Chapter Twenty-Five

Carann, Royal Palace, Dueling Hall

Arta hurried to the entrance of the waiting room and met Karani as the medic-mechs brought her off the dueling floor; she shooed the mechs away and looped an arm under her sister's shoulder, supporting her as she carried her over to the nearest wall. Karani sat down with a sigh, injured leg held out straight in front of her, and the mechs zoomed off to fetch a stretcher to take her to the infirmary.

"How are you feeling?" Arta asked, then winced at the obvious answer to the question. "I mean, considering the circumstances and all…"

"Lousy," Karani muttered, staring at her leg. She was silent for a moment longer, then looked up at Arta with burning eyes. "He cheated," she hissed angrily. "That lousy little ast Sakran bastard cheated. I saw him thumb the controls on his sword; it was so quick nobody probably caught it up in the stands, but I saw him spike the power up higher than the rules allow. That's how he beat me."

"Are you sure about that?" Arta asked skeptically, wanting to believe her sister but worrying all the same that it might be Karani's wounded pride talking.

Karani scowled and seized Arta by the arm. "I know what I saw!" she hissed. "Galen cheated, and he's going to get away with it, too!"

"Maybe not," Arta said. "They haven't called anyone else onto the floor yet. I bet the judges guessed what he did and are conferring about it right now."

"Galen's father is one of the judges," Karani muttered. "Do you really think old Naudar is going to rule against his son? Do you think any of them are going to side with a Baron's daughter from nowhere over the son of one of the most powerful dukes in the Kingdom? Be realistic, Arta. He's going to get away with it, trust me."

"Maybe you're right," Arta said, sighing. "But even if the judges don't punish him, I don't think he's going to walk away clean." She glanced over at the opposite side of the room, where Galen had been pulled into a corner by his siblings and Darius was speaking softly but intently to him; Arta couldn't hear his words, but his expression was cold. "I don't think Big Brother is very happy with Little Brother's choice of tactics."

Karani cracked a smile. "Heh," she said. "Maybe Darius really is as gallant as everyone says he is – or maybe he just doesn't like it when the family name gets smeared. I'd bet on the last one." She looked back towards the door and saw the mechs returning, a floating stretcher suspended between them. She seized Arta's arm and pulled her close. "Promise me something," she said. "Beat Galen for me. Show him not to mess with the ast Katanes sisters, all right? You've beaten me, you can beat him. Think you can pull that one off, little sister?"

Arta smiled tightly and wrapped Karani in a hug. "I think I can, big sister," she said. "Be safe."

"I will," Karani said, letting go and allowing the mechs to bundle her onto the stretcher. "I think it's you who'd better watch yourself, all right?

"I will," Arta said, watching as Karani was carried off; she turned to look back at the ast Sakrans and squared her shoulders, a look of cold determination on her face.

/

"This is highly irregular, Mardoban," Naudar said, leaning on his cane; he and the rest of the judges were gathered in the corridor behind their box following Galen's victory. "Say whatever you wanted to say and then let's head back out there and get things on with."

"The point of discussion at hand," Mardoban said coldly, "is your son, Naudar. Speaking of highly irregular, the way his sword blasted Miss ast Katanes's from her hand was rather fortuitous, wasn't it? Suspiciously so, one might almost say. I have to wonder if it wasn't deliberate."

Naudar shrugged. "The blade malfunctioned," he said. "These things happened. I see no reason to penalize the boy over it. He clearly kept his head and the girl didn't. He deserved to win."

"Unless he kept his head because he knew the blast was coming," Mardoban said. "As the judges of this tournament, we're charged with making sure things like that don't happen. I move that we should call for a time out and investigate the blade, and if it turns out to be perfectly functional, then… we should consider what to do about Galen."

"Are you calling my son a cheater, Mardoban?" Naudar asked, voice soft and cold.

"No," Mardoban said, "but I am raising the possibility. We should let the facts decide."

"Facts," Naudar scoffed. "Facts say that my son won, and the girl lost. But very well, if you insist. Let's put things to a vote, shall we? All in favor of investigating Galen's actions?" Mardoban raised a hand at once; a moment later, Hiram did so as well, albeit somewhat tenuously; the regent had a feeling he was motivated more by a desire to support his duchy's contender rather than actual commitment to fairness. But Mardoban felt his heart sink as he saw that no one else was standing with them.

"And opposed?" Naudar asked, his own hand in the air at once. A moment later, Respen and Sateira joined him, the dark looks they shot Mardoban's way indicating that the real reason for their stance was less about supporting Naudar than it was about thwarting the regent. Duke Menandrus of Kern, an oily, ambitious man who usually followed Sateira's lead, added his own hand a moment later. There were still several dukes and duchesses who hadn't voted at all - Duchess Laodamia in particular was pursing her lips disapprovingly at both sides – but it was enough. Mardoban had been outvoted.

"Well, glad to see that's settled," Naudar said. "Let's get the show started again, shall we?" he gestured towards the door to the judges' box and the others began to file towards it. Naudar took up a spot at the end of the line, and Mardoban fell in beside him.

"That was politics, not sportsmanship," the regent hissed, "and we both know it. You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

Naudar shot him a pitying look. "Mardoban, Mardoban," he said. "I do respect you in most things, but sometimes you can be unbearably naïve for a man of your age. Of course, it was politics. We're dukes; everything is politics. Do you really think that this tournament has been about giving the throne to whatever house fields the best duelists? I'll admit I've been impressed by the Katanes girls, who have been successful far beyond anything I anticipated – the younger in particular interests me; you're not the only one who can recognize a certain resemblance. I wonder where Varas found a girl who looked so much like our late Queen? But it doesn't matter. We all know who's going to win this. We've all known from the start."

"You've planned this from the beginning, haven't you?" Mardoban whispered.

"You plied the council with platitudes, Mardoban," Naudar said. "I fed their egos. Gave them all a chance to show off, let them think they could win, then let the throne come to me. And if, when it comes to it, they won't accept that fact, you'll help me put them down, because you're too noble to let the Kingdom fall into chaos. And if that crown doesn't work for me… well, we're no worse off than we were already, except that my house will have won a great deal of fame and honor. I can live with that." He patted Mardoban on the shoulder. "I am sorry to use you like this, old friend, but life is life."

Naudar turned and walked away from Mardoban and out into the box; the regent stood still for several long moments then sighed heavily and rested a weary head in his hands, before straightening up and following.

/

Arta passed to the penultimate round of the tournament, to her surprise; her opponent, another of Respen's followers, proved to be a genuine challenge, but she managed to eke out a win. At the same time, both Darius and Tariti defeated their own opponents and progressed as well, to no one's surprise. Arta found herself alone against an ast Sakran field on all sides. Though, she reflected, at least that gave her decent odds at having a chance at Galen – or, failing that, one of his siblings. She supposed whichever two ast Sakrans she didn't end up facing would have to duel each other, a disturbing thought. Despite all the times Arta had sparred with Karani, she couldn't imagine fighting her sister in an actual duel for the entertainment of a crowd and wondered if the ast Sakrans felt differently.

Then again, no matter which of them won, their house would still be guaranteed a shot at the championship, so maybe they didn't care after all. Somehow, she doubted Duke Naudar did.

Arta was waiting alone by the door, the waiting room nearly empty now, when she looked up to see Darius ast Sakran walking towards her. "What do you want?" she asked, her tone rather harsher than she'd intended. "Come to gloat about my sister?"

The expression on Darius's handsome face, however, was much more somber. "No, actually," he said. "Honestly, I came to apologize, since my brother is too stiff-necked to do it himself. I know what he did when he dueled your sister, and I wanted you to know that I consider it an embarrassment."

Arta arched a brow. "Really?" she asked. "I wouldn't have thought you'd have cared."

"Well Galen doesn't," Darius admitted, "and Tariti thinks I'm more concerned with playing the gentleman than I am with winning. I know that my father probably got Galen out of being penalized, but, well, it doesn't sit well with me. I've trained my whole life to be the best duelist I can be, and I guess… well, I just have too much respect for the sport. Your sister deserved better."

Arta regarded him critically. "You're not like your siblings, are you?" she asked.

Darius shrugged. "Is anyone really a copy of their relatives?" he asked. "We all have things we care about, and this is mine. And I thought I should be a gracious opponent." He flashed a grin. "We may be facing each other next, after all. And if you end up facing Galen… just watch yourself, okay?"

"Oh, trust me," Arta said, "I intend to."

/

When the next match was announced across the screen, Arta tensed and squared her shoulders. For better or worse, she'd gotten her wish – she was facing Galen ast Sakran. Now the only question was whether she would manage to come through this bout in better shape than Karani had. For her sister's sake, and for her own, she intended to.

"Are you scared?" Galen asked, leaning in close as they walked out onto the dueling floor together. "Worried that I'll leave you broken and crying, like I did to your sister?"

"You're the one who should be worried," Arta hissed back between clenched teeth. "The ast Katanes sisters watch out for each other. But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you? At least your brother tries to act honorably. All you care about is winning – no matter how much you have to cheat to do it."

Galen's face turned an ugly shade of purple. "You'll pay for that, little girl," he hissed. "I promise you."

Arta didn't rise to the taunt; instead, she simply grinned as though his words amused her. The two competitors bowed to the audience, then to each other, and drew their swords. Then the match began.

Galen charged almost faster than Arta's eyes could follow; she had to resist the urge to draw on her Adept's gifts to enhance her speed as she ducked aside. Her opponent grinned nastily and held his sword up in front of his face, energy crackling along it; Arta took advantage of his posing to angle a lunge for his side, but Galen was as fast with his blade as he was with his feet, deftly parrying her strike and stepping back. The two began to circle each other warily, watching for an opening.

Arta knew that she faced the same risk that Karani had and kept watch on the fingers of Galen's sword hand from the corner of her eye to see if they slipped again to the sword's controls. So far, he didn't seem to be making a move to overcharge his dueling sword again, but she thought she saw his fingers twitch, ever so slightly. He wanted to, she knew, but he was wary of trying the same trick twice; perhaps there were limits to what even having his father as a judge might let him get away with.

In any case, Arta didn't intend to let him. Lunging forward, she feinted towards the faceplate of Galen's helmet and then switched targets at the last minute, striking a solid blow to the shoulder of his sword arm. Galen cursed and stumbled back, off balance, and Arta pressed her advantage with a series of quick jabs that kept the younger ast Sakran brother stumbling backwards. Finally, with a grunt, Galen fell to one knee, breathing heavily. Arta smiled coldly and rested her sword on the side of his neck.

"Do you yield?" she asked.

Galen grinned wolfishly. "Never," he hissed, and suddenly pivoted on his knee and swept out with his other leg, knocking Arta's feet out from under her. She fell heavily on the floor, sword falling from her fingers, and looked up to see Galen standing over her, the tip of his blade directly in front of her face.

"How the tables have turned," Galen said, shaking his head. "What about you, ast Katanes? Do you yield, or do I have to break another leg today?"

At the taunt, Arta's eyes hardened. "That was a mistaken," she hissed, and grabbed the blade of Galen's sword between the palms of her hands. His eyes widened in shock and she winced at the shock that coursed down her arms, even with her gauntlets, but she held on tight. Galen gave a powerful yank, trying to pull his sword from between her hands, but Arta wouldn't let go. Blinking tears of pain from her eyes, she pulled both her legs back and then slammed her feet directly into Galen's midriff.

He stumbled back as she released her grip on his sword, then grabbed her own blade and leaped to her feet. Before Galen could react, she was on him with a series of quick jabs, keeping him on the defensive and forcing him towards the edge of the dueling floor. She could see his expression changing from shock to fear as he realized that the tide of the duel had turned against him, and then suddenly, to cold resolve. Galen's thumb crept down towards the power switch on his sword's hilt, but Arta was ready. A quick blow from her blade struck his wrist; Galen's hand spasmed and the sword fell from his fingers. Then he was up against the wall separating the dueling floor from the first row of seats with Arta's sword against his neck.

"Yield," she hissed. After a long moment, Galen sighed and raised his hands in surrender.

"I yield," he spat, and suddenly Arta was aware of the crowd erupting into cheers around her. She herself only felt terribly tired, and yet oddly satisfied all the same.

"Karani," she whispered, "you're avenged."

/

The match between Darius and Tariti ast Sakran was less a duel, Mardoban thought, and more of a performance. Both siblings were extremely skilled, and they knew each other's moves by heart; they didn't seem to be making an effort to harm one another so much as they were putting on a show for the audience. When at last Tariti surrendered with an elegant bow and left Darius as the winner, it seemed to Mardoban that what he'd just witnessed wasn't a fight at all, but an elaborate scripted dance.

"And so, we come to the end," Naudar said, sitting back in his chair with a satisfied expression. "My boy Darius against Arta ast Katanes. I don't think anyone expected the girl to do so well – I'd barely even heard of her before today – and I do have to salute her skill and determination. Still, I would wager Darius has the advantage going into the final round." He looked around at his fellow dukes and smiled. "Anyone willing to take that bet? No? Oh well."

"Let's take a moment, shall we, my lords and ladies?" Mardoban asked, raising his hand. "I could use some air, and I think our competitors could use some time to steel themselves before the final round."

"Of course," Naudar said, nodding, and the other dukes and duchesses echoed his opinion. Mardoban could hear the sound of them moving about and speaking to each other as he himself stood and walked to the edge of the box and looked down on the dueling field. How strange it seemed to think that things might soon be over – and that by this time tomorrow, there was a very good chance that Naudar would be king and Mardoban would merely be back to being Duke Orlanes and not regent of the Kingdom. He wasn't entirely sure whether to begrudge Naudar the position, or to pity him for taking the burden.

"Hello, old friend," a quiet voice said from beside him and he turned to see Shiran standing there, apparently unnoticed by anyone else in the box. "Mind if I join you?"

"Hello, Shiran," Mardoban muttered out of the corner of his mouth. "May I ask if this was your doing? It does strike me as quite a coincidence that the girl who would unexpectedly make it all the way to the final round would also bear such a resemblance to our late queen." Here, out loud, he didn't dare explicitly state Artakane's true heritage; there were some among the dukes, Respen chief among them, who might well try to kill her if they knew who she really was.

Shiran shrugged. "I'm no swordmaster," he said. "Arta has always trained rather obsessively, and Varas made certain to purchase training mechs with the highest quality programming – I don't think either of the girls knows just how well-trained he made sure they were."

"Maybe he had a feeling where this would end up, too," Mardoban murmured. "Why are you here, Shiran?"

"Something is nagging on my mind, and I can't put a finger on what," the Professor said. "I thought it best to get a good vantage point. I've cloaked myself from most of the dukes' perceptions, but if someone should threaten you – or them – I'll still be here to offer some protection."

"Do you really think that's necessary?" Mardoban asked.

"I don't know," Shiran said. "But with how much is riding on things here, I'd rather not take the risk. Let's just get through today and then see what happens next."

"Agreed," Mardoban said; he returned to his seat beside Naudar and saw Shiran take an empty seat near the back, by Pakorus. The regent nodded approvingly at that; at least the boy would be safe that way.

"Are we ready, then?" Naudar asked, leaning over.

"I think we are," Mardoban sighed. "Let's begin."

/

Arta's heart hammered in her chest as she strode out onto the dueling field beside Darius ast Sakran. She could still hardly believe that she'd made it this far, but pride warred with doubt, as if this was all somehow a mistake and she shouldn't be here, now, preparing to face someone who was considered perhaps the best duelist in the Dozen Stars. Certainly not with a mysterious crown – and potentially, the throne of the entire Kingdom – in the bargain.

"Nervous?" Darius asked quietly.

"I doubt you are," Arta whispered back.

"Of course, I am," Darius said. "It never goes away. But you've done good to get this far, and let's put on a show for everyone, all right?"

Arta's reply was swallowed as a holo-image of Duke Mardoban appeared above the judge's box. "Before we begin our final round," the regent said, "I would like to extend my respects to everyone who has fought on this floor today. You have dueled with honor and skill and done your houses, your planets, and your guilds proud. Now as we begin the last phase of this tournament, I would like to extend my respects in particular to Darius ast Sakran and Arta ast Katanes. You have proven yourselves to be exemplary young knights today, both of you. Know that the fate of this Kingdom may rest upon your skill in this coming bout, and so I expect dignity and fairness from you both. But know that whoever wins or loses, you have both earned our respect, and we salute you!" Mardoban began to applaud, soon joined by his fellow council members and then the entire crowd, a tide of sound rising up to the four corners of the hall.

"Duel with honor, bring glory to your duchies, and serve your Kingdom," the regent said when the applause died down. "You may begin!"

Arta bowed to the crowd, and as she raised her head risked a quick glance towards the VIP box where her foster-father sat; she couldn't make out the Baron's face, but she thought he was smiling. Then she turned to Darius and they too exchanged bows, and then they began.

At once, Arta understood one truth – Darius was better than her, better than anyone she'd ever fought. She'd known that already, of course, from watching him fight over the viewscreens, but now, facing his impeccable defense, she understood it deep in her heart. He was as fast as his brother and far more controlled; he left no opening for her to exploit.

But when he himself pushed onto the attack Arta managed to hold him at bay – barely. He was taller and stronger than she was, but Arta had grown up sparring with Karani, who was taller than most men, and she knew how to use her reflexes and agility to keep out of an opponent's reach. She ducked and wove around Darius, avoiding or parrying his blows but unable to fight past his guard. Sooner or later, she knew, he would manage to wear her down and, unless she got very lucky, that would be the end of it. Still, she intended to make Darius work for his victory.

She didn't know how long they carried on their little dance across the dueling floor, was barely aware of the crowd watching with bated breath from the stands. There was only the duel and staying just slightly out of reach of Darius's blade. Finally, however, weariness began to settle into her bones, while her opponent's eyes remained bright and focused. She knew that she couldn't keep this up for much longer; soon she would fall and would have to yield.

Still, she decided, there wasn't any shame in having made it as far as she had, and to lose to an opponent as skilled as this. It was far more than she'd had any right to hope for before coming to Carann.

Suddenly Arta stopped, holding her sword out in front of her, as cold prickling rose up the back of her neck. What were those shadow-shapes moving through the stands on the edge of her vision, whose details she couldn't fully make out? Was she just that tired, or was it something more?

Across the field, Darius stopped, still holding his sword in guard position, and looked at her curiously. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Giving up already?"

"No," Arta whispered. "Something's wrong…"

/

Mardoban watched as the two duelists stopped and seemed to stare at one another and frown. What were they doing? Before he could come up with any answers, he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see the Professor.

"We need to get out of here, now," he hissed. "There is terrible danger here, and I'm not sure what it is, but –" Shiran suddenly stumbled, his words trailing off. Something had struck him in the back of the neck, something about the size of an insect; he pulled it free and stared at it, and Mardoban felt his body go cold. It was a dart. Shiran's eyes glazed over, and then he fell forward into Mardoban's lap.

Shouts of panic erupted around them; apparently, with the Professor's fall, whatever Adept art had kept him hidden had failed. Hiram gave a most undignified squeal and pulled away, while Respen leaped to his feet and drew his sword and Laodamia peered around the edges of her seat and demanded someone tell her what was going on. Naudar, however, stared at the Professor intently, recognition dawning on his face.

"Shiran?" the duke breathed. "What in the Lord's name…"

Mardoban felt for the Professor's pulse and sighed with relief. "He's alive," he said, "but out cold. He was trying to warn me about something when the dart hit him – we need to get out of here, right now. Gilgam, I need you and your guards to start evacuating the crowd…"

Gilgam rushed to the regent's side and had just opened his mouth to respond when beam fire erupted from the stands and tore into the dueling field with a cacophony of sound, light, and smoke.