The captain drew first blood, slicing F’lon across the midriff through the loose shirt, causing a hiss of surprise and pain to escape F’lon’s lips. At that F’lon lost all caution, rushing in to grapple his opponent’s knife hand, trying to sink his blade in wherever he could. But the captain was stronger and far cooler.
F’lon was accustomed to fair fighting and opponents who would not risk the life of a dragonrider. The captain had no such inhibitions, and displayed a knowledge of tricks which had probably brought him victory in other brawls. He was also heavier and, letting fly a kick which had the crowd gasping out “foul play’, he unbalanced F’lon and flung him breathless to the dirt. Diving on the prone dragonrider, he brought his knife up under F’lon’s guard and into his ribs.
F’lon gave one massive jerk and died.
Simanith let out a hideous shriek of anguish and pain, launching between before the last breath of life left his rider. Robinton was rocked to his soul by that sound and the death of his friend.
An awful silence fell over the Gather. Even those far from the scene and ignorant of what had just happened were stunned by the dragon’s cry and his disappearance. Then the keening of the other dragons informed the entire Gather that a dragonrider had died.
“Seize him,” Robinton said, pointing to the captain before he, too, could slip away as Kepiru had done.
He knelt by F’lon, whose amber eyes were wide open in surprise, their light already fading. Robinton closed them and bowed his head, reeling emotionally and physically from the hideous end to a stupid, senseless encounter.
“I would have apologized,” a small, scared voice said beside him.
Robinton lifted his head and put his hand on Larad’s shoulder.
“No, Larad, you were not at fault.”
“But he’s dead,” Larad said, his voice breaking. “A dragonrider’s dead!”
“What this? What… Shards!” Lord Tarathel broke through the crowd and stumbled into the dusty circle. Larad ran to his father, burying his head against him and weeping.
“It was no accident, Lord Tarathel,” Robinton said quietly and for the Holder’s ears only. “No accident.”
The captain was struggling with those who were quite glad to hold him, and less than gently. If no one had wanted to interfere in a dagger duel, no one had wanted the death of a dragonrider – nor the ear-splitting sounds of the grieving dragons.
R’gul and S’lel, with C’gan right behind them, arrived, their faces anguished. Seeing F’lon’s lifeless body, R’gul’s face became a study in conflicting emotions, none of which did the dragonrider any credit in Robinton’s eyes. S’lel was at least honestly distressed, while unashamed tears streaked down C’gan’s homely face as he knelt, hands hovering hopelessly over his wingleader’s body.
“I’ve warned him often enough,” R’gul murmured, shaking his head. “He would never listen.”
Disgusted, Robinton turned away, and it was then that Tarathel noticed his bloody arm.
“For that alone, that man goes to the islands,” Tarathel said, his voice taut with anger. “Surely he saw your Master’s knots?”
“And disregarded them as easily as he ignored F’lon’s rank,” Robinton said, scanning the faces in the crowd. Fax should be arriving to view the result of his scheme – and that could be a second disaster. The law stated unequivocally that any man who deliberately killed a dragonrider was to be transported to one of the islands in the Eastern Sea. No trial was required if there were witnesses … which there were. “R’gul, convey this man to the islands. Is that not correct, Lord Tarathel?”
“Yes, it most certainly is,” Tarathel agreed. He had just listened to his son’s account of what had happened. “Bronze rider, do you your duty.”
“But there’s been no trial,” R’gul protested.
“By the First Egg, R’gul,” C’gan said, horrified at the hesitation.
“I’ll take him myself.” He stepped forward to grab the captain by the arm.
“Release my captain!” cried Fax, shoving a rough path through the crowd. He caught the captain by the arm and started to pull him away from C’gan, glaring menacingly at the shorter blue rider.
C’gan had his knife drawn and, though he was much lighter than his would-be captive, his outrage provided him with greater strength: he did not relinquish his grip on the murderer.