His voice rising higher and higher. Ponte squeaked, “Then you accuse me of stupidity … or the Prime Minister, perhaps?”
“I am only questioning your judgment about….”
“And I accuse you of cowardice!” Ponte screeched.
People were turning to watch them now. Ponte bobbed up and down, raging. “Because you are afraid of this bully, Kanus, you assume that we should be!”
“Now really …” Spencer began.
“You are a coward'” Ponte screamed at Leoh. “And I will prove it. I challenge you to meet me in your own dueling machine!”
For the first time in years, Leoh felt his own temper flaring. “This is the most asinine argument I’ve ever seen.”
“I challenge you!” Ponte insisted. “Do you accept the challenge, or will you slink away and prove your cowardice?”
“Accepted!” Leoh snapped.
The sun was a small bluish-white disk high in the sly of Meklin, one of Kerak’s forced agriculture planets. Up here on the ridge, the wind felt chill to Odal, despite the heat in the valley farmlands below. The sly was cloudless, but the wind-rippled trees rustled a mosaic of gold and red against the blue.
Odal saw Runstet sitting on the grass in a patch of sunlight with his wife and three small children. The oldest, a boy, could hardly have been more than ten. They were enjoying a picnic, laughing at something that had escaped OdaPs notice.
The Kerak major stepped forward. Runstet saw him and paled. He got up to face Odal.
“This is not what I want to see,” Odal said quietly. “You’ll have to do better,”
Runstet stood there, rooted to the spot, while everything around him began to flicker, dim. The children and their mother, still laughing, grew faint and their laughter faded. The woods seemed to go misty, then disappeared altogether. Nothing was visible except Runstet and the fearhil look on his face.