.

With each passing second the power drew at the basic reserves of
life, draining it from his body.

When the buzzer sounded he pulled his foil from his second's
startled grasp, and ran forward. Irolg had barely time to grab up
his own weapon and parry Brion's first thrust. The force of his rush
was so great that the guards on their weapons locked, and their
bodies crashed together. Irolg looked amazed at the sudden fury of
the attack--then smiled. He thought it was a last burst of energy,
he knew how close they both were to exhaustion. This must be the end
for Brion.

They disengaged and Irolg put up a solid defense. He didn't attempt
to attack, just let Brion wear himself out against the firm shield
of his defense.

Brion saw something close to panic on his opponent's face when the
man finally recognized his error. Brion wasn't tiring. If anything,
he was pressing the attack. A wave of despair rolled out from
Irolg--Brion sensed it and knew the fifth point was his.

Thrust--thrust--and each time the parrying sword a little slower to
return. Then the powerful twist that thrust it aside. In and under
the guard. The slap of the button on flesh and the arc of steel that
reached out and ended on Irolg's chest over his heart.

Waves of sound--cheering and screaming--lapped against Brion's
private world, but he was only remotely aware of their existence.
Irolg dropped his foil, and tried to shake Brion's hand, but his
legs suddenly gave way. Brion had an arm around him, holding him up,
walking towards the rushing handlers. Then Irolg was gone and he
waved off his own men, walking slowly by himself.

Except that something was wrong and it was like walking through warm
glue. Walking on his knees. No, not walking, falling. At last. He
was able to let go and fall.

II

Ihjel gave the doctors exactly one day before he went to the
hospital. Brion wasn't dead, though there had been some doubt about
that the night before. Now, a full day later, he was on the mend and
that was all Ihjel wanted to know. He bullied and strong-armed his
way to the new Winner's room, meeting his first stiff resistance at
the door.

"You're out of order, Winner Ihjel," the doctor said. "And if you
keep on forcing yourself in here, where you are not wanted, rank or
no rank, I shall be obliged to break your head."

Ihjel had just begun to tell him, in some detail, just how slim his
chances were of accomplishing that, when Brion inte