Tel Janin ignored the cheering masses. They meant nothing. Stones Falling Down the Mountain met his Unfolding the Fan. He took a step backward, but only a step, and he smiled. "I would not have thought an old man like you had such aggression in him."

Duram Laddel chuckled as he sprang away. The crowd meant more to him than to his opponent; he fell into something like Cat Crosses the Courtyard as he circled. More fool he. "Why not, Tel? What have I got to lose?" His laughter rang across the arena, mingling with the chanting: "Tel, Tel, Tel, Tel!"

Tel wondered what it was like to be in Duram's position as he swirled through Leaf On the Breeze, holding off the older fellow's Three-Pronged Lightning. He had been champion here for a good thirty-five years, but Duram had been champion for sixty, until an ordinary citizen had taken the title from him. Then Duram had left the sport to focus on politics. For a full century, Swords had been an occasional pastime, indulged enough to stay barely in practice. The years must have done more than taken his edge off, but it seemed that a blademaster of Duram's skill did not forget so easily as one might think.

Of course, there was no way he was going to beat Tel Janin. "Tel, Tel, Tel, Tel!" The two had met in a couple of exhibition matches since the older man retired from being First Among Servants, and Tel had defeated him each time, though not without a good workout first. "Tel, Tel, Tel, Tel!" Duram lunged forward, Hummingbird Kisses the Honeyrose, and Tel grunted as he stepped aside with Cat on Hot Sand. Maybe it was his stocky build, but somehow no one ever seemed to expect Tel to dodge. "Tel, Tel, Tel, Tel!"

This was more than an exhibition match. Duram had worked his way through the lower ranks over the past year, defeating them with something resembling his old flair. The man's preference for the complex extended even to swordfighting. He could certainly execute a direct attack when he chose, but he always seemed to do it with an eye for the dramatic. Maybe that had made him a good lawyer and politician, and no doubt it had made him popular in the arena. It could not make him a winner, however.

Now he had challenged Tel Janin. The fellow almost seemed to regard the match as a joke-not a sport, merely a game. Duram laughed as he performed Heron Spreads Its Wings. "Tel Janin, can you not enjoy yourself a little?" Perhaps this was part of his bucket list. Duram was clearly not on his last legs, but his once-black hair had gone stark white on the sides. "They're cheering for you."

"I don't do it for the adulation, Duram Laddel." Sensing the moment, he countered not with a defense, but with KIngfisher Takes a Silverback. "I don't do it for the fans. I do it for myself."

Duram went so far as to roll his eyes as he swiftly aborted into The Grapevine Twines. "Then laugh because you're having fun, man!"

Of course he was having fun. Did he have to cackle like a hyena to let everyone know that? He could feel his muscles starting to burn. He could feel the trickle of sweat starting to run down his temple. Tel brought his sword up, breaking away from Duram's spiral motion.

And he smiled.

"All right, Tel. I take it back! That looks horrifying on you," Duram chuckled.

Tel let his smile grow wider, showing perfect white teeth. He attacked. The Lion Springs. Boar Rushes Down the Mountain. The Viper Flicks Its Tongue. Moon Rises Over Water. Duram countered each blow, but each forced his sword further away from where it needed to be. River Undercuts the Bank left him with no choice but to lean much too far back, and Duram nearly fell. In that moment, Tel Janin decided to defeat the fellow with his own whimsy. While Duram teetered there on the brink of toppling over backwards, Tel assumed Heron Wading in the Rushes-looking all the more absurd, given how Duram virtually towered over him-and struck before Duram could recover. His bundled rods punctured the outer surface of Duram's protective chestgear and finished knocking the fellow over.

Even Tel Janin knew he had to milk the crowd a little. He spread his arms and basked in the swell of applause, turning slowly. When he faced Duram again, he leaned down and offered him a hand. "Good match, 'old man'."

Duram accepted the assistance gladly, getting up with the faintest hint of stiffness, but just as much good humor as before. "Indeed. Have you ever in your life used that form, Tel? Even in practice?"

"Not my style," Tel said with a faint grimace. "Leaves you wide open."

"No," said Duram, "but it was funny. The crowd loved it."

"Good for them. Did you challenge me just to get me to act the fool?"

"I challenged you to win," Duram said, surprisingly. "And I'll do it again after the requisite period. Truthfully, I thought I'd make you break form. But you do need to lighten up a bit."

Tel nodded respectfully. There was more to Duram than he'd realized, more fool he. "Well, then, you know it doesn't work."

"I know," Duram said, making a polite series of bows to the audience. "I'll keep it in mind next time."

"Do that," Tel said, and cast his gaze upward towards the crowd. "Do I have a challenger?" he bellowed. Usually there would be no answer, but it was polite-a way of letting ambitious challengers from other cities avoid the bureaucratic protocols of the sporting world.

"Yes!" came a shout from the higher tiers. Well, that wasn't what he'd expected. Then he saw who was making his way down, and sighed. "You face Barid Bel Medar! Prepare to defend yourself!"

"He thinks a great deal of himself," Duram muttered in Tel's ear. "But he is good."

Barid Medar had finally earned a third name just a few months ago, after publishing an insightful and best-selling treatise on the nature of leadership in a post-crisis world. Yet again, he'd been beaten out by Lews Therin, who'd been elected to hold the Fifth Rod of Dominion at the polls two weeks before. Getting elected to high office generally earned you a third name, unless you bungled immediately, though in truth most successful candidates already had one; Lews had been the exception in that regard. The newsfeeds were eating up the good-natured rivalry between the two famous men, and of course the rag services were hinting that it hadn't caused any worse trouble because they were secretly sharing a bed. Tel didn't concern himself with such things, though he suspected their egos would never allow that to work.

"Not alone!" came a cry from the opposite end of the arena. "Lews Therin Telamon challenges you as well!"

This time it was Duram's turn to sigh. "Two on two, it seems. Well, I guess these old bones will have to hold out a little longer." He quirked a half-smile; it seemed he wasn't completely serious. But he did grunt a little and flex his joints.

All this would only count as an exhibition match, of course, but it would build the younger mens' already-inflated reputations. If they chose to go for the championship, this match would boost their ratings with the public, and they would be ranked higher regarding how many opponents they had to defeat first. Tel had the suspicion that if they somehow both won, they'd turn on each other-all in good sport, of course. Had they even planned this out between them, or had Lews sprung it on his friend?

Lews and Barid came leaping over the dividing wall simultaneously, and approached from opposite ends of the field, bowing once to each of their opponents. At least they were being polite. "Did you know anything about this?" Tel muttered to Duram.

Duram shook his head fractionally. "Not a bit," he said as quietly as possible. "And they're both courting my grandniece Ilyena. I would have thought she'd have said something even if neither of them did."

The younger pair began to circle them, both in Cat Crosses the Courtyard. Tel took a deep breath. Well, there was no question of one thing-it was going to be fun.