Then the crowd was raucous again, some people cheering, some jeering, some just shouting for the sake of making a noise. The Lords of the Crimson River loved a good fight above anything else, and now they were going to get two of the best for the price of one visit to Castle Ranit!

Eventually the shouts died enough for Duke Cyron to make himself heard. «Duke Padro!» he shouted. «Since there is a dispute over the lawfulness of Nainan's victory today, I will ask no payment on the Duke's wager until the duel of Duke Garon of Ney and Lord Blade of Nainan is fought. Do you consent?»

Padro's voice was steady. «Yes. I do.»

«Well and good. I also ask that any others who have won today not ask for their gold until the Fathers have given their judgment in this duel. To do otherwise would be setting our own judgment ahead of theirs, an unlordly thing.»

There were murmurs of agreement all around Blade, although some sounded a trifle reluctant. The reluctant ones had probably honed to make their fortunes by collecting on those twelve-to-one bets!

Blade also noted that the Duke's regard for the Fathers didn't extend to the point of promising not to collect his winnings if Blade lost. Duke Cyron was not a man to carry either piety or confidence in his Captain's fighting ability too far.

The duel would take place in two days. The delay gave Duke Cyron time to bring in all his fighting Lords from outlying parts of Nainan. It did not allow any of his guests to call up their own reinforcements.

It also gave Blade enough time to make certain arrangements with Chenosh and the blacksmith who'd pointed his sword. He discussed those arrangements with no one else, not even Duke Cyron. Instead he played the part of a man who'd talked himself into a duel he might well lose, but which he must fight because it was his lordly duty to do so.

The worst part of the next two days was keeping up that pose before Miera. He would have given a lot to be able to tell her, and knew that she would hold her tongue. But he also knew that she was no actress, and couldn't possibly keep up the necessary pose under dozens of pairs of sharp eyes. So he kept his mouth shut and endured her tears, her anger, and her back turned to him in the bed at night. By the customs of the Crimson River he was entitled to beat her black and blue for this disobedience. He only hoped his not doing this wouldn't cause too much comment.

He wasn't as forbearing with Miera's grandfather. The Duke cornered him one evening after dinner, wished him luck, praised his courage, and added, «I hadn't expected such a good chance against Duke Garon this soon. Since we have it, you must not throw it away. I tell you plainly, it is more important that Duke Garon of Ney die than that you live.»

Blade had expected this. After all, he was still an outlander, still as much pawn or tool as ally. Also, he agreed with Cyron. Duke Garon had thrust himself into a completely unnecessary fight at the worst possible time for him. He ought to pay the price of being so quick-tempered. Blade thought of the saying, «Never give a sucker an even break.» However, he wasn't going to give the Duke the satisfaction of agreeing. Instead he fixed the old man with a cold stare. «Is that so? I am sure Miera would be interested to hear it.»

Then he turned away, leaving the Duke as close to gaping helplessly as he could be. Cyron loved his granddaughter and even valued her goodwill as much as any Lord on the Crimson River could value the goodwill of a woman. Reminding him that Blade could ruin his reputation with Miera could do no harm.

The duel would take place at dawn, to spare the horses from doing hard work in the heat of a summer day. The early hour didn't reduce the crowd. When Blade led his charger out onto the field, there were already more people around it than he'd seen at the monkey duel. Many more of them were Lords or Helpers wearing Duke Cyron's colors. The old Duke was too honorable and too wise to be plotting against his guests. He was also determined to make sure all the fighting today would take place on the dueling field.

Chenosh was doing Helper's work for Blade, with Lord Gennar assisting in any job which needed two good hands. Lord Gennar wasn't in on the secret of Blade's plans for the duel, but felt he owed him this honor, and Blade trusted him to keep quiet if he guessed anything.

Blade waited until Duke Garon rode Kanglo out to his end of the field, then pulled his helmet on. Gennar tightened the thongs which held it to his shoulders, then helped him mount. Chenosh stepped forward to hand him his lance, the first of three to be broken «in honorable coursing upon horseback.» If the duel wasn't decided by one of the three lance breakings, the jousters would fight for half an hour on horseback with sword or mace and shield. If there was still no decision, they would dismount and continue the fight until one fighter yielded or was disabled. Blade had no intention of letting things go on that long.

Trumpet calls, drum rolls, and cheers all rose as Blade rode out onto the field with his lance held high. The pennant Miera had embroidered for him fluttered just below the gleaming steel tip. He was glad she was watching him take it into battle for the first time. Unfortunately she'd come out to watch more from fear of scandal if she didn't appear than out of respect for him. Perhaps by the end of the day she'd be in a more forgiving mood.

Then Blade put everything out of his mind except the stocky little man on the huge chestnut horse a hundred yards away.

Silence fell, to be broken by the three trumpet blasts signaling, «Get ready.» Blade lowered his lance into striking position, thrust his feet deeper into the stirrups, and gripped the horse more tightly with his knees.

Two trumpet blasts-the «Get set» call. Kanglo whinnied as his rider's excitement reached him, and the horse pawed up clods of earth.

Then a single long trumpet blast-«Go!»-and Blade crouched low behind his shield as he spurred his own horse forward.

Before they'd gone ten feet Blade's world magically shrank. The crowd was gone, its cheers no louder than the distant whine of a mosquito. Sun and sky overhead were gone, and so was the earth underfoot. There was nothing left except the horse under him, its animal sweat strong in his nostrils, and the fast-growing shape of Duke Garon and Kanglo. He breathed something as close to a prayer as he ever did, then the two jousters met.

Somewhat to his own surprise, his lance actually struck the Duke's shield. It was a glancing blow, which gouged the shield's leather covering and sent his lance darting off at such an angle Blade barely held on to it. Duke Garon's lance struck square, and Blade's shield was split halfway through and slammed back against his chest. Only his mail coat and arming doublet underneath saved him from cracked ribs. Only his firm seat on his horse kept him from being flung backward out of his saddle. His horse was thrown back on its haunches, while Kanglo shot past, hardly missing a step.

Blade rode down the field to Duke Garon's end before turning back for a new lance and shield. Everyone there was cheering-the Duke's victory in the first coursing and jeering the poor showing of the outland Lord. Blade saw Duke Padro standing in the crowd surrounded by his guards. For a moment their eyes met. Then Blade turned his quivering horse and urged it gently back down the field.

The second coursing went almost the same way as the first. Blade's lance struck closer to the center of Duke Garon's shield and broke. The Duke struck even harder than the first time, and for an ugly moment Blade thought he was going to lose his seat. He kept it only through his abnormally good sense of balance. The cheers and jeers from Garon's side were even louder, and Blade thought he heard a few rude remarks about «outland Lords who think they can fight mounted» from his own side.