Kihrin turned to Darzin. “What do you mean? There’s no law inside the Arena? How does that work?”
Darzin shrugged. “Dueling is illegal. So are certain kinds of magic and murdering your fellows so you can be the man to grab the Crown and Scepter and name yourself Emperor. This land was once the Imperial Palace—they say it’s where the god-king Ghauras met his demise—and ever since it has been held to be a place outside the rule of law. No crime can be committed within its boundaries because no action committed within its boundaries is considered criminal. All things—no matter how repugnant—are allowed.” He smiled. “So, technically speaking, a man might promise any restriction on dueling outside the Arena—say, oh, it’s only to first blood—and change his mind as soon as he is inside.”
Kihrin was horrified. “And no one can do anything?”
“There are consequences,” Therin said, who had been listening to the entire conversation. “Give yourself a reputation as a man who breaks his word in duels and no one will believe your word regarding anything. And you will find people working against you.”
“Yes,” Darzin agreed. “Quite. Even I stick with dueling agreements.” He paused. “Usually.” He fetched a glass of wine from a waitress’s tray and pointed. “But look, the duel for your honor is beginning.”
Galen watched as the two combatants finished their talk, and the Voice of the Council waved a medallion. In response, a line of golden energy etched the outlines of a door hanging in empty space, then golden light filled in the rest of the door. Jarith and Thurvishar walked through the light, which collapsed behind them.
Galen tugged on his brother’s sleeve. “Do you see? Thurvishar doesn’t have a sword.”
Kihrin looked at him, frowned, and narrowed his eyes at the two men inside the Arena. Jarith did have a sword—a long, curving Khorveshan blade. Thurvishar seemed to have no weapons at all.
“Jarith couldn’t have agreed to let him use magic. He couldn’t have been that stupid…” Kihrin worried at his lower lip.
Galen had to wonder.
As soon as both men were through the gate the duel had technically begun. Thurvishar didn’t seem to notice this, however, and stood there, looking tall, proud, and vaguely bored.
“You said you’d summon a weapon!” Jarith shouted. “Do so, wizard, or pick up that rusted blade sticking out of the ground behind you. I will not attack an unarmed man.”
Thurvishar smiled. “I have already done so. It can hardly be helped if you do not recognize it.”
“You’re starting to grate on my nerves. I’m not—” As Jarith advanced on Thurvishar, he tripped, and pitched headfirst into the grass. His sword stuck blade-down in the soft earth like many of the weapons scattered around the clearing.
“For my weapon today, I choose … you.” Thurvishar gave that damning, maddening slow smile.
Next to Galen, Darzin let out a low whistle, more appreciation than shock.
“Why you—” Jarith’s foot slipped on the wet grass and he pitched backward this time, crying out as something sharp hidden in the lawn sliced across his shoulder. There was a general gasp from the crowd.
“Luck is not solely the province of Taja,” Thurvishar said. “Luck can be manipulated. Luck can be twisted. Luck can be used as a weapon.”
Jarith was careful not to move. “I didn’t challenge you because you said the boy was lucky, or even that he cheated. I said he—” His voice went silent.
Galen leaned forward. “What happened? Why can’t we hear them anymore?”
Darzin frowned. “The wizard’s blocked the sound.… Interesting.”
Kihrin pushed himself through the crowd, ignoring Darzin’s attempt to grab him. Galen, smaller and quicker, followed easily, ducking under arms and around distracted spectators. As they reached the area where the Voice stood, Galen realized the High General was also present, a volcano in the process of continual, simmering eruption.
The General gave both the D’Mon sons a nod of recognition as he saw them approach. The High General’s focus, however, was elsewhere. It rested on the small white-robed man, Caerowan, the D’Lorus Lord Heir, and most of all, on his only son.
They waited as the two duelists finished their conversation and the black-robed man offered Jarith a hand up. Jarith took it, and the two of them walked, together, to the edge of the Arena. They did not require a gate to exit—simply crossing the perimeter seemed to be sufficient.
Jarith’s expression wasn’t that of a man humiliated and defeated. He bowed to the Voice, Caerowan, and said, “By your leave, the duel is complete and all parties are satisfied.”
“All parties are not satisfied,” said the High General.
Jarith looked up, surprised.
Thurvishar’s expression did not change at all.
“This duel,” Qoran Milligreest explained, “was inappropriate and ill-advised. You are not royalty. It is not becoming to our family that you purport yourself as such.”
Jarith blinked. “Father—”
“General,” Milligreest corrected.
The young man flushed red and stood straight as a rod. “Yes, General.”
“Your assignment has been changed. You will report to Stonegate Pass for further orders, effective immediately. You are dismissed.” The General’s anger bubbled at the surface, ire burning like a great heat. He turned to Thurvishar, gave him a short, angry bow, and said, “My apologies for this unpleasantness, Lord Heir. I hope the duel was finished to your satisfaction.”
“Oh yes,” Thurvishar said. “Now if you’ll excuse me…” He returned the bow and walked into the crowd, presumably to bask in congratulations and perhaps even order a drink.
The High General turned to Kihrin and for a split second it seemed he would unleash a similar anger to that reserved for his son. “Kihrin.”
Kihrin swallowed. “High General.”
“I would say it’s good to see you again, but I don’t want to lie. May I instead say that I would take it as a kindness if you would avoid involving my family with your politics? Or better still, learn to fight your own duels.”
Kihrin nodded, and looked in Thurvishar’s general direction. “I didn’t—yes, High General. Thank you. I’ll do that.” He turned back to Milligreest. “He was only trying to help me, you know.”
“You may leave,” the High General said, stony once more.
Galen saw their father and grandfather making their way over to them through the crowd. “Come on, Kihrin,” he started to say. “Kihrin? Where—?” Galen D’Mon looked around.
Kihrin was gone.
67: THE DESTRUCTION OF YNISTHANA
(Kihrin’s story)
We didn’t do anything immediately. In fact, implementing my plan took another two years. That may seem like a long time, but despite Khaemezra’s worry that I would leave the island too soon, I did see the wisdom of finishing my training. I had a lot of magic to learn from Tyentso, more sword work from Doc, and then I had to learn how to play the saymisso* from one of the local Thriss musicians.