Princeps’ Fury

Aria sighed. “I can’t believe it’s come to this. I can’t believe the young man I knew would… do this. But Raucus changed, after he married Kalarus Dorotea. They could barely stand one another, but their fathers had arranged it all. It was supposed to unite the northern cities with the south, you know.” She shook her head, and said, “Here they are.”

Isana turned slowly, gravely, to face Lord Antillus.

She honestly wasn’t ready for the sight that greeted her.

Every member of the Legion and every single person who was part of the Legion’s support structure, or so it seemed, had come to the top of the Wall to watch the duel. A river of humanity stretched for a mile, perhaps more, along the dark, massive structure. When Isana had walked out in the dark before dawn, she hadn’t really been paying too much attention to what was going on around her, she supposed, and it hadn’t been light enough to see very far.

Her potentially useful death, it seemed, would have an enormous audience.

Something about that irritated her. It was one thing to give one’s life for one’s Realm-but it was quite another to be forced to do so with every soul for twenty-five miles looking on, evaluating her, and making individual judgments. She was not there to put on a crowbegotten spectacle.

Not for them, at any rate.

Antillus Raucus walked to them through the snow, stopping a few yards away. Beside him walked Aria’s son, Garius, his face grim, his armor and uniform immaculate. Isana understood Raucus’s choice of seconds at once. It was the second’s duty to intercede should anyone of the other duelist’s party attempt to interfere in the duel. Not only would Garius doubtlessly be a formidable furycrafter himself, but her own second, Aria, would be immediately disinclined to attack Raucus if it would mean that she found herself faced with her own son.

Isana tried to be charitable. The choice might have been as much diplomatic as tactical. Since Garius would be just as unwilling to initiate hostilities against his mother as she was against him, his presence might have been meant as a reassurance-even as an overture, from a certain point of view. Raucus clearly did not want this fight.

She met the gaze of the man who might be killing her in a few moments and lifted her chin slightly. He had not worn his usual heavy Legion lorica, opting instead for a coat that she thought was probably armored like her own. His boots were heavy, lined with fur against the snow and the cold. He wore a gladius at his side, rather than the longer sword she’d seen him with before.

He’s matched his weapon and armor to mine, Isana thought. So that at least he’ll be able to think to himself that he killed me fairly.

Doroga strode forward, then, cudgel swinging over his shoulder.

“I am the Master of Arms,” the barbarian said. He tapped a round case hanging by a thong from his belt. “I read up on your trial by combat law. It means I come over here and tell you all the rules, even though everyone here knows them better than I do.”

Antillus spared an irritated glance for Doroga. Isana had to suppress her smile.

“Lord Antillus, there, is the challenged. He gets to choose how the duel will be fought. He’s chosen steel and fury. Which basically means anything goes, which is how fighting ought to be done in any case.”

The young man beside Lord Antillus said, “I’m not sure it’s the prerogative of the Master of Arms to give editorial comment on the juris macto.”

“Garius,” Aria chided. The tone was exactly like that Isana had heard in her own voice, time after time, when cautioning Tavi to restrain his words. Garius subsided.

“Isana is the challenger,” Doroga continued, as if no one had said anything. “Which means she gets to choose the time and place of the duel. She has chosen here and now. Obviously. Or none of us would be standing out here in the wind.”

Antillus Raucus sighed.

“Lord Antillus,” Doroga said. “As the challenged, you have the right to let a champion stand in your place. In case you don’t want to get hurt, I guess.” Doroga’s tone was completely neutral and polite, but somehow the barbarian managed to infuse it with contempt, nonetheless. “Do you wish a champion to stand for you?”

Antillus gritted his teeth. “I do not.”

Doroga grunted. “There’s that much at least.” He looked back and forth between them. “Now I am supposed to ask you to tell me why you’re fighting. Isana.”