“My lords,” Cyncaidh said firmly, “I cannot allow this.”
It was Macurdy, not Quaie, who foiled him. “Chief Counselor,” he said, “if you disallow this, I’ll ride back to my army today.”
Quaie smirked. “Indeed, Lord General, let the boy take his punishment. He will learn from it.” Then he turned and walked out the door, Macurdy close behind. And for almost the first time since adolescence, Cyncaidh had no notion of what to do in a situation. He simply followed them into the sunshine, his staff dumbfounded at his heels.
“And how,” said Quaie, “do we decide the victor? Shall we fight till one of us cannot continue? Or surrenders? I do owe you the option of quitting, I suppose.”
“We fight till one is dead,” Macurdy answered.
“Ah. To the death then.” Quaie removed his tunic and undershirt, Macurdy following suit. Then they faced off, Quaie tall, slender and sinewy, Macurdy nearly as tall and strongly muscled. Cyncaidh had no idea what Quaie had in mind. His fists weren’t even clenched; his hands were poised half open.
“Tell me when you’re ready,” Quaie said.
“I’m ready.”
Quaie stepped forward, at the same time ducking, and his left hand darted toward Macurdy. Macurdy’s right fist drove in a compact, hooking arc, striking Quaie hard on the side of the face, smashing him backward. For a long moment the ylf sat stunned and blinking on the ground, blood trickling from a gash on one cheekbone. Even before he got to his feet, the cheek had begun to darken and swell, as if the bone was broken. And the smirk was gone; Cyncaidh saw fear and rage in Quaie’s aura now.
“Always look up, Quaie,” Macurdy said mildly.
When Quaie got up, Macurdy moved in again. A hammer fist shot out, striking Quaie on the nose, and once more the ylf went down hard, blood flowing freely.
“That’s called a left jab. The one before was a right hook.”
Quaie stayed down seconds longer this time, gathering his wits and resolution, then rolled to hands and knees as if to get up. But instead, as he began to rise, he lunged at Macurdy’s legs. Macurdy started to step backward, but Quaie grabbed his left knee with both hands—and Macurdy roared with pain, flinging backward and landing on his buttocks.
Now it was Quaie who stood. Shock fingers! Clearly his talent went well beyond the ylvin norm, regardless of his public attitude. And to interfere now, after the humiliation and injuries he’d suffered, would bring severe censure, Cyncaidh realized, even from the many who disliked Quaie. The Emperor would have no choice but to dismiss him, not only as chief counselor, but from the Council and military command.
Blood flowing from his nose, Quaie began to circle Macurdy. “You see,” he said, “the hands are good for more than striking blows.” Macurdy swiveled on his tailbone as if to kick out in defense. Quaie feinted a grab, drew a kick by Macurdy’s right foot, and snatched it. Again Macurdy roared with pain, rocking backward.
Quaie let him go and began circling again. Macurdy, pale and twitching, had trouble pivoting now. Quaie could easily have gone for his temples, where the shock would have killed, but he preferred to gloat first. “I’ve heard that shock fingers applied to the genitals shrivel them forever. When I’ve paralyzed you, Commander, I’ll try it.”
Cyncaidh took a single step toward Quaie; shock fingers couldn’t harm him, prepared as he was, and he couldn’t let this continue, regardless of the consequences to himself. But he moved too late. Macurdy, still dazed, had raised a hand toward Quaie—and from it a fist-sized ball of glowing plasma appeared! For just an instant it floated there, then shot out to strike the ylf in the midriff. Quaie shrieked and flung backward, his abdomen a gaping, steaming, messy hole, to lie bulge-eyed, conspicuously, bonelessly dead. The onlookers stood stunned, slack-jawed.
More than Cyncaidh and his staff had witnessed the fight and its uncanny finish. Various soldiers, though keeping their distance, had paused in their activities to watch and listen more or less covertly. Now they stood frozen, mouths open. Cyncaidh, suddenly aware of them, shouted, “Soldiers! If you have things to do, get about them! If you don’t, I’ll see you’re given some!”