"Fight with honor, Knight Warrior," replied the priest.
Governor-General Abrena frowned over Sara's mail shirt. "You wear no armor," she observed critically.
Sara stood straighter under the heavy mail. "My armor was lost, General. I have not been able to replace it yet."
"And yet you willingly fight a duel in simple mail?" She shook her head at the stupidity of certain knights. "I would prefer to keep you alive, Conby. Knight Officer Massard has not appeared yet; we have time to find you something better than that."
Cobalt suddenly growled deep in his throat. "He comes."
Another ragged cheer rose from the crowd as a lone figure entered the arena at the far end and swaggered across the open space to the group of officers. He tripped once but regained his balance and came to a halt in front of Governor-General Abrena. Knight Officer Massard saluted rather crookedly.
Mirielle's eyes narrowed, and her full lips tightened in disapproval. Her nose wrinkled suspiciously.
Massard suddenly belched. The reek of spirits on his clothes and breath reached out to them all. The adjudicator rolled his eyes. The others stifled mingled sounds of disgust and amusement.
"Knight Officer," snapped the general, giving him a withering glare, "you are a disgrace. Where is your pride? In the bottom of some latrine? How dare you show up here to fight a duel of honor in this condition?"
Massard planted his fists on his hips. "What difference does it make?" he bellowed belligerently. "I can fight her on one leg."
"Do you wish to let the challenge stand?" the adjudicator said in a hard voice.
"Blast it, yes! What'd ya think I came here for?"
"What weapon do you choose?"
"None." Massard turned his black gaze on Sara. "I'm gonna kill her with my bare hands."
Shocked, the knights began talking among themselves in harsh whispers. Bare-knuckled fighting was not considered an honorable alternative in duels. That sort of brawling was usually relegated to the lowest ranks of mercenaries and draconians.
Sara leaned back against Cobalt and tried to mask her emotions-. The idea of fighting a big hulk like Massard with nothing but her fists scared her silly. At least with a sword, she would have a chance to wear him down and wounded him This way she wouldn't have a hope.
General Abrena obviously had the same thoughts, for she turned her swift glance to Sara and said, "No. Weapons must be chosen. I will not allow the duel for rank to be turned into a street fight."
Massard curled his lip. "Daggers, then. And that dragon must leave. I don't want to be scorched by him when she dies."
"I wouldn't worry about the dragon if I were you," Sara said caustically. "I'd worry about breathing near open flames. Your breath alone could kill an ogre."
Mirielle held up her hand to stem the gathering tide of insults"Daggers are acceptable. Knight Warrior Conby, do you want armor?"
Sara noticed that Massard wore his usual tunic and padded leather vest. "My opponent is not wearing any. I will abide as I am."
The adjudicator held out his scepter for the crowd to see and shouted for quiet. As soon the audience settled down enough to hear, he continued. "The defender has chosen daggers. So be it. The fight is to the death. Let the dragon withdraw to the limits of the arena."
Whistles and cheers met his announcement. The knights withdrew to the walled seats above the arena floor.
Cobalt gently nudged Sara's arm. "He may be drunk, but he is strong and wily. Be careful," he warned in a soft hiss. She patted his neck in reply, then hooked her sheathed sword to the saddle and lovingly slapped his leg. He leapt up into the stands, crushing a few more wooden rails as he went, and took a precarious perch on the uppermost level of the coliseum, where he could see Sara but still be considered at the "limits of the arena."
All too quickly the expanse of the arena was empty except for Massard and Sara. A hush of anticipation settled over the crowd.
The adjudicator stood on a platform above the sands and shouted, "You may begin."
Massard pulled his lips back in a sneer. Deliberately he drew his dagger and threw it into the sand. "I want to feel your death with my bare hands," he grunted to Sara.
Sara drew her own dagger, letting its blade shine in the sunlight. "You'll have to catch me first, you drunken lout," she taunted.
Like a bull, Massard roared in anger and charged forward. But the spirits were working deeper into his system, and their effects began to interfere with his vision. Suddenly he saw two identical women laughing at him. Before he could clasp either one of them, they ducked out of his grasp and ran around behind him. He staggered, caught himself before he fell on his face, and turned clumsily.
Sara looked into his eyes and recognized that unfocused look. "Massard, you're a fool!" she yelled. "Mush-rooms are smarter than you. Ogres are better-looking. You couldn't fight a blind kender in a barrel."
The officer charged her again, and once more she slipped out of his reach. She hoped she could exhaust him by taunting him into these thoughtless rushes, As long he couldn't see her very well, she could easily stay out of his reach. She knew well he was so strong and heavy, he could kill her if he were to catch her.
They continued this deadly dance back and forth around the arena for some time, until Massard's face was flaming red and bathed in sweat. He breathed hard whenever he stopped, and his hands clenched at his sides.
Sara was tiring, too. The chain mail felt like a shirt of lead on her chest and shoulders and was becoming very hot. Her bruised ankle ached from the constant turning and twisting; her head had begun to pound.
Massard came at her again, his head lowered, his powerful legs thrusting his weight forward to crush her. This time she waited a fraction of a second longer, and as he bore down on her, she slashed outward with her dagger. The blades slid along his leather vest and skittered into the flesh of his upper arm. Blood had been drawn. Sara dropped and rolled away.
The crowd had grown restless during the charge-and-dodge game. Now they roared their approval and stamped their feet for more action.
Massard ignored the wound. It was only superficial, a mere scratch to him. He shook his head and mopped his face with his tunic sleeve. His vision seemed better; for the moment, he could see only one image of Sara.
He sprang for her again, but this time he slowed down and controlled his rush enough to see which direction she leapt away. As she dodged, he pivoted in the same direction and caught her by surprise. His fist swung up and slammed into her midriff. She staggered, wheezing with pain.
Massard punched her again and felt with tremendous satisfaction his fist connect with her cheek. The crowd roared with delight.
The impact knocked Sara off her feet. She fell flat on her back, while her head rang and her face felt as if something had shattered it. The flesh around her eye began to swell. Gasping for breath, she looked up and saw Massard take a flying leap to land on top of her. Desperately she wrenched her body sideways just as he crashed to the sand where she had lain. She managed to scramble upright and put some distance between herself and the knight.
Massard climbed slowly to his feet. Blood trickled down his arm and sand covered his clothes. "Almost," he said with a sneer. "Just lie down-you're good at that. Lie down and I'll kill you quickly."
Sara laughed in spite of the pain in her face. "At least I'm good at something. You never were, Massard. Isn't that why Lord Ariakan sent you away? Because you couldn't do anything worth an ogre's spit? Isn't that why you drink yourself into a stupor every day?" She snorted in contempt and finished with, "How did you ever get to be a knight?"
Massard's rage roared in his ears and his blood burned with fury. He lunged forward to catch her again, but this time, instead of trying to punch her in passing, he grabbed for her clothing so he could hold her down. His right hand closed on her upper wrist, and his left fingers caught a fistful of her chain mail. He forced her wrist back until she cried out in pain and dropped the dagger to the sand, then he dragged her close and pressed his lips to her mouth.