Gardens of the Moon

“Kruppe?”



“Well guessed!” Kruppe replied. The painted wooden face swung to the guard. “Oh, kind sir, I have a written message for you.” Kruppe placed a scroll into the man's hand. “Compliments of a long-time secret admirer.”



Crokus grinned. These guards had all the luck when it came to noble ladies.



Circle Breaker accepted the scroll and slid from it the silk tie in. More than once he had sensed Turban Orr's eyes on him. First in the central chamber, when it looked as if the Councilman might accost him directly, and now, while others argued over who should referee the duel.



Circle Breaker prayed Rallick would kill Turban Orr. He felt his own fear racing through his body, and it was with trembling hands that he read the Eel's message.



The time has come for Circle Breaker to retire from active duty. The circle is mended, loyal friend. Though you have never seen the Eel, you have been his most trusted hand, and you have earned your rest.



Think not that the Eel simply discards you now. Such is not the Eel's way. The sigil at the bottom of this parchment will provide you passage to the city of Dhavran, where loyal servants of the Eel have prepared your arrival by purchasing an estate and a legitimate title on your behalf. You enter a different world soon, with its own games.



Trust your new servants, friend, in this and all other concerns.



Proceed, this very night, to the Dhavran trader's pier in Lakefront.



You seek the river longboat named Enskalader. Show the sigil to any crewman aboard-all are servants of the Eel. The time has come, Circle Breaker. The circle is mended. Fare you well.



Baruk threw up his hands in exasperation. “Enough of this!” he bellowed.



“I will referee this duel, and accept all responsibility. Judgement of victory is mine. Accepted by both parties?”



Turban Orr nodded. Even better than Estraysian being his second. Baruk's proclaiming him victor in the duel would be a coup in its own right. “I accept.”



“As do I,” Rallick said, his short cloak drawn about his body.



A sudden wind thrashed the treetops in the garden, sweeping down from the east. Thunder boomed from this side of the hills. A number of onlookers seemed to flinch. Turban Orr grinned, stepping into the cleared area. Leaves skirled past, clattering like tiny bones. “Before it rains,” he said.



His allies in the crowd laughed at this. “Of course,” Orr continued, “it might prove more entertaining to draw things out. A wound here, a wound there. Shall I cut him to pieces slowly?” He feigned dismay at the chorus of eager assent. “Too eager for blood, friends! Must the ladies dance on slick flagstones once darkness falls? We must consider our host:” And where was Sinital? His imagination conjured an image in answer and he frowned. “No indeed,” he said coldly, “it shall be quick.”



The councilman unsheathed his sword and fastened his glove's leather straps to the ornate grip behind the bell guard. He scanned the faces of his audience, even now seeking some betrayal of expression-he had friends who were enemies, enemies who would be friends, the game would continue beyond this moment, but it could prove a telling moment. He would recall every face later, and study it at his leisure.



Turban Orr assumed his stance. His opponent stood ten feet away, both hands hidden beneath his cloak. He looked at ease, almost bore “What's this?” Orr demanded. “Where is your weapon?”



“I'm ready,” Rallick replied.



Baruk placed himself equidistant between the two duellists, slightly to one side. His face was pale, as if he had fallen ill. “Comments from seconds?” he asked faintly.



Rake made no reply.



Estraysian D'Arle cleared his throat. “I hereby make it known that I oppose this duel as facile and trite.” He stared at Turban Orr. “I find the councilman's life irrelevant in the best of times. Should he die,” the man looked over to Rallick, “there will be no vengeance pact from the House of D'Arle. You, sir, are freed of that.”



Rallick bowed.



Turban Orr's smile tightened. The bastard would pay for that, he vowed. He lowered himself into a crouch, ready to launch an attack soon as the duel began.



Baruk said, “You have been heard, Estraysian D'Arle.” The alchemist raised a handkerchief before him, then released it.



Turban Orr jumped forward and lunged in a single, fluid motion, fast he'd fully extended his weapon before the handkerchief struck the paving stones. He saw his opponent's left hand dart under his blade, then twist up and outward, a short, curved knife flashing in its grip. The pa was a blur, yet Orr caught it and deftly disengaged, driving his point I and towards the man's mid-section. He had no time even to notice the second knife, as Rallick turned his body sideways, the blade in his right hand guiding Turban Orr's sword past him. The assassin stepped in th his left hand moving in a high swing that buried its blade in the councilman's neck. Rallick followed this by driving his other knife into Orr's chest.