Chapter nine
Of the duelists’ mat and the nose of Vad GarnathWeakness grew on me with dizzying speed. Garnath’s blade flamed before my eyes, streaks and dazzlement of blinding silver darting into my brain. I felt as though a wersting pack ululated at my heels to pull me down, or a pack of our powerful hunting rarks of the Great Plains of Segesthes bayed after me as they bayed after the slinking leem, until we might ride up astride our voves to dispatch the feline furies.
The dueling hall reeled about me. I could be back aboard a frigate beating about off Brest, forever servicing the ships of the line on eternal blockade. I did not feel as though I rode a swinger, hurtling between the colossal growths of Aphrasöe the Swinging City, for there no one would weave a net of blinding steel befo
