Daro Kesh stepped back two paces from the frame stand bench into the center of the wet flat stone slabs. There, the morning sun was finally breaking through the torn river clouds. He stood square in the open space between the water trough and the burial house porch. He rested his right palm lightly on the iron handle knob of his straight sword and spoke in the clear, steady pace used to post a public bout before guild witnesses.
“Here are my terms, Seyun of Ash Reed,” Daro said. “Tomorrow we both walk back through the gates of Oran. On the afternoon of the second day hence, we meet in an unchartered public courtyard in the craftsmen’s ward before open witnesses from the city. If you prevail under the terms we set, I’ll hand you Custodian Halen’s recovery directive on the spot and walk with you to the Independent Witness House to swear under my full name where I took it. If I prevail, I walk out of the courtyard carrying Master Uren’s original stone tablet. You make no claim against my school.”
By the wagon shed, Custodian Halen pressed his face so hard against the wooden slats of the shutter that the oak creaked. “Master Kesh!” Halen called out, his voice cracking between office bluster and raw panic. “You’re speaking of a classified Court document in front of wagon drivers! If you bring that parchment into a town ward in Oran, Senior Steward Osen Tal and the recovery commander…
