“I believe you know, wench, that my father was Belsayah High Rider before me,” Ceralt quickly put in, turning me again from the red-haired Sigurri. “Although the place was mine by right of birth, still was it necessary that I travel from village to village, answering any who might wish to challenge me for the honor. Were I to have fallen in such a challenge, the one who bested me would then be High Rider in my place. I had already faced two challenges and had stood victorious, when I came to the fifth village and a third who put himself before me as was his right. The first two had been naught, no more than fools believing themselves able to swing a blade, yet the third was considerably more. A man who had traveled widely and had been a captain in some High Seat’s guard . . . .”
“And there we stood, gazing upon one another across our weapons,” said Mehrayn, adding to my dizziness and dismay by turning me again in his direction. “The skies were dark and threatening, speaking of Sigurr’s presence and his displeasure with one of the two who stood in challenge beneath his eye . . .”
“I had thought you spoke of the fey as hot and bright,” remarked Ceralt, an odd tone to his voice. “As I, myself, felt very little fear and uncertainty, the times of my challenges are quite clear in my memory.”
“A true warrior knows no fear and uncertainty,” returned Mehrayn somewhat stiffly. “There is, however, the matter of wariness, which any with intelligence will feel. Most especially before one such as the previous Sword, who was . . .”
“My third challenge, once answered, brought unexpected results,” said Ceralt, and once again I looked upon him rather than Mehrayn. “Immediately were there more wenches about me than ever before, battling one another for my attention, seeking to serve me, begging my favor. I laughed indulgently at the display, of course, for I knew as well as a man might that it was another sort of wench I sought, one who stood so far above the others that . . .”
“Although there was ever a shortage of wenches in Sigurr’s city, I was sought out by them even before I became the Sword,” said Mehrayn, once again adding to the whirling in my head. “Once the honor was mine, however, they were constantly about me, begging me to use them in my devotions rather than slaves. Even the slaves wept when I chose them, yet did I know full well that my heart would not be given till I found one so far above them all . . .”
“One would have little difficulty in picturing the weeping of slaves who were chosen to serve a follower of Sigurr,” said Ceralt, immediately drawing the green of Mehrayn’s gaze. “The Belsayah hold no slaves, nor have they interest in doing so. The wenches they draw from the circle of choice more than suffice.”
“As those wenches are held even more closely than slaves, why should they not suffice?” asked Mehrayn, his tone as even as Ceralt’s had been. “Men require slaves to share when there are too few wenches for each to have his own, yet are some possessed of sufficient honor to keep from using those who are free. To hand a free wench about is to shame and demean her.”
“And to allow her to risk her all with a weapon in hand is to show her honor and concern?” demanded Ceralt, his blue eyes cold and unmoving from Mehrayn. “All men should be possessed of the sense to see the wrong in this; for those without sufficient wenches of their own, to do such a thing is inexcusable. Sharing will scarcely end a wench, yet battle . . . ”
Already were their arms gone from about me, therefore was there naught of obstacles to keep them from standing toe to toe once again. Each spoke while giving no heed to the other, their tempers flying, and at last I was able to turn about of my own volition and walk a number of paces from them before swallowing half the daru in my cup. The foolishness of their previous exchanges had made my head pound, and memories of the times I had spent with each of them disturbed me greatly. So much anger and hurt had Ceralt given me, and yet, when I had thought myself forsworn and shamed beyond bearing by doings of my own, he had reassured me.
“How might there be shame for you in a thing which gave me such joy?” he had asked, holding me tightly to him in his furs, his gentle touch attempting to soothe away my misery. “Do you not know, woman of my heart, how long I waited to hear you call upon me in need, rather than bear the load yourself, alone and in silence? My heart leaped with greater joy than it had ever known—and you found naught save shame therein? Can there be shame in giving another such joy?”
To that fey was I unable to truly answer the question he had put, yet did I recall the strength he had given me when mine had not been sufficient, the arms which had held me to him without condemnation. And Mehrayn. How deep had been the confusion and hurt I had felt when I thought him chosen willingly by the goddess, and how clearly he had known of my pain.
“Jalav, my beloved, are you unable to see that such a thing is not so?” he had cried, holding me to him with all the strength in his great arms. “Never would I choose another before you, sooner would I see my soul irretrievably lost! Though you have come to expect much pain from men, I would give you the brief pain of death before I would give you the agony of turning from you when you would face the gods for me! And never would I find it possible to give you death.”
I had been able to do little more than hold him then, just as I had done with Ceralt, and now they demanded that I choose between them, sending one of them from me forever. How great was my hatred of the goddess for bringing them together: beyond the bounds of simple blood debt, larger than the demand for vengeance. The cup of daru I looked upon moved as the hand which held it trembled with the rage which gripped me, turning red-tinged as the kill-lust sparked briefly, then wavered and lost reality as I pictured the journey trail which would bring me to the place I might realize my life’s last, most stringent desire. No other thought save killing filled me then, and when Aysayn put a hand to my arm, the look I gave him took some bit of the color from the tanned face which regarded me.
“Jalav, what ails you?” he asked in the softest of tones, his touch quickly withdrawn from my arm. “It had seemed that you roved elsewhere in your thoughts, yet now do you appear— Is there aid I might offer?”
“None may aid me now, brother,” I replied, feeling the overwhelming desires drain from me as quickly as they had come. My head ached unbearably. I was to be forced to face the goddess, in the place of her own choosing in the place where Sigurr waited. Once before had I faced him and withstood him to gain what I wished; this time was the need as pressing, and I would surely be drawn again into his Realm. Survival was unlikely, yet was I unconcerned with survival, so long as that Other also failed to survive. I drew an unsteady breath into my lungs as I looked again, differently, upon Sigurr’s Shadow, and shook my head at his concern. “Perhaps I have partaken too freely of this daru,” said I, gesturing with my cup before draining it. “How went the tale upon the reasons for your presence?”
“More successfully than the time spent by you, I would venture,” he said, turning to look upon the two males who were then being separated by those about them. Lialt, Telion and Galiose fought to take Ceralt to the left of the board, the while Chaldrin and S’Heernoh did the same in an effort to draw Mehrayn to the right. “Should peace ever be restored, Galiose wishes to be allowed to tour this house.”
“Knowing Galiose as I do, the wish was more likely a demand,” said I, at once seeing my conjecture confirmed in the dark of Aysayn’s eyes. “Have you thought upon a means as yet of removing him and his ilk from our path other than through battle?”
“There may perhaps be a way,” said Aysayn with a nod. “As the others are so deeply engaged in considerations of another sort, let us take the opportunity to discuss the matter.”