E.C Tubb - Spectrum of a Forgotten Sun

Kanjuk raised a hand as he moved off into the throng now streaming through the opened doors. At his side Hendaza said, "Head for the upper tables, Earl. You sit next to Dephine. As her champion it is your right."

She smiled as he took his place, reaching across the space between them to touch his arm, gemmed fire winking from her fingers. She was resplendent in a gown of embroidered fabric, the sash draped over her shoulder bright with badges, the pistol at her belt resting in a holster of gilded leather.

"You are happy, Earl?"

"I am here. Just what I am supposed to be doing is something else."

"You are my champion." Her fingers gently scratched the back of his hand. "With all that implies. But don't let appearances deceive you. On Emijar men can smile as they murder and murder as they smile."

Dumarest shrugged away his hand from beneath her nails, not bothering to probe her meaning. Instead he studied the great hall and the assembly it contained. All the Family, it seemed, had come to welcome Dephine. They sat at long, narrow tables set on the stone floor, each loaded with a variety of foods and wines. At the lower end of the hall, separated a little from the others, were the tables occupied by those who had yet to win their trophy. Social inferiors not as yet regarded as having the right to an opinion.

Navalok was among them, his face sombre as he picked at his food.

Dumarest reached for a fruit with a golden rind and lifted it from where it rested on a mat of leaves. The skin broke beneath his fingers to release a flood of sickly sweet juice. The flesh was tart, slightly acid, dissolving to a chewable mass of fiber.

At his side a man said, "So far no challenges, but there is time yet before the final bell."

"You expect one?"

"I? No, but who can tell what is in other minds?" The man sipped a little wine. "If any should come Alorcene will do his best to negate them. Dephine was always his favorite."

"Alorcene?"

"Keeper of the Scrolls." The man gestured towards the highest table. "Ah, there he is. I thought he wouldn't leave it much longer."

The sharp note of a bell sounded above the hum of conversation and, as silence fell, an old man lifted his hand.

"According to ancient tradition and with the will of those who guide the destiny of this noble House let all listen and pay heed. To this place has returned the Lady Dephine de Monterale Keturah. Of those present do any deny her right to remain? To rejoin the Family? To resume her rightful place among us? If so speak that all may hear."

Dumarest reached for another fruit. The episode was a ritual at one with the rest and a part of the ceremony he had been warned to expect. The public announcement, the avowal of intent, the opportunity for those who held old grievances to have them aired. Nothing would come of it, or so Dephine had sworn. His very presence would take care of that.

Again the ring of the bell, the solemn intonation.

From a table lower down the hall a woman rose and said, clearly, "I deny her right. She left under a cloud. There was a suspicion of theft."

"Full reparation has been made. Thrice the sum involved has been returned to the injured party. Forgiveness has been granted and no animosity is now borne. Do you wish to challenge?"

"If reparation has been made-no."

The bell sounded again as the woman sat, the third and last time for any present to object.

Dumarest narrowed his eyes at a flurry from the far end of the hall. From the doors a man strode with an arrogant impatience towards the upper table. A tall man, his scarred face edged with a ruff of beard. One who wore a tunic heavy with badges. One who had timed his entrance well.

Halting he shouted, "I am Galbrene de Allivarre Keturah. I accuse this woman of theft, of lies, of harlotry. Of breaking her word and of ignoring her promise. I say she is a disgrace to the Family. A vileness which should be erased. I challenge her!"

Chapter Ten

The room was flanked with alcoves each containing a sculptured form; the cold eyes of depicted men and women staring blindly at the group around the table. In its center rested a lamp of glowing crystal, streamers of red and yellow, blue and emerald, azure and dusky violet painting shifting hues on the stone, the faces and clothes of those gathered.

"Galbrene," said Dephine bitterly. "The fool. Who would have thought he'd nursed a grudge for so long?"

"His pride-"

"To hell with his pride!" She glared at Hendaza, cutting him short, careless of any affront. "Why wasn't he stopped? I had your word there would be no trouble and now this. A public challenge and one that can't be settled privately. Or can it? Lekhard?"

"Even if he would agree it would be difficult," he said, flatly. "And it is unthinkable that he will agree. A public challenge must be met and be seen to be met. If not his own honor will carry the taint and suspicion of cowardice."

"Kanjuk?"

"My dear, what can we do?" The man spread his hands in a gesture of resignation. "Galbrene will not be denied. And it isn't a matter of a personal insult which could be settled with due regard to form yet without real danger to life. He has claimed you insulted the House and, I must tell you, there are many who agree with him. An unfortunate occurrence, but one which cannot be either ignored or dismissed."

Dumarest said, "Why not?"

It was the first time he had spoken since the dinner had ended and those present had gathered in the room. Beyond the doors men and women milled in anticipation, the air filled with the hum of speculation. A hum which held a feral sound, a savagery he had heard before.

One underlying the rasp of naked steel, the harsh panting, the thud of feet in the ring where men faced each other with bared knives and fought to the death. Blood and pain to titillate a watching crowd. Wounds and death to provide a spectacle for the jaded and bored. Dumarest remembered the burn of edged steel, the warmth of spilled blood, the shock of pain, the stench of fear. Remembered too the sudden expression in the eyes of an opponent as his own blade had driven home. The stunned, incredible realization that, for him, life had ended.

"What?" Lekhard turned with a lithe, animal-like movement, a wash of blood-red light painting his features, a mask from which his eyes glittered like jewels. "What are you saying?"

"I asked a question," said Dumarest evenly. "In my experience most things can be settled in more than one way."

"You don't understand," said Kanjuk. "On Emijar there is only one way to settle such an insult and all know it. The challenge must be met."

"Without armor," added Lekhard. His tongue caressed his lower lip. "Surely you have knowledge of our customs?"

A society which lived on the edge of violence-the guns carried were not toys. Yet to avoid the escalation of feuds certain rules had been evolved. Duels were fought with the contestants wearing armor which limited the vulnerable area. Limbs could be broken and painful wounds received, but the possibility of actual death was slight. The victor gained a badge from the vanquished, a token scalp, and the more obtained the greater the admiration.

But a public challenge such as had been made to Dephine would be to the death.

She said, forceably, "It must be stopped. Earl, you cannot fight the man."

"He must!" Hendaza looked from one to the other. His eyes were determined. "As your champion, Dephine, he can't refuse."

"He can and must!"

"No!" Lekhard was as determined as the other. "For one thing to refuse would be to gain the derision of the House. That you could, perhaps, bear. But there would be more. The gauntlet, for one. And for your champion-" he made the word a sneer. "-well, we do not treat cowards lightly on Einijar. Such men are taken and left unarmed in the haunts of the olcept. None have ever returned."