“She won’t. She believes Malawaitha can kill you.”
The Empress held up a hand to cut off Malawaitha’s impassioned flow of words then moved close to the throne to confer with the Emperor.
“And you don’t?” Linsha said. “You’re not worried about me?”
“My dearest Linsha, of course, I am concerned. Malawaitha is in superb condition while you are still suffering from the effects of the war.” He twisted suddenly and clasped her elbow in a tight grip, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on the Empress and the Emperor. “But you are a child of destiny, Drathkin’kela. You must do this for our dynasty.”
Linsha did not bother to reply. Dynasty be damned, she thought. The man was lost in his delusions of glory. She watched the imperial couple talk together and knew there was no need for suspense, for she was sure she knew the Empress’s response. The Tarmaks could not resist a good fight, especially one between an outsider and one of their own.
Her face showed none of these thoughts when the Empress walked to her and stopped. “You have challenged,” the Empress said in her rough Common. “Malawaitha has accepted. What is the reason for this challenge?”
Linsha stifled a powerful surge of irritation. By the gods, she didn’t want to do this. What was the point? Why couldn’t they just talk about this? She loathed Malawaitha, but not enough to want to kill her. Or be killed by her. Resentment, tinged with a red tint of apprehension, filled the look she flashed at Afec, the only one who seemed to be slightly sympathetic.
“Est Sularas oth Mithas,” she whispered. My honor is my life-or death, she thought. Then she squared her shoulders. “I challenge for the right to be the Chosen of the Akkad-Dar.” She said it loudly for all to hear and listened in cold silence while Afec translated for her.
The blood rose to Malawaitha’s face. Something hot and dark flashed in her eyes. Her strong body, her demanding personality, faced Linsha with thunderous malevolence. She smiled. She stepped back and with a powerful thrust, she jammed the point of the spear between two stones so the spear stood upright between the two women.
“Drathkin’kela, you shall have time to prepare. Afec, take her and ready her for the Trial,” ordered the Empress.
Readying her for the Trial, Linsha discovered, involved removing all her clothes in spite of her protests and painting her skin blue with the Tarmak warpaint. Although slave women applied the paint, Linsha found the whole operation to be embarrassing and nerve-racking. Surely they didn’t expect her to go out in front of that crowd and fight in nothing but blue paint? Of course not, they replied, only the men did that, and they gave her a tiny loincloth and a fighting harness that held her breasts in place and left everything else exposed.
While the blue paint tingled on her skin and slowly dried, she longed for her Solamnic armor with the kingfisher and the rose embossed on the breastplate that had been made especially for her. The breastplate, the greaves, the gauntlets, the helmet… everything had been lost when Thunder destroyed the Citadel. Now she was reduced to blue paint and a loincloth. Blue wasn’t even one of her favorite colors.
“I don’t want to fight like this,” she told them, feeling peevish and nervous at the same time.
The women did not understand her words and continued to rub the paint into her skin.
The paint did have one advantage though, one she remembered from the wound she received in the ambush at Iyesta’s palace. A crossbow bolt had pierced her arm and caused a nasty wound, but Tarmak warriors had pulled the bolt out and slathered the blue paint on her wound. The injury had healed in less than half the time something of that sort usually needed. She suspected the blue paint had healing properties in it that bordered on magic.
As soon as the paint was dry, Afec ordered the slave girls to leave. He looked her over critically for a minute or two, then he shook his head. Gently he touched the dragon scales hanging on her chain. “Malawaitha has a long reach. Do not let her get you in a strong grip. She knows how to break necks. If she has a weakness, it is her arrogance and a tendency to lean too far forward in her swings.” His lips thinned to a line, and he hesitated as if unsure if he should take the next step, then he said, “Wait here.”
He was gone only a few moments. When he returned he was carrying a cup and a small stoneware jug. He unstopped the jug and poured out about two full swallows of a thick greenish-gold liquid. “This is a special drink the Damjatt devised for their warriors. It gives strength and clarity of mind and improves endurance.”
Linsha eyed it dubiously. “Do the Tarmaks drink this?”
He laughed. “The Tarmaks believe their own strength is sufficient and anything else is false. I fix this as a tonic for the slaves and the women during childbirth. But it does help, and tonight you will need all your skills and resources to fight Malawaitha.”
“And kill her?”
“It would be best now,” Afec told her. “If you do not, she will destroy you.”
Linsha picked up the cup and stared at the contents. “What will the Emperor do if I kill his daughter?”
Afec’s worry grew deeper. “I don’t know. He should abide by the law of the ket-rhild. But he is the Emperor, and his mood is often unpredictable.”
How ironic would that be? Linsha thought. Lanther tricks her into killing Malawaitha so he can marry her, but the Emperor has her executed in a fit of rage and grief and Lanther is left alone with the eggs.
“Thanks,” Linsha said dryly. Feeling queasy, she drained the cup to the dregs. The liquid slid down her throat in a warm slide that seemed to ignite a fire the moment it hit her stomach. Energy rushed into her bloodstream and sizzled into her muscles. Her eyes widened in surprise.
“Let’s go,” Afec said. “Before that wears off.”
He hurried her out of the palace and into the torchlit square where the crowd of Tarmaks and Malawaitha, now dressed in very similar garb, waited for her.
Linsha stood on the steps beside the Emperor and bowed low to him and to the crowd. She looked out over the square and saw the Tarmaks had been busy while the slaves painted her blue. A large area in front of the palace steps had been cleared away and was now ringed with excited onlookers. Malawaitha stood in the center of the space gently swinging a long-handled axe in one hand.
By the gods! Linsha took in a deep breath. Afec wasn’t joking when he said his tonic gave clarity of mind. The scene before her burned into her mind in sharp detail and magnificent color. Sounds were louder, clearer; the light from the torches and lamps shone brightly and dispelled the darkest shadows. She looked up over the palace walls and saw the brilliant streams of lightning dance across the northwestern sky. The storm had moved closer while she was inside, and she could feel the wind rising over the palace and could sense the approaching rain. The gathering energies of the storm tickled her skin like the souls of the dead, but this time she relished the touch and felt the power energize her rather than drain her. She lifted her arms to the coming thunderstorm and drew in a deep breath of cool air.
This was a good night. If she was to die tonight, then so be it. But there was one thing she wanted to do. With the Damjatt tonic firing her body and mind, she took her thoughts and hopes and extended them far out into the night. She knew she was too far away to reach Varia or Crucible by way of the shared link in her mind, but she had to tell them whether they ever heard her or not.
Varia, you are my friend, this night and forever. Crucible, forgive me.