Chapter 19

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Setryv helped the attendant to his feet. "What seems to be the difficulty here?"

"This knight," the attendant indicated Mharkhel rather meekly, "wishes to sign up for the trevhette but the registration is over."

Vhyqyrd, who had just arrived looked at Mharkhel disapprovingly. "Knights do not traditionally participate in the events. You know that."

"It would appear," Mharkhel said as he motioned towards Ellycyn who was standing a ways off, holding an armful of prizes, "that some of us are already exempt from complying with tradition."

"That is different and you know it," Setryv said in his own defense. The blonde knight contemplated the situation for a moment, then pressed Mharkhel. "What is this really about? You have nothing to prove. Everyone is aware of your prowess."

"You and me, Setryv. It is about you and me."

Setryv shook his head slowly with understanding. "No, it is about Ellycyn."

"Believe what you wish."

"Do you believe that you will endear yourself to her by combating me—and several others? Do you believe you have impressed her with your actions? With drinking? With taking your frustrations out on the likes of poor attendants?" Setryv settled himself down, his voice becoming soft and quiet. "This is so unlike you, Mharkhel."

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