d.

So far they were, and he'd had two months' practice working in spite of
pain; he could keep going. He couldn't do it for long, though. He
felt all right thanks to the meds, but he knew his stamina was only a
fraction of what it should be; a few more exchanges, and he'd lose by
simple attrition.

He struck again, glad that Sandeman magic was simpler than in the books
and TreasureTunnel game; he'd never have been able to remember, much
less use, the complicated spells in those. Hit and defend was about
all he could manage through the growing agony. He lost awareness of
his surroundings, even of his opponent, in the effort to channel all
his power into defense and, more importantly, attack.

What broke his concentration was the insistent repetition of his name.
"James! James! It's over--stop! James, Jim--no more! You've won!"

"Huh?" It was Ryan's voice, Medart realized as the power ebbed from
him and he slumped to his knees with his head drooped, overwhelmed by
pain and exhaustion. "Won--I didn't kill him, did I?"

"No." The voice this time was unfamiliar; one of Nevan's seconds,
Medart thought. "He is injured and unconscious, but he will recover."

"With your permission, James?" That was Kelly, kneeling in front of
him and extending her hands.

"Yeah, whatever." She touched him, murmured briefly with no effect he
could notice. Moisture trickled down his face and he felt tightness in
his throat; he coughed, then vomited, seeing and tasting blood. Major
internal damage, obviously, and Sandeman medicine here not much better
than Imperial first aid . . . He fought to raise his head. "Any
chance?" he asked.

Kelly shook her head. "I'm sorry, James. The damage is too extensive.
I cannot even ease what few hours you may have left."

Medart coughed again, then sighed. "In that case . . . I ask Last
Gift."

"Granted," Ryan said. "And may the gods accept you as one of
themselves." Almost immediately Medart felt the tip of a blade at the
angle of his jaw behind his ear. There was an instant of pressure, and
the pain was over.

* * * * *

Ryan accepted a cloth from one of his warriors to wipe his blade, then
re-sheathed the knife and dropped the cloth without looking away from
the Prince's body. He'd thought it would be easy to kill any Terran,
but he'd been wrong; giving this one Last Gift had been as painful as
giving it to one of his own. At last he rose, stil