So Istarans had arrested Chuina on suspicion of guilty knowledge of her brother's disappearance. This had led to a protest aboard Red Elf, whose crew refused to release Chuina into Istaran custody. In this refusal they were supported by many elsewhere in the fleet, particularly those who had once sailed with Jemar the Fair or his kin. They were certain that Chuina could not have done it.
Equally certain were the Istarans. Chuina might not have done it but surely knew who had. Protecting her did her brother no service, nor her mother, nor her father's memory.
Indeed, it was mutiny. The penalty for mutiny could be death, enslavement, or at least losing ship, weapons, property, and all hope of sailing with Istar's blessing.
The people of Red Elf had told the Istarans what they could do with their blessing. In detail, and at some length.
Pirvan frowned, and asked, "You say, Red Elf s people?"
"Yes."
"The Istarans among the fighters, too?"
"I have heard that some of them at least signed the proclamation," Haimya told him.
Pirvan sat up. "Well, that's some good news, that Red Elf's crew is united behind their captain and his sister," he said. "Fewer heads for us and Gildas to send home to Eskaia, if Torvik does not come back."
Chapter 15
Pirvan had not approved of Darin's challenge to Zeskuk, but neither he nor Sir Niebar had interposed their authority as Knights of the Rose to prevent the bout. They both doubted that they had the authority in the first place, and Niebar's doubts carried particular weight with Pirvan. The tall knight had forgotten as much about the laws governing conduct between races as Pirvan had ever learned.
Also, Pirvan refused to believe that Darin had suddenly lost his wits and forgotten everything he knew about minotaurs. If Darin died tonight, Pirvan knew the younger knight would die in his right mind, with his face to the enemy, and believing that what he did served his honor, the knights' honor, and the purpose for which they had all come to Suivinari Island.
Pirvan had told himself this so often that he had begun to believe it. Now, all that remained was to be able to persuade the other humans of these simple truths, if indeed Darin had seen his last sunset.
The last of that sunset's light had faded from the sky when Pirvan and Haimya disembarked from their boat. The torches marking the boundaries of the arena were set so close and burned so brightly, however, that a beetle could hardly have crawled unseen across the arena.
The arena was a patch of hard sand beach dug, tamped, and scraped until it was as flat as an apprentice thief's purse and as hard as a pawnbroker's heart. It was sixty paces on a side, large enough not to make a minotaur feel confined, and small enough that a nimble human could not rely on evading Zeskuk's charges forever.
Of course, Darin knew more than enough about minotaur fighting arts to expect more than simple rushes. Zeskuk undoubtedly knew what Darin knew-and that a minotaur-sized human could reply with his own variations on minotaur skills. If one had only a dispassionate observer's interest in a rare matching of opponents, one could look forward to an enthralling evening.
After the stinging loss of Sirbones-a loss Pirvan had forced himself not to succumb to until the completion of the task at hand-he was more nervous about the possibility of Darin's demise than he wanted to admit. Pirvan expected to be biting his lip when he was not urging healers forward.
Inland of the arena stood a cordon of minotaurs and humans, each in several solid, well armed, and alert bands adequately separated from one another. At least a hundred sets of eyes were watching the darkness inland. The minotaurs had clearly been burning off the last bit of undergrowth as well, and both minotaurs and humans had set more torches and laid watch fires all along the cordon.
There was nothing left close to the arena for anyone short of a god to animate. Nor could anything approach the arena from inland without being seen a hundred paces away-and from the sea, the arena was guarded by half a dozen ships of each fleet, and two dozen boats rowing or sailing guard.
Had the arena been the tent of an emperor, it could hardly have been better guarded, but what most heartened Pirvan was the presence of both Lujimar and Revella Laschaar. They stood between the cordon and the arena, each with two attendants and a ceremonial stool, although both were standing and looked ready to stand for a year. Both of them wore their most formal robes, but were bareheaded and barefooted. Lujimar had an amulet hanging from his stool, while Lady Revella had leaned her staff against her own seat.
All the healing power needed for anything short of necromancy was present in those two. Also, perfect memories and acute senses of honor. Possibly Lujimar saw farther, to the future of both races, instead of merely wishing to repay a favor done some ten years ago.
Or perhaps not. Neither would let either fighter or themselves know dishonor to save their lives. As long as such watched the fight, it would be fair and the outcome as skill and the gods allowed. And as long as such existed on Krynn, the bloodthirsty Thenvors, kingpriests, and ghostriders could not have the easy victory that was all their kind ever wanted.
Pirvan and Hawkbrother had both offered to attend Darin, but he had chosen Rynthala instead, as she already could come and go freely within minotaur territory-and this arena was on territory that even most humans conceded to the horn-headed ones.
So it was Rynthala who ritually shook out each of Darin's garments as he disrobed, until he wore only a loin guard. It was Rynthala who rubbed oil into Darin's skin, partly to ready it for healing spells and partly to keep Zeskuk from getting an easy grip.
It was also Rynthala who must have rubbed oil into her husband's skin a hundred times before, in more intimate settings. Pirvan could read that easily enough in her haunted eyes.
On the opposite side of the arena, Thenvor's son Juiksum was doing the same honors for Zeskuk, although the minotaur had only to remove kilt and sandals to be garbed for the bout. He seemed to be favoring one leg a trifle, but that was an easy trick for a skilled fighter to play, and Darin would probably have an edge in speed anyway. He would still be facing an opponent who could strike with twice the force and endure three times the punishment of almost any human.
Fulvura stood close by, her arms crossed on her chest. She wore only a simple tunic, with leather straps on her legs and forearms. She was, as law required, unarmed, but Pirvan hoped no human was fool enough to think her an easy target for vengeance if Darin fell.
"Do not worry, good knight," Fulvura said. "When Zeskuk says that a fight is not to the death, it is as good an an oath."
"I did not doubt that, nor fear for Darin," Pirvan said stiffly, to keep Haimya from saying something less polite.
"I would think no worse of you if you did fear for Darin," Fulvura said. "Had I a fosterling like that, who could go into the arena with a good chance of leaving it emperor-well, I would not love anyone who might even by chance put him down."
"We also do not love those who-" Haimya began. She might have said something unfortunate, except for what came next.
Lightning should come before thunder, but this thunderclap came with no warning. It was loud enough to make everyone's ears ring, and if it came without warning it did come with a blast of wind as solid as a giant's fist. Between those deafened by the thunder and those blinded by flying sand, few saw what appeared in the arena, seemingly out of thin air.
Pirvan was one of those few. He saw a ship's boat, about a six-rower size, he judged. It carried four armed, masked men forward, and one aft. In between, a man and a woman were both tied to the thwarts, with both chains and ropes that twisted them into contorted positions.