Without a Front: The Warrior's Challenge (Chronicles of Alsea Book 3)

by Fletcher DeLancey

  Gasps of astonishment filled the air, but a number of merchant and warrior councilors sat with grim faces, nodding their agreement. Most of them had already promised either Tal or Aldirk their votes. Though a majority vote of the Council was not binding in internal caste matters, in this case its recommendation would almost certainly be followed. Parser and Shantu were about to lose everything that made life possible. They would be outcastes, Alseans of no identity and almost no rights. Even a sentence to the Pit paled in comparison.

  Though they would get that, too.

  When the whispers had died away, Tal said, “We will begin with the case of Parser, as we already have his confession and full details of his criminal activities. I will no longer call him by his former title, since his crimes have rendered him unfit to hold it. Though these crimes stretch back many cycles in time, for brevity’s sake I will start his story with the fusion facility crisis of last cycle, when he cynically used the sorrow of our world to fill his own—”

  She stopped as the great chamber doors were flung open, thudding back against the walls with a hollow boom. A solitary figure advanced onto the empty chamber floor, and shocked whispers mounted in volume as he was recognized. The doorway behind him filled with Guards, though none made an attempt to stop his progress. He walked to the center of the floor and stood still, letting the wave of whispers crest and recede before speaking in a voice long used to reaching every part of the Council.

  “Fellow Councilors, you know me. For those in the galleries and those watching in their homes, I will identify myself. I am Prime Warrior Shantu, and I am here to defend my name and honor against the egregious accusations the Lancer has already leveled. But I have no faith in the justice of our tribunals or even this Council. It is all too clear that I have been judged and convicted before my voice was even heard.”

  He paused, standing tall in his dress uniform, his perfectly cut hair sweeping his shoulders and his appearance that of the hero of Whitesun, the man who had commanded the Pallean forces to fight back the Voloth. He looked noble and unworried, and Tal had to admire his theatrical poise.

  “Nice entrance, Shantu,” she muttered. She didn’t care that the nearest vidcam had probably picked up her voice.

  “If I am such a criminal, guilty of such crimes as to warrant a stripping of caste, then why do these warriors stand idle in the doorway?” he asked, pointing back at the Guards who were indeed motionless. “I’ll tell you why. Because they know and accept my ancient right, the right I am invoking now. The only right I have left in a misguided Council, led by a Lancer with a personal vendetta, who would ruin my name and bury my honor under a stinking cloud of lies. The right of challenge.”

  The entire tier of warrior caste Councilors burst into shouts of outrage, shock, and in a very few cases, support, while most of the other Councilors sat in stunned silence. Councilor Ehron stood up and shouted to be heard above the rest.

  “You have no right of challenge! You threw it away when you stole the rights of your victim!”

  “I have every right!” Shantu shouted back. “Has anything been proven? Have I been convicted in a fair hearing? No! But I am unjustly accused; I am pursued by the legal forces of the warrior who rules us! The right of challenge was created for precisely this situation, when an honorable warrior stands helpless before the overwhelming might of a sitting Lancer. It was created so that a single warrior might still defend himself, even with the accusation of crimes over his head. It was created so that I might stand here, without fear of being shot in the back, and look this Lancer in the eye to say I am innocent!”

  He had turned to Tal for his last words, and she met his gaze evenly as the Council chamber erupted into pandemonium. It wasn’t easy with Salomen’s horror pulsing through her. Perhaps it had been a mistake not to tell her; to give her what time she could to accept the idea and control her response. But she’d had so little time as it was.

  The shouts flew back and forth as she and Shantu stared at each other.

  “No one has invoked the right of challenge in four hundred cycles! It’s defunct!”

  “The law still stands; it was never revoked!”

  “He has no right!”

  “He has every right!”

  “We will not allow it!”

  “And who are you to stop it?”

  “This is an embarrassment! How can we even be discussing this?”

  Shantu’s lips curved into a small smile of triumph. This was going precisely as he had hoped, and she would not let him bask in it.

  She picked up her staff and struck the bell. The debate came to a sudden halt, leaving behind a silence underscored by the low hum of the bell’s reverberation.

  “Shantu is correct,” she said. “He has the right of challenge, however cynically it is now being used. Chief Counselor Aldirk, do you concur?”

  She would not look at the guest gallery; Aldirk was sitting too close to Salomen. Instead she held Shantu’s gaze as the entire chamber waited in breathless silence to hear what the Chief Counselor would say.

  “This is a most…unexpected request,” Aldirk said. “And may I add, entirely unworthy of a civilized society. We left this barbarism hundreds of cycles in our past, and I think it safe to say that very few of us here ever expected to see its return.” His voice grew stronger. “Shantu, your request shames this Council. Justice cannot be proven by might of arms, and no matter the outcome of this challenge, no Alsean alive today will ever forget that you have chosen to hold up a past that should have been left buried. Unfortunately…” He paused, and Shantu’s smile returned. “The right of challenge predates the formation of the Council. Nor was it ever made unlawful by a vote of the Council. It was thought to be an artifact of a barbaric past. To my eternal regret, that assumption does give you the right to challenge Lancer Tal.”

  After a moment of utter silence, the whispers began. Tal silenced them with another strike of the bell.

  “I also regret that such barbarism should have been returned to the seat of government. Shantu has ensured that this day will be forever remembered as one of deep shame for all Alseans. But if he insists on invoking an ancient excuse to shed blood on the Council floor, I will not deny him. I accept Shantu’s challenge in the name of his victims, past and present, and in the name of those who would fall to his ambition should it be left unchecked. You are defending an honor that is already lost, Shantu. But I am defending Alsea. I think we both know who Fahla will favor.”

  “I knew you would understand the law and your own obligations to it,” Shantu said. “Though you have led this Council and our world down some unfortunate paths, you have always known your legal limitations.”

  Tal ignored the double-edged words. “As the challenger, you have the right to choose the date and time of combat. What is your choice?”

  “Right now,” he said, as she had known he would. Salomen’s shock slammed into her with an almost physical force, and she had to steel herself against it.

  “I require enough time to have my sword brought, to change into appropriate clothing, and to speak with my future bondmate,” she said. “I will not fight you before one hantick from now.”

  He gave her a short bow. “Agreed.”

  “Then at hantick ten and twenty-five, we will reconvene this Council to witness a ritual combat. By the ancient laws, this combat will end only with the death of either challenger or challenged. May Fahla forgive me for what I must do.”

  She turned and strode off the dais, closing the door behind her and sinking onto the nearest chair with a long exhale. “Goddess,” she whispered, putting her face in her hands. “I hoped I was wrong.”

  No time for useless wishes. She pulled off her boots and set them neatly against the chair. Her jacket, dress shirt, and trousers followed, leaving her in a light bodysuit. The material was tougher than it
looked and would not tear or puncture easily, but that didn’t matter in the kind of combat she was now entering. She had just wanted clothing that would give her some modicum of protection without restricting her in any way. Its solid black color was originally a style choice, but this morning it had a strategic advantage: it would not show blood.

  She had just finished folding her trousers when she sensed them arriving outside. After dropping the clothes on the chair, she went to the door and opened it, her heart skipping a beat as their eyes met.

  “I don’t suppose I can talk you out of this,” Salomen said in a ghastly attempt at hiding her terror. Vellmar and Ronlin stood just behind her, their heads respectfully lowered.

  Tal drew her into the room, enfolding her in a warmron without a word. Behind them, Vellmar walked in and closed the door.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you,” Tal said.

  “Why?” Salomen’s voice was choked. “Why did you leave like that? So I could spend our last morning alone, worrying about you? Vellmar says he was a competition fighter!”

  “I’m sorry, Lancer Tal. She asked how good he was, and I…don’t lie very well.”

  “It’s all right. Don’t ever lie to Salomen.” Tal pulled back enough to look into Salomen’s face. “He’s a very good sword fighter; it’s true. But his competition days are long past, and he doesn’t move as quickly as he used to. Besides, I have something he doesn’t. I have right, and honor, and you.”

  “And is that enough? Is it enough against a man fighting for both his life and the biggest prize he could ever want?”

  “It has to be.”

  Salomen looked at her incredulously. “It has to be? That’s the best you can do?” Her fear rose on a wave of anger, and she struggled to hold it back. “How could you not tell me about this? You knew last night, didn’t you?”

  “Lancer Tal,” said Vellmar, “your bag is on the chair. I’ll be outside with Ronlin.”

  “Thank you, Vellmar. For everything.”

  “You’re welcome.” The door slid shut behind her.

  Salomen’s gaze had not wavered, her eyes brilliant with the emotions that were searing Tal’s senses.

  “Yes, I knew last night.” Tal winced at the lash of betrayal and hurried to explain. “And I knew that the only chance I had was if I could get in enough practice to make what I do out there something that requires no thought. He’s not going to give me a warm-up period; I have to be in top form from the moment this combat begins. I should have figured this out days ago. I should have been practicing day and night to bring myself up to the very best level I can be. Instead I wasted time strategizing and rounding up votes I didn’t need. That’s what Shantu was counting on—he planned to walk in here and catch me by surprise. By the time I figured it out last night, every tick counted. Don’t you see, I couldn’t wake you up! You would never have let me walk out the door without a long explanation and probably an argument, and I couldn’t afford it. Not the time, and not the mental distraction.”

  “So you went to the base with Vellmar.”

  “Yes. We’ve spent every piptick practicing. She’s good, very good, and in just a few hanticks she’s taught me some moves that might be the difference between living and dying.”

  The word hung between them, and Tal cursed herself for her tactlessness.

  “Three nights ago, you were almost ready to let a caste coup happen. You said you weren’t sure it was worth fighting. You talked about retirement, for Fahla’s sake. How can you stand here now and tell me that not only is this worth fighting for, it’s worth dying for?”

  “Because there’s a difference between retiring with full honor and forfeiting everything that makes me who I am. If I walk away from this, it’s not just my rank that I’ll lose. I’ll lose all of my honor with it, no matter how unfair this is and how much everyone out there knows it’s a farce. It doesn’t matter, Salomen. I cannot walk away. I cannot live that way, one step short of outcaste. It’s not a life.”

  “Not even if it’s a life with me?”

  Tal closed her eyes. “Please don’t do this to me.”

  Salomen stepped back, breaking her hold. “Don’t do this to you?” she repeated. “Can you not feel what you’re doing to me?”

  Yes, she could, and she had made a colossal mistake. Their bond felt raw and wounded, clouding the mental clarity she needed. “I would give anything not to hurt you,” she said, her voice ragged.

  Salomen’s laugh was painful to hear. “Not anything, apparently. Just anything except your Fahla-damned honor.”

  “I will not be the person you fell in love with if I walk away. It’s not just my honor; it’s me! It’s everything I am, everything I’ve worked for, everything my parents taught me. How am I honoring their deaths if I destroy myself and let Shantu win?”

  “How are you honoring their deaths if you die?” Salomen covered her mouth, her eyes brimming. When Tal moved toward her, she took a step back. “You have asked me for the impossible since the night of that first warmron,” she said shakily. “And every time I find a way to give it to you, you ask for even more. You might have hit the limit this time.”

  A night of preparation was falling apart around her, and Tal stood helpless to stop it. If she went out there like this, death was a near certainty.

  “Salomen, I—”

  “You’re in no condition to fight,” Salomen interrupted. “I felt you before you rescued Herot, and I feel you now, and there is no comparison.”

  “Because I need you,” Tal whispered in despair.

  “Then why did you leave me?”

  Because she had not learned a damned thing. Because she was a shekking idiot who might have just killed herself and left Salomen with a broken tyree bond. “It was a tactical decision.”

  “Didn’t work out very well, did it?” The sarcasm could not cover Salomen’s pain. Once again Tal tried to approach her, and once again she stepped back. “What if…what if you chose a champion?” she asked in sudden hope. “Isn’t that your right?”

  Tal shook her head. “Only scholar caste Lancers could choose a champion. That was never an option for a warrior, unless she was physically incapacitated. And I don’t think anyone would believe me if I suddenly broke a leg.”

  “I could shekking well break it for you. No one but a warrior would blame me. That you could leave me like that, and let me learn about this in front of three hundred—” Salomen stopped with a shuddering breath as her anger crested and crashed, leaving behind an agony of fear. She lowered her head, the breath rasping in her throat, and held up a hand as she fought back the tears.

  Tal could only watch in silent guilt, paralyzed by that upraised hand and the bitter magnitude of her mistake.

  “I’m sorry,” Salomen whispered at last. “I know this isn’t what you need from me. I’m trying, Andira, I really am.”

  This time she didn’t back away, and Tal wrapped her in a desperate warmron. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I should have told you. I should have prepared both of us for this fight, not just me. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for it, but right now you have to believe in me. Be furious with me, I deserve it, but I need your faith.”

  Salomen made a choked sound as her body jerked once, twice, and then went still. She was trying so hard to be the Bondlancer that the Lancer needed, despite what Tal had done to make a bad situation worse.

  “Every time I think I cannot love you more, you prove me wrong,” Tal murmured. “I don’t even have the right to ask your forgiveness.”

  Salomen’s voice was deceptively steady. “Do you need my forgiveness or my faith? Because right now I’m only capable of one.”

  “I—”

  She was not allowed to finish her sentence. In a sudden surge of strength, Salomen pulled back, seized her head, and k
issed her with a bruising need. Tal could barely keep up, gasping when Salomen broke off only to attack her jawline and throat with equal ferocity.

  Salomen’s hands were all over her, grasping roughly, pushing her back. The abrupt shift in emotions left her feeling as if she were in the grip of a sea storm, powerless to do anything but let her tyree take what she needed.

  Her compliance fed Salomen’s aggression. The heat surged through their bond, energizing them both and clearing Tal’s head. When her back hit the wall, she realized that she was being marked and claimed. Salomen would not let her go until she understood exactly what the true stakes were. There was no way out—but there was a way back, and this to come back to.

  The assault stopped as abruptly as it had begun. Salomen rested her forehead on Tal’s shoulder, breathing hard, then pushed herself back. Her face was streaked with tears, but she met Tal’s eyes with a startling calm. Somehow she had gathered all of her fear and pushed it into sheer determination.

  “I have faith,” she said. “Because you have me. Shantu will have to fight both of us.”

  Tal watched her in stunned admiration. “Then he will lose. I’ve never heard of anyone crossing you and winning.”

  “Not until you.”

  “I didn’t beat you at anything. You were my nemesis from day one.”

  “Then I suppose I should tell you. You won the challenge. You said I had no idea what your life was like, and you were right, I didn’t. I thought you were a politician with little understanding of how most Alseans worked for a living, but you work harder than anyone I’ve ever known. And you care more than I ever dreamed. So I concede.”

  Tal caressed her cheekbone ridge, savoring its feel beneath her fingers. “If we’re making confessions, I have one as well. Not since my first moons of training have I ever been as sore as I was on your holding.”