The Sun Sword - The Broken Crown Part 83

The Sword's Edge narrowed, becoming sharper and brighter and infinitely more dangerous as it glittered in the eyes of the man who held the t.i.tle. "Alesso-"

The General smiled.

"You are not as young a man as you were."

"No. Neither of us are." His smile broadened. "But it is the Festival of the Sun, old man." He drew his second sword as Sendari's body stiffened in the shock of Kovakar's care.

And then he lifted his hand and very carefully touched the sash that he wore across his chest; felt its warmth beneath his palm as he spoke three words. A gift from Baredan di'Navarre, whose name, for the first time in this longest of months, he did not curse.

He had one chance, and it was a short one; he was no fool. He had seen the demon move, and knew that in speed he was overmastered. But in cunning, the kin underestimated their allies when they were certain of their power. Their certainty of power was matched only by that power itself; in raw terms, a mortal did not challenge the kin in man-to-man combat and win.

Not unless he had come prepared, if hastily.

With a contempt akin to a demon's, Alesso di'Marente drove the points of both swords into the creature's exposed spine, cutting to either side as he dragged them out. Light lanced from his blades in visible sparks as steel effortlessly crossed the barrier demonic magic had made.

Kovakar snarled in rage and pain; Sendari fell. Alesso did not pause to see whether or not the Widan had made the fall intact; he leaped back, landing nimbly, his swords-edge out-crossed before him.

Kovakar turned, his hands extended; in the light, the hard sheen of his dark palms cast a reflection against the walls and screens. Alesso had not expected the wounds to kill him, for he had seen enough of the Kialli to know that such hope was futile. But the demon was slowed; the near-severing of his spine had damaged him greatly to bring him almost to his knees. A demon fighting on his knees was not a threat to be taken lightly-but it was one that could be taken.

"Alesso!" He barely heard his name-it was too quiet, and the syllables were choked almost beyond recognition. But he heard it, and he smiled. And it had been a long time since he had had this freedom, had walked this line, had lifted his sword in a combat that demanded no less than his best.

He came this close to death. And this close to death, there was no need for a pretty expression, a neutral guise; this close to death there was no room for fear-there was reaction, action, the swing of blades, the dance of death.

Alesso had never succ.u.mbed to the call of the dance; it required a trust in a partner's intent-and skill-that he had never felt. As close as he got was this: not a dance, but a contest, with death the only arbiter, and the only reward.

He felt the demon's claws cut the flesh from his arm, tearing through layers of cloth and chain as if they were quill-paper. But he almost didn't feel the pain because his body responded before it had registered, twisting and striking as the demon discovered that the only power it had over him was physical.

He heard the demon's breath; felt his own; the room became two men-two combatants-on a wide stretch of planked floor, wielding their chosen weapons. The creature feinted, but the feint was clumsy; he returned in kind, striking flesh that resisted as if it were armor.

Blood fell in a ring beneath his feet as the sword came back; he parried, left-handed, struck with his right, saw the sizzle of shadow as the vessel of the Lord of Night was ruptured.

And he smiled.

Sendari moved away from the fighting, hand around his throat as if to protect it from a grip that still burned. He rose at the edge of the mats, on the left hand side of the kinlord, Isladar, a foot and a half from the support of the nearest wall. The kinlord looked down, stepped aside, and watched him rise-which was proper etiquette; he did not comment on the weakness of the Widan. Instead, he said, "Your General has hidden much from the sight of the kin."

"The kin," Sendari replied, "have hidden much from themselves. Alesso was chosen by Cortano for good reason. He is a man that the clansmen will follow."

"Indeed," Cortano added softly, although he was obscured by the kinlord's height, "he is. And I will say, Sendari, that he has lost little of his form over the last decade."

"It is the Festival season."

"And it irked him, to be a politician during the Lord's trial by combat."

"We could not afford to enter a challenge that we couldn't be certain of winning." Sendari winced and turned aside as his oldest friend took another glancing blow from the ebony claws of the kin. He lifted his hands, opened his mouth, and then dropped them, waiting. At times like this -and he had witnessed very, very few- Alesso was an elemental force, a thing, like the fires over which Sendari had at so much cost gained mastery, to be contained, to be feared, and to be respected.

Not to be protected.

Isladar raised a dark brow. "You would let him fight alone?"

"I would," Sendari said, and then added, "reluctantly. He has a way of being... unthankful... for intervention."

"Yes," Cortano said. "Youthful pride."

"He is not so young as that."

Sendari's throat hurt too much to allow him to laugh. "Proof," he said to Cortano, although the white-haired Widan was still obscured by the kinlord's frame, "that power and knowledge are not one and the same."

"You don't know if he's going to win."

Not a question. Sendari glanced at the demon, and then at the man upon whom their plans

depended. "No," he said. "Does that please you, kinlord?"

"Not much," was Isladar's neutral answer. "You do not suffer with fear or guilt as you say it; you are both Widan, and you are both curiously unruffled by this turn of events. In fact, if I read what I see correctly, Cortano is actually pleased."

"Satisfied," the Edge of the Sword said curtly.

Sendari did not reply. He disliked this reminder of the demon's ability to read the lines written

upon a man's soul, possibly because of what it implied. Lips narrowing into a thin line, he gave the fight his full attention. Or the semblance of it.

"Widan Sendari."

"Kinlord."

"Why do you not interfere? You have struggled for decades to reach these three days-and the

Festival Height will be your reward."

"The Festival's Height," Cortano replied, "will be our declaration, no more; the fruits of success still hang from a fiercely guarded tree."

"Cortano, please."

"Very well, but you will not understand his answer."

At that, Sendari allowed himself to glance at the kinlord-and he was gratified for the first time

in the length of a trying day, for the kinlord looked angry, even insulted, by Cortano's words. To

a Widan, they would have been a spur to greater knowledge-or a slap in the face.

"We both see things that we have not seen before," the younger Widan said. "This is Alesso's test in the eyes of the Lord."

"You do not believe the Sun Lord even exists."

"Isladar," Cortano's voice was cold with warning.

"Very well, Widan-but I hardly think, with a demon on the mats, an eavesdropper is likely to

pay attention to a statement that is widely believed if never publicly spoken."

Sendari said, "I do not believe, although that is beside the point. Ales...o...b..lieves it, in his fashion.

And he has chosen this as a test. He will win, and we will continue, or he will die, and we will continue."

"He chose this battle to save your life."

"Are you saying that to elicit guilt or to show your ignorance?"

Isladar laughed. The sound was deep and cold and beautiful. "Widan, you are wise. Very well. I

am Kialli. Yet I will say this: You were some part of what motivated him.""It was not a matter of my life-it was a matter of his dominion.""And if I ended the battle now, he would never know whether or not he pa.s.sed the test that he set for himself."

"Isladar," Cortano's voice.

The kinlord lifted a hand and pointed. Magical fire streamed from him like a solid bridge made of

twisted ebony and burning ember. It struck Kovakar in the chest and bore him down to the mats

that were already a cindered ruin.

"I apologize, General, but I am afraid that this particular creature is not without his import to our cause. I must ask that you forgo the pleasure of his death." Before Alesso could even react, the fire-laced shadow sprang out like a cage around the demon, harboring him.

The General turned slowly. "Release him, kinlord."

Isladar raised a brow. "I am afraid, General, that I do not have that option."

Black-eyed, bloodied, and unbowed, Alesso di'Marente looked kin to the kin as he turned slightly

to face the Sword's Edge. "Cortano," he said softly, a single, cold word.

"Do not," the kinlord said, "interfere."

No breath was drawn in the room as this second of contests shifted ground and place.

The Widan who controlled the Sword of Knowledge paused a moment and then stepped at last into the range of Sendari's vision. In front of the kinlord. "Isladar." He appeared almost apologetic. "I must ask this, as a favor."

"And if I choose not to grant it?"

Cortano's expression did not shift; no muscle moved.

"I see," the kinlord said, "that we do not understand each other at all. You are not Allasakari."

At this, the Sword's Edge stiffened. "I have offered you no insult, old friend."

"But you offered no warning either."

"Your curiosity has been satisfied, Isladar. You have the answer to the question that Kovakar was sent to pose. You now know how much humiliation we are willing to suffer-and how much we fear to engage you." His smile was thin. "If you wish, you will have the answer to the question that you are about to pose. And I give you my word that you will not appreciate it." He paused. "There are those who will throw the whole of a struggle for the sake of pride. I am such a man. As is the General. Sendari, oddly enough, is not.

"Are you, Kialli kinlord?"

LsJadar's smile was out of place, for his eyes were chill and narrow. "No," he replied, "as you well know."

"Then dissolve your protections, Isladar. You require our aid; there will be no three like us in the whole of the Dominion in this generation, and were there, you would not have the time to search; Etridian's ill-planned intervention has seen to that.

"The Empire is moving. Your ancient enemies have taken to roads that are older than our memory. You need the Dominion's weight against the Empire to be a.s.sured the swift victory you desire.

"You are kinlord, and you are not without your power-but your power and mine have never been matched and tested." He did not speak or move, but the light trapped him in its orange coc.o.o.n, glittering with sparks of white and blue that lit the length of his pale beard.

"If we do not have a swift victory, we will have one nonetheless."

"And you are so certain?"