by Ann Wilson
opportunity; win your duel, and Clan Levvawill send a delegation to investigate the desirability of acknowledgingthe citizenship you say is ours by right."
Medart let his relief show. "That's all I ask, Clan-chief." Sandemansthought a lot more alike than their standard-human cousins; if one waswilling to make such a concession, most others would too. And the fewthat wouldn't immediately would probably change their minds as soon asthey saw the benefits of Imperial citizenship. Of course, that stillleft him with the problem of winning the duel . . .
* * * * *
If he had to fight a duel, Medart thought, at least he had a good dayfor it. The weather at Vader clanhome was clear and sunny, thetemperature a comfortable twenty degrees as he stood waiting for hisopponent in the outdoor practice arena. And he was in uniform; Ryanhad brought one from his courier ship--even had it tailored for hisweight loss--in case he needed it as his ceremonials.
He'd taken the drugs that would bring him as close as possible for astandard human to the Sandeman battleprepped state. He was keyed up,unnaturally alert, sensitive to every movement around him, and eager toget on with the duel. It was mildly amusing to see that the Sandemansgave him the same cautious respect he'd give a battleprepped warrior;maybe the drugs brought him closer to that state than he'd thought.
It seemed like hours before he heard, then saw, the boxy transportnull-grav craft bringing his opponent. That, in his edgy condition,was more of a relief than the threat he'd expected to feel. Thetransport landed outside the arena, too far away for him to recognizethe clan-arms, and he briefly regretted not asking who he was going tobe fighting. Not that the information would have been much help, hethought; he'd prepared as much as he could, whoever it was.
The group of warriors escorting his opponent entered the arena throughthe gate at the far end from where Medart stood with a group fromVader, and stopped. "Now," Medart heard Ryan say.
He stepped forward, accompanied by Ryan and Kelly, at the same time atrio of the newcomers did the same. They were to meet in the center ofthe arena for formal introductions, then separate to about three metersfor the duel itself--but Medart came to a shocked halt as soon as hewas close enough to recognize the central member of the other party.The Sandeman's familiar tattoo of a black-barred violet flower wasmissing from his cheek, but Medart knew him well enough to recognizehim easily without it. "Oh, shit," he said, involuntarily. "Nevan!"
"Keep going," Ryan urged. As the three began moving again, he askedquietly, "What's wrong? You know him?"
"Too damn well," Medart said. "Nevan-Corina DarLeras and I have beenbattle-companions for the last century, since we fought togetherdefending the Palace in the last battle of the White Order revolt. Iknow intellectually that this isn't the same person, but dammit, it'sgoing to feel like I'm trying to hurt a friend." Thank all the gods,Sandeman duels were to disablement or conclusive advantage; he didn'tthink he'd be capable of killing--or trying to kill--a man he knew asone of the Empire's best defenders.
"This one is Nevan only," Ryan agreed. "His face shows he has neversworn personal fealty or won the right to use his thakur's name. Whileit would be dishonorable for you to fight a battle-companion, he is nottruly such--though I agree the resemblance will make this duel moredifficult."
"Yeah. Don't say anything, though, okay? At least till it's over."
"As you wish, James."
The last few steps to introduction distance were silent. Medart usedthem to study his opponent, apprehension growing. He knew preciselyhow good Nevan was at both conventional and psionic combat; since he'dbeen chosen as the Sandeman champion for this duel, there was everyreason to believe he was just as good at magical combat. And Medartcould remember thinking, the first time he saw Nevan battleprepped, howmuch he'd hate to be on the receiving end of the younger man's skills.Now that he was about to be, that opinion was even stronger.
But Medart had motivation of his own, and his pain and weakness weremasked by the medications he'd taken. He exchanged bows andintroductions with his opponent, then stepped back and began workingthe spells he'd been taught.
He could feel immediately that this was one of his strong days. Thepower flowed into and through him, part surrounding him in a silveryglow, part erupting from his hands like emerald blaster bolts.
The bolts flared off Nevan's shield, blending in with hiscounterattack. Medart's shield blazed scarlet, held--but he gasped asall-too-familiar pain shot through him. The quidine couldn't withstandactive magic, it seemed; he could only hope the rest of his meds would.
So far they were, and he'd had two months' practice working in spite ofpain; he could keep going. He couldn't do it for long, though. Hefelt all right thanks to the meds, but he knew his stamina was only afraction of what it should be; a few more exchanges, and he'd lose bysimple attrition.
He struck again, glad that Sandeman magic was simpler than in the booksand TreasureTunnel game; he'd never have been able to remember, muchless use, the complicated spells in those. Hit and defend was aboutall he could manage through the growing agony. He lost awareness ofhis surroundings, even of his opponent, in the effort to channel allhis power into defense and, more importantly, attack.
What broke his concentration was the insistent repetition of his name."James! James! It's over--stop! James, Jim--no more! You've won!"
"Huh?" It was Ryan's voice, Medart realized as the power ebbed fromhim and he slumped to his knees with his head drooped, overwhelmed bypain and exhaustion. "Won--I didn't kill him, did I?"
"No." The voice this time was unfamiliar; one of Nevan's seconds,Medart thought. "He is injured and unconscious, but he will recover."
"With your permission, James?" That was Kelly, kneeling in front ofhim and extending her hands.
"Yeah, whatever." She touched him, murmured briefly with no effect hecould notice. Moisture trickled down his face and he felt tightness inhis throat; he coughed, then vomited, seeing and tasting blood. Majorinternal damage, obviously, and Sandeman medicine here not much betterthan Imperial first aid . . . He fought to raise his head. "Anychance?" he asked.
Kelly shook her head. "I'm sorry, James. The damage is too extensive.I cannot even ease what few hours you may have left."
Medart coughed again, then sighed. "In that case . . . I ask LastGift."
"Granted," Ryan said. "And may the gods accept you as one ofthemselves." Almost immediately Medart felt the tip of a blade at theangle of his jaw behind his ear. There was an instant of pressure, andthe pain was over.
* * * * *
Ryan accepted a cloth from one of his warriors to wipe his blade, thenre-sheathed the knife and dropped the cloth without looking away fromthe Prince's body. He'd thought it would be easy to kill any Terran,but he'd been wrong; giving this one Last Gift had been as painful asgiving it to one of his own. At last he rose, still looking down."His body should be returned to his Empire, but we haven't thefacilities. Kelly, would you see to preparing him for burial?"
"Of course, Chief. In our memorial garden?"
"He deserves it, yes--with the warrior caste. But keep out his saberand badge; I'm going to take them to this Empire and ask that the onewho brought him here return them, along with a copy of the tape of thisduel. His people should know how and why he died."
"Yes, they should."
Ryan turned at the unfamiliar voice, to see the warrior Nevan. He'dbeen healed, though his clothing still showed the effects of battle."I'm pleased you agree, warrior. Now that the combat is over, I'm freeto tell you he knew your avatar in his home universe, and claimed himas battle-companion of a century's standing."
Nevan smiled. "From what I learned of him during our duel, I wouldwillingly acknowledge such a bond. I ask permission to accompany youon the mission to return his belongings to his people."
"Granted, warrior. Will you be Vader's guest until we leave?"
"I would be honored, Chief."
* * * * *
Ryan's battle cruiser entered Imperial space as Medart's little courierhad entered Sandeman: all lights on, and broadcasting its identity.They were expected; after the second broadcast of the duel, Bryan ofAlanna had declared peace and announced both Clan Levva's investigationof their Imperial heritage and Clan Vader's intention of returningMedart's effects. The reply had been a cautious welcome, along withthe information that unless and until they did accept Imperialcitizenship they would be met and escorted. That seemed reasonable, sothe Sandemans had agreed; Ryan