"My teyn Chell speaks the truth," Bretan added. "The question I have put to you is quite simple, high-bond. I demand your answer."

Vikary would not be pushed. "Dirk t'Larien is a man from the distant world of Avalon, far within the Tempter's Veil, a human world where I once studied. I did name him korariel, to give him my protection and the protection of Ironjade against those who would do him harm. But I protect him as a friend, as I would protect a brother in Ironjade, as a teyn protects a teyn. He is not my property. I make no claim to own him. Do you understand?"

Chell did not. The old man pressed his lips together beneath his little stiff mustache and mumbled something in Old Kavalar. Then he spoke aloud. Too loud, in fact, almost shouting. "What is this nonsense? Your teyn is Garse Ironjade, not this strange one. How can you shield him as a teyn? Is he of Ironjade? He is not even armed! Is he a man at all? Why, if he is, he cannot be korariel; and if he is not and he is korariel, then you must own him. I do not hear any sense in your mockman words."

"I am sorry of that, Chell fre-Braith," Vikary said, "but it is your ears that fail, and not my words. I try to do you honor, but you do not make it easy."

"You jape me!" Chell said, accusingly.

"No."

"You do!"

Bretan Braith spoke then, and his voice had none of Chell's anger, but it was very hard. "Dirk t'Larien, as he calls himself and you call him, has done us wrong. This is the heart of the matter, Jaantony high-Ironjade. He has laid hands upon the property of Braith without any word of Braith permission. Now, who pays for this? If he is a mockman and korariel to you, then here and now I issue challenge. Ironjade has done wrong to Braith. If he is not korariel, then, well…" He stopped.

"I see," Jaan Vikary said. "Dirk?"

"For one thing, all I did was sit in the damned aircar for a second," Dirk said uneasily. "I was looking for a derelict, an abandoned car still in working order. Gwen and I found one like that in Kryne Lamiya, and I thought maybe I could find another."

Vikary shrugged and looked at the two Braiths. "It seems that small wrong has been done, if any. Nothing was taken."

"Our car was touched!" old Chell bellowed. "By him, by a mockman; he had no right! Small wrong, you call this? He might have flown it off. Would you have me close my eyes like a mockman and be thankful he did so little?" He turned to Bretan, his teyn. "The Ironjades jape us, insult us," he said. "Perhaps they are not true men, but mockmen themselves. They are full of mockman words."

Garse Janacek responded immediately. "I am teyn to Jaantony Riv Wolf high-Ironjade, and I vouch for him. He is no mockman." The words came quickly, a rote formula.

From the way that Janacek then looked toward Vikary, it seemed clear to Dirk that he expected his teyn to repeat the same words. Instead Jaan shook his head and said, "Ah, Chell. There are no mockmen."

He sounded immensely tired, and there was a slump to his broad shoulders.

The tall, elderly Braith looked as though Jaan had struck him. Again he muttered low hoarse words in Old Kavalar.

"This cannot go on," Bretan Braith said. "We get nowhere. Did you name this man korariel, Jaantony high-Ironjade?"

"I did."

"I rejected the name," Dirk said quietly. He felt compelled to, and the time seemed right. Bretan half turned and glared at him, and the Braith's green eye seemed to have as much fire in it as its glowstone counterpart.

"He rejected only the suggestion of property," Vikary said very quickly. "My friend asserted his humanity, but he still wears the shield of my protection."

Garse Janacek grinned and shook his head. "No, Jaan. You were not home this morning. T'Larien wants none of our protection, either. He said so."

Vikary looked at him, furious. "Garse! This is no time for jokes."

"I do not joke," said Janacek.

"It's true," Dirk admitted. "I said I could take care of myself."

"Dirk, you do not know what you are saying!" Vikary said.

"For a change, I think I do."

Bretan Braith Lantry made his noise, quite loudly and suddenly, while Dirk and the two Ironjades argued and his teyn Chell stood stiff with fury. "Silence," the sandpaper voice demanded, and it got it. "This is of no consequence. Things are the same. You say he is human, Ironjade. If so, he cannot be korariel and you cannot protect him. If he wants it or no, you cannot protect him. My kethi will see that you do not." He spun on his heel to face Dirk full front. "I challenge you, Dirk t'Larien." Everyone was quiet. Larteyn smoldered all around, and the wind was very cold. "I meant no insult," Dirk said, remembering words that the Ironjades had used at other times. "Am I allowed to apologize, or what?" He offered his palms to Bretan Braith, up and open and empty.

The scarred face twitched. "Insult was taken."

"You must duel him," Janacek said.

Dirk's palms sank slowly. At his side they became fists. He said nothing.

Jaan Vikary was staring at the ground mournfully, but Janacek was still animated. "Dirk t'Larien knows nothing of the dueling customs," he told the two Braiths. "Such customs do not prevail on Avalon. Will you allow me to instruct him?"

Bretan Braith nodded, the same curiously awkward motion of head and shoulders that Dirk had noticed that afternoon in the garage. Chell did not even seem to hear; the old Braith was still facing Vikary, mumbling and glaring.

"There are four choices to make, t'Larien," Janacek said to Dirk. "As challenged, you make the first. I urge you to make the choice of weapons, and to choose blades.". "Blades," Dirk said softly.

"I make the choice of mode," Bretan rasped, "and I choose the death-square."

Janacek nodded. "You have the third choice also, t'Larien. Since you have no teyn, the choice of numbers is dictated. It must be singles. You may say that, or you may choose the place."

"Old Earth?" Dirk said hopefully.

Janacek grinned. "No. This world only, I fear. Other choices are not legal." Dirk shrugged. "Here, then."

"I make the choice of numbers," Bretan said. It was fully dark now, with only the thin scattering of outworld stars to light the black sky above. The Braith's eye flamed, and strange reflected light glistened wetly on his scars. "I choose singles, as it must be."

"It is set then," Janacek said. "You two must agree on an arbiter, and then…"

Jaan Vikary looked up. His features were dim and shadowy, with only the pale light of the glowstones to shine on them, but his swollen jaw cast an odd silhouette. "Chell," he said very quietly, in a deliberate and even tone.

"Yes," the old Braith replied.

"You are a fool to believe in mockmen," Vikary told him. "All of you who believe such are fools."

Dirk was still facing Bretan Braith when Vikary spoke. The scarred face twitched once, twice, a third time.

Chell sounded as if he were in a trance. "Insult is taken, Jaantony high-Ironjade, false Kavalar, mock-man. I issue challenge."

Bretan whirled and tried to shout. His voice was not capable of it, and he sputtered and choked instead. "You… duel breaker! Ironjade… I…"

"It is within the code," Vikary replied halfheartedly. "Though perhaps, if Bretan Braith could overlook the small trespass of an ignorant offworlder, then I might find it in myself to beg forgiveness from Chell fre-Braith."

"No," Janacek said darkly. "Begging has no honor."

"No," Bretan echoed. His face was a skull now. His jewel-eye gleamed and his cheek was twisted in fury. "I have bent as far as I may bend for you, false Kavalar. I will not make jape of all the wisdom of my holdfast. My teyn was more right than I. In truth, I was bitter wrong to even try to avoid duel with you, liar. Mockman. There was great shame in it. But now I will be clean. We will kill you, Chell and I. We will kill all three of you."