Sorcha's Revolt
CHAPTER FOUR - THE DUEL

Sorcha came downstairs the next morning to find the main bar almost deserted. A handful of Kellion men sat at a table in the corner, and the barman was on duty, but otherwise the place was empty. Sorcha did not speak to anyone, having caught sight through the window of a flash of red hair. She went out onto the porch, where she found Sabra and DeKellia sharing a bottle of whiskey for breakfast. To see DeKellia drinking hard liquor so early in the morning was no surprise, but Sorcha was shocked to find Sabra there, her mask on the table beside her and a tumbler in her hand.

"It's barely dawn..." Sorcha began, and Sabra laughed bitterly.

"I've been up all night, couldn't sleep." She rolled a blood-shot glare at Sorcha. "There was this awful noise in the room next door, it sounded like a cat being tortured."

"Children..." DeKellia warned, but then all three of them were distracted by a commotion from the end of the street.

There was movement on the barricade, a shouted communication between the sentries and someone waiting outside, and then the improvised gate was opened. A knight in red armour rode in through the barricade, looking slowly left and right, scanning the street through the visor of his helm until he spotted Montesinos DeKellia.

There were few people on the street that early in the morning; the sentries on the walls and a few men and women running errands, but every one of them stopped while the red knight rode by. The Order of One had come amongst them, and no child of Kellia ever reached adulthood without hearing the legend of Kam Daishen, the First Knight of the realm.

The pedestrian traffic parted, and the name was whispered as he rode by; DeKellia advanced to meet him, but the knight's welcome was cool.

"I'm glad to see you alive," DeKellia said, then frowned and asked, "Shivan?"

The Order of One left the question unanswered, moving past DeKellia to dismount on the steps of the inn. An urchin ran up to take the reins of his horse; Kam turned to face DeKellia at last but had no chance to speak before Messerach Veen stepped up between them, pressed a piece of paper to the knight's breastplate, and offered him a pen.

"Sign here."

Kam took the Declaration in hand and read it. "I see," was all he said, then held the paper out to anyone who might take it.

Sorcha accepted and read with horrified amazement what it contained.

To Her Majesty Eliana Grimwarder, Warmistress of Silveneir, Despairing of justice at your majesty's discretion, we the free Kellion citizens of your nation invoke the highest court, and give notice that at dawn tomorrow, we will present our champion to meet yours in single combat upon tomorrow's dawn at a place of your choosing...

The letter went on to outline detailed terms, but Sorcha stopped reading and flipped the page over to see the many signatures scrawled on the back.

"Who is to be your champion?" Kam Daishen asked.

"We have yet to settle that," Veen said, "nor who is to read the Declaration and give the challenge; copies have been posted about the city and to the palace, but we have as of yet to make an official announcement or receive any answer." "I will meet their champion," said Kam Daishen. "For now, I am satisfied that your cause is just; give me no reason to think otherwise. At noon, I will offer the challenge." "They're challenging Eliana to a duel!"

Copies of the letter were being distributed all over the city; Sorcha brandished one at DeSilva.

They were in their shared room, while downstairs DeKellia and Kam Daishen were in deep discussion of the same matter with the other revolutionary leaders. "Hah, that's nothing," DeSilva said, with hardly a glance at the letter. "Get this; a few days before we arrived, they organised a protest march with naked harem girls." "I'm surprised the authorities didn't have them all shot!" Sorcha gaped.

"They nearly were; apparently, the police brought a navy frigate up the canals and threatened to open fire."

"Monte, there's going to be a bloodbath any day now, we're not safe here..."

"Shhh," DeSilva put his arms around Sorcha and held her. "We're here, that's the thing. Sitting tight is about as safe as making a run for it. My father's here..." "He's the cause of it all!"

"No, he just walked into it same as we did, it was brewing before he arrived."

"He burned Narillion to the ground, it's his fault there are any refugees at all!"

"To be fair, the Kraag and the Darians would have burned Narillion anyway," DeSilva pointed out.

"Oh, don't stick up for him! He's a madman and you know it."

"Well, Kam Daishen is here, so..."

"He's your uncle! He's your mad father's mad brother, they're both as mad as each other!"

"Actually, I'm not so sure. About Kam, I mean. Something's different, I don't think it's the same Daishen; I don't think it's my uncle inside that armour anymore, and I think my father knows it too."

"So, who is it?" Sorcha asked, knowing already that the Order of One was passed on anonymously whenever its bearer fell.

"Who knows?" DeSilva shrugged. "I don't know how they organise it. Maybe there's a whole bunch of Daishens riding about all pretending to be the only one. Point is, this Daishen isn't my uncle, we have no idea how he'll handle things." Sorcha privately felt a pang of grief for the fallen Daishen; she recalled him as a terrifying yet quixotically amusing figure, DeSilva's uncle who had been kind to her, and yet also an implacable warrior famed across Kellia as a relentless crusader. The sound of the red knight sharpening his sword by the campfire would stay with her always, a far warmer memory than the sight of Kam Daishen in battle, hewing men down like corn before the reaper.

"Are you alright?" DeSilva's question brought Sorcha back from her thoughts.

"Not really. There's going to be more fighting, and I know what will happen next: your father will do something awful. He's already planning it, but he won't stop with sending harem girls out to fight. That's not spectacular enough for him." "But you know he'll win, right?"

"Yes, but how much of the city will be left?"

DeSilva had no answer to that. Sorcha lay beside him in the dark for a long time before she drifted off to sleep.

They were awoken early by a hammering on the door and DeKellia's voice booming cheerfully through the panel. "Rise and shine, kids! Big day ahead, places to be, people to do!"

Sorcha groaned and hid her face under the blankets. DeSilva got up, pulling the blankets with him, and smacked her on the backside.

"Come on, you heard him. Obviously, he wants us for something."

"Nothing good, it never is."

Sorcha dressed with an ill grace and followed DeSilva downstairs. There they found breakfast underway, the main bar full of Kellion men and women eating heartily. Sorcha was surprised to see both sexes interacting so publicly, having been raised on the Silvan belief that Kellion women lived in total servitude. Her experiences in the harem of Darian practices recurred, where a formal veneer hid a much more complex and subtle hierarchy.

Sorcha and DeSilva joined DeKellia's table, where Sabra was already eating. As soon as Sorcha sat down, Sabra stood up and took her breakfast with her to the bar. DeKellia paid the sisters' ongoing problems no heed, quickly filling Sorcha and DeSilva in on the morning's plans.

"You know about the duel, of course?"

"Yes," DeSilva said, with a glance at Sorcha. "Today?"

DeKellia nodded, grinning so eagerly that Sorcha shuddered.

"Kam's taken the gauntlet, naturally," DeKellia went on. "I'd do it, but folks put a lot of store in having Kellia's First Knight fight their cause."

"Do we know who the Silvan champion is?" DeSilva asked.

DeKellia shrugged. "A Diva, naturally. The rumour is that Satana Vidani was preferred, but I hear other things since. Apparently, there have already been half a dozen fights to choose Silveneir's best sword. Truth is, we'll just have to see."

The meal was conducted quickly, despite the good cheer. When Kam Daishen emerged from the upper floor, advancing slowly down the stairs, all sound ceased. The Daishen paused to survey the room, then marched to the door. The crowd parted to let their champion through, the Daishen in his blood-red armour standing taller than anyone else in the room. He carried his broadsword sheathed in his left hand, rather than wearing it at his belt.

Sorcha experienced a strange dislocation; a different knight wore the ancient armour now than the man she had known. The same dark, dominating assurance emanated from the red knight as he passed by, but within the shadows of his helm different eyes looked out. Sorcha could not help wondering what had become of the old Daishen, the manner of his death of far more concern to her than the identity of his successor.

As Kam stepped outside, the rest of the revolutionaries followed. Half a dozen horses waited in the street outside, held by Kellion youths. The Daishen's horse was a large chestnut, caparisoned in red to match the First Knight's armour. The other horses were black, with plain saddles. DeKellia and Veen mounted up, DeKellia entirely at ease in the saddle while Veen was clearly no rider and sat his horse uncomfortably. Other leaders of the revolt took the remaining horses, and they rode out through the barricade with the massed ranks of the Kellion revolutionaries following.

Sorcha and DeSilva joined the crowd, seeing Kellion riflemen still on the barricade. Beyond, the police pickets had withdrawn, uniformed officers now lining the route to the agreed duelling ground.

It was Sorcha's first sight, since her arrival, of the wider city beyond the Foreign Quarter. They had arrived by night and seen only the dim silhouettes of the ziggurats and multi-level terraced streets of Silveneir. She had visited once before, but Sorcha was a daughter of the provinces, used to rugged forested hills with little human habitation; the size of the city, the sheer number of inhabitants, boggled her mind.

In a daze, she took DeSilva's hand and walked with him, following the one-way pedestrian traffic to a wide plaza on the edge of the Foreign Quarter. There, they found a large crowd of Kellions already waiting, with an equally large number of native Silvan spectators facing them from across the open ground in the middle of the plaza. A line of Silvan soldiers, armed with longbows, held back the crowd. In the centre of the Silvan faction was a small pavilion with armed guards surrounding it.

DeSilva shouldered his way close to the front, near enough to see without being in the immediate first rank of the spectators. Sorcha stuck close to him but could see little of the actual arena and the opposing side. "What's going on?" She hissed.

"Not much yet. I see a couple of officials, no sign of the Warmistress, but she's probably watching in her crystal ball."

There was a movement in the crowd, a ripple as the ranks parted and Kam Daishen rode out onto the open field. At his vantage on horseback, Sorcha saw him clearly. Then DeSilva said, "The Silvan champion is coming out. She's in armour, but on foot. She's using fighting stilts."

Sorcha had rarely seen the archaic articulated armour that was now only used on ceremonial occasions; it was almost unheard of for anyone to wear them for actual combat. Standing on tiptoes, she caught a glimpse through the crowd of the Silvan champion, standing seven feet tall in her articulated stilts, clad in a shirt of steel scales with pauldrons on her shoulders and platemail sleeves. Her mask was polished to a mirror shine, with a steel helm pinning back her dark hair. Her sword was over five feet long, taller than she but for her fighting stilts. Then the crowd shifted again, and Sorcha lost her view.

The Daishen spoke and a hush fell over the crowd.

"I am Kam Daishen, called the Order of One and First Knight of Kellia."

"I am Captain Dextri," came the Silvan champion's reply. "Of the Sinistral Guard."

Sorcha and DeSilva shared a look of surprise, having expected one of Silveneir's Divas to take the challenge. Then the hooves of the Daishen's horse picked up the trot, and across the field Sorcha heard the footsteps of the Silvan champion as she ran to meet him.

Sorcha gripped DeSilva's sleeve, heard the crash of the first collision above the gasp of the crowd.

"Holy shit, Kam just bloody jumped on her!" DeSilva was suddenly quivering with excitement. "Just dove straight off his horse at her, they're both down... no, wait, they're up again..."

Another crash rang out, the chime of swords in contention, the clash of armoured bodies colliding, the ring of swords again. Then the voice of the crowd arose like the noise of the sea, the mob on both sides baying for blood while their champions strove for victory.

Sorcha was glad she could not see; violence inspired only nausea in her. The jostling of the crowd, the noise, and the smell, all conspired to make her claustrophobic. She clung to DeSilva, hardly listening to his fractured commentary of the fight.

"They're at the clinch, that woman must be mad to wrestle with him, Kam's strong as a bull... he's thrown her, she's down, Kam's on the attack..." the whole crowd held its breath, only for the Kellions to swear and the distant Silvan spectators to cheer before DeSilva said, "She dodged it, damn she's quick, just took a forward roll to her feet, stilts and all... Kam's going for the leg... she's parried, they're both going high..." a resounding clash of blades echoed again, louder even than the voice of the mob.

"Ooh, right in the gut..."

"Who?" Sorcha demanded.

"The Silvan, Kam caught her bang to rights, half her ribs must be cracked but she's getting up.'

Another crash, blades and bodies, a feral snarl from the Kellion side and a groan from the Silvans.

"He caught her again, a straight thrust this time, went through her armour." DeSilva's eyes were locked on the scene. "First blood! Now they're at the clinch again, just leaning on each other... I think they're speaking, but it's hard to be sure..." He winced suddenly, and a split-second later came the crash of an armoured body striking the ground.

"She's down. The Silvan's down, she's holding up one hand, I think... Yes, it's over, both champions are coming back to the lists. Wait... oh hell, here we go..."

Sorcha had no time to ask what was happening; the Kellion mob surged forward suddenly as if to rush the field, and she heard the voice of the Daishen roaring for order. There were a few minutes of uproar, shoving and swearing on all sides, before Kam returned to the Kellion lines. The overeager members of the mob who had rushed forward came back with him, clapping each other on the back as if they had fought the duel themselves.

"Come on," DeSilva caught Sorcha's arm and tried to hustle them back from the front line, but the rest of the mob were pushing forward and they could make no headway. "Monte, what is it? What's happening?"

"The Silvan army is going to charge."

Sorcha's blood ran cold, and she swayed on her feet. DeSilva caught and supported her, but his eyes were turned back to look between the heads and shoulders of the crowd. Before the Silvan army could begin its advance, a shout went up from the Kellion mob and a rider dashed out, galloping the length of the field between the opposing forces. "Damn, it's my father!"

Every man and woman in the crowd held their breath; Sorcha heard the thunder of his horse's hooves followed by a hiss of Silvan arrows. Then the Kellion mob jeered and DeSilva clenched his fist, grinning and snarling in one breath "They've missed, he's taking another run!"

The Kellions went on jeering, drowning out the hiss of arrows until a sudden groan of dismay silenced the mob.

"He's hit!" For a moment DeSilva looked stricken as if he himself had been shot, then his eyes and face lit up savagely again. "He's still in the saddle, there's only one archer aiming at him now..."

A gunshot rang out and even DeSilva gaped, though he was well familiar with his father's sharpshooting skill. "He shot through her bowstring! From a rearing horse no less, hell, it looked like he shot the arrow from the air!" Then Kam Daishen roared out "DeKellia!" and the mob answered, "Kellia!" in one roar of many voices.

"He's coming back, come on." DeSilva hustled Sorcha with him, pushing a way through the crowd to meet his father when he returned.

They gained the ring of revolutionary leaders surrounding DeKellia, slapping him on the back and cheering. DeKellia was pale but grinning; Messerach Veen stood whispering at his side. Sabra stood near DeKellia, with Taban using his broader shoulders to keep her from being jostled by the mob. DeSilva forced a path closer, Sorcha following in his wake before the crowd could close again.

Sorcha saw two arrows standing in DeKellia's shirt, but though he swayed on his feet and his face was pale, there was no sign of blood. Then Sorcha remembered that DeKellia wore a suit of chainmail beneath his clothes, the links close-woven as linen from the finest steel wire. His secret armour had turned the arrows, but even so the impacts must have cracked his ribs.

Besides his pallor, DeKellia betrayed no sign of pain. Veen put a flask of liquor in his hand and DeKellia drank, grinned, and waved at the crowd before remounting his horse. Veen was mounted a few moments later, riding out with DeKellia and Kam Daishen to meet a delegation from the Silvan lines.

"Damn," DeSilva said, marking the three women of the Silvan party, "It's the Warmistress herself, I didn't see her before. One of the others is a priestess, by her robes. I think the third is Commissioner Naylansis. They're talking, discussing the outcome of the duel I think... Wait, they're coming back, the Warmitress is returning to her own lines."

Tense silence ruled the crowd until Kam Daishen and the others returned. Facing the Kellion mob, Kam raised one hand and said, "We must fight."

More eloquent speeches had been recorded in history often enough, but none spoken in such resonant tones, with the weight of the Daishen's authority. Even before Kellia's First Knight could rein his horse about to lead the charge, the voice of the mob rose like the noise of the sea and crowd started forward.

Sorcha and DeSilva were swept forward with the tide, she clinging to him while he struggled to find room to draw his sword.

The roar of the mob was deafening, and in the press of bodies they could see nothing save the occasional glimpse of the mounted leaders of the revolt, DeKellia and Veen, sometimes Kam Daishen, above the heads of the mob. Then a new sound drowned out the bloodlust of the crowd; a single unified roar and thunder of marching feet, followed by a resounding crash and a shockwave that passed through the entire crowd. Sorcha clung to DeSilva to keep her balance. She had seen battle before, but never stood in the tightly pressed ranks of infantry facing the charge. She barely comprehended, through her terror, that the Silvan army had charged and come to grips with the rebels. Above the clamour now rose the stentorian war cry of Kam Daishen, louder even than the screams and roars of the frontline combatants. Then Sabra shouldered her way back to Sorcha and DeSilva's side. Her hair had come unbound and fell around her shoulders, matted with blood. There was blood on her face too, and more splashed on her shirt. Her green eyes were alight with battle-fire.

"Monte, what the hell is she doing here?!" Sorcha jabbed a finger at Sorcha even as she thrust her sword back into the mob. A Silvan soldier, who had been on the verge of bursting through the Kellion lines, cried out and folded on Sabra's blade.

"Get her out of here, dammit!" Sabra yelled. "We're six feet from the front!"

Sorcha's eyes widened, and then DeSilva was hauling her bodily backwards through the crowd. Her last glimpse, before the ranks of battle closed again, was of Sabra locked in combat with a Silvan soldier, both women striving across clinched swords until Sabra kicked her opponent hard between the legs. The soldier crumpled and Sabra clubbed her down with the hilt of her sword, following up with a brutal chop into the prone woman's back.