“What about Kalkor, Eigaze?”
Two more chocolates. . . “He is in Hub also! That’s what today’s court is all about! He requested a safe conduct, and of course the regent granted it, because he’ll never manage to escape again afterward, and he arrived a couple of days ago, and that’s what today’s business is—Krasnegar! When Angilki arrived at our house, Father sent word to the palace right away, and they came and dragged the poor man out of bed in the middle of the night and hustled him off . . .”
“Krasnegar? Today?” Inos cried, feeling Azak’s eyes burning into her. “Should we go and—”
“Oh, it’s too late now, dear! They’ll have started, and even I couldn’t get you in, or even get word to Father now.”
“But what does Kalkor want? Recognition of his claim?”
“Sure you don’t want a chocolate? Nobody knows! The belief is that he’s totally insane and wants to fight Angilki for the throne.”
“Fight Angilki!” Inos remembered the deadly, muscled warrior she had seen in the casement and the overweight, ineffectual duke. She started to laugh. The idea of those two locked in battle was absurd.
“That’s the only theory anyone’s come up with, darling!” Eigaze wailed softly and popped the final chocolate in her mouth. “The jotnar have some ancient savage ceremony to solve such disputes among themselves. They call it a Reckoning, Father says.”
“A fight with axes!” Inos sobered suddenly. The casement had prophesied a duel with axes. But obviously, somewhere, the course of events had gone awry. Now it was not she whom Kalkor was challenging, but Angilki.
And Rap, who had been destined to be her champion, was dead.
Azak was smiling.
4
Moms had cut down Shandie’s medicine. She’d also found the spare bottle he’d hidden under the dresser. He was starting to feel scratchy-twitchy already, and the ceremony had barely started. Perspiration was running down his face, and it was awesomely hard not to shiver. He tried to concentrate on what was going on, to take his mind off his medicine.
The King of Krasnegar had a cast on his foot, and he was fat. Managing a toga and a crutch at the same time must be pukey difficult, but he looked as if he’d have enough trouble managing either one by itself. Shandie didn’t think much of the King of Krasnegar.
Shandie didn’t approve of imps being kings, anyway. Imps owed their loyalty to the imperor. Maybe dwarves or anthropophagi or people like that could have kings—he hadn’t decided—but not imps. Still, this king was really only a duke, and he’d just done homage for Kinvale to the regent, so that there wouldn’t be any misunderstandings, and he’d looked very funny when two heralds had to help him kneel down with his cast and his toga and his crutch.
He’d had to read his speech, too! Disgusting!’ And he’d mumbled it so badly that no one had heard him. If that was the King of Krasnegar, then Krasnegar had very low standards. The fat man didn’t know a thing about court behavior. He’d been given Consul Humaise as a sort of keeper, to stay close and whisper instructions.
Oh, why didn’t they get on with it?
With a funny little thrill of fright, Shandie thought about pretending to faint. Then he’d get carried out! Ythbane would beat him raw, of course, but then Moms would let him have lots of medicine. Be worth it, maybe, for the medicine.
Pay attention.
The jotunn was . . . Well, he sure had muscles. And he wasn’t as fishy-white as most of them—browner. His hair looked very pale, even for one of them. Moms said they were murdering brutes, and this Kalkor looked mean enough to kill anything with his bare hands, but he did have muscles, and he was bare from the waist up so he could show them off. He wasn’t hairy and tattooed like the ambassador and his followers. Disgraceful to come to court dressed like that! He didn’t look very humble, either. Of course jotnar didn’t, usually.
Unexpectedly catching those blue, blue eyes on him, Shandie looked away quickly and stared at the White Throne. This was a north day, of course.
Pay attention!
“The ambassador never had authority to waive my claim to Krasnegar, Highness.” Kalkor had a very creepy sort of smile—a nasty sort of smile.
“But a Reckoning? That seems a very barbaric custom to us, Thane.” Ythbane was using his lead-him-into-a-trap voice.
At Kalkor’s side, the duke-king nodded vigorously. Even standing still before the throne, he was having trouble balancing on his crutch and keeping his toga from unraveling.
The raider was as relaxed as a cat on a cushion. “Written agreements seem very decadent to us, your Highness. Two men who need to write down what they have agreed to obviously do not trust each other.”
“Then why not settle your differences with King Angilki here in amicable conversation and discussion, and bind your agreement with a handshake?”
Kalkor did not even glance at the fat man beside him. “If I shake his hand, he’ll have two casts to worry about.”
In the background, Ambassador Krushjor guffawed, and his men followed his lead.
Behind Shandie’s shoulder, Ythbane sighed. “Well, the Impire is not directly involved, as we have said.” He was speaking loudly, so the senators would listen. “King Angilki is our loyal subject only as the imperor’s cousin of Kinvale. He does no homage to us for Krasnegar. I repeat—we are merely offering our good offices, as friendly neighbors to both sides.”
The jotunn laughed so harshly that Shandie jumped.
“Of course, of course! And in a minute or two you’re going to have some perfectly marvelous idea to suggest, aren’t you? I can hardly wait.”
The Senate rumbled with disapproval.
There was a pause, then, until Consul Humaise leaned forward and whispered something in King Angilki’s ear.
“Er, what?” King Angilki said. “Oh, yes! Look, Kalkor—”
The jotunn whirled on him. “Thane, to you!”
The fat man almost fell over. “Er, Thane. Yes. Thane!”
There was another pause. He seemed to have forgotten what he was going to say, or even that he had been going to say anything.
Kalkor smiled his creepy smile at Ythbane again. “Strange friends you have, your Highness.”
Ythbane chuckled, very softly, and Shandie felt his insides quiver. He usually heard that noise when he was on the writing table.
“We are confused. You cannot seriously propose a duel between yourself and the king, when he has a broken ankle?”
Kalkor folded his arms, and for the first time dropped his smile and scowled. ”I can’t seriously propose a duel between me and that slug at any time. This isn’t what I expected! But it seems to be what I’m stuck with. No, we allow the respondent to name a champion.”
“Your Majesty?” Ythbane said.
Angilki looked blank for a moment, and then said, “Oh? Me? Er, yes?” His face was very red and shiny, and there was a vein pulsing in his forehead. He wiped his face with his toga.
Ythbane spoke slowly, as if prompting a child. “Thane Kalkor is willing to allow you to name a champion to fight in your stead. The outcome will settle the fate of the kingdom. That is right, is it not, Thane? The loser loses on behalf of himself and his heirs forever?”
Kalkor’s amusement returned. “Of course. You mean he actually produces heirs?”
“But if King Angilki nominates a champion, then we assume that you have the right to name one also?” The jotunn shrugged. “I never have and never will.”
“Well, then.” Ythbane had switched to his close-the-trap voice. ”We are sure neither side wants a war, and a personal duel is much less bloody. We suggest that you accept, King Angilki.”
“Oh. Right! Yes, I accept!” The fat man nodded vigorously, which was fun to watch.
“A Reckoning?” asked the thane.
“A duel in Nordland fashion,” the regent agreed. Thane Kalkor flipped his head in a curious gesture. For a moment Shandie did not believe what he was seeing, and probably no one else did, either, but there was spittle on Angilki’s cheek.
“By the God of Truth,” the thane proclaimed, “I say you are a liar, by the God of Courage a dastard, by the God of Honor a thief. May the God of Pain feed your eyes to the ravens, the God of Death give your entrails to swine, and the God of Life nourish grass with your blood. The God of Manhood shall support me, the God of justice spurn you, and the God of Memory will lose your name.”
In the ensuing silence, the duke raised the hem of his toga and wiped his face. He seemed almost stunned.
Ythbane laughed, then. “How picaresque! Your victim may now name his champion?”
“I advise it.”
Everyone looked to Angilki. “Ah. Yes? Well. My champion? Let’s see, it’s a short name . . .” The king’s face seemed to redden even more. Maybe he was feeling scratchy-twitchy, too? Shandie could feel the shaking coming on, and his mouth was so dry he could hardly bear it.