Part 1

Prelude to a Storm

          
           Vauhya sat quietly with both ears forward, bent in reverence at the altar. It was a cold day and the inner palace, being a place of stone and wood but no doors, took that cold straight to his bones. The wind blew gently, playing with his whiskers and threatening to blow out the sacred five candles, but he did not stir. For all the finery of the place - the opulent tapestries, the extravagant silk rugs, and the rich, polished wooden beams - it was still almost silent. He let his nostrils blow in and out with the rhythm of the wind whistling in from the courtyard. The candles wafted up wax-scent, bled a little bit of warmth into his body, and provided mellow orange-red contrast to the stark blues and greys with which the morning's overcast sky had tinted the world. For a while he was content simply to sit there in humble prayer.
           "Harish M'na, my gods. Bless the souls of those for whom I speak," Vauhya murmured, raising his hands to lie with wrists bared on the altar-top. He closed his eyes and let the feeling of peace run through him before continuing. "A prayer and a fire-light for my people, may they go unchecked and indomitable forever." Silently he raised his left hand and moved it to the leftmost candle, closing the hand to a fist and snuffing out the flame as soon as he felt the heat of it. "A prayer and a firelight for my own failings and troubles, that I might be delivered from them." Another candle wisped away at his touch. "A prayer for my brother Hahrum, that he too might partake of your endless spirit," Vauhya whispered respectfully, then raised his right hand and pinched out the rightmost candlelight. "For my father, the lord of Yoichi, a prayer and a firelight, that he may remain among the living even though you deem it his time." The fourth light went. For the last Vauhya tipped his head further. "And finally, a prayer and a firelight for my beloved mother, though you stars both give and take from us, that you might ensure her eternal rest among the heavens." He opened his eyes then and reached up, quenching the largest, centermost candle-flame between his golden palms. "Harish M'na." Silently he rose, then drew his silk and fur cloak more tightly around him, bristling. It had become far too cold to simply walk about in one's natural coat.
           "You never cease to entertain me, brother." The warm, liquid voice of his counterpart purred behind him. Vauhya turned to gaze peacefully at Hahrum. His brother was dressed in his usual grandeur, with gold and silver filigree lining a cloak of their own kind's fur so garish that it made Vauhya's drab green and brown silks look like peasant's faire. Unsurprisingly, Hahrum had one of their father's youngest sher'amn close at his side, and, even less surprisingly, in attire that seemed far out of place for outdoor winter strolls.
           "Entertained?" Vauhya asked amiably in his best sacred-quiet tone. Hahrum smiled and hugged the sher'amn to him.
           "Your prayers intrigue me. Always five, always five… why not ten or fifteen? If you are like the children who have five until they become responsible enough keep ten candles, that I understand, but somehow I do not think that is the reason. I know that you are not the most religious among us, but why do you pray like a child? Why not pray for your friends as well, or for victory in future battles, or for a sher'amn's loyalty?" He played with the fur on the sher'amn's waist, gazing down at her with a small smile. Vauhya looked on dispassionately.
           "Five prayers is enough. Too much ritual and the meaning of the thing is lost. The gods do not deal in minutia or petty requests in any case." Hahrum smiled. "How is our father?"
           "Quickly failing, I'm afraid. I spoke to him this morning. He asked where you were, but I told him that you were at prayer. He is on the verge. We may be called to trial at any time. Do you think you're ready?"
           "You certainly seem to be," Vauhya said quietly. "Tell me, will you let my father's favorites live, or only the sher'amn who are receptive to your premature courtship?" At that Hahrum laughed outright.
           "You obviously haven't read our ancient ancestor's works lately. But that's excusable - old Lord Hesmenthe's ideas are mostly obsolete in this new day and age. I prefer his legendary sher'amn S'jet myself. She was driven by nothing other than her lord's orders and she never failed. I plan on being a S'jet." Vauhya stared at him with critical eyes.
           "In that case… long live our father." Hahrum grinned and snorted, then turned away.
           "You'd do well to start reviewing your war studies, brother." He walked into a hallway opposite the courtyard, sher'amn in hand, but then stopped and swiveled around. "Oh yes. I almost forgot to tell you. The White One is here - she's decided to pay her final respect to our father. You might want to pay her your respects too; after all, you're going to need all the help you can muster. But, then again, you wouldn't want to have anyone else to have to pray for, would you?" And then he was gone.
           Vauhya stood there for moment, then knelt again at the altar. He unfolded his candle cloth, quietly bundled his five altar candles, then rose with his package held carefully in his arms. Five prayers… the White One… and his father was ailing. He looked up at the sky and blinked. It was definitely time to review his war studies and meet the White One. First, however, he had to put up his candles.
          

---v---

           His caretaker was there in his room when he arrived. She stood and took his prayer candles; for that he nodded thankfully. Faura was her name, an old retired soldier. Not a sher'amn, but capable nonetheless. At fifty-three she was far beyond fighting age, but Vauhya hardly cared.
           "Good morning again, sir," she purred as she set down the candles and then rose back to her feet. Vauhya smiled warmly and embraced her, rubbing his head affectionately against her scarred shoulder. "Hrr… I'm too old and frail for that, sir. Also, your father's servants were here earlier. They came to remind you that the banquet held in his honor is going to be tonight." She looked down at the young man wrapped about her torso. "Did your prayer go well?" He smiled, hugged her a bit harder, then let go.
           "The prayer, yes. My brother intruded upon on me, but he allowed me to finish." Faura's brow furrowed.
           "Still with young Meera hanging on his arm?" Vauhya nodded. "Huh. Never changes, that one. I think you're much more interesting, sir."
           "He told me that my father is worse, that he could die at any time. He told me that the White One has arrived for him." And that made Faura's expression turn grave.
           "The White One? She's here? Then things are worse than I'd thought. She left your father after a rather… belligerent altercation, and his death would be nearly the only thing to bring her back. You'd best stay away from her; she's the most dangerous sher'amn that anyone's ever seen. Death follows that woman." Vauhya watched his mentor's face turn to concern. "Hai, that would mean that the trials -"
           "Would take place, yes," he finished quietly. The room was silent, and suddenly their cozy, warm room seemed much less inviting. Faura just stood quietly, looking as though there was a bad taste in her mouth and no place to spit.
           "Well, you know that I'll fight for you," she growled, assuming an on-guard stance and putting her hands around a nonexistent sword hilt. "No question." Vauhya smiled wanly and drew his hand down a flowing scar on his caretaker's arm.
           "You've seen enough of war and battles, Faura. Besides, there would be sher'amn out there. I would be too concerned for your life to focus properly. And they are too dangerous for you." He stepped away and leaned against the wall, running his hand along one of the polished wood beams. "I hope it doesn't come to that. The clan ought to sufficiently support me."
           "I wouldn't trust that," she warned. Faura paced to him and gripped him by the shoulders. "You might be surprised by the outcome. Your clan is significantly in the church's grip. They know that you are not properly religious, that you offer a child's allotment of prayer." Suddenly she closed her mouth and fell to her knees. "Forgive me, young master. I meant no disrespect to you or your family." Vauhya bent down beside her and touched the old veteran on her venerable cheek fur.
           "But it's true, isn't it? You think honor is more important than the truth? Forget the protocol. You know more about politicking than I." Faura looked up at him.
           "Forgiven?" she asked. He flicked an ear in assent and rose, taking her with him. "Well, the church knows where you are in such matters. Aghana De'ruon will provide the necessary grafts to divide the clan over your succession, and if he cannot then the aghanai from Higa and our neighbor provinces will assist him. The church is already very nearly the head of every province, but if they took Yoichi then they could replace the nobility outright. All De'ruon needs do is induct the next lord of Yoichi into the sacristy."
           "I understand," Vauhya said quietly. He sat at the head of their bed and lit up one of the oil lamps on the dresser. Such calming scents - candle's smoke, winter-scent drafting in from the window, and the smell of well-aged wood. They did little to ease the worry in his stomach. Quite carefully he placed a glass flame-guard around the lamp, then stared at the light as it flickered and danced. "You think it will come to trial between us?"
           "I know it will," Faura responded. "I would not have pledged my life or my sword to you in jest." He nodded slowly. "You're not ready, are you?"
           "No. I've read the war manuals, done my share of hunting, and played those silly games, but no. I don't think that we'd win if we had to go to trial now."
           "It's not as bad as that. You have my sword to add to your ranks, and you know that volunteers aren't counted for limits. Besides, you're familiar with the land - it's your home. Don't lose hope until you've actually failed." Vauhya leaned back, then collapsed on the bed to stare up at their honey-gold roof. The candle crackled as it chewed up pieces of fat and flesh left in the oil, for a moment the only sound other than the wind. "Look," Faura said, trying rather overtly to raise his spirits, "it's started to snow. We could have snow piles by midday."
           "I'm not a child, Faura," he growled softly. "Snow piles don't interest me any more. It's just another change of terrain that my brother is more familiar with. Not that it matters. He'll have enough extra sher'amn to tip the battle in his favor even without the snow. With those of father's sher'amn that he's courted for so long he'll have another three or four volunteering to fight with him. Unless you can make up for three or four sher'amn, I'm left at a fatal disadvantage." He snorted. "Perhaps we should quickly learn to use lleiri." Faura was silent; he stared up the ceiling. "Perhaps it was foolery not to prepare as much as I could have, but he has been ahead of me in war skills for years. I am no leader."
           "Not true. Most of your clan I consider worthless and corrupt," Faura purred softly, "but you seem genuinely interested in fulfilling the responsibilities of your station. You remind me of the original Yoichi."
           "Hesmenthe? That's very nearly blasphemy." Faura appeared on the bed, sitting beside his head and looking down at him.
           "Do you too hold honor above truth? He was in many respects like you, and in his treatment of his matron not the least." She smiled playfully, but her ears were set back. "Yet you are right in your odds at trial. In the face of even only three sher'amn volunteers your hopes are mostly futile. I… Hrn… I hesitate to suggest such, but perhaps you should talk to her, try to win her hand."
           "Her?"
           "The White One. She would prove a formidable ally; she could easily overpower a half-dozen ordinary sher'amn."
           "But would she join me or betray me? And would her help bear a price?" Faura looked at him warily.
           "Those are the questions that gave me pause. By no means did I say that you should trust her."
           "Then I will pay her my respects." Faura stared warningly at him.
           "Be careful."
          

---v---

           "You must be quiet," the attendant whispered. "This has been his first deep slumber in two days. You must not wake him. When he rises later this evening you may speak to him." Vauhya stared narrowly at the young man who stood barring the entranceway to his father's bedroom. On the other side of those intricately carved wooden double doors lay his father, he knew, but for a simple peasant servant his father might've been far overseas. "He is not well. He needs the rest."
           "I am looking for the White One," he murmured. The attendant's ears waggled.
           "She left not too long ago," The man said nervously. "I'm not certain where she went, sir." Vauhya growled lowly, but didn't try to push him any farther. Instead he just scowled and stared at the door. "Please, sir, she's not present," the attendant insisted.
           "He's right. You aren't very observant, child." Vauhya spun around, but the hall was empty. Oil paintings were everywhere, and plenty of delicate furniture rested on thick royal carpets, but there was no White One. Far down at the end there were the black stone sculptures of the ancient Yoichi lords, but they gave no hint as to any presence.
           "Did you hear that?" Vauhya demanded of the servant, who blinked and flicked his assent with an ear. "Did you see anyone, or where they went?" An ear-flagging of 'no'. Vauhya almost snarled but restrained himself. She was going to play games with his life, then. He didn't have any choice in the matter, so why bother becoming upset? With a dismissing wave of the hand to the attendant he began down the hall, listening and watching closely. Generations-old smells and scents from people long dead permeated the equally old rugs that rustled beneath his feet. Ahead of him there were the clicks of claw on stone and the sounds of light drizzle. He continued, wincing as the rug stopped and he had to lay the soles of his feet on bare, freezing stone. The castle's storied stonework been worn smooth by untold ages of use, but they were always cold.
           That part of the palace - his father's wing of the top story - had at least been renovated with glass-guarded oil lamps instead of the rag torches that some areas still had, but it still didn't have the all-wood warmth of his personal hall farther outside the palace center. The centermost parts were oldest - it was continually being built outwards - and some of the oldest areas predated glasswork. Some, such as the original Yoichi's bedroom, had been sealed off entirely in memory of history. He stepped further down the hall, listening intently, but heard little. This part of the palace was definitely no place he had a right to be - the bowels of the sher'amn domain. His father might enter, as they belonged and were wholly bonded to him, but certainly no other man and likely no other woman had a right to trespass onto their territory. Yet he was led there.
           The halls branched off to the right; he followed that way towards the sound, but carefully as not to be caught. At the end of the hall a wooden door had been left ajar. Vauhya could feel cool, wet wind blowing in from outside. He approached cautiously, pulling the door back to peek inside. There was a dimly lit study past the door, littered everywhere with ancient books and scrolls. Some looked recently shuffled, but others had what must have been centuries of dust on them. Across the room, light filtered in from a doorway through a full set of translucent white drapes that billowed with quiet rustles. Raindrops spattered the study floor at the foot of that far door. Outside, on the balcony, the drapes betrayed a light silhouette. Vauhya padded softly to them and pawed one edge away.
           The White One was aptly named. She leaned on the railing outside and stared out across the palace grounds, apparently unconcerned about the water. She was larger than any woman he'd seen - she stood about three-quarters of a head above him - and was a model white-fur. The White One's pelt was short, immaculate, and colorless as summer clouds. She had a grey cloak, simple cloth but embroidered with intricate lines and flower-patterns. It did little to hide the scars on the backs of her arms and legs or the notch in her tail, but they in turn did little to conceal her intimidating bulges of muscle. With a thin blade taller than he secured in its scabbard at her hip, the White One made the most terrifying visage of a sher'amn that he'd ever seen.
           "You certainly took long enough to arrive," she said, back still turned. It wasn't phrased as an accusation, just as a comment.
           "Aren't you going to come in?" A chuff from her.
           "You afraid of the rain?" Vauhya wrinkled his nose at the prospect, but he didn't want to leave a poor impression on her, so he stepped out onto the balcony. "Going to get your clothes all wet."
           "I don't mind; they need washing." That got another chuff, this one a bit warmer. She turned to him with the faintest glimmer of a wry smile. Her eyes were big and leafy-green: beautiful.
           "Have a sense of humor, do you? And you're not too scared to get dirty. Huh. You still aren't very observant." She paused. "But I was fairly impressed with the way you handled fire without watching yourself."
           "You watched me at prayer?" He asked, distraught.
           "And again when you came to your father to look for me. That's why I let you find me. I've no time for fools." The rain beat down on them both. "You have something to ask me, don't you? I know that look in men's eyes." Vauhya's ears set back a bit, but he tried to collect his thoughts in spite of her directness.
           "I… My father…" He stopped.
           "Yes?"
           "I fear my father's death is imminent." The White One nodded.
           "A concern well-placed. He will be dead in a handful of days. I would not have arrived any earlier."
           "If that happens, the clan will divide over who is to become the successor - my brother Hahrum or I. As twins, we would meet in trial…"
           "I am sorry that you are faced with such, but fail to see where I am concerned. Come now, young child. Do you have something that I might wish to hear or do you not?" Vauhya's heart sank and he continued meekly.
           "My brother, Hahrum, has courted the favor of many sher'amn. They will volunteer to fight with him, and volunteers do not count towards the ten-person limit of our armies. Please, agree to help me. My caretaker says that you are the most accomplished sher'amn in all history!" The White One held up her paw, claws retracted.
           "Please do not. Flattery is not a skill you should pursue with me." Then she closed her eyes. "You would have me volunteer to fight for you, volunteer to put my life in your hands? I refuse." All the blood drained from Vauhya's head and into his gut.
           "Why?"
           "I can't trust you," she said simply, looking back over the land.
           "I've been as kind, responsible, and honest as I could since birth. I'm dependable!"
           "You come from bad stock." The White One stared starkly at him. "Untrustworthy stock."
           "That's why you left father?" She dipped her head in agreement.
           "Betrayal. Breaking the most sacred bonds of partner, wife, and master with cold disregard." She suddenly fixated on his eyes with an accusing fire in her own. "You've no right to send your sher'amn off to die unless your life is in great danger. You never have a right to send her to die without telling her of it. That is not a way that any deserving lord behaves." Vauhya saw that her ears were all the way back and realized that his were the same.
           "I'll never do such a thing," he promised earnestly. The White One turned away.
           "You're right," she brooded, "More likely you'll die at trial in a few days. Without my help." He moved and put a hand on her shoulder, pulling her to force the woman into looking at him.
           "You can't do that. I'm no one but myself. Judge me on that, not on my father's failings." She only looked at him, then down at the hand on her shoulder, then back to him.
           "I've killed men for softer touches than that." He let go and stepped back, wild-eyed. Her gaze wasn't as intense as it had been, though. "Don't worry. If I'd judged you on your father's failings you'd already be dead." Silence emanated from her, a threatening void that nearly convinced the rain to cease making sound. Abruptly she recovered. "That fire trick - you need more control. Know how to use a sword?"
           "Fairly well," Vauhya said, still cautious. She reached inside her cloak, pawing at her back, and removed a small lleiri about the size of a normal short sword.
           "Then take this." She tossed it to him, still in its worn metal-leather scabbard.
           "But this a lleiri! No man since old Yoichi has been able to wield one! I'll be lucky not to kill myself!" The White One nodded.
           "Then you should use it sparingly. Put it away, hide it from your family." She watched him place the deadly weapon into the folds of his cloak, then returned to her view of the palace. "Consider it my apology. I don't often give them." They stood in rain together for while, becoming quite thoroughly drenched.
           "Must be hard to be alone. When I'm sick enough to sleep separately my dreams are torments. Living like that must be harsh, with those nightmares, with that fear and self-loathing every day." She blinked.
           "I have a person who offers me a place when I want one. It's good to have someone to anticipate when you're alone. You get partway used to it eventually, but I still sleep with fellow travelers and peasants when I can. It keeps me from going completely dead inside." Hers sounded like a wretched life.
           "I thought it was snowing earlier," Vauhya noted sadly. "Storms are always upsetting things here."
           "Storms do that. But weather storms aren't so bad. I like the rain on my whiskers and brow. It's people storms that end up being the worst." The White One leaned far over, looking downwards, but then turned to gaze at him. "When it rains scents get lost in the water, short bows lose their accuracy, and a lot of young sher'amn who haven't perfected their wet-weather style will misjudge their acrobatics and slip on soft mud or smooth stone. Be careful about that, Vauhya. I'll be watching, but don't expect any help." Vauhya stared at her, then looked down. Seven stories - a simple jump for someone like her.
           "I appreciate that. It's glad to have you as a friend…" He batted an ear at her, clearly fishing for a name. She twitched her ears and slowly graced him with the shadow of a smile.
           "Huh. Careful, that's another way a lot of men have died at my hand. My given name was Iluin." He smiled.
           "Iluin… I hope you'll stay here with us for a while." Iluin wrinkled her nose.
           "Doubtful, but I'll be watching to see what the palace looks like when the storm dies out." With that she disappeared. Vauhya stepped to the edge and watched the woman tumble; when she hit the ground there was a single roll and then she was up and running. Vauhya just shook his head. Commanding people was difficult for him, but to contain a rogue warrior like that? Sometimes he wished that he hadn't been a Yoichi…
           "Odd, the type of people you find in the sher'amn's quarter. Standing out there like a fool in the rain." Vauhya twisted at the torso to see his brother standing in the doorway.
           "You afraid of the rain?" Vauhya asked, echoing Iluin's words. His brother flagged his ears skeptically.
           "I'm not stupid. Maybe you'll risk going to trial cold and ill, but I won't." Hahrum stepped into the study and sat down at the desk, sorting through the ancient papers strewn across it. "So, what did the White One say to you?"
           "We discussed collaboration. I suggested that she ally with me." Hahrum smiled.
           "But she declined. Your tone makes it obvious. I'm glad to know that you took my advice. Perhaps you would like more?" Vauhya chuffed and pushed off the railing to turn around and look at his brother. For once the man was alone.
           "No, but thank you. I don't need or want to hear your advice."
           "No? You'd be playing a dangerous game not to. Listen, brother: it's coming to trial. You know it. You also know that I won't let you win. I've got all of the advantages - the sher'amn volunteers, the war skill, and the experience. You simply can't hope to defeat me."
           "Don't worry, I'll have fighters of my own."
           "What, your caretaker Faura?" Hahrum chuffed. "She'll be torn to pieces." Vauhya's blood suddenly ran hotly through him.
           "She will not!" he snarled. "You will not touch her!" Hahrum leaned forward and growled threateningly.
           "Then I suggest that you keep her from the trial, Vauhya. Or perhaps you should avoid it altogether. If you cede your claim to the throne, there would be no need for a trial."
           "If I ceded my claim to the throne I would be executed. Do think I'm still that naïve? You're a fool to think that you can lead the clan, Hahrum. The Rrsai church will envelop us if you become the lord of Yoichi. If you let them make you Aghana then the church will eclipse all other powers."
           "And I will be the center of that power."
           "You can't sell our clan to the church!" Vauhya growled. Hahrum only snorted.
           "Of course I can. Clan Yoichi is suffering from old age. And you, brother… you are very close to becoming a heretic yourself. But I would never wish such on my dearest brother." Hahrum rose. "I hope to see you at the banquet tonight. I will pray that your foresight and sense yet prevails."
           "The same, Hahrum," Vauhya spat, but his brother simply flicked an ear and left. "Bastard…" He stared at his brother's back, but his emotions were more of fear than anger. The lump of lethal metal that'd found its way to his side wasn't very encouraging either.
          

---v---

           Hahrum left his brother with a sneer. Naïve fool: to think that he was also a Yoichi. But good luck to have such a fool for a brother. He continued on his journey through the sher'amn wing: a left, then a right, and to the end of the hall. The White One… what a fool Vauhya was. He was lucky to have survived - the man was too lucky. It wasn't fair how fate made up for incompetence and punished his own skill. But trial would prove to be the end of that. Hahrum had the advantage in every area of battle, and was about to ensure his victory.
           Left, a right, up a flight of stairs and finally right to the end of that hall. As promised, his Meera sat on the floor there before him, meditating. He stood above her and watched. The girl was as still as stone, with wrists, belly, and neck bared to the world. Only her ears and eyelids moved, betraying in their dance visions of a fight or similar experience. Meditation for such a dangerous person seemed in order, but it was somehow ironic that Meera would choose such a time to mentally practice her fighting technique. Amused, he tapped a toe claw on the stone floor to rouse her; she convulsed as if having been forcefully expelled from a dream. The young sher'amn immediately sensed his presence and rose eagerly. She was clad solely in her black cloak despite the bitter weather.
           "Is there anyone behind you?" she asked softly. In response Hahrum hugged her around the shoulders and pulled her into his grasp. She purred. "My lord…" He smiled, almost halfway a sneer, and kept her pinned. He had no illusions about his power over her - she was his, not his father's. It was obvious in the way she crooned at his touch. He ran hands up and down the length of her spine.
           "I have it for you. The final sale. There should be enough for several people. You'll prepare eight doses. One for Vauhya, six for his troops who attend…" This was where the possibility for trouble was. "…and one final dose for the lord himself." Meera didn't flinch at all in response to his order.
           "Of course, my lord. How shall I administer it?" Hahrum slipped his hand into his cloak and retrieved a glass vial bound in leather. Meera gazed at it dutifully, looking from side to side as she inspected the clear sap inside. Tasteless, odorless, fever inducing… the perfect weapon.
           "You will be one of the waiting-girls. Line eight of the saucers with the poison you make from this extract, then put half as much in their drinks to mix freely. When the troops arrive to dine with their last general you will serve them with these goblets. Also give one to our lord and to Vauhya. You can do this?"
           "Of course, my lord," she purred. "Whatever you ask…" Hahrum craned his head to nuzzle one of her ears.
           "Don't be caught, Meera. I'll need you tomorrow if we succeed."
           "I won't fail you, my lord."
           "No, you won't. I'm sure." Then he paused. "Your sisters… which of them do you suspect to volunteer?" Meera looked up into his eyes confidently.
           "I will, and Urai, and Kastchka. The others you will have to choose from the remainder of our ranks. Rest assured, though, that none of the rest would volunteer for your brother. His caretaker might, but we've nothing to fear to from her."
           "Any others who might volunteer themselves to our cause?"
           "Three extra sher'amn aren't enough? What are you afraid of?" Hahrum pushed her away, then grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her roughly.
           "I want to win! This isn't just a game to me! If I lose my life means nothing, so I'll take every advantage I can find over my infantile brother!" Meera struggled, bracing herself enough to stop from being shaken.
           "You're not going to lose, my lord. We sher'amn don't lose. Your brother isn't going to have the slightest hope of defeating you. He'll be lucky to stay on his feet through the trial." Hahrum stopped and let her go, brushing down the imprints he'd made in her fur there.
           "Perhaps. But I don't want to take risks. I want him dead and myself the new lord. There's no cost too high for that. Besides, I found him talking to the White One mere moments ago. If she decided to join him, we would have real trouble."
           "If she volunteers to help him then I'll slit her throat overnight," Meera growled.
           "You'd have the chance?"
           "I'd kill her on the spot if I wasn't sure that I'd have the chance to under cover of nightfall. She won't pose a threat to you, my lord."
           "That woman is dangerous. She could very well be a serious threat."
           "She is one woman. One sher'amn. In total there will be seven of our sher'amn, and another six infantry besides. She won't win."
           "My tutors have told me that she's fought worse odds. Also, do not forget that she will have Vauhya's four sher'amn to assist her. It is far too even a fight for my tastes, Meera."
           "Your brother is a fool. I would be able to defeat his forces on my own tomorrow. Under your leadership, there is nothing to fear, my lord. Trust my judgement." Hahrum snorted skeptically.
           "You are dangerously optimistic. Go, get out. You will need time to prepare." Meera stepped away and bowed deeply.
           "My lord," she purred, then walked past him and disappeared, vial in hand. Hahrum stared at the ground where she'd been meditating and growled. Confidence, poise… he wasn't going to lose.
          

---v---

           Light beamed from the warm comfort of their top-story room into the rain of the murky black night, briefly turning the water into golden droplets of sun as it passed through their fire's amber rays. Faura stoked the flame that hissed in their hearth, further fueling the blaze, then stepped away to look out the window with him.
           "I think I liked the snow better. At this rate we'll be swimming to battle. Even if the trial didn't take place for another week we'd still be fighting on mud flats. How depressing…" She put a hand on his still-moist shoulder and squeezed it comfortingly.
           "It'll be fine. The rain might even be to our advantage." With her free arm she pointed, touching her charge's cheek and then reaching out to the barely visible line of lights in the distance. "See those? They're your family. That caravan is bringing every Yoichi in the province. Hundreds of your people, all with their entourages and wagons and swords, all coming to pay tribute to your father."
           "Sounds like a clan meeting," Vauhya growled. "It's all happening too quickly for me." Faura pulled him back from the window.
           "That's why you can't lose your head. Now come away from there and dry off with me at the fireplace. If it is a clan meeting then you had best make a good impression on your family." He slanted an ear at her but complied, removing the bathing towel around his waist and throwing it with hers into the servant's laundry bin. They both sprawled out far too close to the hearth, extremities dangling out to dry.
           For a court event of this magnitude, appearances were a necessity. A scraggly bit of mane or an odious aroma might cost a person dearly, so they'd washed in the coal-warmed baths and nearly taken their pelts off with gritty soap. Anything less would have been a fool's error; a noble man or woman would have known better. Brushing hid scars, warm water relaxed taught muscles, and scented soaps washed away the smells of sweat and fear. He needed that.
           Vauyha's eyes shifted from the flames to Faura's bare, beaten self, and then to his own, relatively pristine exterior. There'd been a time, about when he reached adolescence, where suddenly the thought of being so exposed and naked in his matron's presence was excruciating, and where, after properly learning his anatomy and bodily systems, seeing Faura in a similar situation was downright embarrassing. He'd long since realized that after raising him for countless seasons she'd become inured to his unclothed appearance, and after a while adopted the same attitude about her.
           Actually, the sight of her aroused most strongly a feeling of pity in him. His caretaker had enough scars, brands of ownership, and patches of twisted fur for a whole army regiment, many in places that no one should ever have had such maltreatment subjected to. He knew most of the stories behind most of those traumas; Vauhya was constantly impressed and amazed that after so much abuse and changing of masters she could still be as resolute and loving as she was. The caretaker in question noticed his stare and flicked an ear.
           "Hrrnn, sir, I know that pose and the look of those eyes. Reflection, is it? What is it that's going on behind that small black nose you have?" He smiled.
           "Just looking at you and thinking. After a life that produced a figure as marred as yours, how can you live with someone like me? I'm curious, not that it'll matter much after tomorrow." She hrrned and rolled onto her side, facing him directly.
           "Which mark were you referring to?"
           "Any of them. Thigh, belly, neck, nose, ears… I've heard the stories, Faura. You've lived as a slave to countless nobles, forever changing hands, until you came to me…" Her ears went flat.
           "You consider me your slave, then?" Vauhya flinched.
           "That's not what I meant. Just… after being mistreated and tortured and the subject of countless other horrors because of a family like mine, at the very whims of a person such as myself, why let me live? I don't think I'm that strong. In your place I would've killed me long ago." She stared straight at him, definite in her response.
           "Never considered it. Not once. Do you know why?" He didn't. Faura came to a crouch and slid directly next to him, then guided one of his hands to a bare patch of skin on her belly. "Because you wouldn't do that to an innocent girl hunting in the fields outside her village." She moved his hand to a long, vicious scar on her left thigh. "I know that you're not the type that hunts their slaves like animals. I wouldn't have this if you'd been the wielder of that sword. Your father gave me the chance to make you the master I never had, the noble I never met. You're my creation; I'll die before I see you, my life's work, destroyed in front of me." Vauhya removed his hand and pulled her back to a sitting position before regarding her fondly.
           "I really do regret that you're my matron. You would make a very fortunate man a wonderful companion." She smiled.
           "I thought I was, sir. Besides, the move from being a slave and plaything to retainer and source of warmth is much farther than I'd ever hoped to go. If I die at your trial I'll be quite content with my life's last chapter."
           "I hope that you honestly feel that way. If you don't then I don't want you volunteering for me." Those thoughts gave her mood a turn towards the serious - he could tell by the way her smile wilted.
           "I think that's dry enough, Vauhya. We don't want to be late. Allow me to bring the scents." She rose and strode across the room, unabashed at crossing the window.
           "I'm going to bond with a peasant or a slave like you one day," he said. "That is, assuming I even live through the trial. I suppose that's a fairly wishful assumption now." She paused, but then chuffed from her bent-over position as she searched through their drawers.
           "Now that'd be a foolish thing to do. Ought to marry a queen and buy a thousand slaves."
           "What would I do with a thousand slaves?"
           "Give them some land to farm and protect," she suggested, sauntering up behind him, "or gift yourself the world's largest harem." She slipped down onto to her rump, sitting directly behind him and laying a hand on his neck. "Being in a harem is far, far preferable to being an individual slave. You're not bothered nearly as much." She paused and brushed back his mane. "That's one of those things I pray daily you'll never have to discover for yourself." Vauhya leaned into her strokes and purred throatily.
           "Might as well let them go free. Who knows? I'd probably gain myself a half-score of sher'amn or so. Rather have them now, though…" She growled, only half-way in jest.
           "So combat-minded… Let's see, I think the musk for you, the mountain flowers for me, and the morning dew for both." He sat still as she dipped her claw tips into her perfume set, making little drips of liquid as the excess drained away, then drew her claws through his mane, shoulders, and chest with quick pulls. "Feel good? You might not look like royalty yet, sir, but you certainly smell like it. I don't think anyone will notice your fear above this."
           "It won't matter whether I smell like a lord," he growled, "just whether I fight like one." Faura swatted his head from behind.
           "Vauhya, enough! Hai, you're not dead yet. Get your mind off tomorrow. You won't win out in the field if all you can do is sit in the mud and worry." She sounded vexed - he wasn't mad, really, just shocked. It'd been years since she'd struck him or spoken so angrily. And with the rarely used, familiar 'Vauhya' instead of 'sir'? Not since he was a small child.
           "Faura…"
           She growled. "What does it matter how I treat you? As far you're concerned we'll both be dead tomorrow anyway." There was a pause, then: "I'm sorry, sir. I don't expect to be forgiven. It's not my place to strike you." She sighed. "If you expect to lose then you will. Become obsessed and the same thing happens. If your life and victory matters to you then you'll calm down and let your mind shift to the matters at hand."
           Silence reigned. Vauhya looked behind him and saw Faura staring back, flat-eared. Slowly those ears lifted. She dipped her muzzle to him in complete deference; he reached back a hand to brush up the bridge of her nose.
           "Maybe you're right. I'm sorry." She smiled a bit at that, and he cocked his ears far forward. "But you shouldn't have hit me." Her ears in turn struggled to lay flat, but she was obviously too amused.
           "Insolent little noble…" He laughed and got to his feet, escaping what had been quickly turning into her lap.
           "Alright, if you're going to rush me to meet our appointment… clothes. Court clothes. What'd you pick?" At his first word she was up and opening the closet. She neatly unfolded a package with shirt, pants, belt, and boots. He took the garbs and began slipping them on. The shirt was made of a billowing, shiny, soft fabric and had frilled cuffs, while the pants and belt were dark leather brown. His belt ends were encrusted with precious green and blue stones. The boots were mah'sur hide and turned in shades from the beast's natural tan-brown to a leafy dyed green as you looked from top to toe. Beautiful stuff, really. She in turn retrieved a long, flowing blue-green dress sewn from the same material as his shirt.
           "Acceptable?" she asked, posing behind it.
           "Beautiful," he replied, and with grin she put the gown on, then dug for, found, and stepped into a matching pair of shoes.
           "Should I bring my sword, sir?" Faura leaned deeply into the closet and returned with a sword's oaken pommel in her hand. The blade was black, rough, and coated with dark rust. "I can make it presentable."
           "I don't want to provoke a fight," Vauhya warned her. "Oh," he said, stepping back, "I'll need a dress cloak too. There's something I have to keep with me." Faura frowned at him as he moved backward and knelt under the bed; he'd surreptitiously slid his new lleiri under it when he'd first arrived back at his room. Thankfully it was still lying there, restrained in its sheath. He picked it up and rose, holding it up for Faura to see. She dropped the shimmering brown cloak that she'd held in her paws.
           "Vauhya, where'd you find that? You shouldn't have that."
           "Ilu- I mean, the White One gave it to me. It was a gift, a consolation because she wouldn't help me. She said I might be able to use it. Sparingly, that is."
           "Sir, I… not at all would be safer. I fought with one once. The wounds took a long time to heal. Sir, it doesn't handle like a normal sword. You swing one way and it pulls in another. You thrust and it curves away from your target. Cut downward with even a little bit too much force…"
           "I'll be careful. I won't use it if I don't have to, but I need to hide it to ensure the surprise. Catching someone off guard with it could save my life."
           "More likely you'll just kill yourself before your opponent gets the chance to." Vauhya furrowed his brow angrily.
           "Faura, I've decided. It stays." She looked at him long and hard, but he didn't budge.
           "Yes sir. As you wish."
          

---v---

           There were people everywhere, drowning him in their scents. Faura gazed at him slyly, then reached over to the ballroom door and pried it open. Inside was awash with colors, scents, voices, and bodies. He stepped through, forced to swagger a bit so that the arm's length lleiri wouldn't show through his cloak, and tried not to be swept away in the tide of people.
           The crowd was amazingly diverse for such an event. Scores of nobles and wealthy city-folk danced or stood and chatted to the rhythm of a full orchestra and chorus at the far side of the hall. They'd all brought their slaves, sher'amn, or both along with their families. Merchants and socialites twirled or gestured wildly with much bravado in their bright, gaily-colored costumes as officials, military officers, and members of his clan watched and listened behind their white, red, blue, and gold Yoichi tunics. Some clanked and jingled as they shifted the partial sets of courtly armor they'd brought, moving their glistening silver shoulder pads or chain mail coifs to more comfortable positions. Families kept near their invited-guest relatives, though apparently someone in his father's staff had had the foresight to plan amusements and diversion for the young children elsewhere. That, at least, he much appreciated.
           Either near their masters or in their separate groups off along the walls, servants and sher'amn stood, talking or observing. The servants he knew by the collars of leather, gold, or other substance hung securely around their necks and the shifty, anxious demeanor they all maintained. The sher'amn were doubly obvious, being both the only ones entirely at ease and the only ones carrying sheathed swords the length of a grown man's body.
           Faura appeared at his side, clapped loudly, and retrieved two drinks from the refreshment bearer who appeared. Vauhya took his shallow saucer-cup with an appreciative nod, then looked up to survey the political scene. Everyone was arrayed around a table designed as a steep arc with his father's throne at the vertex. The venerable man was indeed sitting there. He looked elsewhere to see his brother give him a smiling sneer from a within a circle of decorated Yoichi generals and… church officials. Church officials in their blood-red tunics and robes, with guards in blood-red livery at their backs. They far outnumbered the white and blue guards who stood in pairs at the doorways, but with the room teeming with armed sher'amn he doubted that there'd be much of a problem should things go awry. To his great surprise he saw Iluin standing not far from his brother's back, listening. At the sight of Vauhya's roaming eyes she smiled at him and gave him a quick dip of the muzzle. He reciprocated and moved on.
           "Ah, minister, look quickly!" Someone said, and he found himself tugged by the shoulder. "It's lord Yoichi's second son, Vauhya Yoichi! Pleasure to meet you, sir!" Vauhya, quite flustered, had no response but to bow slightly to the portly, yellow-clad man who'd accosted him. "The name's Rreidan, sir. I'm the head of the M'hed Aleb association, a merchant group dedicated to…" Vauhya ignored him while Faura burst in to help him.
           "I'm sorry, sir, but my charge has a very pressing matter at hand. Perhaps you can speak to him later." And they were free just one forcible detachment later.
           "Thanks for the help," He whispered.
           "Looked like you needed it, sir."
           The whole fight to the table was the same way. Gain a dozen steps to the goal, and then be pushed back eight by a noisy merchant or noble who wanted to talk. Faura was mostly shoving her way through the decadence and frills of the rich with Vauhya in her wake. Glasses spilled, courtesans stumbled, and many well-minded conversationalists were cut off as Faura rudely barreled past Vauhya's detractors. Across the room, Hahrum was chuffing at the whole affair, and even Iluin wore a well-controlled smile and forward set of the ears. Eventually the hangers-on just began to give the two a path through the crowd, and they emerged near lord Yoichi's throne. His father, a withered, black-pelted specimen, nodded at him and raised a single unsheathed claw. One of his attendants nearby sprung into action, lifting his head and nearly screaming.
           "The princes have both arrived! Banquet is to begin immediately!" The orchestra and all the music stopped. There was enough silence that his father was able to speak and be heard clearly.
           "Thank you for coming. Please take your seats. You may seat the four of your family or friends that were allowed you, but I ask that associates, servants, slaves, guards, and sher'amn beyond that limit keep to the sides and corners of the room. We will provide them with sufficient food at length. If you are not a member of Yoichi and do not wish to suffer a night at our table…" There was the obligatory round of laughter at that. "Then you may dine with your like-minded countrymen in the adjacent hall. Come, be seated. The first course will be served pending a resolution of matters at hand."
           All around the room there was the shuffling of feet as everyone moved to their places. Faura directed him to the seat immediately right of his father, then took the seat next to him. They were the first two of eight on that side marked as reserved, and as such there were six left untaken when all were settled. Much to his consternation he saw that Iluin stood stoically against the wall directly across from him, and more annoyingly he noticed his brother take one of the seven seats reserved on their father's other side. There was obviously little doubt among the staff that trial was imminent. No food had yet been laid out, so the chatter of idle minds of course began to grow, but his father cut it off with a single rap of those ancient claws against his empty wine goblet.
           "Silence! I said that there were matters at hand to deal with. As you Yoichi each arrived I had my most trusted ask you a thing that has been asked of you every spring for over twenty years: to declare your allegiance to one of my sons. However, as many of you have doubtless guessed, this time your vote had more substance.
           "My health is going quickly. The cause cannot be divined, not by any alchemist nor doctor nor priest on the continent. Perhaps I have angered the gods; I do not know. The cause is at this point meaningless to me: I have decided that this will be the last day of my reign if not my life." He had to pause a moment for the furor to die down. "You should all know the doctrine concerning twins in our clan. A vote of clan is required, with a trial in battle to determine your new lord if neither child has three fourths of your support. I am not yet appraised of the result, but I will bring the results of my three independent counters to you now."
           At that three house servants - two amber females and a bronze male - entered with sealed paper packets on silver trays, followed by two servants carrying large wooden boxes. They were allowed to enter into the center of the table, then the three young staffers stood back as the two dark-pelted man-servants ripped their boxes' tops off. Inside one was a pile of blue-white painted bone chips, and in the other a similarly sized collection of red-gold ones. The two men looked at each other, then one to each son, then both at their lord, and finally to the public.
           "These are your votes," they said in unison, one with a dark timbre than the other but both obviously trained singers. "The red and gold are the colors of the first son, our prince Hahrum. The blue and white were cast in favor of the second son, our prince Vauhya. These three conducted their counts separately, under our eyes and those of the palace guards, and have not spoken amongst themselves since. We swear our lives to this." Vauhya and Hahrum exchanged glances. Hahrum grinned at him, but there wasn't much love or humor in the expression. Their father beckoned the three servants forth, took their letters, then motioned all five servants away. Once they had retreated from the room he unfolded the packets, read their contents, and nodded. Both sons received an appraising eye and a flick of the ear, making them look at one another with wide-eyed looks of concern.
           "The three assessments are unanimous," he intoned. All across the room hundreds of bodies leaned forward in their seats, ears craning. Their father stretched that moment as long it would last, drama being his favored tool of statesmanship; only Iluin seemed unconcerned, instead leaning back and watching Vauhya out of the corner of her eye. He turned his head ever so slightly to see reactions. Faura was bent over the table, hands held together at the table's edge, silently praying. The merchants and socialites were uncharacteristically motionless and silent. Even the orchestra members had laid down their instruments and cocked their ears; the conductor stood with his back to them, watching just as closely as the rest. "All three counts," the old lord of Yoichi continued. "All three counts agree that of my sons' one hundred sixty-eight Yoichi clansmen, eighty-six are in support of Hahrum and eighty-two place their faith in Vauhya." The sudden, simultaneous clenching of every muscle in Faura's body was nearly audible.
           "Neither of my sons has three fourths of you. The clan vote is therefore invalid. Succession will be determined by trial, to be conducted at sunrise tomorrow." Hahrum smiled and Vauhya bowed his head as sudden, heated debate erupted everywhere. "I said silence!" his father bellowed from deep within his worn frame. There was silence. When Vauhya looked up at Iluin he saw the White One give him a bat of ears and a noncommittal lift of the head. She didn't seem to mind the verdict much, though it was all but his death sentence.
           His father looked from son to son. "There is a ritual that will take place immediately. Rise, both of you." They glanced at one another, then pushed aside their chairs and took places at either side of their father's throne. The aged man first raised a hand to his left. "Are there any who would volunteer to fight at my son Hahrum's side, to serve him in battle and share with equal joy in either the glorious exhilaration of his victory or the pain and death of his defeat?"
           Beside Iluin stood the rest of the lord's sher'amn - those who actually obeyed him. Each was dressed as a serving girl and held a tray of the bowl-like wine goblets the northern clans preferred with a dark red spirit inside that was likely equally amenable to northern tastes. They were distinguishable from the servants only by the swords at their hips. Along with Iluin they numbered twelve, but three set down their burdens and approached their lord respectfully. Vauhya's hopes all but bled away before him. The lead, Meera, stopped a half-dozen paces away and bowed.
           "My lord, we are Meera, Kastchka, and Urai Yoichi. We have served you faithfully since we each came to you, and we see much that is lovable in you also in your son. For that reason we wish to continue serving clan Yoichi as sher'amn to our lord Hahrum Yoichi. Our blades are his." Vauhya's father nodded, and waved his upright hand forward. Four servants seemed to coalesce from among the crowd of lesser individuals behind the throne and walked together toward the throne. Each held a basket, and they split off in pairs to stand behind both Vauhya and his brother. The three sher'amn dutifully held up their arms and allowed Hahrum's two servants to fasten cloth bands around their wrists, a red for the left and a gold for the right. The lord of Yoichi nodded towards them.
           "Do you understand and accept the terms of those bonds, namely that you will be in every way bound to my son Hahrum's service until he himself removes those bonds?" The three bowed.
           "We do."
           "Then you may return to your duties," he rumbled, dropping his hand and dismissing them back to their places. Next raised was his right hand. "And what of my second son? Are there any who would volunteer to fight at my son Vauhya's side, to serve him in battle and share with equal joy in either the glorious exhilaration of his victory or the pain and death of his defeat?"
           For a long time there was silence. Vauhya didn't look at Faura, hoping that she'd suddenly realized what sheer stupidity her volunteering would be. Instead he eyed Iluin, who returned the favor but said nothing. "No one?" And then the chair moved.
           "I will, sir. I am Faura Mynoke, servant and slave to Vauhya, my master. I've raised him from birth, and refuse to abandon him while I still have the strength to fight. My blade is his." In a breath she'd voluntarily declared herself his slave, something she'd fought never to be… why? Vauhya could keep his gaze from her no longer, and when he stared at her he saw pure determination in the position of her brow and ears. More so than the sher'amn she held out her wrists with pride, breathing deeply as a white band was tied around her left wrist and a blue was made to adorn her right.
           "Do you understand and accept the terms of those bonds, namely that you will be in every way bound to my son Vauhya's service until he himself removes those bonds?" Faura twirled an ear in an affirmative.
           "I do." The old lord motioned her away.
           "Then take your seat. My sons, there are three things left that you must do. The first is to divide the eight remaining sher'amn within my ranks - the eight that can be trusted to follow orders - among you." Hahrum ignored that condition and pointed straight at Iluin.
           "You, White One. I will have you at my side for the trial." She chuffed out loud, sending ears flat to their skulls across the room. Even for her that was dangerous audacity.
           "I refuse, boy. I've no inclination to fight for you, and I'm not fool enough to die for you." Meera hissed and drew her lleiri, but Iluin didn't as much as flinch. She calmly, slowly, drew out her own, a wicked monstrosity that was a full head taller than she herself. "Put your sword away, girl. Your sisterhood combined couldn't defeat me," she purred, watching Meera with eyes half-lidded. Meera hissed, but did as the White One ordered.
           "Then I'll have Enaiya," Hahrum said, and the young sher'amn willing came and had her left wrist banded with red cloth. Vauhya looked at Iluin then and flicked an ear. She turned her head away from him; there wasn't any use in him asking her either, then. He chose another instead. In short time there was four of his father's sher'amn standing at the wall with his blue cloth armlets and another four with Hahrum's red ones. It was all so fast, like the world unfolding all around him… Vauhya would've felt sick if he could've afforded to. His father clapped his hands as soon as they were done. From opposite doorways servants carrying two long tables entered, passing under giant crystal chandeliers. They set their cargoes down behind the throne a few paces apart, straightened the tablecloths, and stood dutifully behind the rows of weapons that were laid out.
           "Now you may choose to arm yourself as you see fit," their father said. "Your armor is still cooling in the forges. You may use other weapons in your collection if you wish, but clan Yoichi assures you of the excellent quality of what you see before you." The room began to fill with murmurs once again, and this time the old lord let them continue. He sat tiredly on his throne, staring ahead and not bothering to turn and watch his sons.
           The talking increased as Vauhya and Hahrum exchanged glances and then strode towards the two sets of arsenals. Hahrum collected a longsword, dagger, crossbow, and bolts, which he handed to the servants with an appreciative bow. As the servants returned Hahrum the favor Vauhya walked along his table, appraising each of the lethal implements. He had equally mediocre proficiency with each, but thought it important to see them. Vauhya fingered the newly woven hand guards on maces and the polished amber wood of the bows. The dagger he took, of course, and the longbow with its quiver and arrows, but beyond that? The speculation of whispers and growls continued as he moved down his table and towards his watching brother.
           As Vauhya passed he fingered the staffs, the rods, the scimitars, and the poles, but passed each until he came to the end. There was a beautifully crafted longsword lying there, the sister to Hahrum's choice, but next to it lay a lleiri. A lure to the arrogant sons who thought themselves a match for the original Hesmenthe Yoichi, he supposed; Hahrum's arsenal included one as well. He picked it up by the scabbard, placed a hand on the hilt, and slowly drew it out.
           At that alien howl of enigmatically forged metal all the motion and speech stopped. Vauhya turned to his brother and saw fear, to his matron and saw a sign of wary warning, and lastly to Iluin, who gazed at him with mild curiosity. He set the scabbard on the table and took the thing two-handed. Faura was right - it didn't feel like a normal sword. The lleiri was lighter than anything that size should've been and truly felt alive, as though it might leap from his hand at any moment. He tried to hold on harder, to control it, but that only made things worse, and the blade began to shiver. It was obvious why so many killed themselves with a blade like that. Then he stopped fighting, barely holding it, and the resistance was gone.
           Puzzled, he gave the blade a flick of the wrist to his left, then ducked as it pulled itself in an arc towards his head. He left the blade to twirl harmlessly in his grasp, then stopped it and tried to thrust. This time it dove for the ground. Terrified, Vauhya grabbed the scabbard and with slow, controlled movements managed to sheath it. He set the blade back on the table with a loud crash and a furor erupted everywhere.
           "Did you see-"
           "That idiot almost-"
           "He's lucky he didn't-"
           "Be silent!" their father yelled. Vauhya caught his breath, opted instead for the longsword, and delivered the entire collection to another of the servants. "You have both chosen your weapons?"
           "Apparently, father," Hahrum purred, voice dripping with sarcasm. "And brother still has both his ears." The lord growled.
           "Fine, then. Servants, fetch the soldiers and their weapons." Yoichi slaves scattered to do their master's bidding, and a minute later several shelves began to be pushed in through the main entranceway. "Ignore that!" Vauhya's father yelled at the banquet guests and his sons. "I am obligated to give you the conditions of trial.
           "Trial begins at sunrise tomorrow inside the palace hunting grounds. You will not leave your assigned starting positions earlier, or the rest of the clan will have your death. Punishment is the same should you venture over or through either the inner or outer palace walls - you WILL stay in the hunting grounds between them. You should know this land intimately, and if you do not it is by your own fault. Vauhya, you will begin in the northern hunting lodge, and you, Hahrum, shall begin in the southern one. Your clan will watch from the walls to ensure that you obey the rules of trial.
           "Each of you will select six soldiers from the elite we have gathered today. With your sher'amn and volunteers you must lead this force to battle. Either of you may surrender at any time or end the trial by slaying your opponent. To the victor goes lordship of all Yoichi province and the throne of clan Yoichi. Interference by any other force will be dealt with severely." There was a glance to Iluin, who snorted. "Do all present understand and agree to the terms of trial? If not, speak now. Sher'amn?" There was nothing.
           The shelves had finished rolling in. They were more like closets: in countless partitions lay sets of soldiers' equipment, all arranged in order of primary weapon. "Make your decisions, princes." Hahrum moved quickly, sweeping his hand across the first six slots with both crossbows and short swords.
           "I want these six crossbowmen," Hahrum announced, and from behind the shelves the six who belonged to those six crossbows appeared. They immediately received their gold cloth bangles. Hahrum's ears twitched gleefully as he led the five men and single woman back to sit with him at the table. Vauhya approached more carefully, considering all options. Seven sher'amn, a swordsman and six archers made for a dangerous party. As he looked at the cubbies with their piles of bows and bolts and arrows two thoughts occurred to him: the voices of two people. He remembered his first princely tutor.
           "Listen and remember, my prince. Crossbowmen always carry eighty bolts, and fire the strongest bolts. They move close, as their ranges are short, but fear little and drown the rest in a sea of quarrels. Bowmen carry by the articles and traditions of war exactly forty arrows; they trade their power for range and accuracy. Those ones are always trying to find a balance between safety and nearness of target. Longbowmen carry no more than twenty shafts, and fire slowly, but their range and accuracy is unparalleled. They run at the first sign of trouble because they know very well that their weapon has the longest reach." And, much more recently, from Iluin: "In wet weather short bows lose their accuracy."
           He gestured at four longbow slots.
           "These, please." Then without a word he went to the slots with longswords. There were two adjacent slots with pitted, scratched blades and beaten, dulled armor. Signs of use. "And these two." His choices turned out to be four young male archers and a dour, battle-scarred man-woman couple. None looked particularly enthused about being chosen, but they took their white bracelets readily enough. "I'm sorry it had to be you," Vauhya whispered to them, and the group nodded without comment.
           "Then it's settled," their lord rumbled. "Vauhya, come sit. Servants, bring us food! Tomorrow will be death and turmoil, yes, but tonight we celebrate!"
           At the climax of his last syllable the orchestra hit a note at full volume and then dropped to background levels. Everywhere bodies relaxed and conversations began unimpeded. Serving girls and sher'amn glided off the walls with trays of wine, descending on the guests. Meera herself went to Hahrum's troops, handing them wine with a smile, then one to Hahrum himself, another to her lord, and finally one for him. She went on, serving the rest of Vauhya's troops, then past them to the other guests. Hahrum smiled at him in what could have almost been a genuine expression and raised his nose.
           "Nothing but longbows?"
           "Advice from a friend."
           "Sure they're your friend? That's twenty to eighty odds."
           "Fairly sure. She made sense." Hahrum reared his head back and slanted an ear.
           "Oh? She?"
           "You've met her. A new friend."
           "Ah, you're courting my favorite sher'amn, aren't you?" Their father laughed. He looked at each son, from Hahrum to Vauhya and back. "Hmmm? You both are? If you're wise you'll listen to an old man and let her be. She has a hard time forgiving." Vauhya bent for a lap at his drink, but from behind his brother there was a short hiss for his attention. Iluin stared at him, then dropped her eyes down at his drink before raising them back to him. She dipped her head ever so slightly and slanted an ear towards Hahrum, then slashed the air with her jaw. Vauhya took the warning with a nod and glanced at his troops. They were drinking down that fine wine as fast as they could manage.
           "And here we have the woman in question!" Lord Yoichi exclaimed. "I'm glad to see you one last time." Iluin remained admirably silent toward him. "Can't you at least forgive me in the sunset of my life?"
           "Can't you change, concede, for even a single sunset?" she growled softly.
           "Why should I?" He croaked. Iluin stared at her former lord.
           "Because even in the last night of your life you're still an inflexible fool, and you're still wrong. I shouldn't have bonded to a Yoichi." Then she gave a jerk of the head towards Vauhya and Hahrum. "It's not a mistake I plan on repeating." Lord Yoichi coughed and spat.
           "Don't be so harsh, sher'amn. You'll find it too costly. And don't worry about my sons. You're too old for lords of such vigor and strength." Hahrum drew away as if reproached.
           "My father speaks too quickly, White One. Your presence at my side is always welcome." Iluin snorted. Vauhya held back his response judiciously, finally settling on something diplomatically innocuous.
           "I… hope that you'll change your mind," he said earnestly. "I'm trustworthy enough, and I'll prove it to you should you give me the chance."
           "I'm sure that given the chance you would. However, I've finished my service to your clan." Both sons suddenly got a very hard look. "Obey the rules of trial. I have no personal preference for either of you, but I will not condone the reign of a liar or a traitor. Don't think that you'll be safe with your sher'amn and soldiers should you choose to ignore me. Overseeing this barbaric bloodletting will be my last service to your family."
           Hahrum watched her intently as she stalked off, as did Vauhya. Their father only flicked an ear and took some more wine. Servants bustled in, pushing carts upon carts of delicacies from around the land. There were fruits and vegetables from the far edge of the continent, months away, yet still as fresh as the day they were picked: only the Gods knew how. Untold grandeur adorned every bit of the proceedings. As men and women in gold and silver lace converged on the guests with meals of unrestrained splendor, Hahrum leaned towards Vauhya and sipped from the saucer in his hands.
           "The wine is fine tonight, Vauhya. Are you going to go thirsty and hungry?" Vauhya raised his saucer to his brother.
           "Drunkenness tomorrow is not a risk I'm willing to take."
           "Over a single serving of wine?"
           "That, and whatever else it might contain." Lord Yoichi laughed.
           "You two are learning court intrigue, then? Splendid."
           "I'm drinking mine," Hahrum purred, then took another sip.
           Vauhya smiled at him, but set his glass down firmly. He put a paw down on the shoulder of the archer beside him. The man turned to look at him cautiously, mouth full of meat.
           "No more wine for you or any of the troops. Also, eat lightly. There will be trustworthy food back at the cabin." His archer dipped his head and turned to his fellow soldiers on the other side. Hahrum watched the exchange with muted amusement.
           The dinner continued. Both Hahrum and Vauhya argued with their father and each other loudly as the three debated history, the best manner of rule, the peasantry, domestic concerns, diplomacy, the trade outlooks for their province, and everything else worth discussing. At some point or another nearly every Hrasi in the room stiffened with offense at a statement or nodded in agreement and drank to he who'd made it. Food and wine flowed freely, often being replaced moments after it had cooled or warmed past what was desirable. Saucers overflowed with fifty-year-old wines from the lord's childhood and more recent stocks from the lush and fertile river valleys of the south. Servants hung about the guests, a sea of gold and silver collars around the table. For entertainment they had dancers, a riveting concerto from the latest great composer in the far north, and a short play with vibrantly colored costumes, stirring blade work, and magnificent tumbling. It lasted long into the night, but at the first signs of fatigue Vauhya took his men away from the festivities.
           "But there's more to come," his father protested, quite drunk.
           "Yes, milord, but my brother and I will go to trial tomorrow. At the very worst, I want to die a well-rested man." Hahrum agreed.
           "I believe it is time that we also… retired for the night. I will see you within an hour of sunrise tomorrow, Vauhya. I'll come sword in hand."
           "See me, brother? No you won't."