Free Dying of the Light by George R.R. Martin

high-Braith. You have no right to be rude to those who come at my invitation.”
    “An invitation you yourself lack, Braith,” Janacek added with a tiny venomous smile.
    Vikary looked over at his
teyn,
shook his head sharply and vigorously.
No.
But to what? Dirk wondered.
    “I come to you in high grievance, Jaantony high-Ironjade, with serious talking to do,” the white-suited Kavalar rumbled. “Must we treat before an off-worlder?” He glanced at Dirk again, still frowning. “A mockman for all I know.”
    Vikary’s voice was quiet but stern when he replied. “We are done dealing, friend. I’ve told you my answer. My
betheyn
has my protection, and the Kimdissi, and this man too”—he indicated Dirk with a wave of his hand, then folded his arms again—“and if you take any among these, then prepare to take me.”
    Janacek smiled. “He is no mockman either,” the gaunt red-bearded Kavalar said. “This is Dirk t’Larien,
korariel
of Ironjade, whether you like it or no.” Janacek turned very slightly in Dirk’s direction and indicated the stranger in white. “T’Larien, this is Lorimaar Reln Winterfox high-Braith Arkellor.”
    “A neighbor of ours,” Gwen said from the couch, speaking for the first time. “He lives in Larteyn too.”
    “Far from you, Ironjades,” the other Kavalar said. He was not happy. The frown was deep-graven in his face, and his black eyes moved from one of them to the next, full of cold anger, before coming to rest on Vikary. “You are younger than me, Jaantony high-Ironjade, and your
teyn
younger still, and I would not willingly go to face you and yours in duel. Yet code has its demands, as you know and I, and neither of us should venture too far. You young highbonds oft press that line closely, I feel, and the highbonds of Ironjade most of all, and—”
    “And I most of all the highbonds of Ironjade,” Vikary said, finishing for the other.
    Arkellor shook his head. “Once, when I was but an unweaned child in the holdfasts of Braith, it was duel to so much as interrupt another, as you have done now to me. Truly, the old ways have gone. The men of High Kavalaan turn soft before my eyes.”
    “You think me soft?” Vikary asked quietly.
    “Yes and no, high-Ironjade. You are a strange one. You have a hardness none can deny, and that is good, but Avalon has put the stench of the mockman on you, touched you with the weak and foolish. I do not like your
betheyn
-bitch, and I do not like your ‘friends.’ Would that I were younger. I would come at you in fury and teach you again the old wisdoms of the holdfast, the things that you forget so easy.”
    “Do you call us to duel?” Janacek asked. “You speak strongly.”
    Vikary unfolded his arms and waved casually with his hand. “No, Garse. Lorimaar high-Braith does not call us to duel. Do you, friend, highbond?”
    Arkellor waited several heartbeats too long before his answer came. “No,” he said. “No, Jaantony high-Ironjade, no insult is intended.”
    “And none is taken,” Vikary said, smiling.
    The Braith highbond did not smile. “Good fortunes,” he said begrudgingly. He went to the door in long strides, pausing only long enough to let Dirk step hurriedly aside, then proceeded out and up the roof stairs. The door closed behind him.
    Dirk started toward the others, but the scene was quickly breaking up. Janacek, with a frown and a shake of his head, turned and left quickly for another room. Gwen rose, pale and shaken, and Vikary took a step toward Dirk.
    “That was not a good thing for you to witness,” the Kavalar said. “But perhaps it will be enlightening to you. Still, I regret your presence. I would not have you think of High Kavalaan as the Kimdissi do.”
    “I didn’t understand,” Dirk said. Vikary put an arm around his shoulder and drew him off toward the dining room, Gwen just behind them. “What was he talking about?”
    “Ah, much. I will explain. But I must tell you a second regret also, that