Chapter 4
Tristan walked alone in the palace gardens; it was a moonless night and the darkness suited his mood. The man wanted his wife, not because she was an amazing woman, but because he thought she would offer him some small excitement or thrill to temporarily warm his frigid heart. Death was imminent. He would break Oath and die if he killed Pallin or swore his soul to serve some vile demon (not that he had any desire to do either), but Trap would kill him if he did not do as he was told. Tristan was not afraid to die nor did he fear Trap’s martial skills, but he was so close to learning more of this vile Brotherhood, yet the time had come too quickly when he must abandon the chase. At least this University thing was worth knowing about. Now the only question was, what were they to do with Trap and should they abandon their various roles in Arca? He paced in the darkness for some time before deciding he must see Arora.
He crept cautiously through the halls, careful not to be seen by anyone. He had donned a hooded cloak to hide his identity, just in case there were any midnight wanderers abroad. He was about to knock on her door when another man, also hooded and cloaked, stepped out of the shadows, sword drawn. “Who are you?” hissed a soft voice, “and what is your business here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” whispered Tristan in grim amusement, “I mean no harm, I have come seeking counsel.”
“In the middle of the night?” hissed the stranger.
“What are you doing threatening me with a sword at such a time and place?” asked Tristan.
“I am here to see that the lady is not disturbed,” said the stranger still gripping his sword.
“I am the last man to harm her,” said Tristan lowering his hood.
“Oh!” said Pallin, putting away his weapon, “I am sorry, but that evil man has been lurking about night and day. I did not know you had returned.”
Tristan smiled and said, “this concerns you too, we have much to discuss.” Arora, awakened by the exchange, quietly cracked the door open and nearly shrieked in joy, but restraining herself, drew both men into her chambers. She flung her arms about Tristan, weeping in sheer joy. The presence of Trap had unsettled her and only her husband’s strong arms seemed to offer any protection from the vile man. She could hold her own in a sword fight, but she could not defend herself against the awful man’s eerie presence, and she feared what thoughts might be coursing through such a mind.
She thanked Pallin for his constant vigilance and again embraced her husband. Pallin looked away, blushing. Once she was satisfied that Tristan was well and not likely to vanish immediately, they sat down to discuss what to do next. Tristan outlined Trap’s proposal for a duel and his choices in the matter. They agreed that it was time to end the secrecy. Arora thought that she should stay in Arca as court bard, just to keep an eye on things. Word should also be sent to Astoria to fetch back Bristol to resume his former position and assist Arora in her observations. Tristan and Pallin would investigate the University. The only question was, what to do about Trap? He certainly could not be left free to carry out his plans or to harass Arora. Tristan had captured members of the Brotherhood before. One had killed himself with his own dagger; the other had somehow willed himself to death. Tristan wanted to capture the man alive and take him back to Astoria for questioning, but he doubted their ability to keep him alive once he was captured. In any case, Trap would probably end up dead. Keeping things quiet would also be preferred, especially protecting Arora’s identity as one of the Brethren. It was very late before they were happy with their plan and Pallin retired to his room. Tristan went back to Trap’s rooms sometime later after having spent some time alone with his wife.
Trap was awake or woke-up when he returned. “Well?” he asked.
“Everything is settld,” said Tristan, “tomorrow will be an interesting day.”
“Good,” said the man as he blew out the lamp and went to sleep. Tristan tried to follow suit but lay awake until nearly dawn, thinking about their plans for the next day.
The court assembled after breakfast as usual, ready for another weary session of listening to yet another blathering imbecile. Before anyone could stop him, Pallin stepped before the King, bowed and said, “your Majesty, I must beg your pardon, but duty bids me to proceed. There is one here amongst your court that has impugned the honor of a lady and endangered her safety. I beg your forgiveness, but I must declare a duel betwixt myself and this vile personage.” The King was most interested at the offer of bloodshed, as was most of the court. Trap smiled predaciously in anticipation.
“Proceed as you must,” said the King.
“Then,” said Pallin, “I hereby challenge the representative from the Order of the Unicorn to a duel.”
“You mean my assistant,” said Trap dangerously.
“No,” said Tristan, “he means you. I have done nothing to dishonor the lady in question.”
“Very well,” snarled Trap, “I accept, but only because I relish the thought of killing you. You and all your colleagues are nothing but a nuisance and I would like nothing better than to rid the earth of you.” He glared dangerously at Tristan, “when this is finished I will deal with you.” Tristan shrugged and smiled blandly. The two lines of spectators came together to form a circle with a large open space in the center. The combatants tossed aside their coats and other bulky clothing and faced one another with swords drawn.
“This is a fight to the death,” intoned an official voice from somewhere amongst the crowd, “fight honorably and die well.” The crowd cheered in anticipation. A little bloodshed was just the thing to ease the tedious hours before lunch.
Pallin waited patiently for Trap to make the first move. The two circled each other, taking half-hearted swings at their opponent, testing the other’s responses. Then Trap lunged in and the fight began in earnest. Pallin took a glancing blow on the shoulder, but hardly noticed. Trap’s sleeve suffered a mortal blow, but the man himself was unscathed. The audience gasped and cheered at all the right moments. It was a close fight, but Trap had the advantage of experience, strength, and height. Pallin was less experienced but was also smaller and quicker. Neither was making much progress, but Pallin seemed to be flagging. His breaths were coming in gasps and sweat rolled down his face. His left arm throbbed and hung uselessly at his side. The small nick ached as if it had suddenly become gangrenous. Trap smiled in anticipation, his foe was weakening and the kill would soon follow, if the wound did not kill him first.
“Getting tired boy?” scoffed the evil man. His blade was laced with many vile spells that made the smallest wound fatal. A horrible clattering sound came from the corridor, the doors of the chamber were flung aside, and an enraged unicorn thundered into the hall. The crowd drew aside from the furious creature. Trap drew back from his victim in horror. She nuzzled her stricken master and a single tear fell from her eye, landing on the festering wound. The tear sizzled as it encountered the handiwork wrought by the evil blade. The redness and swelling vanished leaving the simple laceration, untainted by foul spells. The mare glared at Trap with indignation and stood over her master who was trying vainly to rise to his feet.
“This is a fascinating turn of events,” said the King, “but it is a very strange duel. Will no one fight for the honor of a lady?”
“I will,” said Tristan, “he has committed sins dark and terrible. I know but a few of his crimes, and they alone are worthy of death. Impugning a lady is the least of his wrongs. In the name of the Master, I place you under arrest.”
“You?” scoffed Trap, “arrest me? Of what crimes am I accused? And I would think you are the one who should be arrested, as you are the one who murdered Bristol.” The court gasped.
“You hereby stand accused of murdering three of the Brethren assigned to the Eastern Realms and for dabbling with powers more evil than any mortal knows,” said Tristan. He continued, “I have shed no innocen
t blood. Bristol lives still.”
“A likely story,” sneered Trap, “have you any proof?”
“That I still live is proof enough,” said Tristan, “if I commit murder in cold blood I would violate the Oath I swore to the Master and suffer the consequences of doing so.”
“You!” snarled Trap, “you are one of those cursed Brethren! How?”
“I walked a very fine and dangerous line, but I never did anything to compromise my Oath,” said Tristan, “I only wish you had not forced my hand to reveal my true identity. Will you put away your sword and come quietly?” For answer, Trap raised his sword and lunged at Tristan. Unlike Pallin, who had been playing with swords for only a couple of years, Tristan had been at it for over a century. There were few who could rival him with a blade. Trap was soon on the floor, clutching his leg in pain. It was not a mortal blow as Tristan hoped to capture the man alive.
“You will not take me alive,” snarled Trap.
“I was afraid of that,” said Tristan, “I have dealt with your kind before, and they always manage to kill themselves rather than face captivity.”
Trap grinned in triumph, “you must either kill me, let me go, or I will take my own life. Either way, I have won.”
Tristan asked, “what awaits you beyond death?”
Trap gave him a startled look, “beyond? There is no beyond. This life is all there is.”
“Then what use is it swearing your life away to your vile masters?” asked Tristan.
“Absolute power in this life,” laughed Trap.
“Then what is the sense of dying for your masters?” asked Tristan, “you do not win, you are simply dead. I also do not believe you cease to exist with your final breath. I fear something dark and terrible awaits you beyond the grave. Something they have failed to tell you about.”
“Why do you care?” asked the confused Trap.
“I care for all the Master’s people,” said Tristan, “no matter their crimes.” “Is there a way to revoke your oath?” asked Tristan.
“I do not know,” said Trap, “I have never heard of it being done, but why should I listen to you?”
“What have your dark masters ever done for you?” asked Tristan, “has your life been filled with joy as it should be if you are serving a higher purpose? Have they given you anything but a cold, empty heart and no future but death? Do not listen to me. But for once in your miserable life listen to your heart.”
Trap fell silent, examining the course of his life and all the things he thought he knew but now began to wonder if his whole life had been based on lies. “I will think about your words and come to a decision. It has been long since I have listened to anything but my own selfish desires,” said Trap. He dropped his sword and allowed his hands to be bound behind his back. He was searched and relieved of his other weapons and escorted to a secure cell. Tristan sheathed his own blade and went to the weak, but smiling Pallin. Pallin laughed, “I never imagined things would turn out like that. What do you think will become of him?”
“I do not know,” said Tristan sadly, “he has been steeped in evil for many long years and who knows what horrible rites he has performed along the way. The road back to humanity will be long and hard for him, but not impossible if he truly seeks the Master. I still cannot believe he listened to what I said. But perhaps it is simple kindness for which the darkest heart yearns most. We should see to that wound.”
“It is only a cut,” said Pallin, but he did not argue too strenuously.
The King came forward, “this was a fascinating scene. You both acted as if there is such a thing as absolute truth, right and wrong.”
Tristan bowed and said, “that is because there is your Majesty. Perhaps if you listened more to the Truth and less to these prattling fools you will gain wisdom.” He bowed again and escorted Pallin through the stunned crowd, trailed by the mare.
Pallin was himself again within a few days. He and Tristan spent their time speaking to the King and various nobles about the Truth and the Master, and how to proceed in reestablishing common sense and real knowledge in the realm. Bristol arrived soon after the duel and resumed his old position. Tristan happily packed away his Order uniform and exchanged it for regular clothes. All three men frequented Trap’s cell, answering his questions and talking with him about the small joys in everyday life. Arora never visited him, she was too uncomfortable around a man who had felt what he had about her. Neither did she wish to cause him any grief or pain in his desperate situation. It was decided that he should stay in the cells at Arca until he had come to some sort of closure, and then his final situation would be determined based upon his decisions. Bristol would continue to meet with him on a regular basis. The King asked that Tristan and Pallin stay in Arca and teach what they knew about the Truth, but Tristan declined saying they had urgent business elsewhere, but he was sure the Lady would be happy to send teachers if he requested them. Arora added more meaningful songs to her repertoire; the histories, legends, and stories she relayed musically seemed to fascinate the court who had been used to hearing only vapid love songs and instrumental pieces. Tristan sent word to the Lady of all that had happened and of their future plans. He secretly bid Arora farewell and he and Pallin rode off towards the University.
The Sampler Platter: A Little Bit of Everything Page 22