“We can all pray for that,” he agreed. Then he took off his coat and tossed it aside, drew his sword, and walked down the short distance to face Royova.
For a long moment they stood like that, facing each other. Royova was so big a man that he was only a little shorter than Geras. His reach would be a little less, but probably he weighed almost twice as much. He had fought with this kind of long sword all his life. He had killed many strong warriors in this way, never by holding his place in a formation, with companions holding their places beside him so that he could not go forward or back or in any direction, but must stand in that place and hold the line.
Geras could not possibly defeat him.
The Moon was not in the sky. The Sun stood high, throwing down spears and shafts of brilliant light past the clouds. That kind of light confuses the eye, dazzling one moment and dim the next. The pebbles of the lakeshore would roll underfoot, not good to fight upon, but equally bad for each man. The air was cold, but not too cold. So far as I could tell, Geras was not shivering. Probably he was too tightly focused to feel the cold. His length of limb was even more apparent now that he had removed his coat. This is useful in a fight, but anyone could see he did not have the weight or strength to stand against any Ugaro warrior. Certainly not against a man like the Royova inVotaro. But I could see neither doubt nor fear in his face or his stance, only a focused intensity. All his attention was on Royova. He might have forgotten anyone else existed in the world.
Lifting his sword, Royova moved forward.
Geras met him, and at once gave way, as a Lau must in a duel with an Ugaro. He could not meet Royova strength for strength. He had sparred Ugaro often enough that he knew that very well, and so led the blows, backing away and turning. He attacked cautiously. Anyone could see he was unsurprised to find that Royova easily matched his speed, and guarded himself as he backed away again.
A serious fight is usually over fast: in three heartbeats, or ten, or twenty. Usually not more than that. This fight was not like that. Both men moved slowly and cautiously, then suddenly fast, then slowly again. I could see that Geras was fighting in earnest, trying for a killing stroke if he could get one, but Royova was not. The inVotaro warleader did not press Geras hard, but let him back up as he wished. Royova guarded as much as he attacked, which was not at all his normal manner in a fight. If everything had been otherwise, I would have believed the inVotaro warleader toyed with Geras for the pleasure of it, but I knew this was not so. Royova was indeed trying not to kill him. He was trying to do as little as he could.
Garoyo said to me, “He will take his sword if he can, and deal no injury at all.”
“I see that! I am not completely blind,” I snapped, furious and impatient. My father did not say anything, but he looked at me. After a moment, I said, much more quietly, “I apologize for my insolent words. I will take a blow for my discourtesy, but perhaps later.”
My brother did not glance at me. “I did not notice any discourtesy, Ryo. I hope our father did not notice any insolence either, but who can say? My younger brother should remember that temper does not suit every occasion—ah!”
Geras had been trying to work the inVotaro warleader around, to make him face the Sun and so put Royova at that kind of disadvantage. But he slipped on the stones and fell to one knee, catching himself with his left hand. If Royova had wanted to kill him, he could have done it then. But taking a man’s sword without doing harm to him is much harder than killing him. Geras defended, and defended again, and came back to his feet, though at the cost of taking a blow that drove out his breath and might have broken ribs. If Royova had not struck with the flat of his sword rather than the edge, Geras would have died in that moment.
Instead, staggering, Geras flung himself to the side and away, caught his balance, and braced himself to meet Royova. Now he was the one who faced the Sun. Brilliant light burnished his brown skin and caught in his eyes. Squinting, suddenly uncertain, Geras dropped his guard just a little as he tried to move to the side. Royova lunged, seizing the chance—
— and steel rang, scraping against steel as Geras caught Royova’s sword with his own, twisting one blade against the other with unexpected precision. It was not a move that required strength. It was a move that required finesse. A man had to make that movement exactly correctly, so that strain came against the thumb of his opponent’s sword hand in the right way to make his grip fail.
Royova’s sword fell, clattering to the stones of the lakeshore. Geras flicked his own blade up and checked, the tip of his sword pressed against Royova’s chest, precisely over his heart. Sunlight blazed in Geras’ face; his eyes were golden with the light. But he was not squinting now. Plainly he could see perfectly well. Royova’s own eyes were wide with astonishment. The two men faced each other, neither moving. A small crimson stain spread slowly outward from the place where the point of Geras’ sword pressed against Royova’s shirt.
All along the shore, all along the slope of the hill, a loud, astonished murmur rose up.
“I see that bright sunlight does not dazzle the Lau as it does us,” Hokino observed, his tone neutral. “This is something a warrior should remember, if he happens to fight a Lau in some serious manner at a time when the Sun rules the sky.”
Koro answered, equally calm. “I am perfectly certain that Royova inVotaro will remember this wisdom, if he lives.”
Geras said something to Royova, not loudly enough for anyone else to hear. Royova answered, as quietly. They spoke for a few moments, one and then the other, neither moving. Then, finally, Geras lowered his sword, stepping back. Royova knelt and held out his hands, palms upward, ceding the victory. Geras said something else, and offered him a hand to help him stand. To my surprise—no doubt to everyone’s surprise—Royova accepted it. Then he moved without haste to pick up his sword, and sheathed it. They came back toward us together. When they came close enough, Royova faced our king and knelt, taking his sheathed sword from his back and setting this on the earth at Koro’s feet. Then he bowed to the ground. After a heartbeat, Geras knelt as well, though he left his sword slung over his back and did not bow so low.
Above us, quiet fell, everyone wanting to hear what our king would say.
“So,” said Koro quietly. “I admit I have seldom in my life been so surprised.” Then he lifted his hands, speaking clearly and loudly so that as many people as possible could hear. “I acknowledge that the gods favored you, Geras Lan Karenasen. Clearly the gods agree with your opinion in this matter. I acknowledge that your lord, Aras Eren Samaura, is not for me to judge. I set aside his offense against me. I will not forget it, but I set it entirely aside. So long as he commits no other offense in the winter lands, he may return to his own country, where his own king may judge him.”
No one could have expected anything else, but the swelling murmur above made it clear that everyone had an opinion. Koro ignored this. He said to Royova, “You did well. I cannot reproach you. You were not meant to win that fight. Take up your sword.”
Royova straightened. He said, his tone wry, “No man wins every fight. But that is not one I expected to lose.”
“I hope very much I will not fight you another time, warleader,” Geras said to him. “If the gods had not favored me, I would be dead—and if you had not chose, chosen, to fight, ah, gently? If you had not chosen to fight that way, even the favor of the gods could not give me the victory.”
“The gods cannot set the victory into the hands of a man who will not take it,” Royova answered. “In any fight, cleverness may be as important as strength, as everyone knows. I underestimated my opponent, which is always a serious error. I am glad to be reminded of this truth by an opponent who was not a bitter enemy. You fought well and won fairly.” He picked up his sword, slung it back into place, and got to his feet. Then he said to our king, “I think I have nothing else to do here. As you have not taken back my sword, I have many other tasks to which I should attend. I promise I will carry out these other tasks as you
commanded ... unless the gods prefer otherwise.”
Koro nodded to him. “Go,” he said. “I am certain that when you return, I will hear that everything else happened as I told you it should.”
Royova turned, signaled to his warriors, and walked away, up the hill, toward the place some of his other warriors held the ponies. His men pulled Yaro inTasiyo to his feet and followed.
For all that time, I had utterly forgotten the inTasiyo warleader. Now I was not even interested enough to watch the inVotaro warriors take him away. Stepping close to Aras, I knelt, and bowed to our king, and straightened. Glancing at the Sun’s place in the sky, I said, surprised to find so little time had passed, “He will sleep for another three hands of time. At least three. Maybe more than that.”
Koro nodded. “Stay with him until he wakes. Then bring him to me, in my tent.” He looked at my father. “If a man corrects his son’s disrespectful manners, I have no opinion on the matter. But I have not been offended by any inGara today.”
“Yes,” my father said noncommittally.
“Come with me now,” Koro told him. He raised his voice. “Yavorda inGeiro! Soro inKera! Geroka inYoraro! All the lords of any tribe, attend me now!” He walked away, toward his own tent, with my father. Above us on the hillside, those lords who had been watching stood up and followed him. Almost everyone was getting up and walking away. The murmur of voices was like the distant shiral: quiet only because of the distance. Ugaro do not normally shout at one another, but we are often forceful. Certainly many people were expressing forceful opinions now.
Hokino said, to Geras rather than to me, “I will not say again that Lau are a cowardly people. Come with me. I have a salve for the bruise I think you have across your side, and if your ribs are cracked, I will see to that.” He offered Geras a hand.
Geras took it, grunting as the inKera warleader pulled him to his feet. He said, “More than one bruise. I am too old for this.”
“A younger man would not have possessed the skill to lead Royova inVotaro into any trap,” Hokino told him, and they walked away together, up the slope, toward the place where Suyet and Lalani waited with Siwa and Arayo and some other inKera people.
Now only Garoyo and I and Tano remained in this place. Garoyo dropped down to sit on his heels, studying me—my chest. The cut, which I had forgotten. I touched the bandage he had made of my shirt. Blood had soaked through the cloth.
Garoyo said to Tano, “Go up and get a needle and thread. And a bowl for water, and a shirt that has not been cut to pieces and does not have blood all over it.”
“Yes,” Tano said. Jumping to his feet, he ran up the hill.
Garoyo looked at me. He said finally, “I am not displeased by the way in which everything happened. I acknowledge that the gods do not want your Aras to die here, and who am I to say the gods misjudge the matter? But I am not altogether pleased to know that my brother is still the tuyo of this man, whose character I now see no choice but to doubt.”
“He stopped himself.”
“When you spoke to him, he stopped. May he do so the next time, and the next after that.” He paused. Then he said, “I would like to ride with you for at least part of the distance when you depart for the summer lands. I do not know whether our father will permit it, even if he gives the warleader’s sword to another man—”
“He will not do such a thing, and should not.”
“He should. Twice now, I have allowed a man to slip past my notice and come nearly into our camp. This time, even when I set myself to be watchful and set our warriors to be watchful.”
I protested, “You guarded all our people well. Only my stupidity made it possible for Yaro to attack me. That is why he set himself here, to attack a warrior—to attack you, if he could, because he could not find a way to come against anyone more vulnerable. I believe this was his intention. I am certain of it, Garoyo.”
“Yes,” Garoyo answered. “I think this is very likely. I should have thought of it and come this way deliberately. I should have thought of all the places he might conceal himself, everywhere the land is too difficult to search thoroughly, and walked through all of those places to draw his attack.”
The thought appalled me. “Garoyo, he would have killed you!” I realized at once I should not have said it that way and amended this. “I know he would not have taken you by surprise, as he took me. But he was far too strong for me, and very fast. I mean no disrespect when I say that I would not have wanted you to fight him.”
My brother's mouth had crooked. He said, “I think I might have held him long enough for more of our warriors to come up, Ryo. I would certainly have preferred to try that rather than permit him to attack my younger brother and a female guest of inGara.” He touched his hair, which came to the middle of his back. “I should cut it again.”
I said, as firmly as I could, “You certainly should not. The gods were kind to guide my steps this way and turn yours aside. Aras might not have acted to protect someone else—probably he would not even have heard anyone else. Promise me you will not cut your hair, Garoyo.” But of course he would make no such promise to a younger brother. I had a better idea. “Promise me you will speak to Hokino regarding the matter before you do it.”
He cuffed me, not hard. “My much younger brother should not advise me in matters concerning my honor.” Then he said, “But it is true I have great respect for Hokino inKera. I will consider your words, insolent as they were.”
Tano had returned. He gave the needles and thread to Garoyo and went to the lake for water, then came back and knelt again, ready to run other errands or do anything else that was required. I thought he should do well enough now, even after I had gone south. A new kind of quiet had come into his expression, his muscles, his eyes. All the lies had finally been brought out into the air. That would be better for him, even if it was hard. The man who had been his father would meet a bad death very soon, and that might be good for Tano, or perhaps otherwise. But certainly that was far better than other outcomes I could imagine.
I asked, “Tano, are you well?”
He began to answer quickly, then paused and considered. Finally, he said, “It may be a long time before I know that.”
I nodded. “Our king’s judgment against the inTasiyo was harsh.”
“Yes. I thought I wanted the inTasiyo destroyed, but I ... now I am not certain I ever wanted that. I never wanted my father—I beg your pardon.” He bowed in apology for his mistake. “I did not want the warleader of the inTasiyo to die in the way he will die. But I think ... I think he brought his own fate on himself. I think all those people did that. I am glad some people left the inTasiyo yesterday, before this happened.” He added earnestly, “I am very, very glad the warleader of the inTasiyo did not kill you.”
I nodded. I was very glad the gods had seen fit to set Tano into my hands. However hard everything had been for him, however hard everything might still be, now that he was inGara, he should be well enough. Already he had learned to do much better. I was confident my father would make certain he did well.
Garoyo tossed down the blood-soaked bandages and began to wipe away the blood so he could see the cut. I leaned back so he could see better and asked Tano, “Where is your brother?”
“With Raga. Ensu will be quiet and do what he is told. He will not annoy your brother.”
“Raga is not at all easy to annoy. He will probably teach Ensu to be less quiet.”
“You should be quiet, Ryo,” Garoyo said, exasperated. “Let me finish this.” He set a row of neat stitches, one beside the next, and grunted with satisfaction. “That was not bad.” Then he ran a thumb across the three scars that stretched across my stomach. “If the gods were not kind, this one would have killed you. The gods have been generous to you many times, Ryo. I suppose I must trust they will be kind again and guard your sorcerer against the madness of the curse.”
“Yes,” I said. “Nothing that has happened will change his nature, which is stubborn as well as
generous. He will not permit the curse to become worse than it is.”
“I hope you are right.” My brother got to his feet, then stood still for a moment looking down at me. “I will speak to our father,” he said finally.
“You need not. I am perfectly aware I should not have spoken so intemperately.”
“I will tell him you know that.” Then Garoyo looked at Aras, who had shifted, sighing, in his sleep. Garoyo said, “He will wake soon, I think. Do you want me to stay? Do you want Tano to stay?”
“No.”
“I am not displeased that the gods favored him, Ryo.”
That was more than he had needed to say. I nodded. He touched my shoulder, gestured to Tano, and they walked away together, up the hill, leaving me alone, waiting for Aras to wake.
-36-
Aras woke not long after that. Another hand of time, perhaps. Probably not more. As he had done the first time, he woke almost as quickly as he had fallen asleep. He stirred first, breathing more deeply, tension coming into his hands and arms and face. Puzzlement followed, as he opened his eyes and found himself here, at the lakeshore, beneath the sky. Then awareness came to him, and memory. By that time, he had pushed himself up to sitting. I gave him the bowl, filled now with clean water, and he drank a little and splashed his face, collecting himself. He looked at the sky, judging how much time had passed.
Finally he looked at me. He began to speak, and then changed his mind.
“I will explain how it happened,” I told him. “I know this is clearer for you than if you only looked into my mind. That is still true? That is not different now?”
“I understand what you're asking. But yes, that's still true.” He hesitated. Then he said, speaking haltingly, “The act was ... horrifyingly easy. I had no idea that kind of sorcery could become something so ... impulsive. Now that I understand this, I'm sure I can prevent it from happening again. I don’t ... I feel ... I truly don’t believe anything has changed in an important way.”
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