Elson knew then that it was only a matter of time. He let Shadd get to his feet before attacking again. Elson launched pattern after pattern that forced Shadd to block with his injured hand or else take a more grievous hit. Each block shocked pain into Shadd's expression. By the fifth pattern, Shadd was slow. Elson's strike penetrated to the boy's body and cracked ribs. Shadd was even slower after that.

Elson moved closer, working harder against the boy's weak side. He got one in on Shadd's hip, then another to the ribs. The boy's defenses crumbled. Elson placed a fist into Shadd's solar plexus, doubling the boy over. A sharp elbow to the neck dropped him. Shadd's chin cracked sharply on the floor and blood spattered out onto Elson's feet.

Seeing that Shadd was defeated, Elson took a moment to gather oxygen. The boy had no more strength, yet he struggled to rise, with a courage befitting a true warrior. To reward that valor, Elson aimed a kick to snap Shadd's neck. The boy would die as a warrior should, in combat.

But Shadd's strength had fallen farther than either combatant expected, betraying Elson's intent and Shadd's determination. The boy slipped and Elson's foot caught him on the shoulder, lifting him up, before tumbling him backward. The kick became just another piece of punishment. Shadd sprawled, groaning.

Elson ground his teeth. The harmony of the Circle was broken, the purity of the fight tarnished. He moved in, determined to finish it with a swift knife-hand to Shadd's throat.

"Stop!"

Elson didn't listen. Catcalls, shouts, even orders from outside the Circle meant nothing. It was forbidden to violate the Circle. Thus, he was surprised to find the reedy Cameron stepping into his way.

"This fight's over," the commo officer said. His voice teetered on the edge of panic, but he had screwed up his courage to stand before Elson. It was almost too bad that Cameron was siding with the oldsters. He had promise. But promise unfulfilled was nothing, and Cameron would never fulfill any promises if he did not get out of the way.

"Not until one is dead." Shadd groaned behind his valueless protector, and Elson wanted to end the duel before it became more of a farce. Killing Cameron would only complicate the issue. "I will forget your violation of honor if you get out of my way now."

"No. Look at him." Cameron took half a step back and pointed.

Elson looked. Shadd's mangled hand stretched over the line of the Circle. The tip of one finger touched the floor. He had broken the Circle, escaping death at the cost of his honor.

"Seyla," Elson said as he pivoted away from his opponent.

Wolf would live, but it didn't matter. Wolf's champion was defeated, and the Trial was won. Maybe it was more fitting this way, Elson thought. The abandonment of the honor road had culminated with the abandonment of honor. The dethronement of Wolf was not as clean as he had wished, but, he realized, it would probably make the next stages go more easily, for who could cling to a dishonored ex-commander?

Cheers from his partisans rose around him.

38

The news of the successful challenge to Jaime Wolf's supremacy was the talk of Harlech. The Dragoons all knew, and the mercenary groups and Successor State representatives were beginning to get wind of it. As word spread, so did the controversy. Not everyone agreed that Elson's challenge and the subsequent appointment of Alpin as head of Wolf's Dragoons were legal. But Jaime Wolf made no public statements or appearances, having retired to his compound to the west of the city. He might have been in hiding. Or mourning. Or maybe he was just ashamed to show his face. Whatever the reason for his withdrawal, his silence sanctioned what had happened.

Dechan was confused, and the constant badgering from the various merc units courting him only made it worse. The news of Wolf's deposition should have been welcome, but instead he felt disturbed and unsettled. Restless and unable to sleep at night, he had taken to prowling the streets.

Nights in Harlech weren't quiet. The locals said it hadn't always been that way, except of course in the rowdy temptowns where the offplanet mercs hung out their shingles. Nightly celebrations or fights, or both, kept the townies awake late into the night. Dechan didn't like what he was seeing. Maybe Elson was right. Maybe the Dragoons werechanging.

But what Dechan saw was not all of the Dragoons.

Several units were away on contract, but not Beta, the regiment in which he had served. He had a hard time imagining that they would serve under an upstart, but they were following the lead of their new commander, Colonel Fancher. Dechan had heard that she'd been dismissed, but somewhere along the line Wolf had recalled her. His mistake. Dechan had heard her speak on the news last night, saying that she was solidly behind Alpin.

Dechan's wanderings took him this night to the park across from the general headquarters. Wolf Hall, they called it. Would it soon be Alpin Hall, or did the young upstart's ego not extend that far? The moon cast a fitful light between the fast-moving clouds. Shadows danced across the squat outbuildings and up the sides of the tall towers, whence they leapt off into oblivion like the mythical lemmings.

Whatever the machinations in the command structure, Dragoon business went on. Lights burned in several offices. Even with Jaime Wolf no longer in charge, somewhere Wolf's Dragoons were on duty, and they needed staff support. That meant that here, someone was listening. Maybe things weren't so bad after all. Maybe different was all right.

"Karmabrings us together again."

Spinning away from where he had stood, Dechan threw himself into the shadow of the wall and drew his sidearm. He couldn't see the speaker at first, but he could hear him panting as if he had been running. The man's dark uniform blended with the shadows, making it hard to see him though Dechan knew he was there. Soon the light blob that was his face became clear. Two smaller blobs, hands held out and open, were clear as well. There seemed to be no danger, however, and Dechan straightened from his crouch, holstering his weapon as he did.

"Michi?"

"I would wish you a good evening, but I doubt it will be one, Dechan- san."

"We don't speak for years and then you start with a riddle."

"I am sorry, Dechan -san. I would not have intruded on your life if it were not important. The plans are made. They will kill him soon."

"What are you talking about?"

"Jaime Wolf will not see the sunrise."

Dechan found it curious to realize that he believed Michi's statement without question. Jaime's death would certainly end any hope of seeing him restored. Dechan didn't know whose plot this might be, and he didn't care. He also didn't see how it involved him. "Why not tell him yourself?"

"I cannot." There was shouting on the far side of the building. Michi looked in that direction for a moment, listening. "There is no time for argument. There are others I must warn. As a Dragoon, the task to warn Wolf falls to you."

"I'm not a Dragoon anymore."

The shouting drew closer.

"You once said that being a Dragoon was like being a samurai," Michi said in a hushed voice. "A samurai serves until death. You have the opportunity to save your lord from dishonorable death."

"He abandoned me."

Michi took a step back into the shadows. Even to Dechan's dark-adapted eyes, none of the man was visible save for his face. "If you believe that, you can have your revenge. Do nothing and Wolf and his family will die."