Diadem - Shadow of the Warmaster Part 10

"I see."

"Must have guessed we were heading here and messaged ahead."

"No doubt."

"Right. k.u.mari, take our client to the bubble, I'll collect Pels and my gear and meet you, five minutes, I swear."

"Right." k.u.mari drawled the word, turning it into a sarcastic comment. "Have you ever noticed, aici Arash," she touched Adelaar's arm and nudged her toward the exit, "how much men talk about women dawdling and how long it takes them to get themselves together?"

The shuttle platform was a towertop that looked down on clouds when there were any and south across the great glittering city, a city that grew on the edge of an ocean and spread inland to jagged young mountains. In the trucegrounds and the business sectors, sunlight ran like water along slickery surfaces, flickered erratically off shattered diamante walls, was thrown in white hot spears from mirror to mirror, mirror mirror on the wall who's the costliest city of all, mirror mirror everywhere and never a one to look in (go blind if you tried), the spears going here, going there, constantly altering direction as the mirrors changed orientation and the sun rode its customary arc across the sky. It was a city of light, beautiful in its imperious way, meant to intimidate the visitors stepping unaware onto the gla.s.sed-in platform; even those who'd been there before were affected by it no matter how blase a face they wore. We touched down late in the afternoon when some of the glitter and slide was muted, not quite blinding, and still it was a breath stealing thing to stand there and look out across it to a sea bluer than blue melding into a misty blue sky.

Down on ground level the light was even more intense, shooting past you, through you, around you, dissolving wall and street alike into more light, until you began to wonder if anything was real, including yourself; it was disturbing, uncomfortable-and very practical. Among other things it kept streets and walkways clear, no matter how many visitors descended on the city.

Scattered haphazardly, at all levels from roof to cellar, there were small arbors with mossy fountains and cool air rustling through the leaves of lace trees and pungent conifers, where shadows flicked across the face of the person sitting across a table from you with the intimacy of a caress. The contrast was a killer punch more subtle than a drug, and did they know it, those buyers and sellers, those agents and facilitators who were parasites on the primary business of Helvetia, those citizens and business agents who lived in the city and on the city, year round, year on year. More contracts were registered from the arbors than in all the offices, cabinets, bureaus put together.

We bought visors from a robovender in case we needed to hit the streets, dropped to the terminal and fought the swarm at the tube cars until we managed to snag a car bound for the ottotel trucehouse where k.u.mari had booked us in.

k.u.mari and I kept Adelaar sandwiched between us and Pels rode rearguard, pulling after him a mob of females of every shape and size, bipeds, tripeds and even a hairy monopod; they all seemed to want to catch him up and cuddlehim (the monopod too, which presented an interesting problem in logistics), they giggled when he snarled at them, a daring octoped with blushing tentacles scratched behind his ear, you wouldn't think these were hard-driving, high-pressure businesswomen capable of metaphorically (or even actually) cutting a rival's throat with zest and panache; it must be some pheromone he gives off; if you could package it and sell it as perfume you'd make a fortune. It was as effective as it always was, his peculiar defense, those females made a fine and fancy shield for the rest of us. Anyone who had mayhem on his (or her or ves or its) mind generally backed off from performing in front of that many interested spectators. And, give this to the Faceless Seven, we didn't have to worry about long distance sniping.

Pels wriggled loose, jumped into the car as the doors were sliding shut; his growl when I grinned at him was more heartfelt than usual; I think it's time he had a vacation, probably back on Mevvyaurrang making triads with Arras and Maungs; he comes back from those visits with his not-fur shivering and his eyes glazed and not talking to anyone but his plants for a month or more. I signed a question to k.u.mari (we a.s.sumed everything public was on-line to the mainBrain) -had she seen any unusual interest in us? She had a smile for Pels, but shook her head. Pels grunted. One, maybe two, he signed. In the next module over on this car. I didn't like it, but I expected it. I swung my chair round to face the back of our module in case they'd figured a way to get through it and I waited for the trip to end. We'd be on truceground when we came out, so we could hang around and see who emerged with us. Stupid planning, maybe. I exercised a few brain cells running that one round, but in a breath or two it was obvious I was counting angels and pinheads so I let it drop. Maybe Pels was wrong, but I didn't think that was any too probable; like I said before, Aurrangers are predators and good at it and not all that long ago semi-cannibals, by which I mean one of the ways they kept the population stable was to hunt down and eat any excess Raus when they were young and tender and about to hit p.u.b.erty. A few millennia of this and the descendants of those Raus who escaped the pot were very very hard to track.

Half a dozen came out of that module, more from the third, say around thirty bodies altogether, but the two we wanted weren't hard to spot, idiots, they were so careful not to look at us. Not pros, no way. Like the two going after Adelaar back on Telffer, the ones Shadow dropped, local computer jocks trying to earn points with the head office. Making sure we went where we told the world we were going. They scuttled out of the lobby like startled mice. Wonder what they'd do if I sneaked after them and yelled boo in their bitty ears. Mmh.

k.u.mari'd got a sealed four body unit for us which she charged to the client's diCarx when we got inside. Adelaar didn't comment, just marched her gear into her cubby and did her best to slam the door on us. It's not that easy to work off a snit in an ottotel, the doors ooze shut at the same speed whenever they're pushed or left alone, there's nothing much you can break or throw and the walls are padded so beating your head on them doesn't make much sense. She wasn't annoyed about having to pay expenses, that was part of the deal. It was being shut into a tincan for three solid months with the same people that got to her, especially Kinok. Arguing with a Sikkul Paem was an exercise in frustration; when ve decided ve didn't want to talk any longer, ve shooed Kahat away from the translator board and dug ves roots in one of ves earthbeds; after that you might as well try arguing with a dill plant which is more or less what ve smelled like. Slancy's workshop was down in ves region and ve insisted on knowing everything that went on in that part of the ship.

Adelaar was furious at ves interference and loathed having ves snooper cells everywhere she went; her methods were part of her business a.s.sets, she said; they were emphatically not part of the deal and if I thought they were, I was soft in the head. Kinok wasn't talking when I went round to see him, so I told her to set up distorters in the workshop and I stationed Pels outside the door to keep our pet Paem from barging in on her. Ve took it well enough, ve's the only Paem I've met who has something resembling a sense of humor, which isprobably the reason ve's lasted so long with us. Something I didn't tell Adelaar and I'd really rather she didn't find out, ve budded off a Kahat-clone and sneaked the little creature into the shop; it pretended it was one of the plants that kept the air fresh. I found it a couple of days before we flipped back to reals.p.a.ce and got it out of there. Kinok just rubbed two of ves coils together to make that squeaky sound ve thinks is laughter and ate the clone. Which, if I understand anything about Paem physiology, transferred all the clone knew into Kinok's own nerve cells.

After a bath, a change of clothes and a reasonably edible meal, we met in the parley to decide how we were going to work this situation. Sealed units are supposed to be free of snoopears, but anyone who trusts official noises about such things doesn't last long on Helvetia or anywhere else. We swung tupple loungers around one of Adelaar's choicer distorters and stretched out on them.

For a breath or two no one said anything. Pels was digging his claws into his chin fur, k.u.mari had a dreamy look as if she were contemplating a favorite poem, Adelaar had lost her frown and was a lot more relaxed than she'd been in days. Prospect of action, I suppose.

"Sooner or later each of us is going to be challenged," I said.

"No."

Adelaar looked like she wanted to start an argument over that, but I shook my head at her and, wonder of wonders, she shut up; I knew that sound, Kri was running on a mix of hunch and logic that was almost never wrong.

"No," she repeated. "Not all of us. You and Adelaar. Stink too much of setup if they went after all of us; there's a limit how far a pro can go; it flexes some; I doubt that much; the Seven want to avoid any smell of ambush, not good for business. And there's no need anyway. It's your ship, Swar; should they get you, we'd have to go through all that business of transferring t.i.tle, could take a year or more, plenty of time for Bolodo to clean up their act.

And it's Adelaar's daughter; without her around to pay the bills, Bolodo might think we'd" say h.e.l.l with it and go on to something else." She waved a hand at Pels, wriggled her fingers in a kind of digital grin. "Us you could replace in half an hour or less." Pels growled. "Well, as far as jobs go-"

I looked at Adelaar. She lifted a hand, let it fall, but didn't say anything.

"Right," I said. "How good are you with that sword of yours?"

"I'm still alive, one challenger's dead, another can't walk very well, I cut a few nerves in his left leg. One was pro, one wasn't, the dead one. The pro was middling good, it was a business matter."

"Hmm. Bolodo won't be fooling around this time, they'll buy the best there is, no more amateur talent." I thought about that a while. "If we can't avoid a challenge, maybe we can maneuver the ground. You up for taking a chance, aici Arash?"

"If there's a point to it." She tapped on the pneumatic arm beside her. "You mean bait them. Tonight?"

"Catch 'em before they're set."

"And if they don't bite?"

"Then they don't and we have some fun playing before we get serious."

"Sounds good." More tip-tapping on the soft resilient plastic, tiny scratching sounds; her nails were pointed and painted with a metallic film that turned them into small knives; I wouldn't be all that surprised to learn they had poison packed behind them. She'd fixed them up that way before we left Slancy; that was one of the reasons I started thinking it might be a good idea to force the pace. "What ground?" she said.

"Darkland. The Rabbid Babbit. You know it?"

"I've been there. Why that House, what about Tinzy's Amberland, or some other place?"

"Amberland's too establishment, too many high level execs and bankers in the crowd. I want room for some creative cheating. Those types are either a bunch of half-a.s.sed romantics with an inquisitor's touch with heretics, or a bunch of sn.o.bs who want to keep . . . um ... ah ... the creative interpretation ofrules as an executive privilege, not something available to the working slob or us common visitors. Those fingernails of yours, as an example, they're apt to rule them illegal given a protest. I'm sure you'd rather keep them as is."

"Babbit's different?"

"As different as the Seven allow. A lot of duelists base from there."

She laughed, startled into it; for the first time she seemed pleased with something I said. "And that's a recommendation?"

"Right."

She thought that over a minute, then nodded. "What works, as long as it's not flagrant enough to be nailed on."

"Right."

"And that gives us an edge?"

"Me, yes. You, I don't know."

She laughed again, a real laugh bubbling up from her toes; I didn't know she had it in her. For a minute I almost liked her. "All right, I can go with that. One thing though," she hesitated, then pushed herself up. "I'll give you a signature that'll release the escrow account to you ..." she slipped off the tupple lounge, stood with her arms crossed, "day after tomorrow, if you'll give me your word you'll fetch Aslan out even if I'm killed or put down for a long stretch at the meatshop."

"You got it." She waited, her eyes on me. "All right, I'll spell it out," I said, "Whatever happens, long as I'm alive and reasonably intact, I'll fetch Aslan aici Adlaar home to University. Satisfied?"

'"Quite. When do you want to leave?"

"Mmh. Sun's down. I'd rather wait till after midnight, things get looser."

She examined me, eyes narrowed. "Black leather with studs. Lots of studs."

"Not leather." I grinned. "Synthaskin, elasticized.

"Better. Shirt or bare arms?"

"White silk, billowy. To cover possible deficiencies." I looked her over.

"Imaginary deficiencies."

"Right." She grinned. "Earrings, rings, wristbands, fake gems wherever there's a place to hang them."

She touched her forehead. "Pearshape ruby dangling here?"

"If it won't bother your moves."

"I can always shuck it before things get serious."

"Right. Hair?"

"Silvergilt. Both of us. A matched pair."

"Two minds with but a single thought. k.u.mari." She was fizzing and rattling with her kind of laughter. I ignored that. "Put off Vnok till tomorrow and order us a jit. We might as well let whoever's interested know we're coming."

When we came out of our cubbies and struck a pose, Pels and k.u.mari fell out laughing. We left them holding their sides and whooping and drop-tubed to the lobby where we climbed in the jit we'd ordered and took off for the Darklands.

The jit dropped us at the Dusky Gate, city drivers wouldn't go into the Darklands for fear of losing their machines. No law past that heavy arch, only Darkland rules which said what you had was yours as long as you could keep it and only that long; whatever someone was sly enough, quick enough or brutal enough to take belonged to them under the same rules. Once you made a House, though, you could rent protection and be reasonably secure from muggers, cutpurses and a.s.sa.s.sins. That was a matter of business, there had to be an edge of danger but nothing too threatening or the slummers wouldn't come and the game rooms would lose their pigeons, the psychodromes would spray their putchemeio dreammist on props, not people. Which meant we were safe from ambush only when we reached the Rabbid Babbit. We walked through the Gate.

Mainstreet was wide, paved with thin slabs of rough-cut stone. Right now they were wet (it must have rained while we were getting ready), with puddlets in the chisel gouges shining yellow and red as they re- fleeted the light from the luso torches that lined the sides of Mainstreet.

The torches looked real enough until you noticed they never seemed to burndown; the smell of hot tar and burning oil, the crackle and snap of the fire, the heat, they were all there; a little too much there tonight, I expect the nerp who ran the illusion was high on something and got carried away with the effects.

The Houses were set back a short distance from the street, leaving room for sidewalk cafes with tables under markVdomes where anyone interested could watch the action on the street without any danger of that action spilling over on them. There was a middling crowd out, walking from House to House for the thrill of flirting with thieves and budding duelists (and because there was no other way to change Houses, you walked or you stayed where you were). The air was cool and damp, though it wasn't raining now. The strollers seemed more subdued than I remembered, but maybe this was just a more inhibited bunch. The body paint on a lacertine group we pa.s.sed was a mix of earth colors, dull reds and grayed-down yellows; last time I was here the lacertines had gone for brilliant primaries, a slim green back could be like a shout of laughter. Now those backs were more like smiles, subtle smiles that might speak either pleasure or mockery. Times change and who can read the branches if he hasn't watched them grow?

Adelaar walked half a pace ahead of me, no more joking for her. Made me a little sad, she'd let an imp show briefly, then shooed it home; I liked that imp, a bit more of her in the woman would improve the mix a lot, but I think she was afraid of that side of her. And I think she was already regretting the impulse that stuffed her into that costume.

We went past Amberland. Adelaar glanced at the holo-females of half a dozen species moving through a complex and beautiful melange of half a dozen ancient dances, swaying through the air across the front of the House, larger than life, gaudy, garish, down-and-dirty seductive, there was a little blonde, well, I dragged my mind back to where I was and what I was doing; I could see Adelaar preferred the company in there to mine, poor little imp deep inside her never let off its leash; we weren't going to be friends, Adelaar and me, maybe pleasant acquaintances if we kept off politics. There were several shadows drifting after us, but they kept back, ready to vanish down the nearest alley if either of us took a notion to chase them, which made me think they were just making sure where we went. It wasn't the crowd in the street that stopped my attack, no one in his right mind interfered in a fight, not in Darklands. If you or your party weren't involved, you got out of there.

Fast. No lingering to gawk at the pretty fight.

We pa.s.sed several other Houses, each with its identifying holo. Crezmir Tarkitzdom, bull-leapers and vodi slayers and antique idols. Surrealismo, hmm, indescribable and constantly changing (I've never seen that holo repeat itself and it's always weird; when I have a moment with nothing else to occupy me, I wonder about the minds that come up with some of the things I've seen there).

Wildwood. Tranqworld. The Rabhid Babbit. Its holo was the same as before, a collection of a.s.sorted Uglys and Hairys barbequing a Banker over a l.u.s.ty pile of coals, a prim-faced character with an immaculate tunic and stovepipe trousers, chained to a spit which the Ugs and Hairs were turning and turning, wringing sweat of a sort from him, gold coins dropping like rain. Adelaar made a face at the thing, gave me a dark look and pushed through the Gate onto the Babbitwalk.

I waved the Doorman off and followed her into the House; we weren't buying protection tonight.

Around three hours later, after bar hopping a while and wandering through the drome and sitting through six or seven acts in the music hall, we left the hall and started for the casino; I was beginning to think those shadows I'd spotted were either my imagination or a mugger gang enticed by the fake gems we were loaded down with and the dumb getup we were wearing. Adelaar was looking tired and depressed and uncomfortable. If no one took our bait, I had a suspicion she was going to make me regret the time we spent trolling it.Adelaar hit my arm, a tap but it stung. "Haven't we wasted enough time?"

"Just about. I said there was only a chance they'd bite."

"I suppose it could've worked." She yawned. "Don't mind me, I get cranky when I'm bored." The imp peeped out again and she smiled up at me. "Aslan's told me that often enough."

"Right. You want to call a jit to the Gate, or try a few games first?"

"Games. After tonight we get serious again." She raked the headband off.

"Here, you carry this; I don't want to feel as moronic as I look." She started stripping off the chains and bracelets and excess rings, I stuffed them down my shirt as she handed them to me; that's our motto, the client's wishes come first, it was d.a.m.n uncomfortable though, they were sticky with her sweat and some of those gems had sharp corners.

We weren't paying attention to what was happening around us, we'd both given up the stalk. Maybe it was the watched pot thing, but about ten seconds into that strip act Adelaar was doing with the fake jewelry, someone slammed into me, spraying grushajuice everywhere; it was a mess, I was dripping, my shirt was sogged against me stinking sweet and slimy, Adelaar was cursing and using her sleeve to wipe her face as she ignored the attempts of a female duelist to set the challenge going. I got my back against a wall fast, just in case, but the man who'd collided with me was intent on doing this the proper way; he slapped a glove in the direction of my face, called me a mannerless clod and invited me to redress my honor on the dueling ground. Babbit's android guards were there, they'd come out of the walls as soon as the mess started, stunners ready to make sure Babbit's version of the rules held fast ('droid guards don't come under the weapon ban when they're hired from the city council by respectable home firms to protect the premises), a comforting sight they were, too. I managed a bow of sorts, proclaimed my innocence of all malice and inquired if an apology would be acceptable. Naturally it wasn't, so there we were, bait taken; all we had to do now was win our respective fights and damage our opponents so badly that other duelists would be disinclined to take up the gage, no matter what the prize. It wasn't going to be a pretty fight, not one of the epic duels that songsmiths celebrated, but I never had much time for that kind of thing anyway.

"Hra Trewwa Harona." He sketched a bow but didn't take his eyes off me. He was tall and wiry, skin like polished walnut, not a hair on his head, not even eyelashes, one of the cousin races but nothing about him to say which world he whelped on; way he moved, he was fast and agile.

"Swardheld Quale," I said.

"Lugat Haza," the woman said, touched lips and heart and spread her hands palm out; she had a shock of bright red hair, green eyes and a spray of freckles across a beaky nose. Another cousin, equally anonymous.

"Adelaar aici Arash." Adelaar put her hands palm-to palm in front of her, bobbed her head and shoulders in a quick dip.

The four of us were standing on the broad oval of the dueling floor; the tiered seats outside the lighted area were filling quickly, I could hear the sounds of scuffling feet and a growing mutter of conversation. It was as if the walls had sucked in the challenge and spat it out in every section of the House, enticing to this vault most of those who heard it. We were going to have a large and interested audience. It's what I wanted, what I'd planned to get. Why I was forcing the fight in here rather than leaving it to chance. In a brangle on the street without witnesses anything could happen and the survivors could say what they wanted without contradiction.

Adelaar stepped away and started wrapping the remnants of her shirt around her right arm; she'd laced up the vest so it didn't flop about (her either) and twitched her swordbelt round so the rapier's hilt was on her left. From what I'd seen she was ambidextrous with a slight tendency to favor her right hand; apparently she was going to start this thing off as a letter; I've had a few skirmishes with letters and I knew how they can throw you off your pace. I relaxed some more and got rid of the soggy shirt, leaving the wristlets whichweren't as flimsy as they looked; they wouldn't turn Harska's edge, but there wasn't much else they couldn't bat aside.

The House Referee came up the ramp and stumped to the center of the oval, ordering us to follow him with a sweep of a muscular arm. Adelaar and I stopped a few paces apart on his left, Lugat and Hra Trewwa faced us on his right. He was a chunky cold-eyed Frajjer, a long pole in his left paw, its end beaten into a knife-edged half circle; any flagrant infringement of Babbit's rules and he took out the offender, no recourse, his judgment was final. There might not be many rules in Babbitland, but they were serious about those they had. When I say final, it was sometimes exactly that, said offender was cremated the next day.

He faced Adelaar and me. "You are challenged. They say as-is. You two got the veto, so?"

"As-is, that's fine with me. Del?

"As-is," she said.

"Caveats?"

"None," I said. Lugat's nose twitched, she looked scornful and delighted, a mix of expressions that did nothing much for her face. She stood shaking her arms lightly; beneath the stretch silk you could see her muscles shifting; she was sleek and feral as a hunting cat "First-blood or final?"

"Final," I said. Adelaar nodded.

He looked over his shoulder at the other two. "Agreed?"

"Agreed," Hra Trewwa said; the woman shrugged. "Agreed," she said.

The Frajjer waved us apart, Adelaar and Lugat to the left end of the oval, Trewwa and me to the right. He beat the end of his pole against the floor, three solemn thumps. While he was announcing the terms of engagement, Hra Trewwa took off the long cape he was wearing and stripped out the lining. A weighted net. s.h.i.t. I hated netmen. Looks like Bolodo did their homework, got someone to tell them about the last mix-up I had here. I slid my lady from her sheath, brought her past my head, the light catching the crystal edge and making a minor glory of her; I handled her as if she had the ma.s.s her size suggested, rested her blunt end on the floor and stood waiting with both hands closed round her hilt. Trewwa probably knew she was a slasher, not a stabber, what I hoped he didn't know was how nimble she was; looking at her size and conformation you'd think she'd be a h.e.l.ler once I got her wound up, but she'd be slow as a sleepy b.u.mphel. Trewwa snapped the net open; from the way it shimmered it was Menavidetin monofilament. He flipped it around his neck and let the ends hang while he gave me a c.o.c.ky grin and began working on his walking stick. After a bit of twisting it extended into a two-p.r.o.nged lance not much longer than a.s.segai traditional; the points of the p.r.o.ngs glittered in the strong light like blue-white diamonds. Double s.h.i.t. I was going to spend most of this dance running like some fieldsport jock after a speed record.

Lugat produced a pair of k'duries, wrist bands with a two chains on each about the length of her arms; at the end of the chains were soft lead b.a.l.l.s the size of a green peach. She spread her fingers; the nails glittered. Adelaar wasn't the only one with a fancy for claws. I hoped she knew how to deal with a k'duri expert; I had a mix-up with one a few years back and felt lucky to come out of it with some broken bones and an aching head, that femme wrapped a chain around my stunner and jerked it away, fast! you wouldn't believe how fast she could whirr those things; then she got my boot knife, broke my right arm and was playing pattacake with my head when I left through a window I didn't bother to open.

The Ref blew his whistle and retreated to the edge of the oval.

Adelaar and Lugat circled warily. Adelaar kept back, watching the sweep of the b.a.l.l.s, reading the k'durin's body. Lugat was gripping the chains about midpoint, one emerging between thumb and forefinger, other between the last two fingers. Each hand moved separately, the chain loops clinking and burringas they swung, the b.a.l.l.s whispering round with lazy swishes; her arms shifted out and in, a cadenced mini-dance like the sway of a cobra, as hypnotic and as potentially lethal, without any indication of where the attack would come from. Adelaar feinted, feinted again, testing the s.p.a.ce about the k'durin with the point of her rapier, retreating always before one of the chains could wrap about the sword and pull it from her or sneak around it and break a hand or an arm.

I held Harska angled out before me, swaying her a little, camouflaging her nimble nature. My first sword, you swung her a couple times and you went and lay down and breathed hard for a while. Of course, if you knew what you were doing and had reasonable armor, once or twice was about all you needed. Trewwa was as quick as he looked, slipping back or sideways with the ease of a man running at you; he had the bident in his left hand, the net in his right, bunched into a thick loose rope which he kept flicking at me, face then ankles, whipping it away before I could get Harska after it; he was wary of her edge even with the mono-fil's toughness. He darted the bident at me, weaving it into the flick-retreat of the net, testing me, trying to read how fast I was and what I knew about netmen. And he was maneuvering me closer to Lugat. This was a doubleduel, nothing against one of the partners breaking off his or her fight to help the other.

Adelaar eased closer. The left-hand lead b.a.l.l.s shot out, their chain loops suddenly released. She ducked away. One sphere whistled over her head, the other hit but not solidly (it would have cracked her skull if it had); it grazed her temple, slid off her hair, banged into her shoulder, catching for an instant on one of the pointed studs on the back of her vest. In spite of the dizzy dark that blurred her vision and slurred her mind, she took advantage of that brief catch, turned the duck into a low attack and managed to carve a piece out of Lugat's left leg, only a deep scratch, but it started bleeding sluggishly. She dropped flat, rolled frantically away before all four of the lead spheres slammed into her; she scrambled onto her feet outside the limit of the chains and began prowling once again, watching Lugat as she drew the chains in and brought the b.a.l.l.s to order.

The net flicked out, low, no feint this time, he was after my ankles if he could get them; if I jumped clear, he'd twitch the net open and have me like a gasping fish which he'd skewer on the double p.r.o.ngs of his lance. At the same time, he beat Harska aside with the lancepole, hitting her against the flat, careful still of her edge. Instead of jumping clear, I brought Harska in a quick circle, freeing her from the push of the pole; continuing the move, I jumped into the net, falling flat on it, pinning it temporarily while I swung Harska one-handed at Trewwa's legs; she went through flesh and bone like b.u.t.ter; he fell over, screaming with rage, too angry to feel the pain yet; he hadn't expected her to swing that fast and easy; I'd cheated him and he wanted blood for it; he hauled back on the bident and tried to puncture me with those diamond points. I took his head off and that was that.

There were a few appreciative hisses and clicking sounds from the watchers, but the room was mostly quiet, there was still a fight to finish.

Adelaar had an oozing bruise on her brow, another on her left shoulder near the joint. Her left arm was disabled; she carried the sword in her right hand now. Lugat had a deep scratch on one thigh, she favored that leg when she moved, and there several small b.l.o.o.d.y rents in the tight stretch silk of her sleeves. As I turned around, Adelaar took advantage of Lugat's leg drag, tossed the sword into her left hand (freeing her right), got momentarily behind her and close enough to rake her neck with those poison claws; she whirled away too fast for Lugat to manage a solid hit, but collected some more bruises and was staggering by the time she was beyond chain reach. Lugat went after her, but with Trewwa down and out, Adelaar had room enough keep clear until her head was working again.

Lugat stumbled, the lead b.a.l.l.s seemed to shudder, their swings turned erratic; she pulled herself together, went after Adelaar, ignoring the rapier, ignoringpain and disorientation as the poison took effect; the lead b.a.l.l.s whirred viciously, she caught Adelaar in the heel, the small of her back, slammed one into her side (I could almost hear those ribs go) as Del stumbled over one of Trewwa's severed legs. Del threw herself aside and into a shoulder roll; on her feet again she turned and ran, around, across, along the oval, ignoring broken ribs and other bruises, running, dodging, ignoring grazes as Lugat tried to get at her, running beyond exhaustion until Lugat was gasping and staggering, eyes glazed, blood trickling from her nose and the corners of her mouth. Adelaar whipped back; a bound, a stride, a lunge and with beautiful extension she slid the rapier into the k'durin's chest, a perfect heart kill.