Checkmate (5 page)

“For what? It’s not your fault we’re both here.”

He shrugged. “I fought with the Sangari. I baited him.”

“He tried to slug me. Would have, if you hadn’t been there.
I’m the one should apologize. If you hadn’t tried to defend me, you wouldn’t
have been involved.”

He winced as he smiled with the undamaged side of his mouth.
“But then I would have missed out on the best year of my life. If this is the
price for that year, it’s still worth it.”

“Raje—”

“I’m sorry. But I’m not lying.”

“About this maybe.”

He winced and made an odd sort of shrug, half acceptance and
half impatience. “We need to have a long talk, but we don’t have time for it
now. Let’s deal with the matter at hand and worry about the rest later.”

She drew a long breath to steady herself and nodded. “What
do you know about this “challenge” thing?”

“Not much. It seems to be a series of contests. Different
things. Sports, fighting, sex, eating, whatever takes someone’s fancy. Pretty
much if you can imagine it, they’ll have someone do it.”

“We may have to fight each other.”

“That’s a possibility.”

“To the death.”

“I doubt it. And if that’s what they want, we’ll figure out
a way around it,” he said.

“Are you always this optimistic? I missed that about you.”

“Only under serious pressure. It keeps me sane. Devonne, I
think we ought to do the challenge. My lawyer has consulted with some Sangari
sources. He’s pretty sure the Tribunal won’t be sympathetic to our story and he’s
entirely sure we don’t want to spend any time in their labor prisons.”

“My attorney said the same thing. I just wish I knew what
they’d ask us to do in this challenge thing.”

“They don’t give out the agenda in advance.”

“I know.”

“Do they play fair?”

Raje lifted his shoulders. “According to my lawyer,
basically yes. You might not like what they ask you to do, and there’s no
telling what it could be. But if you do satisfy them they’ll acknowledge it and
reward it.”

He moved closer to where she stood, stopping just a step
away. Her hormones reacted to him as they always did, going into overdrive,
driving up her pulse and her breathing, rousing the pressure of desire in her
core. Something else overlay it, though. Concern and fear for him woke,
bringing with it anger about his injuries and a desperate desire to touch him,
to reestablish the close connection they once had.

He reached out and put his hands on her upper arms. Heat
exploded where he touched but she controlled the urge to flinch back. His
expression was serious. “Devonne, we can do this together. Whatever the
challenge might hold. We always worked well together as a team. We’ll manage
whatever we have to do to beat this thing.”

He had a point. They did work well together. If they could
just get past the hurt and anger—check that—if she could get past the hurt and
anger, they had a decent chance of winning. He showed no sign of resenting her
for walking out on him and ignoring all his subsequent attempts at
communication. No doubt he did, but the man had formidable self-control, and he
realized they’d be better served to put off dealing with their personal
problems until they’d solved the legal issues. It made sense. She just wasn’t
quite as good at burying her feelings. If that was what it took to survive,
she’d attempt to match his control.

“All right. We’ll tackle the challenge together.”

Chapter Five

His smile nearly broke her heart. It reached into her gut
and tangled with all her nerves. She still wanted the man in her life. Wanted
him for sex and companionship and laughter and shared adventure. She couldn’t
imagine that she’d ever stop wanting him. How could she let him back in,
though, when she couldn’t trust him? She still wanted to believe that he truly
felt something for her and hadn’t just been using her.

“Do you think—”

Unfortunately her question was interrupted when the lawyers
rapped lightly on the door and entered. “You’ve decided?” Whetlock asked.

“We’re taking the challenge,” Devonne answered.

Both lawyers smiled. “A good choice. To make you feel
better, we’re negotiating to get some safeguards put in place for you.”

A group of Sangari entered right behind the lawyers,
indicating their time together was up. They separated the humans and escorted
them to their quarters. Devonne had no idea where they took Raje or the
lawyers. They brought her back to the bare room in the enormous, sterile,
blocky building she’d been in earlier.

She languished there for three long days, with no visitors,
no communications and no word from anyone. The only other living creatures she
saw aside from a few scurrying things on the sand outside her window were the
Sangari guards who delivered meals and jugs of water periodically. She asked
them for vids or books but they just gave her blank stares in return.

To keep from going insane, she went through her normal daily
exercise workout twice the first day and three times on the second. In her head
she plotted courses through asteroid fields and did the basic equations for
wormhole geometry the computer normally handled. She thought far too much about
Raje and what he might be doing.

Finally, early on the morning of the fourth day, a group of
three Sangari came for her. They loaded her into a transport and headed west to
the same city they’d taken her before. They didn’t go to any justice building,
however.

Even from a distance she could tell that the enormous, round
structure they headed toward was some sort of sports arena. Thousands of tall,
single-person transporters parked around it and Sangari of all shapes and sizes
streamed toward the many entrances to the circular coliseum.

She fought to keep her pulse steady and her stomach from
clenching as muscles tightened all through her body. It took an effort to stop
her breath from growing quicker and her hands from shaking as she wondered what
kind of contest they’d be pitched into.

Her escort hustled her out of the transport and into the
building through a door around the back, away from where the crowds streamed
in. They traversed several long, dingy stone corridors, before one of her
guards pushed open a door and led her into some kind of enormous locker room.

The room stretched on for some distance to the left, the
walls curving to follow the circular footprint of the building itself. She
turned that way when she heard voices in the room, so far down the speakers
were out of sight. The guards followed her but didn’t move to interfere.

She walked alongside racks of garments hanging from bars a
foot or so above her head. Those mostly seemed to be costumes, of every type,
style, color and fabric, in a range of sizes so wide some would be too small
for a human child while other garments were too big for a large Sangari. A
series of closed chests lined the other side of the long, narrow, curving room.
Occasionally a surge of noise reached her from beyond the inner wall.

Devonne threaded her way through the clutter and finally
joined a pair of men hunched over a dark slate board. They looked up when they
heard her coming.

“Where’s Raje?” she asked the two lawyers, scanning the area
around them.

“In another staging area,” Whetlock said. “They apparently
don’t want the two of you conferring before this match.”

Another explosion of noise from beyond the wall drew her
attention. “Are there other acts on the program today?”

“I believe there are half a dozen matches or tests on the
schedule for today. You’re the fourth. The first began a few minutes ago.”

Devonne went to the wall and slid back a panel. The heavily
barred window behind it offered a view directly out onto the field at the
center of the coliseum. A pair of Sangari fought each other with weapons that
looked like short, heavy pikes, studded with wickedly pointed barbs and ending
in double-sided, saw-toothed blades. Both combatants had blood matting their
fur in several places.

“You might not want to watch this,” the other lawyer warned.
“It’s a blooding and likely to get ugly.”

“A blooding?”

“A grudge fight. To the death. With short-bladed and pointed
weapons to help ensure the battle will take a long time and be suitably gory.”

“Lovely.” Devonne drew the wood panel back across the
window. “They’re not going to make us do something like that, are they?”

“Nothing like that. What you saw there is more a traditional
Sangari thing. Combat for control of a clan enclave or to settle a debt of
honor.”

“Do we know yet what we will be doing?”

The two men looked at each other. Devonne’s stomach clenched
even tighter. “What?”

Whetlock hesitated before he said, “You have armed combat
today. Knives. But only to first blood.”

She let out the breath she’d been holding. “We can manage
that.”

“Raje said so too,” the other lawyer added. “I’ve been doing
some research on this whole challenge thing. It looks like the main thing you
want to remember is that it’s
entertainment
for these people. Since
you’re fighting each other today, you can’t really lose, but if you want to
improve your chances of the judges siding with you later, you want to put on a
really good show. Make it last for as long as you can and have lots of close
misses before one or the other of you finally draws blood. The prince thought
you and he could manage it.”

He paused when another roar from the crowd all but drowned
him out. After it had settled again he continued, “Be careful what you do and
say to each other. They have cameras and microphones to transmit holovids of
you. They’ll hear if you try to talk each other through faking it. Prince Reg
suggested some hand signals and words for you to use as cues for each other.”
The lawyer took out a stylus from a pocket and held it out. “If this is the
knife, when Reg moves his finger on it like this, it means he’s going to feint
to the right. If he curls it like this, he wants you to lunge toward him…” The
lawyer went through a series of things. Most of them made logical sense. Devonne
hoped she could remember them all.

More crowd noises suggested irritation and impatience this
time.

“One more thing,” the lawyer added. “The prince asked me to
tell you this. ‘Remember the dance at Blaise’s Keep.’ He said you’d know what
he meant.”

She knew and understood. A dance. Their match would be a
dance.

A buzzer sounded nearby.

“That means it’s time for you to get ready. I had to get one
of the Sangari to help me figure out where your outfit was, but we managed to
find it.” Whetlock lifted the bundle from a table and handed it to her. “We’ll
leave you to change. Someone will come get you when it’s time. They’ll give you
your weapon then.”

Both lawyers wished her well and departed.

Devonne unfolded the clothes provided and was relieved to
find a shirt of sturdy fabric with elbow-length sleeves and dark pants of the
same fabric, held up by a leather belt. A tunic of heavy leather went over the
shirt. There was an odd headpiece like a leather cap that pulled down over the
ears and fastened across the chin. The outfit wouldn’t win any fashion awards
but was practical for a knife fight where no one was supposed to get seriously
damaged. Thank the stars. She’d had visions of some seriously impractical,
diaphanous thing, especially since a couple of vid stars had recently done
shows where they cavorted on amazing “adventures” wearing ridiculously tiny,
sheer outfits.

Moments after she’d stepped into the heavy leather boots and
strapped them down to fit her feet, the nearest door opened and a pair of Sangari
guards escorted her out. They traversed a dingy, curving corridor around the
coliseum until they reached a tunnel that led out onto the field.

The equipment on the central part of the grounds had been
reorganized a bit since the “blooding” she’d looked out on earlier. Mesh
fencing cordoned off a ring about fifty feet in diameter in the center of the
field. Low-growing bluish plants covering the ground felt squishy underfoot.

A large Sangari warrior-male approached and handed her the
knife he held. “Your weapon.” She took it from him, tested the grip and studied
it. A ridged handle fit securely into the palm of her hand, while a crosspiece
guard prevented her fingers from slipping onto a serrated blade ten inches
long. It wasn’t made of metal but of some other hardened plastic material
nearly as heavy as steel would have been.

They led her out across the field to the ring. Masses of
Sangari filled the seats. She hadn’t realized their pelts came in such a
variety of colors. Most ranged from a pale honey brown to inky black, but a few
orange, yellow, pale green and lavender ones stood out in places. On the field,
the noise was near deafening, swelling further when the crowd noted the humans
being escorted to the ring.

Scanning the area, she finally found Raje approaching from
the opposite side. He wore clothing similar to hers. A spark of resentment
flared when she realized he had an escort of four Sangari, where she had only
two. Then she laughed inside at the absurdity of it. But Stars and Flames, the
man looked good. Tall, slim, graceful, he moved with supple power and control.

His stern expression lightened only slightly as he drew
close enough to lock gazes with her. He held a knife similar to the one she
carried, though his arm hung loosely at his side, the weapon pointing at the
ground. His eyes looked more green than yellow under the light of Sangaria’s
orange sun.

Their guards brought them into the ring and left them facing
each other in the center. All but one of the Sangari retreated to take up positions
around the outside the fenced-off area.

The remaining alien stood next to them and said, “Neither of
you leaves the circle before one has drawn blood. Raise your weapons.” When
they did so, he backed off two steps and added, “Start.”

She watched Raje warily for a moment, trying to gauge what
he wanted to do. She understood what he’d meant about the dance, but she hadn’t
been very good at it then and wondered if she could adapt it adequately now.
He’d better lead as well this time as he had then.

Raje took a step to the right, then another. He moved
forward, brandishing the knife toward her but not lunging or slicing with it.
Devonne circled to the right around him. She kept her gaze locked with his, the
movement of his blade in her peripheral vision.

After a few more steps her body started to recall the
footwork of the dance, and she was able to match him step for step. Cheers and
yells of encouragement rang from the stands, but she pushed them to the back of
her awareness. Her concentration stayed fixed on her partner-opponent.

Then the dance brought them together, and he made the move
more of a lunge, signaling it to her in plenty of time to let her parry it. He
closed with her so their chests pressed together.

Despite the time, the place and the crowd watching,
awareness of him slammed into her like a fist into the gut. An
adrenaline-fueled burst of exultation jolted through her. This was an amazing
experience, doing an exotic and elemental cross between a mating dance and a
duel. The first tingles of arousal prickled in her cunt.

When he whispered into her ear, his breath fluttering
against the delicate tissues there, it sent a fire of need and desire coursing
through her. She had to force herself to pay attention to the words.

“Next reverse. Lunge from the right.” It was an order rather
than a statement. She nodded as he backed away, still following the footstep
pattern of the dance. They circled, lunged, feinted, parried and watched each
other until her internalized rhythm of the dance told her it was time for the
reverse.

She dipped her right shoulder a bare fraction before she
took three fast steps toward him, bringing the knife around from the right.
Though he was half turned from her, he saw it and whirled in a blindingly fast
move to parry and push both blades away, even as the momentum of her charge
took her straight into his side. With his superior reach and speed, she
wouldn’t have a prayer against him if this were the real thing.

Her blood pumped even harder as she clung to his body for a
moment. She panted from the exertion, but desire added its own acceleration.

“Good,” he whispered to her. “I’ll come underneath…next.”
The low, intimate sound of the words made them almost a sexual promise. Her
body reacted with swelling and moisture in her cunt. She tamped it down to
concentrate on the action.

He executed the promised maneuver. With the adrenaline
pumping and her muscles warmed up, she did a better job of selling her reaction
as a frantic parry. She warned him with a finger gesture before she closed on a
rapid series of swipes and lunges that he turned away with more effort than
required.

They continued to dance around each other, back and forth,
lunging and feinting until exhaustion began to overwhelm the effects of the
adrenaline. She had no idea how long they’d been at it, but it seemed like more
than an hour. Muscles in her legs and chest began to burn.

She might not know how to judge the Sangari’s reactions
properly, but the noise level had grown and become more enthusiastic throughout
their match. Surely they thought it a worthy match by then.