Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [88]
“Each fighter has three shields, kept for him by an unarmed shield-bearer who takes no part in the battle but provides replacement shields if a shield is broken,” Balin declaimed. “Each fighter strikes a single blow in turn, with the challenged party delivering the first blow. The fight continues until first blood is drawn, whereupon the Kai Priestess ends the fight, proclaiming that Torval has issued his judgment.”
Draya frowned slightly and raised her hand to stop the flow of words. “How is ‘first blood’ to be determined? I assume this does not mean a scratch on the cheek.”
“The Kai Priestess is the one who decides when first blood is drawn. Traditionally, the blood must be sufficient to spatter the cloth at the warriors’ feet.”
“I see.” Draya remained thoughtful.
“You must remember, lady,” Balin said gently, “that the Vutmana was established by the Kai to avoid the shedding of blood.”
“Yet the Vutmana is not the same now as it was when it was first established,” said Draya.
“The Vutmana we know today is very different from those described in the old songs,” Balin agreed.
“How exactly?” Draya asked. “I want to be clear on this.”
“For example, when the Vutmana was first established, two men could fight for any reason under the sun. The idea of a trial by combat became so popular, the Priestesses were doing nothing but watching warriors take swings at each other,” Balin told her.
“The Clan Chiefs were not happy about this. They were supposed to judge disputes, but increasingly the Chiefs were being bypassed by those wanting to bring their petty grievances to Torval. And then there was the problem that if anyone disagreed with a Chief’s judgment, the warrior could challenge the Chief to the Vutmana to try to overthrow him.
“After a few years of such chaos, the Kai decreed that the Vutmana would be used only to settle disputes that might lead to war and to determine who was to be the new Chief. Further, the challenger has to be willing to stake a goodly portion of his wealth on the outcome, to be given to the challenged if Torval rules in his favor.”
Balin reached for his lyre. “For example, in the lay known as ‘Gonegal’s Heart’ there is a verse that goes—”
“Perhaps another time, Balin,” Draya said politely, rising to take her leave.
Balin was a bard, as well as Talgogroth, and if permitted, he would spend the rest of the day singing his songs.
“I enjoy your music, as you know, sir,” Draya added, to take the sting out of her words, “but I must forgo all such pleasures until this important matter is settled. You do understand, don’t you?”
Balin inclined his head and regretfully laid his lyre aside. “I hope I have been of help to you, lady,” he said, rising in turn.
“Your help has been inestimable, sir. I thank you for your time.” Draya glanced at the lyre that resided in a place of honor near the fireside and said politely, “I hope you will compose a song in honor of this Vutmana, so that it will be remembered by our children.”
“That will depend, lady,” said Balin after a moment’s hesitation.
“On what?” Draya asked, smiling. “You bards make everything into a song.”
He regarded her sadly, then said, “Perhaps our children will not want to remember.”
The day of the Vutmana dawned clear and bright. The Sun Goddess Aylis seemed to leap out of the ocean, as though eager to watch the contest. Akaria was reluctant to lower her lantern; the moon was loath to set, but remained a pale orb in the sky until long after the sun had risen, before sinking down reluctantly.
The Torgun had arrived at Vindraholm the night before. No one was on the beach to greet them, but no one was there to oppose them, either. Norgaard understood. The hearts of the Heudjun were sore and bitter. Norgaard and his warriors camped on the beach and he’d placed strict limits on the amount of ale they consumed.
Horg and his cronies had also returned to the city. Horg had spent the time in the forest brooding over his perceived wrongs and reviling his unfaithful clansmen. His friends had soothed him and flattered him,