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approached the whipping post and stood beside the lean, hawk-faced soldier who had been ordered to complete the sentence. The man looked ill at ease and was sweating despite the morning cold.
    “You just lay on, boy,” Bison said amiably. “I’ll hold no grudge toward you.” The man gave a weak, relieved smile.
    “Let the prisoner approach,” said the White Wolf. Bison marched forward and saluted clumsily.
    “Have you anything to say before sentence is carried out?”
    “No, sir!” bellowed Bison.
    “Do you know what is special about you?” asked the general.
    “No, sir!”
    “Absolutely nothing,” said the White Wolf. “You are an undisciplined wretch and the clumsiest man ever to serve under me. For a copper coin I’d hang you and be done with it. Now get to the post. This cold is chilling my bones.” So saying, he lifted the sheepskin hood over his head and pulled the cloak around him.
    “Yes, sir!” Bison spun on his heel and marched back to the post, reaching up and taking hold of the wood.
    The man with the whip untied the thong binding the five lashes and cracked it into the air. Then he shrugged his shoulders twice and took up his position. His arm came back.
    “Hold!” came a commanding voice.
    The soldier froze. Dagorian turned to see a small group of men striding onto the barracks ground. They were all Ventrian officers wearing golden breastplates and sporting red capes. At the center was Prince Malikada, the king’s general, a tall, slender nobleman who had been chosen to replace the White Wolf. Beside him was his champion, the swordsman Antikas Karios. A fox and a cobra, thought Dagorian. Both men were slim and graceful, but Malikada’s power was in his eyes, dark and brooding, gleaming with intelligence, while Antikas Karios radiated a physical strength built on a striking speed that was inhuman.
    Malikada strode to the dais and bowed to the general. His hair was jet black, but his beard had been dyed with streaks of gold and then braided with gold thread. Dagorian watched him closely.
    “Greetings, my lord Banelion,” said Malikada.
    “This is hardly the time for a visit,” said Banelion. “But you are most welcome, Prince.”
    “It is
exactly
the time, General,” Malikada said with a wide smile. “One of my men is about to be disciplined incorrectly.”
    “One of
your
men?” the White Wolf inquired softly. Dagorian could feel the tension in the officers around him, but no one moved.
    “Of course one of my men. You were present when the king—glory be attached to his name—named me as your successor. As I recall, you are now a private citizen of the empire, about to head for home and a happy retirement.” Malikada swung around. “And this man has been accused of striking one of my officers. That, as I am sure you are aware, under Ventrian law, is a capital offense. He shall be hanged.”
    An angry murmur sounded throughout the ranks. Banelion rose. “Of course he shall hang—if convicted,” he said, his voice cold. “But I now change his plea to not guilty and—on his behalf—demand trial by combat. This is
Drenai
law, set in place by the king himself. Do you wish to deny it?”
    Malikada’s smile grew wider, and Dagorian realized in that moment that this was exactly what the Ventrian wanted. The swordsman Antikas was already removing his cloak and unbuckling his breastplate.
    “The king’s law is just,” said Malikada, raising his left arm and clicking his fingers. Antikas stepped forward, drew his sword, and spun it in the sunlight. “Which of your … former … officers will face Antikas Karios? I understand your aide, Dagorian, is considered something of a swordsman.”
    “Indeed he is,” said Banelion. Dagorian felt fear rip into him. He was no match for the Ventrian. He swallowed down the bile rising in his throat and fought to keep his emotions from his face. Glancing up, he saw Antikas Karios staring at him. There was no hint of a sneer or mockery