forward, a wall of weaponry and self-importance.
“Did your negotiations go well, Prince Damon?” came the loud voice of Usyn Telgar. Some of his men laughed with ugly humour. “Negotiation,” in the northern tongues, had never been an honourable word. It reeked of compromise and cowardice. The Royal Guard stopped and parted, Damon coming forward to confront the young Telgar directly.
“Well enough,” Damon said. “Did you wish to raise some matter with me?”
“Your sister,” said another man, with great sarcasm, “appears to claim the title of saviour of the Goeren-yai!” The new speaker was dressed in the travelling finery of northern nobility, short-haired with a little, trimmed goatee. He'd been drinking, Sasha judged. They all had. “A message arrived from Perys just now, apparently she inflicted great carnage there in the name of pagan spirits! These claims are an insult and, in the name of the devout House of Varan, I demand an apology!”
“You'll get nothing,” Damon replied. “My sister is not responsible for the claims others make. I suggest, Master Farys Varan, that you do not raise your voice in her direction again.”
“Pah!” Farys spat, with a blaze of anger. “She ceased to be a Verenthane princess when she left Baen-Tar! You have no brotherly claim on her honour, Prince of Baen-Tar! These pagan lies dishonour the names of brave Hadryn warriors who die for the honour of their gods! Do not defend her, sir! She comes here upon our lands and she has the temerity to claim victories over Verenthane warriors after joining forces with barbarian scum to celebrate their deaths!”
“Your lands, Master Farys?” Damon replied, darkly furious. “We stand upon the lands of Taneryn. Do you claim them?”
Sasha's gaze ran along the line of Hadryn faces. All, clearly, were of noble Hadryn families. Their ages varied, from hot-headed youngsters, to cold-eyed, calculating elders. Sasha wondered, her heart assuming a familiar, unpleasant rhythm, if they'd put Master Farys up to it. There were an increasing number of armed men gathering behind to watch.
“We claim no lands,” Usyn Telgar said coldly, his face strained as though withholding some great outburst. “We claim only the satisfaction of avenging our lord…”
“I claim more!” shouted Master Farys, stepping forward to thrust an accusing finger past Damon's shoulder at Sasha…and Sasha noted the silver-haired man at Farys's side give a cold, satisfied smile at the outburst. Farys's eyes were blazing, his face flushed red. “I demand an apology from this false princess! The honour of Hadryn has been slighted! If it were not enough that the god-fearing men of Lenayin had to suffer the insult of a cowardly, woman-chasing, pagan-loving fool of an heir named Krystoff for so long, is it now our fate that we must suffer his sister's—”
Sasha snapped and abruptly strode forward with a hand moving to her shoulder. Kessligh grabbed her arm, but she smacked it away with her other hand, spinning clear to draw her blade as weapons rang clear in the night air all around. Before any could move to strike, Sasha drew back her arm and hurled the sword point-first into the turf before Master Farys's feet. All froze, staring at the quivering blade.
“This dawn, Master Farys,” Sasha said icily, “I challenge you to defend your honour.”
For a long moment, there was only the shuddering whistle of the wind and the flapping of banners. Then Farys laughed, high and slightly hysterical. “You challenge me to a duel?” Disbelievingly. “I cannot fight a woman!”
“Then you are a coward!” Sasha snarled.
Farys turned pure white, his newly drawn blade trembling within his hands. “I should strike you down where you stand, whore!”
“With your guards and friends to back your flanks?” Sasha said contemptuously. “Need you so much assistance to defeat a single girl?” Farys's mouth worked open and closed in soundless fury. “No answer? Will you not accept? Snivelling, whining, bed-wetting coward?”
Farys's clenched teeth parted and he let out a great, shuddering roar…yet did not advance. Sasha knew, from the darting eyes of the Hadryn before her, that Kessligh was close at her back, blade at the ready. That alone would make even the bravest, angriest, drunkest warrior think twice.
“I accept!” Farys bit out, hoarse with effort. “Tomorrow at dawn, the lies and myths of the Goeren-yai princess die!”
The silver-haired man at Farys's shoulder placed a hand upon the younger man's arm, lowering his weapon with a final look of cold satisfaction. Farys's trembling hand lowered and he thrust past his companions toward the campfire. All about, there came the