Chapter Twenty-Four

Carann

The small shuttle, launched from a cloaked ship that hung beyond the orbit of Carann's furthest moon, descended slowly towards the capital city. It had been cleared by orbital security thanks to a set of faked credentials, and it seemed to a casual observer to be entirely innocuous. And yet it was one of several ships like it that were descending upon the planet this night, and their true purpose was far from benign.

The shuttle hadn't rested long on its landing platform when its hatch opened and a man in casual pilot's clothing stepped out. He made his way to the customs booth, where he paid his landing fee, and then walked out onto the city streets. To all appearances, he was alone; the figures who accompanied him, cloaked by technology that hid them from both prying eyes and security scanners, did so as silently and unnoticed as shadows.

The man turned down an alley and checked to see if he was alone, then nodded. The air flickered and the Commander appeared beside him, accompanied by several more of the pirates. The Commander himself glanced around and, noticing no eavesdroppers with his enhanced senses, raised his wrist-comm to his masked mouth.

"Two, are you in position?" he asked.

"Affirmative," her voice buzzed in response, followed immediately afterward by similar confirmations from the other assassins. At least one was with each of the small pirate groups he'd sent out – their personal cloaking shields could be expanded to cover multiple people, though not for long at a given time. They had each landed at different spaceports throughout the city and were now slowly making their way towards the palace, where they would meet up again. And where they would carry out their mission.

"Acknowledged," the Commander said. "Continue as planned. We will rendezvous at the target and proceed from there." Lowering his comm, he nodded to his pirates and gestured for them to step closer; once again, the cloaking field went up, this time concealing them all from sight, and then as one, unseen, they began moving towards the palace.

/

Arta stood in the waiting room near the dueling hall, holding her helmet under one arm while fiddling idly with the vambrace on her wrist. From the corner of her eyes, however, she watched as the other competitors moved around the low chamber, some of them talking to each other, some of them waiting quietly against the walls. Seeing Pakorus across from her, she raised a hand and waved; he returned the gesture with a grin.

Karani elbowed her in the side. "Is that the regent's son you ran off with last night?" she asked, though she knew full well who he was, having seen him at the opening ceremony just like Arta had. "He's kind of cute."

"Shut up," Arta hissed, cursing the fact that she was now blushing furiously. Doing her best to ignore Karani's snickering, she turned towards the front of the room to where the three ast Sakran siblings stood together, apparently deep in conference with one another. Darius, of course, was unmistakable, and in his armor, he looked more like some sort of hero from the histories than an actual flesh-and-blood human being. Something about him made Arta shiver, though she couldn't put her finger on what. Perhaps he just seemed too artificial to be real. His sister, beside him, was cut from similar cloth – Tariti, Arta thought she'd heard her name was. She wore her armor as elegantly as if it was a gown, but the hand that rested on the hilt of her sword had an easy confidence and familiarity.

The youngest brother, Galen, was shorter than either of his siblings and skinnier than Darius, though otherwise he resembled him. He looked up just as Arta's gaze fell on him, and their eyes met, and for a moment she found herself going cold. There was something hungry and calculating in his eyes, and she had a feeling that this was someone who would do anything in his power to win.

"They're the ones we've got to watch out for, Karani," she said. "They're favored to win, and I think I can see why."

Karani smirked. "Challenge accepted," she said. Arta shook her head, but she was smiling all the same. For all Karani's talk of how neither of them was liable to win, she knew that her foster-sister was too competitive to let things go without giving them her all.

Looking up at the ceiling, Karani sighed. "What's taking them so long, anyway?"

Arta looked flatly at her. "Were you even paying attention to Father's instructions this morning?" she asked. "The regent is giving his speech right now, reminding everyone what's going on and why we're here and talking about how great the Kingdom's heritage of tournament and competition is. When he's done, the screens on the walls in here are going to come on, showing us the dueling floor; that's when he'll announce the first competitors. The winner gets to go on to the next round. There'll be six rounds in total; whoever wins the last one wins the tournament, and the head of their house gets to try the crown. Make sense?"

Karani rolled her eyes. "I suppose," she said.

"You're hopeless," Arta muttered, but her tone was affectionate.

Before Karani could retort, the waiting room's lights suddenly flashed red. A moment later, the screens that had stood dark along the walls flared to life, showing the dueling floor. Around the room, conversation stopped; Arta swore she could hear Pakorus groaning softly, but most people – including Karani and the ast Sakrans – looked alert and intent.

"Well, this is it, then," Karani said; she took a deep breath, straightened herself, and gave another of her smirks. "And may the best woman win!"

/

Mardoban returned to his seat in the judges' box after he finished his speech, taking his spot in the front row between Naudar and Hiram. The latter was wiping his brow with a handkerchief and generally looked like he'd rather be anywhere but here – perhaps now that the time had come, he'd decided he didn't like his duchy's odds. Naudar, on the other hand, sat with both hands on his cane and a wolfishly satisfied expression on his face.

After the regent took his seat, Gilgam approached him, wearing a full dress uniform for the occasion. "We've swept the perimeter," he whispered. "All clear, sir."

"Thank you, Gilgam," Mardoban replied; the guard officer bowed and took up his place behind the dukes. Mardoban scanned the seats across from him, most of which were filled with citizens who'd managed to purchase tickets – a potential danger, but still, everyone had been thoroughly vetted, and then scanned and searched when they arrived to make sure they weren't carrying any weapons. He didn't believe any of them was a threat, but well, one could never be too cautious when the most important people in the Kingdom were all gathered in one room.

His gaze slid to the VIP box partway up the stands; most of the nobles and guildsmen who'd come with the competitors but didn't hold a council seat were there, along with the ambassadors. He saw Quarinis, flanked by both his hulking praetorians, sitting in the back, away from everyone else – Ambassador Ceana Preas sat on the opposite end of that row, as much space between her and the Imperial Ambassador as propriety would allow. Mardoban's gaze flickered downward, past the silvery-suited forms of the guildsmen, and settled on Baron Varas ast Katanes, who sat calmly in the front row. For a moment he thought of the secrets that man had known, then shook his head. Time for that later. First, he had this to deal with.

There, near the bottom of the box, his gaze fell on one final figure, a slender woman in black with a hood pulled low over her head. Mardoban frowned – who could that be, and why was she in the VIP box? – but then the woman looked up and lowered her hood. The regent's blood froze as he recognized the face, even from a distance and even though it had been years since he'd last seen her, and she'd been a child then. Midaia? He thought What are you-? But when he looked again, she was gone. Had he imagined her there? With Aestera and Artakane on his mind, he must have. Shaking his head, he returned his thoughts to the matter at hand.

The duels were to last until one party yielded; the council's role as judges was mostly a formality, save in cases where one party overstepped his or her bounds and was considered to have used excessive force, defined as potentially causing deliberate and permanent injury. Knowing Naudar and especially Respen, Mardoban would have preferred a more impartial panel of judges, but because that would be sensible, the Dozen Stars would of course not be party to it. No, all the prestige and authority had to go to the nobility – whether it made sense or not.

The first round of matches had been determined by computer analysis; each duelist matched to someone of comparable skill. Mardoban pressed the small screen on the arm of his chair and pulled up the information, selecting the first two names; a girl from Kern and a guild-sponsored boy from Tantos, neither of whose names he recognized and who had both been judged of average skill. Another few keystrokes and the names and information were flashed across the chamber on immense holoscreens for the crowd to see and the camera mechs to broadcast across the Kingdom.

Moments later, the doors at the base of the stands slid open and the two contestants strode out before turning to face one another. It had begun.

/

Arta watched the first match with bated breath; the fight was close, but in the end the guild-sponsored competitor won out. Even though he was from her own duchy, she found it hard to cheer for him, remembering the crackdown on Tantos III and wondering if any of his sponsors were part of the guild leadership that had authorized the security force's brutality. Still, she couldn't keep her mind on that for long; no sooner had the guild competitor bowed in acceptance of his victory than the names of the next fighters flashed above him, and he was hurried off to make way for the next bout.

There were several more duels in which Arta didn't know any of the competitors, and then Pakorus's name was called; his opponent was Galen ast Sakran. Remembering his words about not being particularly skilled, Arta looked over her shoulder at Pakorus and waved at him, trying to wish him luck; he smiled back at her, and Karani coughed conspicuously. Arta elbowed her in the side, and then Pakorus and Galen both strode out into the hall.

The duel was a short one, as Arta had feared; Pakorus had heart, but Galen was noticeably more skilled. He pushed Pakorus back across the dueling floor with a series of quick, aggressive blows, while the regent's son tried desperately to keep his defenses up. In the end, Pakorus was overwhelmed; Galen knocked the sword from his hand and pointed his own blade directly at his opponent's throat. Pakorus sighed and held up his hands. "I yield," he said, and Galen smirked before taking his bow.

Not long afterwards, Pakorus returned to the waiting room and Arta hurried over to him. "Are you all right?" she asked.

He grinned wryly. "All but my pride," he said, "and it could have been a lot worse. Galen and I were at school together and he never liked me much. The Lord must have frowned on me today if I got him as my opponent. Still, I never really expected to make it past the first round, so at least it was sooner rather than later."

"Well, if I happen to go up against Galen later, I'll try to avenge you," Arta said lightly, and Pakorus chuckled.

"I wish you luck there," he said, glancing over to where Galen stood once again with his siblings. "And – wait, is your sister up?"

Arta started and turned towards the nearest screen – sure enough, while they'd been talking, Karani's name had been called. Her opponent was another girl, a young woman from Tashir Duchy whose elaborately decorated armor made Karani's look dull and plain in comparison. The other girl smirked and twirled her dueling sword casually in one hand, but Arta rolled her eyes. She knew a show-off when she saw one and had a feeling that Karani would show the Tashir girl a thing or two.

Sure enough, the duel was soon over, and Karani took her victory bow as her opponent screamed in rage and hurled her helmet across the dueling floor in a fit of pique. Arta shared a grin with Pakorus, and when Karani returned to the waiting room Arta ran forward and grabbed her in a hug. "Good job, big sister!" she said.

Karani shrugged. "Aw, it wasn't hard," she said. "I have no idea who trained her, but she fought more like a ballerina than a duelist. I like a good dance as much as anyone, but a tournament isn't the time or the place." She pulled away from Arta and looked over at Pakorus. "And you must be the regent's son," she said, grinning wickedly. "Arta's told me so much about meeting you last night." Arta was certain now that, were the room's lights to go out, her blush would provide plenty of illumination on its own.

Darius ast Sakran was up next, and all of the remaining competitors gathered around their nearest screens in great interest, only to be disappointed when the duel was over almost as soon as it had begun. Arta couldn't even follow what Darius had done; one minute he seemed to just be standing there, and the next his opponent was lying on his back with his sword a meter away. No one spoke, but she could hear several sharp intakes of breath; if one thing was obvious to everyone, it was that Darius's reputation hadn't been inflated.

And then Arta's own name was called, opposed a wiry young man from Aurann. Taking a deep breath, she paused to hug Karani and exchange a nod with Pakorus before marching out onto the dueling floor beside her opponent. The noise of the crowd felt deafening as she walked out onto the smooth floor – thousands of voices, all talking quietly but collectively magnified to a thunderous sound. The hovering recording mechs high above, flashing with lights, seemed only to add to the effect. Steadying herself, Arta took another deep breath and calmed herself using some of Shiran's meditation techniques, and then bowed first to the crowd and then to her opponent.

Aurann Duchy, the domain of Duke Respen, was said to be completely dominated by its military to the point that its people, commoner and noble, were mandated to do at least two years of military service before they could claim full citizenship. She didn't know how much that might impact her opponent, but his armor was sleek and functional, and he drew his sword and fell into his stance with a practiced ease, no flashy moves like Karani's opponent had shown.

Arta drew her own dueling sword and she and her opponent began to circle each other, blades at the ready. Suddenly he was lunging forward, and Arta brought up her sword in a block just in time. He hit her hard and fast with a series of quick, economical strikes, forcing her back, and she realized that he was trying to use the same technique Galen had on Pakorus. Well, he was good, maybe as good as Galen was, but now that Arta had seen Pakorus fight, one thing she knew was that she was better than he was – and she had no intention of falling to the same fate.

Her opponent pressed her on, and Arta let herself fall back several more steps, seeing the overconfidence growing in his eyes. Then, as he prepared to strike again, she suddenly disengaged and ducked aside. Her opponent's eyes widened as he stumbled forward, carried on by his own momentum, but Arta spun around behind him and struck him hard between the shoulder blades with her dueling sword. It was on the lowest power setting, with the energy blunting the blade itself, but the staticky burst the blade gave off on impact still stung and still carried force – Arta's opponent shouted in surprise and pitched forward onto the floor.

He wasn't out yet though; no sooner had he fallen than he righted himself and sprang back to his feet, eyes hot and sword flashing as he faced Arta. "You'll pay for that, little girl," he hissed.

"Oh, I am trembling," Arta replied with a cool smile and a tone she was half-conscious recalled Midaia's; her opponent growled and charged forward. But she had him now – he was too angry to think clearly, and that meant he wasn't going to be putting that training of his to good use. Arta ducked aside from his charge again and let his momentum carry him past her, and then as he spun towards her with sword raised, she caught her blade on his in a tight parry. For a long moment they strove against each other, him pushing her back slightly with his superior strength, but Arta was ready. She twisted her blade away, wrenching his from his hands and sending it flying onto the floor. He stumbled forward, but it was only to find the point of her sword now resting at his throat.

"Yield," Arta said.

The Aurann duelist looked at her hatefully, then raised his hands. "I yield," he spat.

The display screens high above the stands flashed, declaring Arta ast Katanes the winner. Arta smiled and stepped back, then raised her sword to the sky as the crowd applauded her victory.

/

The first round of the tournament was followed by a short break for the audience to stretch their legs and get refreshments and for those competitors who hadn't been eliminated to take the time to rest and prepare themselves for the next round. The judges weren't allowed down into the waiting room and those competitors who remained weren't allowed to leave, but Mardoban looked up to see Pakorus approaching him, grinning sheepishly.

"I hope I didn't embarrass you out there too badly," he said as Mardoban stood and put an arm around his shoulder.

"Not at all," the regent said. "You fought well and honorably; that's all anyone could ask. And there's certainly no shame in losing to a skilled opponent."

"Quite right," Naudar said from where he was still seated, pride in his children, all three of whom had made it to the next round, evident in his voice. Pakorus shot him a dark look, though the Duke of Sakran didn't see it.

"Stay here, if you want," Mardoban said, gesturing towards the seats in the rear of the box, reserved for guests of the judges. "I probably won't be able to talk to you much, but you'll have a better view from up here, at least." He regarded his son proudly for a moment, then grinned. "Congratulations on competing in your first tournament, regardless. Anyone else down there you'd like to see win?"

"Maybe a couple," Pakorus said, returning his father's grin, "but that would be telling." He nodded his head to the regent, then headed towards the back row of seats. Mardoban settled himself back down beside Naudar, looked at the time, and prepared to call the next round.

The second round was, of course, shorter than the first, and there were few surprises; once again, all three ast Sakran children passed, as did several promising duelists from Tashir and Aurann and some who had been sponsored by their guilds. Both ast Katanes sisters also made it through, and Mardoban found himself watching Arta – Artakane – with interest. She seemed to have inherited her mother's skill, though her fighting style was distinctly Katannen. Mardoban was impressed, both with the girl herself and with whoever, probably Baron Varas, had overseen her training.

The next round proceeded in much the same vein; once again, the ast Sakrans and the ast Kataneses dominated the field, and the remainder of the eight competitors who remained were filled out by a pair from Aurann and a slender, precise young guildswoman. Looking over his shoulder, Mardoban had noticed his son watching the Katanes girls fight and had smiled inwardly; he had a feeling he understood which of the other competitors had caught his son's eye.

Among the other dukes, Sateira had sniffed disdainfully when her last competitor was disqualified and was now refusing to speak to anyone; Naudar and Respen, for their parts, were both looking incredibly smug, as was Hiram at the unexpected success of the ast Kataneses. Mardoban, for his part, had to admit a certain disappointment that no one from Orlanes had made it this far, but though he had no desire to see Naudar or Respen win, he was curious to see exactly how far Artakane would manage to carry herself.

The fourth round began with Naudar's smile widening as Karani ast Katanes and Galen ast Sakran strode onto the floor and faced one another. Both combatants faced one another and bowed, and then the duel began. They were both skilled, Mardoban had to admit, especially for being as young as they were; even he, a veteran of many battles and duels, found himself having a difficult time following the flashes and back-and-forth movements of their swords. It was obvious, though, that neither of them had really had to put forth all of their skill at any earlier point in the tournament – now, however, they were testing each other as neither had been tested before. So far as Mardoban could tell, they were evenly matched, neither able to gain advantage over the other, and he found himself leaning forward with his hands on his armrests. Beside him, Naudar was in much the same position, save with his hands both on the head of his cane.

Then something changed. The two stumbled back and faced each other, both breathing heavily, and Mardoban saw Galen running his hand along the hilt of his sword. He couldn't see if he'd done anything, but then Karani was attacking again, and when Galen brought his sword up to parry, something happened. There was a sudden burst of energy when the swords met, and Karani's was blasted from her hands and sent flying across the floor. Mardoban frowned. That was not normal. Had Galen's weapon malfunctioned – or, worse, had he deliberately cheated?

Karani cried out in shock and stumbled back, fumbling for the sword that was now far out of reach, but Galen was on her. With a blow from his shoulder he knocked her to the floor, but she twisted and kicked him hard in the side, sending him stumbling back. When she tried another kick, he was ready; he caught her leg on his and twisted, hard. The crowd had fallen silent, and the crack seemed deafening across the dueling hall as Karani's leg broke. Mardoban winced, and he saw several of the other dukes and duchesses do the same, though Naudar's look of steely-eyed intensity never wavered.

Mardoban pulled up his display on his chair's arm and sent an order to the camera mech to zoom in; he could see Karani up close now, clutching her leg and looking up at Galen with tears on her face, but a defiant expression, nonetheless.

"Do you yield?" Galen asked. Karani regarded him coldly with narrowed eyes and then finally, at long last, nodded.

"I yield," she said, the words seeming more painful to her than her leg.

Galen turned to the crowd and bowed, raising his sword high to acknowledge his victory.