How dare you presume to speak to me… or for me! If you think you will win my heart by slaying anyone who stands in your path, you know me very poorly, my lord. It will be my pleasure to watch your blood spill onto the ground!”
Frankish drew himself up stiffly. “If you have so little care for your honor, at least take heart from the fact there are others who will watch out for you. Whatever bewitchment this wretch has-”
“You’re a bully and killer!” she interrupted. “And I care not a whit for your protection.”
With a visible effort she composed herself, stood tall-and she was an unusually tall woman-and glared first at Lord Frankish then at her father. Her next words were spoken carefully and with quiet dignity.
“You both should know that I have pledged my hand to Lord Marshal Jaymes Markham this night. There is nothing either of you can do to change that fact. So put aside your foolish notions of honor, all of you. Leave here and go to bed. This is a fight over nothing.”
Du Chagne’s face paled, while Frankish displayed an opposite effect: a flush of bright crimson slowly crept upward from his neck, through his cheeks, and over his forehead. His eyes were furiously fixed upon Jaymes.
“I don’t know what treachery, what villainy, you have managed to work,” Frankish addressed Jaymes. “But for those very words uttered by this gracious lady, for that alone, you must die and face an eternity of torment in the Abyss.”
Jaymes stoically ignored the taunt, glancing at Coryn, who was glaring at him with a fury that matched Frankish’s. He looked away, rather than meet her jealous gaze.
The Princess Selinda du Chagne stalked away from her father and went to stand at the opposite side of the courtyard. Selinda stared at the lord marshal with almost hypnotic intensity, her hands pressed to her mouth as the torches sputtered and smoked over her head. Her eyes were shining and her skin was taut; she looked as proud as she was terrified.
Lord Frankish came over to stand beside Jaymes, though neither man further acknowledged the other. The lord inquisitor came forward and placed a small table before the pair of combatants, upon which he set a long case. Frost opened the case to reveal two long, slender rapiers of impeccable craftsmanship, made of fine dwarven steel, with lethal, needle-sharp tips.
“Lord Frankish has issued the challenge. It falls to the lord marshal to select his weapon first,” the Clerist declared.
Jaymes merely chose the closer of the two swords, swishing it through the air a few times, admiring its balance. He took the tip in his left hand and bent the blade, impressed by the supple strength of the steel.
“This will do,” he said as Frankish grabbed the other blade and pronounced himself similarly satisfied. Immediately the table and the empty box were whisked away. The judge returned and swiftly patted down the two warriors, checking to see that neither concealed any extra weapons. The lord inquisitor declared the contestants suitably armed.
Next the two wizards circled the Dog Run slowly, methodically. Each cast a magic detection spell upon the two duelists, ensuring that neither wore a ring or other magical device. They examined the walls, the gates, and even the torch sconces for anything untoward. Sir Moorvan and finally Lady Coryn pronounced the arena free of magic.
“Take your positions,” Lord Inquisitor Frost ordered, guiding Jaymes to the left and Frankish to the right. “Ten steps away.”
The Clerist knight stood at attention, clearing his throat. Lord Frankish looked at Jaymes with undiluted hatred, while Lord Regent du Chagne’s face was a mask.
Lord Marshal Jaymes Markham bristled at all the rigmarole. It was time to get on with it, by all the gods!
Selinda blew him a kiss, even as her eyes were bright with tears.
And Coryn the White still glared at him through slit eyes.