"Perhaps that is truth," Vikary said. "It will soon be done, and then we will see.'

"And your betheyn-bitch too," Bretan said. He could not shout; his voice broke when he tried. So he spoke as low as ever, and the rawness caught in his throat, and he could not be held. "When we have done with you, we will wake our hounds and hunt her and her fat Kimdissi through the forests they know so well."

Jaan Vikary ignored him. "I am challenged," he said to Chell fre-Braith. "The first of the four choices is mine. I make the choice of numbers. We will fight teyned."

"I make the choice of weapons," Chell replied. "I choose sidearms."

"I make the choice of mode," said Vikary. "I choose the death-square."

"Last the choice of place," Chell said. "Here, then."

"The arbiter will chalk only one square," Janacek said. Of the five men on the roof, only he was still smiling. "We need an arbiter still. The same for both duels?"

"One man will do," Chell said. "I suggest Lorimaar high-Braith."

"No," said Janacek. "He came to us in high grievance only yesterday. Kirak Redsteel Cavis."

"No," Bretan said. "He writes fair poetry, but I have no other use for Kirak Redsteel."

"There are two of the Shanagate Holding," Janacek said. "I am not certain of their names."

"We would prefer a Braith," Bretan said, twitching. "A Braith will rule well, uphold all the honor of the code."

Janacek glanced at Vikary; Vikary shrugged. "Agreed," Janacek said, facing Bretan once more. "A Braith, then. Pyr Braith Oryan."

"Not Pyr Braith," Bretan said.

"You are not easy to please," Janacek said dryly. "He is one of your kethi."

"I have had frictions with Pyr Braith," Bretan said.

"A highbond would make a better choice," old Chell said. "A man of stature and wisdom. Roseph Lant Banshee high-Braith Kelcek."

Janacek shrugged. "Agreed."

"I will ask him," said Chell. The others nodded.

"Tomorrow, then," said Janacek.

"All is done," Chell said.

And while Dirk stood and watched, feeling lost and out of place, the four Kavalars took their farewell. And strangely, before parting, each of them kissed his two enemies lightly on the lips.

And Bretan Braith Lantry, scarred and one-eyed, his lip half gone-Bretan Braith Lantry kissed Dirk.

When the Braiths had gone, the others went downstairs. Vikary opened the door to his apartment and turned on the lights. Then, in methodical silence, he began to build a fire in the great hearth beneath the mantel, taking logs of twisted black wood from a concealed storage cabinet in a nearby wall. Dirk sat on one end of the couch frowning. Garse Janacek sat on the other end with a vague smile on his face, his fingers tugging absently at the orange-red hairs of his beard. No one spoke.

The fire woke to blazing life, orange and blue-tipped tongues of flame licking around the logs, and Dirk felt the sudden heat on his face and hands. A scent like cinnamon filled the room. Vikary stood up and left.

He came back with three glasses, brandy snifters as black as obsidian. A bottle was under his arm. He handed one glass to Dirk and one to Garse, put the third down on a nearby table, and yanked the cork with his teeth. The wine within was a deep red in color, very pungent. Vikary poured all three glasses very full, and Dirk passed his under his nose. The vapors burned, but he found them oddly pleasant.

"Now," Vikary said, before any of them had tasted the wine. He had set down the bottle and lifted his own glass. "Now I am going to ask something very difficult of both of you. I am going to ask each of you to go beyond his own little culture for a time, and be something he has not been before, something strange to him. Garse, I ask you-for the good of each of us– to be friend to Dirk t'Larien. There is no word for it in Old Kavalar, I know. There is no need of such on High Kavalaan, where a man has his holdfast and his kethi and most of all his teyn. But we are all on Worlorn, and tomorrow we duel. Perhaps we do not duel all together, yet we have common enemies. So I ask you, as my teyn, to take the name and namebonds of friend with t'Larien."

"You ask a good deal of me," Janacek replied, holding his wine in front of his face and watching the flames dance in the black glass. "T'Larien has spied upon us, has attempted to steal my cro-betheyn and your name, and now has involved us in his quarrel with Bretan Braith. I am tempted to issue challenge against him myself for all he has done. And you, my teyn, you ask me to take the bond of friend instead."

"I do," Vikary said.

Janacek looked at Dirk, then tasted his wine. "You are my teyn," he said. "I yield to your wishes. What obligations must I fulfill in the namebond of friend?"

"Treat a friend as you would a keth" Vikary said. He turned slightly to face Dirk. "And you, t'Larien, you have been the cause of very great trouble, but I am not sure how much of it, if any, you must truly bear the weight for. I ask something of you also. To be holdfast-brother, for a time, to Garse Ironjade Janacek."

Dirk never got the chance to respond; Janacek beat him to it. "You cannot do that. Who is he, this t'Larien? How can you think him worthy, bring him into Ironjade? He will be false, Jaan. He will not keep the bonds, will not defend the holdfast, will not return with us to the Gathering. I protest this."

"If he accepts, I think he will keep the bonds for a time," Vikary said.

"For a time? Kethi are linked forever!"

"Then this will be a new thing, a new sort of keth, a friend for a time."

"It is more than new," said Janacek. "I will not allow it."

"Garse," said Jaan Vikary, "Dirk t'Larien is now your friend. Or have you forgotten so soon? You do wrong to try to block my offer. You break the bonds that you have just taken. You would not act such to a keth."

"You would not be inviting a keth to be a keth," Janacek grumbled. "He would be already, so the whole thing has no sense to it. He is an outbonder. The high-bond council would rebuke you, Jaan. This is wrong, clearly."

"The highbond council is seated on High Kavalaan, and this is Worlorn," Vikary said. "Only you are here to speak for Ironjade. Will you hurt your friend?"

Janacek did not reply.

Vikary turned again to Dirk. "Well, t'Larien?"

"I don't know," Dirk said. "I think I know what it would mean, to be a holdfast-brother, and I suppose that I appreciate the honor, or whatever. But we have a lot of things between us, Jaan."

"You are speaking of Gwen," Vikary said. "She is indeed between us. But Dirk, I am asking you to be a new and special sort of holdfast-brother. Only for so long as you are on Worlorn, and only to Garse, not to myself or any other Ironjade. Do you understand?"

"Yes. That makes it easier." He glanced at Janacek. "Even with Garse, though, I've got problems. He was the one who tried to make property of me, and just now he wasn't exactly trying to get me out of that duel."

"I spoke only truth," Janacek said, but Vikary waved him quiet.

"Those things I could forgive, I guess," Dirk said. "But not the business with Gwen."

"That matter will be resolved by myself and you and Gwen Delvano," Vikary said calmly. "Garse has no voice in it, though he may tell you that he has."

"She is my cro-betheyn," Garse complained. "I have a right to speak and act. I have an obligation."

"I'm talking about last night," Dirk said. "I was at the door. I heard. Janacek hit her, and since then the two of you have had her locked up away from me."

Vikary smiled. "He hit her?"

Dirk nodded. "I heard it."

"You heard an argument and a blow, of that I have no doubt," Vikary said. He touched his swollen jaw. "How do you think this transpired?"