Padro's mouth drew into a tight, thin line, and he clenched his fists. If he had any sort of telepathic contact with Posass, he should now be sending a message of rage. Even if Gualdar's champion had the sense to be cautious, his master's message should drive him into action.

It did. He exploded into movement, so fast his dagger point drew blood from Cheeky's back. Everyone shouted or gasped, and Blade heard a number of side bets on Posass at odds of ten to one. Duke Padro might not be the only man to find this day expensive.

After losing the blood, Cheeky was more careful to keep his distance. This kept him on the run, so that after a few minutes the duel began to look more like a chase. Around and around went the two champions, Posass stabbing at Cheeky whenever he thought he might be close enough, though he never was. Soon Posass began to scream and jump up and down, frustrated at being unable to hurt his opponent.

Blade looked around the field. Duke Padro and Duke Garon were looking at the field, grinning broadly. The third Duke, Raskod, had finally made his appearance, accompanied by a bevy of beauties from his harem, who were standing on the sidelines, eagerly watching the fight. The men of Nainan who knew Blade's plan-Cyron, Alsin, and Chenosh-were keeping masklike faces.

Everybody else from Nainan was looking grimmer and grimmer as the minutes went by, and Cheeky went on disgracing the Duchy. They also started shooting black looks at Blade, who made sure his sword and dagger moved freely in their scabbards. If by some chance Cheeky should lose, he was going to face an embarrassing choice. He could do what was honorable, by his own standards as well as by those of the Crimson River, and stay to die for his mistake. Or he could think of the future of Project Dimension X, take to his heels, and carve a path through anyone who got in his way.

He sincerely hoped he wouldn't have to make this particular decision.

Certainly no one from the other three Duchies seemed to doubt how the fight would end. They screamed and shouted obscene taunts at Cheeky, making such a din that finally Duke Padro himself had to call for silence. After that they were content with making more side bets. They still talked loudly enough to let Blade hear some bets being made at odds of twelve and fifteen to one. A lot of purses might be empty by the end of the day. Blade hoped there would not also be a lot of desperate men, ready to attack Duke Cyron and Nainan. There could be such a thing as too big a victory!

The duel went on, still more of a chase than a real fight. Blade began to wish he could reach Cheeky mind to mind, but knew that would be impossible in this fight. Posass would catch up with his opponent in a moment if he slowed down to talk to Blade. Then Cheeky would be too busy defending himself to concentrate on a mental message. Besides, Posass or his master might «hear» the message. Then the important advantage their secret gave Blade and Cheeky would be gone for good.

Around and around the Feathered Ones went. The fancy clothing of Duke Padro's courtiers was beginning to look the worse for the heat and the dust. The ladies of Duke Raskod's harem even took off some of their clothes. They hadn't been wearing that much to begin with, so the results were interesting. Duke Cyron sent Castle Ranit's servants among his guests with pitchers of cooled wine and beer, but took nothing himself. As far as Blade could tell, the old man was hardly even sweating.

Blade didn't hear any more side bets now. Everybody was either out of money or becoming cautious. «Come on, Cheeky,» Blade muttered under his breath. «You've put on a good show. Now don't ham it up!» He suspected the advice would do no good even if it somehow reached Cheeky. If any living creature was ever a born show-off, it was Cheeky.

The sun rose higher, sweat flowed faster, and the plume on Duke Padro's hat began to droop. So did Posass's feathers. Cheeky's feathers, on the other hand, were hardly long enough to droop, and Blade wondered if his shorter feathers weren't giving him the unexpected advantage of keeping cooler and more comfortable. He'd have to ask after the fight, if there was an «after the fight.»

Blade was just about ready to call for some beer, when Cheeky stopped running. He caught everyone by surprise, including his opponent. A wild roar of excitement went up all around the field as his dagger flashed in the sun. Posass of Gualdar jumped back, but not far enough or fast enough. His feathers were limp and dark with sweat. Cheeky really had worn him down! His dagger raked across Posass's belly, blood oozed, and the roar from the crowd swelled. Posass struck back, but Cheeky drew his attention with a punch at his face, and the dagger thrust went wide.

The return stroke did not. It came up under Posass's ribs and into his vitals so fast that even Blade barely saw it. But everyone heard the champion of Gualdar let out a wild death scream, spraying blood all over his opponent, then topple over in his last wild thrashings. His agony soon came to an end. Cheeky pulled out his dagger, wiped it off on the body's feathers, then stepped back and began fastidiously trying to clean the blood off himself.

Blade wouldn't have believed that the crowd could make more noise than before, but it did. If a battery of artillery had gone into action in the field, it would have been lost in the din. Blade saw a hard-faced Duke Padro stepping forward to pick up the body of his champion. He was clearly determined to preserve his dignity at least, now that he'd lost everything else.

Slowly the roar died down. Cheeky ran back to Blade and jumped up on his shoulder, squeaking excitedly. Blade imagined a mental picture of Cheeky living the rest of his life in luxury and hoped the Feathered One heard it. Duke Padro knelt and carefully wrapped the body of his dead champion in a silk cloth.

He was just handing the body to his Master of the Feathers, when Duke Garon of Ney strode forward. Ignoring his ally, he stamped up to Blade. The Englishman quickly looked to right and left, to make sure his Guardsmen were there and alert. Garon's eyes had a malign look to them. He resisted the temptation to draw his sword. Let the enemy make the first move.

«That fight wasn't lordly,» said Garon, in a voice that sounded like a blacksmith's file putting an edge on a sword. «Your Feathered One was drugged.»

Cheeky yipped angrily. He might not understand the words, but he seemed to understand that he was being insulted. Blade scratched his back to calm him, without taking his attention off the angry Duke. «I should like to know where you heard that,» he said politely. «Someone has been spreading tales.»

«Tales!» Duke Garon spat in the dust at Blade's feet. Out of the corner of his eye Blade saw Alsin about to signal the Guardsmen forward. He caught the Marshal's attention and shook his head sharply. Using the Guards would mean a general riot and much unnecessary bloodshed.

«Yes, tales,» said Blade. «And whoever spread them is as much your enemy as he is mine.»

«You-!» Garon gobbled like a turkey, unable to get out words for a moment. «You're calling me a liar, aren't you?» he said finally.

Taking up this challenge would mean giving Garon his choice of weapons, but Blade couldn't see that there would ever be a better chance to push him into a duel. «Yes,» he shouted, raising his voice so that as many people as possible could hear. «Duke Garon says the champion of Nainan was drugged. I say he lies!»

«And I say that you, Blade of Nainan, have spoken words against the honor of a Lord.» Garon started to take off a glove before he realized he wasn't wearing any, fumbled for something to throw at Blade's feet, and finally wound up spitting again.

This finally broke Duke Cyron's calm. He stared at the Englishman as if he'd grown a second head. Blade was glad Miera was nowhere around. This unexpected duel was news he'd rather break to her himself.