Galloran strode toward him, sword held ready. “When you speak of duels to a king in public, you had best have a weapon ready.”

“This is madness,” Naman protested, looking to Pallas.

Pallas rose. “Must this escalate to violence?”

Galloran stopped directly in front of the stone table. “I was not the first to mention a challenge.”

“Very well,” Naman said. “You insist too fervently. If you desire to meet your end with a sword in hand, I will oblige.”

“You don’t foresee me emerging victorious?” Galloran asked.

“No, and if you expect that outcome, your judgment is far more corrupted than I had suspected.”

“We have plenty of witnesses present,” Galloran said. “Sufficient space. Have you a sword?”

Naman drew a sword from beneath his robes. “Nothing so fine as yours, but I stand ready.” His gray blade looked a little longer than the torivorian weapon.

Drake arose. “Let me stand in for Galloran,” he declared. “Even if he had eyes, I would not sit by and allow a man of his stature to cross swords with one of our people.”

Naman sized up Drake with a smirk. “I’m willing.”

“I am not,” Galloran said. “I fight my own duels. There are more senses than sight.”

“Please, Your Majesty,” Drake implored. “Do me this honor.”

“I appreciate the gesture,” Galloran said. “Be seated.”

Drake plopped down beside Rachel. “Naman is an accomplished swordsman,” he muttered. “This can’t end well.”

Rachel felt words in her mind. Keep your eyes on the fight, especially on Naman. You must serve as my eyes.

Galloran assumed a fighting stance. “Would you be so kind, Pallas?”

“Begin,” Pallas said solemnly.

Rachel tried not to blink. How well could he use her eyes? Was it possible for Galloran to fight effectively while only viewing himself and his opponent from off to the side? She could not imagine how he would stay oriented.

Focus on opening your mind to me, Galloran conveyed in response. Corinne will be doing the same.

Rachel exerted her will, attempting to send everything she saw toward Galloran’s mind.

“Win or lose, this duel will not resolve your problems,” Naman warned, slowly approaching Galloran. “The current quarrel is between the two of us.”

“Should I fall, I trust Lord Jason to speak on behalf of our cause,” Galloran said.

Naman extended his sword probingly and Galloran knocked it aside. Naman moved in, slashing aggressively, and the swords clashed, ringing almost musically. Galloran pivoted so that his back was mostly to Rachel, but on a diagonal, so his body didn’t impede a view of Naman. Galloran deflected another fierce sequence of blows.

“How are you doing that?” Naman asked, backing off. “Are you truly blind?”

Galloran cast aside his blindfold in reply.

Their blades met again, and Galloran’s sword became a blur. Naman paced backward sloppily, struggling to hold off the onslaught. Rachel could see fear and disbelief in Naman’s eyes. Then Galloran lopped off his sword hand and impaled the seedman without hesitation.

Galloran withdrew his sword, and Naman fell to his knees, his expression bewildered, one hand over his punctured chest. The seedman tipped onto his side.

Rachel stared up at the crowd. Most faces gaped in astonishment. Some people shifted uncomfortably. The only voices spoke in whispers.

Thank you, Galloran sent to Rachel. Well done. She could sense weariness behind his psychic message. There was a slight tremble in his hand as he wiped his sleeve across his forehead. He looked pallid and winded. She realized that the effort of seeing through her eyes must have required much more energy and willpower than mentally exchanging words. She wondered how apparent it was to the other bystanders how greatly the endeavor had taxed him. Galloran was doing his best to disguise his fatigue.

Galloran sheathed his sword. “Dorsio, please fetch his seed and place it on the table.” He raised his voice. “As you all know, Naman is not truly gone. He’ll be younger and stronger a couple of months from now. I regret the interruption. We’ll need a new rebutter.”

Drake chuckled softly, covering his grin with one hand. He spoke in hushed wonder. “I’ve never seen a man fight like that. Such economy of motion. It was over the instant Galloran attacked. Imagine if he could see!”

The four seed people at the stone table conversed privately. Finally Pallas addressed Galloran. “I will rebut. Although not without trepidation.”

The crowd laughed uneasily.

Dorsio placed Naman’s seed on the table and returned the fallen blindfold to Galloran, who covered his gaping sockets. He already looked more steady than immediately following the duel. Pallas walked to where Naman had stood previously.

“Where were we?” Pallas asked.

“I believe Naman was insinuating we hand over my daughter to the emperor,” Galloran said flatly.

“I do not envision us handing anyone over to Maldor,” Pallas said. “All other considerations aside, it is true that letting him flout our treaties and issue mandates will only reduce his respect for us. We may have begun to lose sight of that truth. Galloran is a sworn friend of our people. I move that our guests should enjoy our full protection. Unless there are any dissenters?” He looked first to the rest of the Conclave and then scanned the audience. Nobody volunteered a complaint. Rachel felt herself relax a bit.

“Is the vote unanimous?” Pallas asked the Conclave.

Three voices responded, “Aye.”

Pallas nodded. “So be it. Galloran, I wish to explore your proposal regarding the prophetess.”

“Naman was quick to dismiss the possibility of me besting him in a duel,” Galloran said. “Yet there he lies. I imagine that most present would also doubt the feasibility of vanquishing the menace who lurks in the Drowned City.”

The suggestion caused an incredulous outburst.

Galloran raised his hands until the overlapping comments subsided. “I can hear the disbelief. Rachel, would you stand up?”

Rachel complied, keeping her eyes on Galloran, trying not to think about the soaring rows of seed people all around her. “This young woman is a Beyonder and an Edomic adept. She slew the menace this week. You will now find the Drowned City deserted.”

The subsequent uproar sounded more skeptical than pleased.

“Believe me or not, when you investigate, my words will be confirmed,” Galloran said. “My point is that although an offensive would certainly be risky, we would be foolish to utterly ignore the option. Victory has occurred against difficult odds before. In our present circumstances, defense can delay, but it cannot prevail. The oracle at Mianamon has been reliable for centuries. Why not send a delegation to investigate whether an offensive could succeed? If it can, we plan an attack. If it can’t, we concentrate with full purpose on prolonging the inevitable.”