as places for the contestants to prepare. Inside one of them sat Ariko and Durel. They could hear the roar of the crowd as one swordsman or another made a nimble maneuver, a skillful riposte, a deft parry, or drew first blood. Now and again the shouts grew louder as someone was wounded more severely, and occasionally a silence befell the mob when a thrust proved to be fatal. One such deadly quiet had just come to pass, when a knock sounded. "You're next, Tiger," said the man when Durel opened the door.
Ariko and Durel harnessed their weapons, and out into the sunlight they strode. They made their way behind the stands to come to the south entryway… and there in the aisle at the edge of the open arena they waited. They could see a tall Rankan, stripped to the waist in spite of the cool, swirling breeze, a blade in each hand, standing in the opposite aisle.
In the arena itself, bearers were lading a corpse upon a litter.
In the stands along the aisle and immediately above Ariko and Durel, gawkers turned their attention from the deader being carried off and looked down upon the pair and whispered among themselves. "Oh, lor, but look a him. A giant he is." "Ar, that sword across his back, why, it's as long as a man is tall." "I thought this was supposed to be a duel, not a bloody slaughter. I mean, who can stand against such." The murmurs and whispers and declarations went on, even as a herald stepped to the center of the field
of combat and faced east, where the governor and ambassador and other notables sat on a high dais. A hush fell. "Lords and Ladies and guests," he called and gestured leftward, "to the north, Enril the Rankan!" A shout went up from the crowd, interspersed with boos and whistles and catcalls, as the tall man
stepped forth from his aisle to stand for all to see, and there he waited.
The herald held up his hands. And when quiet fell he gestured rightward and called, "And to the south, Tiger!" A great roar went up as well as gasps at the size of the man when Durel stepped onto the sand and
stopped. Then Ariko strode forth and paused; and Durel took her cloak from her and then stepped back
into the aisle.
With her scabbarded swords strapped across her back, Ariko went on toward the center of the arena, and a murmur of wonder rippled through the crowd. "This is 'Tiger'?" "Vashanka, but she's a yellow woman." "Why, this'll be a slaughter, tiny as she is." "Look at them little square plates on her leather vest. Hmph, as if they'd stop a good thrust." "Get the litter ready!" Out onto the sandy square strode five-foot-two Ariko, as did Enril the Rankan, a full head taller or more.
In one hand he held a rapier; in the other a main gauche—a sword-breaker. They met in the center of the field, where both turned to the dais and bowed, then faced the herald. "Are you certain you want to do this?" the herald asked Ariko, his gaze wide with amazement. Ariko's only reply was to draw her two slightly curved blades, the shorter one in her left hand, the longer
one in her right.
The herald shook his head and sighed. "Very well. Face the dais, weapons ready. Wait for the signal, and then it's to first blood." The herald bowed to each and withdrew. From the corner of his mouth, tall Enril whispered to Ariko, "I shall try not to wound you too deeply, but
one never knows, does one?" Ariko did not reply. At a gesture from Arizak, the Rankan ambassador called from the dais. "Let it begin." The duelists faced one another and saluted with swords—Enril's gaze filled with haughty disdain, Ariko's
impassive—then circled one another warily. Of a sudden in a whirl of steel, Ariko sprang forward, her blades but a blur— —ding-clang, shmg-shang, chng-shng-zs—
—and after but seven quick strokes she disengaged and stepped back. Panting, frowning, Enril looked at her—"First blood," she said— and then he felt the warm trickle running down his right cheek.
Unbelieving, he struck his right hand to his face and wiped. His fingers came away wetly scarlet. An incredulous gasp went up from the crowd, and Enril, stunned, turned to the dais. "My lords, 'twas but an accidental—"
Enril's words chopped short as Arizak pushed out a hand for silence. "The combat is to first blood, and
first blood has been drawn. Stand down, Enril the Rankan, you have been defeated." A great roar went up from the crowd, and Enril growled but bowed to the dais, as Ariko did likewise. Then they went their separate ways, the Rankan to the north, Ariko to the south.
Grinning widely, Arizak turned to Emissary Badareen. "Bested by a chit of a girl, is this the finest Ranke
has to offer?" But off to one side stood Soldt, his eyes narrow as his gaze followed the retreating form of the yellow woman called Tiger.
In the Vulgar Unicorn that eve, many a past wager was paid and many a new one laid, and all talk was of the tourney and of the female therein… "Quick as a tiger she is, did you see?" "Aye, she's aptly named." "A golden woman at that." "Bet she's a tiger in places other than an arena." "You don't want to find out, Lamin… claw you to death, she would." "Ar, I think that Enril was right: Twas pure accident." "Do you think? I mean, she seemed, oh, I dunno, fast and deft, I suppose." "Bah, she's just a girl; either it was an accident, or he wasn't ready." "The next one she faces'll be on his toes, I'll wager."
"Speaking of wagers, what about tomorrow? Who you betting on?" "Wull, with the bye and all, and as the favorite, Soldt didn't fight today. Even so, my coin'll follow him. What about you?"
"I think I'll put a silver on the golden girl."
"Ha! Dolt! Why don't you just throw your coin into the street? I mean, betting on a girl is just plain foolish, and…" Many were the stakes proffered and accepted, odds shifting with each candlemark, Soldt yet favored to
win. The Irrunes, however, bet on the one named Tiger; how could they not, for the tiger was their totem, and even though there had been a bloodmoon, how could that be wrong? Besides, they had now seen her fight. Mostly Rankans took on the Irrune wagers in ire, for, after all, this—this… this girl had accidentally beaten one of their best, and surely she deserved what she got.
"Five more," gritted Ariko, her black eyes flashing in the moonlight. "I must face five more opponents ere
we win the jewel for this skeleton of a man—if man he is—and he sends us back to Arith." Durel growled and glanced toward his great sword. "If there were a way we could get back on our own, I'd kill the bastard."
"To do so," said Ariko, "you would have to stand in line behind me."
Durel sighed and glanced at the moon riding above in the cool night. Then he stood and held out his hand. "Come, love. 'Tis time we were abed." Ariko took his grip and levered herself up. They went into the ruins of the tower, to the chamber with a
bed so dusty that surely it hadn't been used in a decade or more.
Lurking in the shadows behind, Halott smiled to himself… if a slight twitch of his blue-tattooed lips could be said to be a smile. Beneath his robes, with a desiccated ringer he traced the long, single scar running from his throat down
the center of his cadaverous chest and hollow stomach and past his empty groin. Little do they know I cannot be slam by the paltry weapons they have. "An Ilsigi emissary came today," said Naimun. Soldt raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Come to woo Arizak, I suppose." Naimun nodded. "It seems they fear my sire will throw in his lot with Emperor Jamasharem." "What of perArizak, the Dragon?" Naimun gritted his teeth. "That hill bandit thinks to lead the Irrune once my sire is dead."