The Prize in the Game (36 page)

Connat and the allies who wanted to see the day's sport, along with those few confident folk who thought that

Darag might still be defeated. Less than a third of the champions were there, along with
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a handful of the farmers. Cethern was there, and Allel, and ap Dair. It was quite enough people to remember it forever if they had seen Ferdia ap Cethern retreat from what he had said he would do. "What I was thinking, though," he said hesitantly, knowing he should have suggested it before. "They say Darag's charioteer always fights disguised."

"Nobody know who she is," Pell confirmed. She lowered her voice, even though they were out ahead and nobody could hear them. Pell was no different from the way she always was, even though she knew he was going to die. She always knew all the gossip and loved passing it on. "Some say she is a lawspeaker, and others say she is one of Atha's women. Atha has lost three charioteers in seven days, but Darag has kept this same one, as far as we know. But even though she's disguised, if she'd been killed and replaced, someone would have seen her go down. I think it's the same one, whoever she is. After all, he has the advantage of the water, which makes a difference. The road is higher on the Oriel side."

He had seen the ford on the first day, and the terrible sight of Darag's single chariot standing alone to defend it against all the might of the army.

"I was wondering if I could fight disguised," Ferdia said.

Pell laughed. "Because you are too new a warrior for your name to put fear into anyone? It might do for a charioteer, but not for a champion. You must give your name to make your boast. Only a fool would fight an unnamed champion at a ford."

Ferdia had forgotten the boast. "It is just that Darag is my foster brother," he said apologetically. In some ways, it was best that Darag recognizing him would be the worst thing.

It would be over quickly, right at the beginning, and dying would almost be easy after that.

"Your father told me to keep reminding you that you could turn around at any time," Pell said.

"I told him you wouldn't, young men are fools. But you could turn around now and in fifty years'

time, think back on riding this far as youthful folly."

"I wish you wouldn't keep saying that," Ferdia muttered. Nothing would have pleased him more than turning around. Nothing was less possible.

Pell pursed her lips but kept driving on, barely slowing for the bends in the road. She was good, but then, she had been a charioteer for thirty years. Three of her four children were here with the army. "Yesterday Darag chose to fight with swords first," she said. "He talked with Laran ap Noss about it a while across the ford, asking if he would do that. Then when Laran agreed, they fought on the far bank. He might do that again."

"I have a sword," Ferdia said.

The road passed through a belt of alder and willows, then came out into the open space with the river ahead of them, and the ford. Darag's chariot was standing on the farther bank, just as it had the first day, and no doubt every day since. He looked at it and looked away. His stomach turned over and he swallowed hard.

There was nothing else now. He was here to die and he would die. He wondered if the garlanded animals at the feasts felt like this when they saw the knife.

Pell slowed, and he realized that everyone following them was stopping. They drew to a halt just by the ford.

Ferdia braced himself and looked up. Darag wasn't looking yet; he was in intense conversation with his mysterious charioteer.

"Give your boast now," Pell urged. He didn't know what to say. How could he boast, he who had no deeds to boast of?

When in doubt, go with what you have learned. He had a name to give, at least. He shut his eyes. "I am

Ferdia ap Cethern," he began, and rolled out his ancestry as he had learned it, one after anothermdashhis grandfathers and great-grandfathers back through the generationsmdashuntil he came to the end, or the beginning, the founding heroes of his line.

". . . ap Galian, ap Liath, ap Lethan. I am a prince of Lagin," he said, raising his voice a little, because it was here that his own deeds should have gone if he had any. He opened his eyes.

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Darag was standing as still as a stone and staring at him.

"I am here to challenge you for passage of this ford. Will you yield to my might and let us pass?"

He kept his eyes resolutely open. It was about as bad as it could be. Darag leapt out of the chariot and ran

down the bank toward the water. "Ferdia ap Cethern?" he called. "How can this be? Ferdia ap Cethern is my friend and my foster brother. Surely you are some imposter abusing his name to challenge me."

"No, it really is me," Ferdia said miserably, but beginning to be aware that there was something strange about the way Darag was talking. Something unnatural. He sounded as if he were playing a part, not like himself at all. Maybe it was the shock.

"Then why do you come against me, my brother?" Darag demanded.

"Honor demands it," Ferdia said, falling back on what had worked before. He wished he could explain to

Darag, who, alone of everyone he knew, might have understood. But of course it wasn't possible. There were too many other people here. In any case, Darag was honorable, he wouldn't understand how Maga had a hold on him. Ferdia could never tell him about the dog.

"We have been brothers, must we now be enemies?" Darag asked sadly, spreading his empty arms.

Despite Darag's unnatural tone, Ferdia choked on a sob and felt tears burning in his eyes. Pell put her hand on his arm. "You really could back out now," she advised. He shook her off fiercely.

"I must challenge you for the passage of the ford, so we must fight, but we need not be enemies," he managed to say clearly.

"Then come here and embrace me for the last time before we begin," Darag said.

Ferdia looked at Pell for guidance and was astonished to see that she was dashing away tears from her eyes. "Go, go," she said. Then, as he was climbing out of the chariot, she added,

"It's like a story. They will sing of this for as long as there's anyone on this island to sing."

Ap Dair was somewhere in the crowd behind them. Ferdia had almost forgotten.

He walked down to the edge of the water and waded across. It was cold but not unpleasant. The other side was steeper. Darag offered his hand to help him out.

They stood there for a moment, looking at each other. Darag's face, up close, did not look sad but full of suppressed excitement. They embraced, and he whispered fiercely into Ferdia's ear. "Emer told me. You have promised to fight and challenge me for the road. You haven't said you'll try to kill me, and neither have I

said I'll try to kill you. You said we're not enemies. We can fight here all day, the way we have other days.

Practice, I mean. Say what we're going to do, so we can block. Make it look good."

"Emer?" Ferdia whispered, completely confused. Darag's eyes went to his charioteer. Once Ferdia knew, he wondered how he had not recognized her before. He didn't understand why she was here, when he had seen her in the camp of Connat last night. She was betraying her own land, her own family. He blinked at her.

"Do you agree?" Darag asked.

Ferdia thought it through for a moment. Pretending to fight opened up a possibility he had thought lostmdashlife opening up beyond today, with honor. But was it honor, truly? "I promised Maga I would fight you," he said.

"Did you promise to try to kill me?" Darag asked.

"No, but I promised to try to open a road into Oriel, which is the same," Ferdia said wretchedly. He pulled back from the embrace, and they stood looking at each other. "You just heard me say so," he said, as if it would help.

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Darag looked uncertain now. He frowned. "Tomorrow will be the ninth day since this began,"

he said. "Inis ap

Fathag said that the sickness that has fallen on everyone else would last three days, or six, or nine. So tomorrow, it should be over. Why don't we fight here today in show only, and then tomorrow you can fight anyone you want for the road to Oriel, and I'll fight to stop your army, but we needn't fight each other."

"Yes," Ferdia said. That was honorable. He smiled at Darag, and wanted to embrace him again.

But everyone was watching. He bowed instead.

"Swords first?" Darag asked, bowing. "I should think we can change weapons several times, and have rests between. Usually I rest while people are taking away the bodies and making their boasts. You wouldn't believe how tiring it is fighting all day, day after day."

"We could stop for meals," Ferdia said and giggled.

"Don't forget that people are watching," Darag said. "They can't hear us saying what we're doing if we keep it

low, but they can certainly see everything."

He drew his sword, and Ferdia did the same. Absurdly, he remembered all the reasons against practicing with real swords. "Be careful. It would be terrible if we killed each other by accident," he said, but this time managed not to laugh, even though the nervous relief he felt was greater than it had ever been before. He could live past this day. He could live and still be friends with Darag. The sun was shining and sparkling on the water of the ford, and he was alive and might remain so. He could have sung with joy.

"We have to make it look good," Darag said, and leaped towards him, sword high.

They fought hard, moving up and down the clear space before the water. After an hour, they rested, and after another hour of close sword-work, Ferdia went back to the chariot for the spear-fight, sweating and bleeding from a few scratches where he hadn't brought his shield up quickly enough. Pell looked frankly admiring as she blotted and sang charms over the scratches as he rested. "You have lasted longer against him than anybody else," she said.

"They must have good arms-masters in Oriel. It's clear you and Darag learned from the same one." Ferdia looked at her sharply. Had she guessed they were going through practice forms?

But it hadn't all been routines; he thought they had varied it enough.

They exchanged spears several times. Ferdia was surprised how much skill it took to throw the spear and try not to hit, even when they had arranged in advance which direction they should duck. Darag's spears all struck the chariot. Ferdia's first throws went wild, and one of his later ones went too close and wounded one of Darag's horses. "What a song this will make,"

Pell said when they agreed to go back to swords.

At the end of the day, Ferdia was so exhausted he could hardly stand. He was back in his chariot. Darag held up his hand for them to speak.

"The day is drawing to an end," he called. "We cannot fight in darkness. We should lay down our weapons now until dawn brings a new day."

Ferdia looked at Pell for advice. "They will sing of this all over the world," she said. "Yes, tell him you will leave it until the morning."

"I will agree to that," Ferdia called. "Tomorrow we will fight again." There was a loud murmur from behind him, and a drumming of feet in approval. He turned to look and saw that the space between himself and the trees was packed. Almost all the champions were there.

"They have been coming up all day since they heard you were holding," Pell said.

Ferdia turned back to Darag. "Farewell until the morning, then," he said.

"Hold," Darag said. "Let us spend this night together as brothers, sharing our food and blankets for a last time."

"Can I?" Ferdia asked Pell.

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"Do you want to?" she asked.

It was only then he realized how much he did want to. He would give anything to spend the night with Darag instead of having to bear again Maga's demands and Elenn's expectations and his father's anguish. "Oh, I

do," he said. "But will they think it strange?"

"Strange, yes, but this whole day has been strange. Go. If he kills you in the night, the army will avenge you," Pell said. "Not that I think for a minute he will."

"I will spend this night with you," he said and climbed out of the chariot.

Cethern was there. Had he guessed? There was no hint of it in his eyes. "I am so proud of you, my son," he said and embraced Ferdia.

"Forgive me, I didn't realize you had a real chance against him. Now I understand why you wanted to fight."

Ferdia could say nothing. He couldn't tell his father he and Darag hadn't been trying to kill each other. He couldn't say he looked better than he was because Darag was so good he could do things that made him look good. So he just smiled awkwardly. "You don't mind me spending the night here?" he asked.

"It's little Elenn who will mind," Cethern said. "But I'll try to explain. Coming back and going out again would be very hard."

Ferdia raised his chin in acknowledgment. After a few more words, Cethern left him to go back to the camp before sunset. Ferdia realized there would be fewer bodies to burn tonight, only those Atha had killed. As well

as surviving himself, he had saved the lives of several other champions.

He waded back across the ford to Darag. "Emer has gone off," Darag said. "She has to get back before they notice she's gone. It was her idea that we did not need to kill each other.

I'm so glad she thought of it, because it might not have occurred to me until it was too late."

"I'd never have thought of it at all," Ferdia said. "I couldn't see any way out."

"How did Maga make you fight?" Darag started to stroll along the road into the trees.

"She said she'd tell ap Dair I was a coward, and ap Dair would make a song about it to shame me. She said