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cookie
Adventuring Hero
*cookie magic*
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posted October 22, 2011 08:51 PM |
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Edited by cookie at 20:51, 22 Oct 2011.
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Is Zehir a....
Is he a homosexual? I am not trolling or anything. I just thought that he is incredibly funny and smart in the campaigns and i was wondering if some of the things he say or how he said them hint that he like men. Other characters also kinda hint that he is a "girly boy" one way or another.
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Mytical
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
Chaos seeking Harmony
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posted October 22, 2011 08:54 PM |
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Honestly, does it really matter? A fictional character that has had no relationships one way or another? It's sort of like the Xenia/Gabrielle thing. Never understood that either.
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Message received.
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Geny 
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
What if Elvin was female?
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posted October 22, 2011 08:56 PM |
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But, but... Xenia and Gabrielle are clearly lesbians in a domination relationship! How can you even deny that?!
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DON'T BE A NOOB, JOIN A.D.V.E.N.T.U.R.E.
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zaio-baio
Promising
Famous Hero
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posted October 23, 2011 01:01 AM |
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Quote:
A fictional character that has had no relationships one way or another?
Wrong, he has with titans 
Now trolling aside, i always thought that Titans are homo, lvl 6 big cats - trans( u know, man dressed like women) and archmages just seem to have a soft spot for little kids
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Mytical
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
Chaos seeking Harmony
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posted October 23, 2011 01:10 AM |
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Ok thread getting a bit wrong. Keep it clean people.
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Message received.
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Elvin
Admirable
Omnipresent Hero
Endless Revival
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posted October 23, 2011 11:11 AM |
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LOL! That thread made my day.
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H5 is still alive and kicking, join us in the Duel Map discord server!
Map also hosted on Moddb
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scythesong
Adventuring Hero
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posted October 23, 2011 06:32 PM |
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He's the stereotypical English (the people, not the language) high society intellectual. Characters like him are very rarely gay, the stereotype is from a time when being gay was looked down upon and truly gay people had to try hard -not- to get noticed. His feminine qualities are there to show that he's spoiled, incompetent, possibly arrogant and foolish. Curiously, in-game Zehir actually is actually -very- competent and wiser than his character suggests, which means that the whole thing might just be an act (we have yet see something actually break Zehir's cool).
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Elvin
Admirable
Omnipresent Hero
Endless Revival
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posted October 23, 2011 06:46 PM |
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Far from incompetent, his bio certainly confirms that much.
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H5 is still alive and kicking, join us in the Duel Map discord server!
Map also hosted on Moddb
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juker
Hired Hero
Rocking In The Free World
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posted October 23, 2011 08:10 PM |
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LOL dude, who cares if he's homo?? it's just a game...
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The universe is composed by
events
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Cepheus
Honorable
Legendary Hero
Far-flung Keeper
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posted October 23, 2011 10:39 PM |
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The storywriters lampshaded this a little in a Q&A where they explain Zehir's mother died in childbirth. They cite this as the reason for his "unusual personality".
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"Those who forget their history are inevitably doomed to repeat it." —Proverb, Might and Magic VIII
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xerox
Promising
Undefeatable Hero
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posted October 23, 2011 10:56 PM |
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Ahh, so Zehir was a rainbow child then?
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Over himself, over his own
body and
mind, the individual is
sovereign.
- John Stuart Mill
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zaio-baio
Promising
Famous Hero
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posted October 24, 2011 01:43 AM |
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now seriously, Zehir is just excentric
Anyways, as long as he isnt right behind the titans everything will be fine.
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gnomes2169
Honorable
Undefeatable Hero
Duke of the Glade
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posted October 24, 2011 03:00 AM |
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Naw, Zehir may be Flamboyant (Hell, his last mission in TotE is titled "A Flamboyant entrance"  ), but he's definitely not homo. Flirts too much to really have that mistake. A girly man, yes, but a hetero girly man.
Oh, and Just because he chucks fireballs, it doesn't mean that he's flaming. >.< Night Elves do that too.
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Yeah in the 18th century, two inventions suggested a method of measurement. One won and the other stayed in America.
-Ghost destroying Fred
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blizzardboy
Honorable
Undefeatable Hero
Nerf Herder
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posted October 25, 2011 04:22 PM |
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He's metrosexual.
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"Folks, I don't trust children. They're here to replace us."
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Sinecron
Tavern Dweller
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posted October 26, 2011 06:39 PM |
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I'd say hes...uummm....aah...Cool!
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LightAvatarX
Known Hero
Water,Earth,Fire,Air
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posted June 17, 2015 05:40 PM |
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Does it matter?
But ok my personal opinion is yes that he is...and I <3 it.
It is the way he speaks to mens.
For exapmple:I have to go to Tolongaurd to fight Biara,but first I have to visit a very good and special friend,Raelag!
Speaking to Ylaya when Raelag is not there: Oh he is not here  ,that is so bad....
But whatever may I am wrong...but I like him )))
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mihaitza
Hired Hero
martin had a dream
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posted June 24, 2015 10:15 PM |
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Edited by mihaitza at 20:58, 20 Dec 2015.
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LightAvatarX said:
Does it matter?
But ok my personal opinion is yes that he is...and I <3 it.
It is the way he speaks to mens.
For exapmple:I have to go to Tolongaurd to fight Biara,but first I have to visit a very good and special friend,Raelag!
Speaking to Ylaya when Raelag is not there: Oh he is not here ,that is so bad....
But whatever may I am wrong...but I like him )))
That manner of speech is nowhere near enough to be qualified as gay.
When dawn broke, he found he could not face the thought of food. By evenfall I may stand condemned. One last witness to endure, then my turn. But what to do? Let the dice fly and pray the Blue Viper could defeat Sir György Hidegkuti?
Radú stabbed listlessly at a greasy grey sausage, wishing it were his cousin. It is bloody cold in Svyatoy Nos, but at least I would be shut of Hezekiah Rosenthal. There are those inconvenient vows, though. It would mean the end of his marriage and whatever claim he might ever have made for Shoeshine Shack, but he did not seem destined to enjoy either in any case. And he seemed to recall that there was a brothel in a nearby village.
It was not a life he’d ever dreamed of, but it was life. And all he had to do to earn it was trust in the Grand Inquisitor, stand up on his little stunted legs, and say, “Yes, I did it, I confess.” That was the part that tied his bowels in knots. He almost wished he had done it, since it seemed he must suffer for it anyway.
“Master?” said Grigori. “They’re here, master. Lord Bortnikov. And the Militsia. They wait without.”
“Grisha, tell me true... do you think I did it?”
The boy hesitated. When he tried to speak, all he managed to produce was a weak sputter.
I am doomed. Radú sighed. “No need to answer. You’ve been a good squire to me. Better than I deserved. Whatever happens, I thank you for your leal service.”
Lord Alexander Bortnikov waited at the door with six Militsias. He had nothing to say this morning, it seemed. Another good man who thinks me a kingslayer. Radú summoned all the dignity he could find and waddled down the steps. He could feel them all watching him as he crossed the yard. Inside the throne room, knights and lordlings moved aside to let them through, and whispered to their ladies.
I saved you all, Radú thought. I saved this vile city and all your worthless lives. There were hundreds in the throne room, every one of them laughing but His Holiness. Or so it seemed. Even the Blue Viper chortled, and Father Zosima looked like to bust a gut, but the Grand Inquisitor sat between them as if made of stone, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.
Radú pushed forward. “MY LORDS!” he shouted. He had to shout, to have any hope of being heard.
The Inquisitor raised a hand. Bit by bit, the hall grew silent.
“Get this laughing snow out of my sight,” said Radú, “and I will give you your confession.”
The Grand Inquisitor nodded, gestured. Father Zosima looked half in terror as the Militsias formed up around him. His eyes met Radú’s as they marched him from the wall. Was it shame he saw there, or fear?
Radú stared up at the Inquisitor's hard green eyes with their flecks of cold bright gold. “Guilty,” he said, “so guilty. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
The Grand Inquisitor said nothing. Prince Luka looked mildly disappointed. “You admit you poisoned the king?”
“Nothing of the sort,” said Radú. “Of Vladimir's death I am innocent. I am guilty of a more monstrous crime.” He took a step toward His Holiness. “I was born. I lived. I am guilty of being a dwarf, I confess it. And no matter how many times my good Inquisitor forgave me, I have persisted in my infamy.”
“This is folly, Radú,” declared the Grand Inquisitor. “Speak to the matter at hand. You are not on trial for being a dwarf.”
“That is where you err, Your Excellency. I have been on trial for being a dwarf my entire life.”
“Have you nothing to say in your defense?”
“Nothing but this: I wish I was a little bit taller. I did not do it. Yet now I wish I had.” He turned to face the hall, that sea of pale faces. “Watching your vicious snow die gave me more relief than a thousand lying snows. I wish i was the monster you think I am. I wish I had enough poision for the whole pack of you. I would gladly give my life to watch you all swallow it. I will not give my life Vladimir's murder. And I know I'll get no justice here, so I will let the gods decide my fate. I demand trial by battle.”
“Have you taken leave of your wits?” His Holiness said.
“No, I’ve found them. I demand trial by battle!”
His dear cousin could not have been more pleased. “He has that right, my lords,” he reminded the judges. “Let the gods judge. Sir György Hidegkuti will stand for Vladimir. He returned to the city the night before last.”
The Grand Inquisitor's face was so dark that for half a heartbeat Radú wondered if he’d drunk some poisoned wine as well. He slammed his fist down on the table, too angry to speak. It was a judge who turned to Radú and asked the question. “Do you have a champion to defend your innocence?”
“He does, my lord.” Prince Luka of Croatia rose to his feet. “The dwarf has quite convinced me.”
The uproar was deafening. Radú took especial pleasure in the sudden doubt he glimpsed in Rosenthal's eyes. It took a hundred Militsias pounding the butts of their spears against the floor to quiet the throne room again. By then the Grand Inquisitor had recovered himself. “Let the issue be decided on the morrow,” he declared in iron tones. “I wash my hands of it.” He gave the dwarf a cold angry look, then strode from the hall, out the king’s door behind the Iron Throne, his cousin Hezekiah at his side.
Later, back in his tower cell, Radú poured himself a cup of wine and sent Grigori off for cheese, bread, and olives. He doubted whether he could keep down anything heavier just now. Did you think I would go meekly, Father? He asked the shadow his candles etched upon the wall. I have too much of you in me for that. He felt strangely at peace, now that he had snatched the power of life and death from His Holiness's hands and placed it in the hands of the gods. Assuming there are gods, and they care. If not, then I’m in Croatian hands.
That night, surprisingly, Radú Jeweltracker slept long and deep. He rose at first light, well rested and with a hearty appetite, and broke his fast on fried bread, blood sausage, applecakes, and a double helping of eggs cooked with onions and fiery Zorgish peppers. Then he begged leave of his guards to attend his champion. Lord Bortnikov gave his consent.
Radú found Prince Luka drinking a cup of red wine as he donned his armor. He was attended by four of his younger Croatian lordlings. “Good morrow to you, master dwarf,” the prince said. “Will you take a cup of wine?”
“Should you be drinking before battle?”
“I always drink before battle.”
“That could get you killed. Worse, it could get me killed.”
Prince Luka laughed. “The gods defend the innocent. You are innocent, I trust?”
“Only of killing Vladimir,” Radú admitted. “I do hope you know what you are about to face. György Hidegkuti is -
“ - large? So I have heard.”
“He is almost eight feet tall and must weigh thirty stone, all of it muscle. He fights with a two handed greatsword, but needs only one hand to wield it. He has been known to cut men in half with a single blow. His armor is so heavy that no lesser man could bear the weight, let alone move in it.”
Prince Luka was unimpressed. “I have killed large men before. The trick is to get them off their feet. Once they go down, they’re dead.” The Croatian sounded so blithely confident that Radú felt almost reassured, until he turned and said, “Mladen, my spear!” Mladen tossed it to him, and the Blue Viper snatched it from the air.
“You mean to face the Rock with a spear?” That made Radú uneasy all over again. In battle, ranks of massed spears made for a formidable front, but single combat against a skilled swordsman was a very different matter.
“We are fond of spears in Croatia. Besides, it is the only way to counter his reach. Have a look, Master Dwarf, but see you do not touch.” The spear was turned ash eight feet long, the shaft smooth, thick, and heavy. The last two feet of that was steel: a slender leaf-shaped spearhead narrowing to a wicked spike. The edges looked sharp enough to shave with. When Luka spun the haft between the palms of his hand, they glistened black. Oil? Or poison? Radú decided that he would sooner not know. “I hope you are good with that,” he said doubtfully.
“You will have no cause for complaint. Though Sir György may. However thick his plate, there will be gaps at the joints. Inside the elbow and knee, beneath the arms... I will find a place to tickle him, I promise you.” He set the spear aside. “It is said that a Jeweltracker always pays his debts. Perhaps you will return to Novi Zagreb with me when the day’s bloodletting is done. My brother Ivo would be most pleased to meet the rightful heir to Shoeshine Shack... especially if he brought his lovely wife, the Lady of Eretz Luin.”
Does the snake think I have Esthera squirreled away somewhere, like a nut I’m hoarding for winter? If so, Radú was not about to disabuse him. “A trip to Croatia might be very pleasant, now that I reflect on it.”
“Plan on a lengthy visit.” Prince Luka sipped his wine. “You and Ivo have many matters of mutual interest to discuss. Music, trade, history, wine, the dwarf’s penny...”
If Rosenthal had his little birds listening, Luka was giving them a ripe earful. “I believe I will have that cup of wine,” said Radú.
“Do you recall the tale I told you of our first meeting, Dwarf?” Prince Luka asked, as the snow of Dalmatia knelt before him to fasten his greaves. “It was not for your beard alone that my sister and I came to Shoeshine Shack. We were on a quest of sorts. A quest that took us to Split, the Constance, Jassy, the Karlovac Islands, Birobidzhan, and finally Shoeshine Shack... but our true destination was marriage. Ivo was betrothed to Lady Kolinda Grabar of Rijeka, so he had been left behind as castellan of Novi Zagreb. My sister and I were yet unpromised.
“Anastazija found it all exciting. She was of that age, and her delicate health had never permitted her much travel. I preferred to amuse myself by mocking my sister’s suitors. There was Little Lord Lazyeye, Squire Squishlips, one I named the Whale That Walks, that sort of thing. The only one who was even halfway presentable was young Stephen of Jassy. A pretty lad, and my sister was half in love with him until he had the misfortune to fart once in our presence. I promptly named him Stephen Breakwind, and after that Anastazija couldn’t look at him without laughing. I was a monstrous young fellow, someone should have sliced out my vile tongue.”
Yes, Radú agreed silently. Stephen of Jassy was no longer young, but he remained Lord Nichita’s heir; wealthy, handsome, and a knight of splendid repute. Stephen Brightsmile, they called him now. Had Anastazija wed him in place of Ivo Josipović, she might be in The City of the Three Unions with her children growing tall around her. He wondered how many lives had been snuffed out by that fart.
The outer ward had been chosen for the combat. Radú had to skip and run to keep up with Prince Luka’s bold strides. The snake is eager, he thought. Let us hope he is venomous as well. The day was grey and windy. The sun was struggling to break through the clouds, but Radú could no more have said who was going to win that fight than the one on which his life depended.
It looked as though a thousand people had come to see if he would live or die. And the yard was packed with them, so many that the Militsias and the knights of the Kommisariat had to shove them back to make enough room for the fight. We should have done this in the Red Square, Radú thought sourly. We could have charged a penny a head and paid for Vladimir’s wedding and funeral both. Some of the onlookers even had small children sitting on their shoulders, to get a better view. They shouted and pointed at the sight of Radú.
Rosenthal seemed half a child himself beside Sir György. In his armor, the Rock looked bigger than any man had any right to be. Beneath a long yellow surcoat bearing the three black dogs of Hidegkuti, he wore heavy plate over chainmail, dull grey steel dinted and scarred in battle. Beneath that would be boiled leather and a layer of quilting. A flat-topped greathelm was bolted to his gorget, with breaths around the mouth and nose and a narrow slit for vision. The crest atop it was a stone fist.
He looks as though he was chiseled out of rock, standing there. His greatsword was planted in the ground before him, six feet of scarred metal. Sir György's huge hands, clad in gauntlets of lobstered steel, clasped the crosshilt to either side of the grip.
Radú had his own doubts, now that they stood on the brink. The Blue Viper was lightly armored; greaves, vambraces, gorget, spaulder, steel codpiece. Elsewise Luka was clad in supple leather and flowing silks. Over his byrnie he wore his scales of gleaming copper, but mail and scale together would not give him a quarter the protection of György's heavy plate. With its visor removed, the prince’s helm was effectively no better than a halfhelm, lacking even a nasal. His round steel shield was brightly polished, and showed the sun-and-spear in red gold, yellow gold, white gold, and copper.
Dance around him until he’s so tired he can hardly lift his arm, then put him on his back.. I hope to seven hells that you know what you are doing, snake.
The Grand Inquisitor glanced briefly at the dwarf, then lifted his hand. A dozen trumpeters blew a fanfare to quiet the crowd.
A squire brought Hidegkuti his shield, a massive thing of heavy oak rimmed in black iron. As the Rock slid his left arm through the straps, Radú saw that the hounds of Hidegkuti had been painted over. This morning Sir György bore the five-pointed star. Very pious of you, Rosenthal, but I doubt the gods will be impressed.
There were fifty yards between them. Prince Luka advanced quickly, Sir György more ominously. The ground does not shake when he walks, Radú told himself. That is only my heart fluttering. When the two men were ten yards apart, the Blue Viper stopped and called out:
“Have they told you who I am?”
Sir György grunted through his breaths. “Some dead man.” He came on, inexorable.
The Croatian slid sideways. “I am Luka Hrvatski, a prince of Croatia,” he said, as the
Rock turned to keep him in sight. “Lord Roaturi was my friend.”
“Who?” asked György Hidegkuti.
Luka’s long spear jabbed, but Sir György took the point on his shield, shoved it aside, and bulled back at the prince, his great sword flashing. The Croatianman spun away untouched. The spear darted forward. Hidegkuti slashed at it, Hrvatski snapped it back, then thrust again. Metal screamed on metal as the spearhead slid off the Rock’s chest, slicing through the surcoat and leaving a long bright scratch on the steel beneath. “Roaturi Bandić, Lord of Novi Zagreb,” the Blue Viper hissed. “You raped him. You murdered him. You broke his shield.”
Sir György grunted. He made a ponderous charge to hack at the Croatianman's head. Prince Luka avoided him easily. “You raped him. You murdered him. You broke his shield.”
“Did you come to talk or to fight?”
“I came to hear you confess.” The Blue Viper landed a quick thrust on the Rock’s belly, to no effect. György cut at him, and missed. The long spear lanced in above his sword. The Rock makes for a big target, at the least, Radú thought. Prince Luka could scarcely miss, though none of his blows was penetrating Sir György’s heavy plate. The Croatianman kept circling, jabbing, then darting back again, forcing the bigger man to turn and turn again.
It went on that way for what seemed a long time. Back and forth they moved across the yard, and round and round in spirals, Sir György slashing at the air while Luka’s spear struck at arm, and leg, twice at his temple. György’s big wooden shield took its share of hits as well, until a dog’s head peeped out from under the star, and elsewhere the raw oak showed through. Hidegkuti would grunt from time to time, and once Radú heard him mutter a curse, but otherwise he fought in a sullen silence.
Not Luka Hrvatski . “You raped him,” he called, feinting. “You murdered him,” he said, dodging a looping cut from György’s greatsword. “You broke his shield,” he shouted, slamming the spearpoint into the giant’s throat, only to have it glance off the thick steel gorget with a screech.
“Luka is toying with him,” said Luka's snow.
That is fool’s play, thought Radú. “The Rock is too bloody big to be any man’s toy.”
All around the yard, the throng of spectators was creeping in toward the two combatants, edging forward inch by inch to get a better view. The Kommisariat tried to keep them back, shoving at the gawkers forcefully with their big white shields, but there were hundreds of gawkers and only six of the men in white armor.
“You raped him.” Prince Luka parried a savage cut with his spearhead. “You murdered him.” He sent the spearpoint at Hidegkuti’s eyes, so fast the huge man flinched back. “You broke his shield.” The spear flickered sideways and down, scraping against the Rock’s breastplate. “You raped him. You murdered him. You broke his shield.” The spear was two feet longer than Sir György’s sword, more than enough to keep him at an awkward distance. He hacked at the shaft whenever Luka lunged at him, trying to lop off the spearhead, but he might as well have been trying to hack the wings off a fly. “You raped him. You murdered him. You broke his shield.” György tried to bull rush, but Luka skipped aside and circled round his back. “You raped him. You murdered him. You broke his shield.”
“Be quiet.” Sir György seemed to be moving a little slower, and his greatsword no longer rose quite so high as it had when the contest began. “Shut your bloody mouth.”
“You raped him,” the prince said, moving to the right.
“Enough!” Sir György took two long strides and brought his sword down at Luka’s head, but the Croatianman backstepped once more. “You murdered him,” he said.
“SHUT UP” György charged headlong, right at the point of the spear, which slammed into his right breast then slid aside with a hideous steel shriek. Sir György followed, bellowing. He doesn’t use words, he just roars like an animal, Radú thought. Luka’s retreat became a headlong backward flight mere inches ahead of the greatsword as it slashed at his chest, his arms, his head.
The stable was behind him. Spectators screamed and shoved at each other to get out of the way. One stumbled into Luka’s back. Sir György hacked down with all his savage strength. The Blue Viper threw himself sideways, rolling.
But the Blue Viper of Croatia was back on his feet, his long spear in hand. “Roaturi,” he called at Sir György. “You raped him. You murdered him. You broke his shield. Now say his name.”
The Rock whirled. Helm, shield, sword, surcoat; he was spattered with gore from head to heels. “You talk too much,” he grumbled. “You make my head hurt.”
“I will hear you say it. He was Roaturi of Novi Zagreb.”
The Rock snorted contemptuously, and came on... and in that moment, the sun broke through the low clouds that had hidden the sky since dawn.
The sun of Croatia, Radú told himself, but it was György Hidegkuti who moved first to put the sun at his back. This is a dim and brutal man, but he has a warrior’s instincts.
The Blue Viper crouched, squinting, and sent his spear darting forward again. Sir György hacked at it, but the thrust had only been a feint. Off balance, he stumbled forward a step.
Prince Luka tilted his dinted metal shield. A shaft of sunlight blazed blindingly off polished gold and copper, into the narrow slit of his foe’s helm. Hidegkuti lifted his own shield against the glare. Prince Luka’s spear flashed like lightning and found the gap in the heavy plate, the joint under the arm. The point punched through mail and boiled leather. György gave a choked grunt as the Croatianman twisted his spear and yanked it free. “Roaturi. Say it! Roaturi of Croatia!” He was circling spear poised for another thrust. “Say it!”
Prince Luka had circled behind him. “ROATURI OF CROATIA!” he shouted. Sir György started to turn, but too slow and too late. The spearhead went through the back of the knee this time, through the layers of chain and leather between the plates on thigh and calf. The Rock reeled, swayed, then collapsed face first on the ground. His huge sword went flying from his hand. Slowly, ponderously, he rolled onto his back.
The Croatianman flung away his ruined shield, grasped the spear in both hands, and sauntered away. Luka whirled cat quick, and ran at his fallen foe. “ROOOOAAAATUUUUUUURRRII!” he screamed, as he drove the spear down with the whole weight of his body behind it. The crack of the ashwood shaft snapping was almost as sweet a sound as Rosenthal's wail of fury, and for an instant Prince Luka had wings. The snake has vaulted over the Rock. Four feet of broken spear jutted from Hidegkuti’s belly as Prince Luka rolled, rose, and dusted himself off. He tossed aside the splintered spear and claimed his foe’s greatsword. “If you die before you say his name, Sir, I will hunt you through all seven hells,” he promised.
Prince Luka moved closer and pointed an accusing finger at the Grand Inquisitor. "Who gave you the order? Say his name!" He put a foot on the Rock’s chest and raised the greatsword with both hands. Whether he intended to hack off György’s head or shove the point through his eyeslit was something Radú would never know.
Hidegkuti’s hand shot up and grabbed the Croatianman behind the knee. The Blue Viper brought down the greatsword in a wild slash, but he was off-balance, and the edge did no more than put another dent in the Rock’s embrace. Then the sword was forgotten as György’s hand tightened and twisted, yanking the Croatianman down on top of him. They wrestled in the dust and blood, the broken spear wobbling back and forth. Radú saw with horror that the Rock had wrapped one huge arm around the prince, drawing him tight against his chest, like a lover.
“Roaturi of Croatia,” they all heard Sir György say, when they were close enough to kiss. His deep voice boomed within the helm. “I killed the screaming whelp.” He thrust his free hand into Luka’s unprotected face, pushing steel fingers into his eyes. “Then I raped him.” Hidegkuti slammed his fist into the Croatianman’s mouth, making splinters of his teeth. “Then I smashed his snowing shield. Like this.” As he drew back his huge fist, the blood on his gauntlet seemed to smoke in the cold dawn air. There was a sickening crunch, and Radú’s breakfast came boiling back up. He found himself on his knees retching bacon and sausage and applecakes, and that double helping of fried eggs cooked up with onions and fiery Zorgish peppers.
He never heard the words that condemned him. Perhaps no words were necessary. I put my life in the Blue Viper’s hands, and he dropped it. When he remembered, too late, that snakes had no hands, Radú began to laugh hysterically.
He was halfway down the Serpentine steps before he realized that the Militsias were not taking him back to his tower room. “I’ve been consigned to the black cells,” he said. They did not bother to answer. Why waste your breath on the dead?When dawn broke, he found he could not face the thought of food. By evenfall I may stand condemned. One last witness to endure, then my turn. But what to do? Let the dice fly and pray the Blue Viper could defeat Sir György Hidegkuti?
Radú stabbed listlessly at a greasy grey sausage, wishing it were his cousin. It is bloody cold in Svyatoy Nos, but at least I would be shut of Hezekiah Rosenthal. There are those inconvenient vows, though. It would mean the end of his marriage and whatever claim he might ever have made for Shoeshine Shack, but he did not seem destined to enjoy either in any case. And he seemed to recall that there was a brothel in a nearby village.
It was not a life he’d ever dreamed of, but it was life. And all he had to do to earn it was trust in the Grand Inquisitor, stand up on his little stunted legs, and say, “Yes, I did it, I confess.” That was the part that tied his bowels in knots. He almost wished he had done it, since it seemed he must suffer for it anyway.
“Master?” said Grigori. “They’re here, master. Lord Bortnikov. And the Militsia. They wait without.”
“Grisha, tell me true... do you think I did it?”
The boy hesitated. When he tried to speak, all he managed to produce was a weak sputter.
I am doomed. Radú sighed. “No need to answer. You’ve been a good squire to me. Better than I deserved. Whatever happens, I thank you for your leal service.”
Lord Alexander Bortnikov waited at the door with six Militsias. He had nothing to say this morning, it seemed. Another good man who thinks me a kingslayer. Radú summoned all the dignity he could find and waddled down the steps. He could feel them all watching him as he crossed the yard. Inside the throne room, knights and lordlings moved aside to let them through, and whispered to their ladies.
I saved you all, Radú thought. I saved this vile city and all your worthless lives. There were hundreds in the throne room, every one of them laughing but His Holiness. Or so it seemed. Even the Blue Viper chortled, and Father Zosima looked like to bust a gut, but the Grand Inquisitor sat between them as if made of stone, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.
Radú pushed forward. “MY LORDS!” he shouted. He had to shout, to have any hope of being heard.
The Inquisitor raised a hand. Bit by bit, the hall grew silent.
“Get this laughing snow out of my sight,” said Radú, “and I will give you your confession.”
The Grand Inquisitor nodded, gestured. Father Zosima looked half in terror as the Militsias formed up around him. His eyes met Radú’s as they marched him from the wall. Was it shame he saw there, or fear?
Radú stared up at the Inquisitor's hard green eyes with their flecks of cold bright gold. “Guilty,” he said, “so guilty. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
The Grand Inquisitor said nothing. Prince Luka looked mildly disappointed. “You admit you poisoned the king?”
“Nothing of the sort,” said Radú. “Of Vladimir's death I am innocent. I am guilty of a more monstrous crime.” He took a step toward His Holiness. “I was born. I lived. I am guilty of being a dwarf, I confess it. And no matter how many times my good Inquisitor forgave me, I have persisted in my infamy.”
“This is folly, Radú,” declared the Grand Inquisitor. “Speak to the matter at hand. You are not on trial for being a dwarf.”
“That is where you err, Your Excellency. I have been on trial for being a dwarf my entire life.”
“Have you nothing to say in your defense?”
“Nothing but this: I wish I was a little bit taller. I did not do it. Yet now I wish I had.” He turned to face the hall, that sea of pale faces. “Watching your vicious snow die gave me more relief than a thousand lying snows. I wish i was the monster you think I am. I wish I had enough poision for the whole pack of you. I would gladly give my life to watch you all swallow it. I will not give my life Vladimir's murder. And I know I'll get no justice here, so I will let the gods decide my fate. I demand trial by battle.”
“Have you taken leave of your wits?” His Holiness said.
“No, I’ve found them. I demand trial by battle!”
His dear cousin could not have been more pleased. “He has that right, my lords,” he reminded the judges. “Let the gods judge. Sir György Hidegkuti will stand for Vladimir. He returned to the city the night before last.”
The Grand Inquisitor's face was so dark that for half a heartbeat Radú wondered if he’d drunk some poisoned wine as well. He slammed his fist down on the table, too angry to speak. It was a judge who turned to Radú and asked the question. “Do you have a champion to defend your innocence?”
“He does, my lord.” Prince Luka of Croatia rose to his feet. “The dwarf has quite convinced me.”
The uproar was deafening. Radú took especial pleasure in the sudden doubt he glimpsed in Rosenthal's eyes. It took a hundred Militsias pounding the butts of their spears against the floor to quiet the throne room again. By then the Grand Inquisitor had recovered himself. “Let the issue be decided on the morrow,” he declared in iron tones. “I wash my hands of it.” He gave the dwarf a cold angry look, then strode from the hall, out the king’s door behind the Iron Throne, his cousin Hezekiah at his side.
Later, back in his tower cell, Radú poured himself a cup of wine and sent Grigori off for cheese, bread, and olives. He doubted whether he could keep down anything heavier just now. Did you think I would go meekly, Father? He asked the shadow his candles etched upon the wall. I have too much of you in me for that. He felt strangely at peace, now that he had snatched the power of life and death from His Holiness's hands and placed it in the hands of the gods. Assuming there are gods, and they care. If not, then I’m in Croatian hands.
That night, surprisingly, Radú Jeweltracker slept long and deep. He rose at first light, well rested and with a hearty appetite, and broke his fast on fried bread, blood sausage, applecakes, and a double helping of eggs cooked with onions and fiery Zorgish peppers. Then he begged leave of his guards to attend his champion. Lord Bortnikov gave his consent.
Radú found Prince Luka drinking a cup of red wine as he donned his armor. He was attended by four of his younger Croatian lordlings. “Good morrow to you, master dwarf,” the prince said. “Will you take a cup of wine?”
“Should you be drinking before battle?”
“I always drink before battle.”
“That could get you killed. Worse, it could get me killed.”
Prince Luka laughed. “The gods defend the innocent. You are innocent, I trust?”
“Only of killing Vladimir,” Radú admitted. “I do hope you know what you are about to face. György Hidegkuti is -
“ - large? So I have heard.”
“He is almost eight feet tall and must weigh thirty stone, all of it muscle. He fights with a two handed greatsword, but needs only one hand to wield it. He has been known to cut men in half with a single blow. His armor is so heavy that no lesser man could bear the weight, let alone move in it.”
Prince Luka was unimpressed. “I have killed large men before. The trick is to get them off their feet. Once they go down, they’re dead.” The Croatian sounded so blithely confident that Radú felt almost reassured, until he turned and said, “Mladen, my spear!” Mladen tossed it to him, and the Blue Viper snatched it from the air.
“You mean to face the Rock with a spear?” That made Radú uneasy all over again. In battle, ranks of massed spears made for a formidable front, but single combat against a skilled swordsman was a very different matter.
“We are fond of spears in Croatia. Besides, it is the only way to counter his reach. Have a look, Master Dwarf, but see you do not touch.” The spear was turned ash eight feet long, the shaft smooth, thick, and heavy. The last two feet of that was steel: a slender leaf-shaped spearhead narrowing to a wicked spike. The edges looked sharp enough to shave with. When Luka spun the haft between the palms of his hand, they glistened black. Oil? Or poison? Radú decided that he would sooner not know. “I hope you are good with that,” he said doubtfully.
“You will have no cause for complaint. Though Sir György may. However thick his plate, there will be gaps at the joints. Inside the elbow and knee, beneath the arms... I will find a place to tickle him, I promise you.” He set the spear aside. “It is said that a Jeweltracker always pays his debts. Perhaps you will return to Novi Zagreb with me when the day’s bloodletting is done. My brother Ivo would be most pleased to meet the rightful heir to Shoeshine Shack... especially if he brought his lovely wife, the Lady of Eretz Luin.”
Does the snake think I have Esthera squirreled away somewhere, like a nut I’m hoarding for winter? If so, Radú was not about to disabuse him. “A trip to Croatia might be very pleasant, now that I reflect on it.”
“Plan on a lengthy visit.” Prince Luka sipped his wine. “You and Ivo have many matters of mutual interest to discuss. Music, trade, history, wine, the dwarf’s penny...”
If Rosenthal had his little birds listening, Luka was giving them a ripe earful. “I believe I will have that cup of wine,” said Radú.
“Do you recall the tale I told you of our first meeting, Dwarf?” Prince Luka asked, as the snow of Dalmatia knelt before him to fasten his greaves. “It was not for your beard alone that my sister and I came to Shoeshine Shack. We were on a quest of sorts. A quest that took us to Split, the Constance, Jassy, the Karlovac Islands, Birobidzhan, and finally Shoeshine Shack... but our true destination was marriage. Ivo was betrothed to Lady Kolinda Grabar of Rijeka, so he had been left behind as castellan of Novi Zagreb. My sister and I were yet unpromised.
“Anastazija found it all exciting. She was of that age, and her delicate health had never permitted her much travel. I preferred to amuse myself by mocking my sister’s suitors. There was Little Lord Lazyeye, Squire Squishlips, one I named the Whale That Walks, that sort of thing. The only one who was even halfway presentable was young Stephen of Jassy. A pretty lad, and my sister was half in love with him until he had the misfortune to fart once in our presence. I promptly named him Stephen Breakwind, and after that Anastazija couldn’t look at him without laughing. I was a monstrous young fellow, someone should have sliced out my vile tongue.”
Yes, Radú agreed silently. Stephen of Jassy was no longer young, but he remained Lord Nichita’s heir; wealthy, handsome, and a knight of splendid repute. Stephen Brightsmile, they called him now. Had Anastazija wed him in place of Ivo Josipović, she might be in The City of the Three Unions with her children growing tall around her. He wondered how many lives had been snuffed out by that fart.
The outer ward had been chosen for the combat. Radú had to skip and run to keep up with Prince Luka’s bold strides. The snake is eager, he thought. Let us hope he is venomous as well. The day was grey and windy. The sun was struggling to break through the clouds, but Radú could no more have said who was going to win that fight than the one on which his life depended.
It looked as though a thousand people had come to see if he would live or die. And the yard was packed with them, so many that the Militsias and the knights of the Kommisariat had to shove them back to make enough room for the fight. We should have done this in the Red Square, Radú thought sourly. We could have charged a penny a head and paid for Vladimir’s wedding and funeral both. Some of the onlookers even had small children sitting on their shoulders, to get a better view. They shouted and pointed at the sight of Radú.
Rosenthal seemed half a child himself beside Sir György. In his armor, the Rock looked bigger than any man had any right to be. Beneath a long yellow surcoat bearing the three black dogs of Hidegkuti, he wore heavy plate over chainmail, dull grey steel dinted and scarred in battle. Beneath that would be boiled leather and a layer of quilting. A flat-topped greathelm was bolted to his gorget, with breaths around the mouth and nose and a narrow slit for vision. The crest atop it was a stone fist.
He looks as though he was chiseled out of rock, standing there. His greatsword was planted in the ground before him, six feet of scarred metal. Sir György's huge hands, clad in gauntlets of lobstered steel, clasped the crosshilt to either side of the grip.
Radú had his own doubts, now that they stood on the brink. The Blue Viper was lightly armored; greaves, vambraces, gorget, spaulder, steel codpiece. Elsewise Luka was clad in supple leather and flowing silks. Over his byrnie he wore his scales of gleaming copper, but mail and scale together would not give him a quarter the protection of György's heavy plate. With its visor removed, the prince’s helm was effectively no better than a halfhelm, lacking even a nasal. His round steel shield was brightly polished, and showed the sun-and-spear in red gold, yellow gold, white gold, and copper.
Dance around him until he’s so tired he can hardly lift his arm, then put him on his back.. I hope to seven hells that you know what you are doing, snake.
The Grand Inquisitor glanced briefly at the dwarf, then lifted his hand. A dozen trumpeters blew a fanfare to quiet the crowd.
A squire brought Hidegkuti his shield, a massive thing of heavy oak rimmed in black iron. As the Rock slid his left arm through the straps, Radú saw that the hounds of Hidegkuti had been painted over. This morning Sir György bore the five-pointed star. Very pious of you, Rosenthal, but I doubt the gods will be impressed.
There were fifty yards between them. Prince Luka advanced quickly, Sir György more ominously. The ground does not shake when he walks, Radú told himself. That is only my heart fluttering. When the two men were ten yards apart, the Blue Viper stopped and called out:
“Have they told you who I am?”
Sir György grunted through his breaths. “Some dead man.” He came on, inexorable.
The Croatian slid sideways. “I am Luka Hrvatski, a prince of Croatia,” he said, as the
Rock turned to keep him in sight. “Lord Roaturi was my friend.”
“Who?” asked György Hidegkuti.
Luka’s long spear jabbed, but Sir György took the point on his shield, shoved it aside, and bulled back at the prince, his great sword flashing. The Croatianman spun away untouched. The spear darted forward. Hidegkuti slashed at it, Hrvatski snapped it back, then thrust again. Metal screamed on metal as the spearhead slid off the Rock’s chest, slicing through the surcoat and leaving a long bright scratch on the steel beneath. “Roaturi Bandić, Lord of Novi Zagreb,” the Blue Viper hissed. “You raped him. You murdered him. You broke his shield.”
Sir György grunted. He made a ponderous charge to hack at the Croatianman's head. Prince Luka avoided him easily. “You raped him. You murdered him. You broke his shield.”
“Did you come to talk or to fight?”
“I came to hear you confess.” The Blue Viper landed a quick thrust on the Rock’s belly, to no effect. György cut at him, and missed. The long spear lanced in above his sword. The Rock makes for a big target, at the least, Radú thought. Prince Luka could scarcely miss, though none of his blows was penetrating Sir György’s heavy plate. The Croatianman kept circling, jabbing, then darting back again, forcing the bigger man to turn and turn again.
It went on that way for what seemed a long time. Back and forth they moved across the yard, and round and round in spirals, Sir György slashing at the air while Luka’s spear struck at arm, and leg, twice at his temple. György’s big wooden shield took its share of hits as well, until a dog’s head peeped out from under the star, and elsewhere the raw oak showed through. Hidegkuti would grunt from time to time, and once Radú heard him mutter a curse, but otherwise he fought in a sullen silence.
Not Luka Hrvatski . “You raped him,” he called, feinting. “You murdered him,” he said, dodging a looping cut from György’s greatsword. “You broke his shield,” he shouted, slamming the spearpoint into the giant’s throat, only to have it glance off the thick steel gorget with a screech.
“Luka is toying with him,” said Luka's snow.
That is fool’s play, thought Radú. “The Rock is too bloody big to be any man’s toy.”
All around the yard, the throng of spectators was creeping in toward the two combatants, edging forward inch by inch to get a better view. The Kommisariat tried to keep them back, shoving at the gawkers forcefully with their big white shields, but there were hundreds of gawkers and only six of the men in white armor.
“You raped him.” Prince Luka parried a savage cut with his spearhead. “You murdered him.” He sent the spearpoint at Hidegkuti’s eyes, so fast the huge man flinched back. “You broke his shield.” The spear flickered sideways and down, scraping against the Rock’s breastplate. “You raped him. You murdered him. You broke his shield.” The spear was two feet longer than Sir György’s sword, more than enough to keep him at an awkward distance. He hacked at the shaft whenever Luka lunged at him, trying to lop off the spearhead, but he might as well have been trying to hack the wings off a fly. “You raped him. You murdered him. You broke his shield.” György tried to bull rush, but Luka skipped aside and circled round his back. “You raped him. You murdered him. You broke his shield.”
“Be quiet.” Sir György seemed to be moving a little slower, and his greatsword no longer rose quite so high as it had when the contest began. “Shut your bloody mouth.”
“You raped him,” the prince said, moving to the right.
“Enough!” Sir György took two long strides and brought his sword down at Luka’s head, but the Croatianman backstepped once more. “You murdered him,” he said.
“SHUT UP” György charged headlong, right at the point of the spear, which slammed into his right breast then slid aside with a hideous steel shriek. Sir György followed, bellowing. He doesn’t use words, he just roars like an animal, Radú thought. Luka’s retreat became a headlong backward flight mere inches ahead of the greatsword as it slashed at his chest, his arms, his head.
The stable was behind him. Spectators screamed and shoved at each other to get out of the way. One stumbled into Luka’s back. Sir György hacked down with all his savage strength. The Blue Viper threw himself sideways, rolling.
But the Blue Viper of Croatia was back on his feet, his long spear in hand. “Roaturi,” he called at Sir György. “You raped him. You murdered him. You broke his shield. Now say his name.”
The Rock whirled. Helm, shield, sword, surcoat; he was spattered with gore from head to heels. “You talk too much,” he grumbled. “You make my head hurt.”
“I will hear you say it. He was Roaturi of Novi Zagreb.”
The Rock snorted contemptuously, and came on... and in that moment, the sun broke through the low clouds that had hidden the sky since dawn.
The sun of Croatia, Radú told himself, but it was György Hidegkuti who moved first to put the sun at his back. This is a dim and brutal man, but he has a warrior’s instincts.
The Blue Viper crouched, squinting, and sent his spear darting forward again. Sir György hacked at it, but the thrust had only been a feint. Off balance, he stumbled forward a step.
Prince Luka tilted his dinted metal shield. A shaft of sunlight blazed blindingly off polished gold and copper, into the narrow slit of his foe’s helm. Hidegkuti lifted his own shield against the glare. Prince Luka’s spear flashed like lightning and found the gap in the heavy plate, the joint under the arm. The point punched through mail and boiled leather. György gave a choked grunt as the Croatianman twisted his spear and yanked it free. “Roaturi. Say it! Roaturi of Croatia!” He was circling spear poised for another thrust. “Say it!”
Prince Luka had circled behind him. “ROATURI OF CROATIA!” he shouted. Sir György started to turn, but too slow and too late. The spearhead went through the back of the knee this time, through the layers of chain and leather between the plates on thigh and calf. The Rock reeled, swayed, then collapsed face first on the ground. His huge sword went flying from his hand. Slowly, ponderously, he rolled onto his back.
The Croatianman flung away his ruined shield, grasped the spear in both hands, and sauntered away. Luka whirled cat quick, and ran at his fallen foe. “ROOOOAAAATUUUUUUURRRII!” he screamed, as he drove the spear down with the whole weight of his body behind it. The crack of the ashwood shaft snapping was almost as sweet a sound as Rosenthal's wail of fury, and for an instant Prince Luka had wings. The snake has vaulted over the Rock. Four feet of broken spear jutted from Hidegkuti’s belly as Prince Luka rolled, rose, and dusted himself off. He tossed aside the splintered spear and claimed his foe’s greatsword. “If you die before you say his name, Sir, I will hunt you through all seven hells,” he promised.
Prince Luka moved closer and pointed an accusing finger at the Grand Inquisitor. "Who gave you the order? Say his name!" He put a foot on the Rock’s chest and raised the greatsword with both hands. Whether he intended to hack off György’s head or shove the point through his eyeslit was something Radú would never know.
Hidegkuti’s hand shot up and grabbed the Croatianman behind the knee. The Blue Viper brought down the greatsword in a wild slash, but he was off-balance, and the edge did no more than put another dent in the Rock’s embrace. Then the sword was forgotten as György’s hand tightened and twisted, yanking the Croatianman down on top of him. They wrestled in the dust and blood, the broken spear wobbling back and forth. Radú saw with horror that the Rock had wrapped one huge arm around the prince, drawing him tight against his chest, like a lover.
“Roaturi of Croatia,” they all heard Sir György say, when they were close enough to kiss. His deep voice boomed within the helm. “I killed the screaming whelp.” He thrust his free hand into Luka’s unprotected face, pushing steel fingers into his eyes. “Then I raped him.” Hidegkuti slammed his fist into the Croatianman’s mouth, making splinters of his teeth. “Then I smashed his snowing shield. Like this.” As he drew back his huge fist, the blood on his gauntlet seemed to smoke in the cold dawn air. There was a sickening crunch, and Radú’s breakfast came boiling back up. He found himself on his knees retching bacon and sausage and applecakes, and that double helping of fried eggs cooked up with onions and fiery Zorgish peppers.
He never heard the words that condemned him. Perhaps no words were necessary. I put my life in the Blue Viper’s hands, and he dropped it. When he remembered, too late, that snakes had no hands, Radú began to laugh hysterically.
He was halfway down the Serpentine steps before he realized that the Militsias were not taking him back to his tower room. “I’ve been consigned to the black cells,” he said. They did not bother to answer. Why waste your breath on the dead?
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