Cordimancy Read Online Free PDF

sterling reputation, wits, and considerable fortune were all that forestalled a challenge.
    The summons was an ideal lever to pry Toril’s father from power. Only a clan chief could represent his people at a war council. Hasha could not damage the prestige or influence of the clan by ignoring Gorumim’s summons, or by arriving late. Yet he could not travel quickly in such poor health. The graceful way out was to appoint a successor, and Rovin was the inevitable choice.
    A year earlier, Toril would have dismissed the idea angrily. But tumors beneath the ribs made his father’s retirement imminent, one way or the other. He could not deny the logic of it.
    Hasha began to laugh. For a moment it degenerated to a cough, but he gasped and managed a final chuckle. “Hah! I’ll teach Rovin to scheme. And Gorumim, too.” He turned to the Voice, who looked as stymied as Toril.
    “Sister, you may send my reply now. Say: ‘Let this Voice be earnest from the chief of Kelun Clan, who will arrive in Bakar at the appointed time.’”
    The Voice bent over her quill, shorthand flowing across the parchment as she scribbled. When finished, she used a knife at her belt to slice off the written portion, rolled it tightly, walked to the nearest lamp, muttered an incantation, and held the paper to the flame. She caught the ash with her other hand as it sagged, and, closing her eyes, rubbed it on her ears. Again she whispered.
    “The ride will kill you!” Toril burst out, when the magic was done.
    Hasha smiled at his son and turned to face the Voice. “Now I need you to be a witness.”
    “A witness to what?” she asked.
    He turned to Toril. “To my son taking the staff. He will go to Bakar as chief of Kelun Clan.”
    “What?” Toril exclaimed. “They won’t take me as a proxy. And you can’t appoint me. I’m not a parijan head.”
    “I didn’t say I was appointing you.”
    Several heartbeats passed while Toril absorbed this. “But the only other way to take the staff is by challenge.”
    Hasha waited.
    “That’s why you need a witness?”
    Hasha nodded.
    “Don’t ask me to fight you,” Toril said, turning pale. “You’d be better off riding to Bakar.”
    Hasha snorted. “I don’t know whether to be proud of your loyalty, insulted by your over-confidence, or impatient at your guesswork. This is your moment, Toril. I’ve trained you for it for years; Gorumim just chose the timing.”
    Toril’s forehead wrinkled.
    “When is a challenge won?” his father prompted.
    “If the vanquished can draw his weapon nevermore,” Toril quoted, “and it be witnessed, then shall the staff be taken.” His words slowed as he considered. “It usually means a fight to the death. But Feonil became chief of Itaxu Clan when he blinded Telo in a duel. Telo could never use the sling again...”
    “Now you’re thinking like a clan chief. I told you history would be useful.”
    “Hifir cut off the hand of Etasín...”
    “I see a better way for you.”
    “What?”
    Toril’s father glanced at the Voice. “Mark what we say,” he instructed. “You will doubtless be questioned, and I won’t have this disputed on a technicality. The word of the Sisterhood ought to satisfy any of the parijan heads.” He turned back to Toril. “Do you challenge me for the staff of Kelun?”
    “Not if I have to hurt you.”
    “Trust me,” Hasha said. His eyes drilled into Toril’s. “Do you challenge me?”
     
    Toril held his father’s gaze. Obviously Hasha had some plan, but he didn’t want to explain it. The Voice was listening; collusion would invalidate any passing of the staff.
    But how was Toril supposed to cooperate with a plan he didn’t understand? A challenge was serious business. Both men’s lives and reputations were at stake. Each was honor-bound to do his utmost, using whichever weapon the chief chose, to defeat the other. No quarter could be given.
    The maimings in the history books were considered legitimate, but who could