With a harsh metal rattle, the Court rider unhooked the ten-foot length of blackened iron chain from his saddle-belt and let its twin weighted ends drop into the warm stone silt on either side of his boots. At the center of the chain sat a forged two-inch iron joining ring where his leather grip-strap attached. At each edge hung a three-pronged barbed grapnel forged to bite into wood, bone, or bronze armor. Despite the cracked rib under his breastplate, the consolidated, veteran Bronze pressure rolling off his shoulders settled into a low, practiced combat stance.
“You want a witnessed record, student of Soran?” the rider said coldly. “Under Article Seven of the Northern Enforcement Code, when a chartered student obstructs the recovery of a trial instrument, the officer may demand an immediate single-combat proof in the open ring. If you yield the stone or fall, I ride out this gate with the locator metal tube and take the four summit fugitives in that ward room behind you in chains. If you disarm me cleanly within the basin, the metal tube stays on the stone for your clerks to inspect.”
On the eastern curb, Daro Kesh took a half-step forward, his thumb resting on the handle knob of his shortened Bronze sword, ready to point out that the rider had already forfeited any legal claim when his device nearly boiled thirty children alive. Ilyra raised her left hand slightly without taking her eyes off the rider, halting Daro gently.
