Justice is that which puts conflicts to an end without the absolute destruction of one party or the other. Thus justice can come in many shapes and sizes, from the rule of a mighty court, to simple restitution, to vulgar bloodshed. One who would understand justice must study all of these myriad mutations, and he must also study those times when justice comes close to failure.

The vendetta provides a marvelous lesson in such things. One man is wronged, he is killed, he is avenged. If the cycle is broken, justice is done. If it continues to the point of extermination, it is not. In either case, the matter is concluded.

Let the student of justice turn his attention to the Malowyn-Themai vendetta of old Celest. Let him turn his mind to the dirt roads that first saw Blamune Malowyn insulting the august Yinele Themai for refusing to step out of his way. Let him turn his mind to the hinterlands near the holy city that bore witness to the duel that returned Blamune to the Wheel of Reincarnation. Let him turn his mind to the dawn that arose when Blamune's young heir, Thalmune, sought to avenge his father and restore honor to his house.

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It was not the most pleasant morning of Thalmune's short life. He would have said that it was the worst, if he had the freedom to speak, but a lord cannot say such things. The world had to see strength, honor, and bloody vengeance, and nothing more. The alternative was the end of his line's power, and that was not an acceptable option.

Thalmune found himself in an unenviable position. His house and its forces were entirely unprepared for battle. The Themai forces were likewise unprepared, for Blamune had died in a stupid and unexpected quarrel. Thalmune was grateful for that, at least, for it meant that the might of the Malowyn dynasty would not have to contend with an immediate attack from the house of Themai. Still, open war was clearly untenable. Blood called for blood, but battle did not suit him.

Thalmune knitted his brows and rubbed his temples as he considered his options. Wergild? Legal, but unacceptable. It would make him look weak to settle his feud so early, even if the emperor in Celest preferred such things. He could not be seen to accept blood money, let alone to ask for it. A young lord is a weak lord, unless he proves himself with victory, and Thalmune was not one to be weak. Stealth? Criminal, dishonorable, and not terribly glorious, but effective. If only he had a retainer who could manage an assassination.

Trickery, then. There were no other options. It had to be brutal, to discourage retaliation. It had to be blatant, so that the magnitude of the deed could wash away the scent of dishonor. It had to be fast, to keep his enemies from preparing. A plan sprang half-formed into Thalmune's mind. It was crude, and it was ugly, but it might work.

It was not a good morning, but it was starting to look just a little bit better. Thalmune even managed a smile as he sent for his retainers. His father was dead, but his father had always said that work was the best cure for misery, and Thalmune had a funeral to plan.

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He wore a robe of black, because it was the color of mourning. He wore a tunic of red, because it was the color of blood. He kept one close to the the eye, so that others would see it. He kept one close to the heart so that it would strengthen his spirit. He wore black, he wore red, and he stood in front of his father's pyre. Thalmune wept, because sons must be seen to weep for their fathers, but the tears hid eyes that stared out on the mourners.

Some of them were his, of course. Salyne was among them, a captain of the guard wrapped in a shabby robe. A dozen guards wailed laments by his side, and a dozen more stood in the open.

His father's killer was also there. Yinele Themai had been the first to receive his invitation, an invitation that implied an offer of peace and forgiveness would follow. Implied, but did not say. He would have brought men of his own, of course, concealed among the lamenting throng much like Thalmune's own followers. Thalmune could not tell those men from the honest mourners, but he felt as though it was safe to assume that very few men had come to the funeral with honest intentions. At least Thalmune's little brothers and sisters were absent, for they were in the imperial court, where they would be safe from all that was to come. He was grateful for that small mercy. He was less grateful to see that Yinele had taken similar precautions, for he had not taken his own children to the funeral.

No matter. Deeds must be done regardless of danger. Thalmune nodded at the priest to begin the prayers. The priest was one of Yinele's relations, some sort of distance cousin. Thalmune did not know the details, nor did he think they were terribly important. He was a member of the house of Themai, and that was sufficient.

The priest droned on about love, mercy, and honor for what seemed like a lifetime. He finally fell silent, and the time came for Thalmune to light his father's pyre. He took up the torch, and his men took up their swords. He lit the fire properly, for his father deserved that much, and then he turned his attention to the scene that was unfolding behind him.

Lamentations turned to screams as the fighters tore off the robes of mourning to reveal their deadly arms. A few honest men ran off, but most drew hidden weapons and joined the battle. Thalmune's men had the advantage of slight surprise, and they proved to be the stronger. They slaughtered most of their enemies, but not quite all of them. They took Yinele hostage, along with a few of his men. Thalmune also played his part, and grappled with the priest. The man was old, and he was weak, so he soon joined the captives.

That priest was the first to die, so that Yinele might look upon his fate and tremble with fear. Thalmune took up a hammer and nailed the poor priest to a plank that had fallen from the pyre. He took one end of that plank, bade Salyne take up the other, and cast it into the flame. Yinele followed soon after. He screamed as Thalmune brought him to the wood, begged as he nails pierced his flesh, and screamed once again when he felt the flames.

Thalmune and Salyne then went among the remaining captives. They bade each one hold out their sword hand. Those who obeyed were maimed, and those who hesitated were killed. The survivors were set at liberty, that they might tell the tale of what had happened and let all men know what happened to those who wronged Thalmune.

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Caline Themai awoke the next morning and found that he was a lord. That was no great surprise, for his father had expected an ambush and hidden him away in the family estate. It was also no great sadness, for his father had started a feud and brought doom down upon his own head.

Naturally, he had inherited the feud along with the title. It would be his duty and his pleasure to conduct it. The empire had been at peace far too long. There were too few wars, too few chances to win glory and plunder on the field of battle. A bloody feud was an opportunity. There would be no compensation.

On the other hand, there might not be much glory, either. His forces were mobilizing, but so were those of his foe. His retainers might win in an open battle, but they might not. The best had died at that miserable funeral. Caline pondered the matter, and it vexed him. The wager of battle offered the greatest possible victory, but it also offered defeat, and defeat is worse than even the basest of triumphs.

Well, what was the alternative? He couldn't offer peace, not even if he wanted it. He would lose face before the empire and be mocked for generations, and Caline could not bear such a fate. Nor could he bear to fight fire with fire. He resolved to be better than his foe, to meet treachery with honor and conquer it.

That meant war. A little war, perhaps, but still a war. Caline simply had to find a way to make sure that he could win. He had options. An ambush was not dishonorable, so long as it was not at a funeral. His estate was thoroughly fortified, and his men were thoroughly drilled, so he could stand a chance even without one. He thought, and then the answer dawned on him.

Caline had waited all his life for a good war that could bring him fame and fortune. He could wait a little longer. The patient hunter catches his prey, and Caline was ready to be patient.

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Soldiers rushed to take up their arms and muster for war. Weeks passed without incident, and they laid down their arms once again, for armies are horrendously expensive. A few men thought that Caline accepted the funereal murders as justice for his father's deeds, a few more thought that he was secretly glad that his inheritance had come early, and most thought that he was a coward.

That belief only persisted because the gossiping throng could not see inside of Caline's estate. He was hard at work, but he worked in secrecy. He dug a great pit within his dining hall, he struck bargains with quiet merchants to fill it with serpents of all kinds, and he concealed it with cunning devices. Thalmune had grown overconfident and dismissed his levies by the time that it was complete, and in doing so he opened the path for Caline's plan to reach fruition.

It was a holy day of Japhiel that bore witness to the deed itself. Caline sent word to all of the petty lords and magistrates to come forth to his estate on that day, that they might celebrate it together with a feast. He snubbed Thalmune, but he secretly paid the man's retainers to encourage him to attend without an invitation. Thalmune was not one to ignore a slight, but he did not want men to think that he would risk a great number of innocent men in his feud without further provocation. He therefore went forth to the home of his enemy with only a single guard by his side.

He did not reach his destination in the way that he had intended. Caline's spies sent word that Thalmune was on his way, and so the man mounted his horse and rode out on the hunt. He bore a long lance in one hand and a heavy net in the other. One served to kill the guard, and the other was sufficient to ensnare his foe.

Caline returned to his estate at once and showed his prize to all those who were present. He revealed his pit in all of its serpentine splendor, and he laughed as he cast Thalmune into it. Thalmune did not scream when he fell, but it was another matter entirely once the serpents began to do their work. He tried to be strong at first, and bore the first bites without so much as a sound, but his strength soon faltered. He screamed in pain and lamented his fate as the venom burned through his blood. Caline laughed as Thalmune died, and all those who had come to his hall knew that he would not flee from a fight.

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The most naive observers thought that the matter had reached its conclusion, for Thalmune's eldest heir was a small child. Wiser men knew better, for retainers often seek revenge for their fallen masters. Caline was not a terribly wise man, and so he let his guard down as he rejoiced in his victory.

It did not take long for Caline to pay for his mistake. Salyne, Thalmune's captain of the guard, had no intention of letting his master's killer live. It would be disgraceful for him to seek employment elsewhere without extracting vengeance, if he could even find a lord who would accept him without doing so. He also had a certain fondness for his old master, and that fondness mingled with necessity to give him courage.

Salyne was not the sort of man who would plan an attack in detail. He knew who had killed his master, and he knew where that man would be. That would be sufficient. He gathered a warband of men who had been loyal to Thalmune, and he marched on Caline's estate. Each man in that bloody band carried a blazing brand and a sharp sword, and they were all willing to put them to use.

The came to Caline's estate in the dark of the night. They killed the guards in silence, and having done so they spread out to each of the main hall's exits. Salyne shouted a signal, and all at once the men cast their torches into the building.

The fire spread quickly, and Caline's men soon rushed out of the burning building. Salyne's band put them to the sword as they came out, and it they did it with great ease, for few of the fleeing men were bearing arms. Caline saw the fate that awaited him and hesitated. It seemed to him that he had a choice between fire and sword, and neither option met with his approval.

He chose a third way, and rushed through the flames to the very top of his hall. There he found his sword. He took it up without hesitation and ran back to the base of his hall. Caline shouted to his foes, calling them cowards and commanding them to come forth and meet him in single combat. There was no reply.

Caline cursed their cowardice and resolved to deny them the pleasure of revenge. He stood where Salyne could see him, and he knelt upon the ground. He plunged his own sword deep into his belly, and quickly expired amid the flames.

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It did not take long for the holy emperor of Celest, Rialyne the third, to hear what had happened. He had long hated the feuding that so often killed his noble vassals, but he rarely had the means to prevent them. He took action when he could, but he was a weak ruler, and weak rulers are often at the mercy of his servants.

He did not act when he heard of the first deaths and how they were avenged. Caline's death finally gave him the opportunity to bring the affair to an end. Both houses had lost their leaders in the fighting, and both of the rightful heirs were mere children. More importantly, they were children who had been fostered with the imperial court. They were under his control, and thus it was within his power to bring both of their houses to heel.

Rialyne magistrates forth to do his bidding. They went to the surviving retainers of both houses, and gave those retainers a simple choice. They could accept positions in the imperial household, and serve their monarch directly, or they could be outlawed as soon as an excuse presented itself. Most of them accepted, and most of the remainder were outlawed and killed in short order.

There was one exception, and that was Salyne. Rialyne was a weak emperor, but he was not a fool, and he knew better than to bring such a devoted servant into his service. It would only put Salyne in a position to continue the feud, if he ever came close to the surviving children. The magistrates did not even bother finding an excuse to name him an outlaw. They were ordered to put him to the sword, and they obeyed.

Having dealt with the partisans, Rialyne turned his attention to the children. They were innocent, and thus he had no desire to harm them, but he also wanted to put an end to the fighting. He solved that problem by neglecting to inform them of the quarrel that had taken their kin, and by raising them together. They grew to be friends, and thus they refused to continue their family feud even after they learned of it. In doing so, Rialyne managed to see that justice was done and preserve both bloodlines to serve him in the future.