No Man's Land

by C D Beaudin

  “That’s a dark way to live.”

  “We live in a dark time, Aradon. Get used to it.”

  Saine’s done talking now, Aradon can tell by the way he pushes him along faster, up the stairs, through the village. In the center, Aradon can see the duel grounds being prepared, the dirt pit being raked smooth. He watches as Red Warriors and cadets line the square, some tying up their horses by the stables, not wanting to miss a minute of the fight.

  The Master is nowhere to be seen. Aradon suspects he’ll want to make a grand entrance. Eomare isn’t who his soldiers think he is. He’s a coward and a fraud. He doesn’t care about the Creed or the regiment. He just likes power. He actually reminds Aradon of Tamon. Smart, but greedy for power. The only difference is that Tamon got in over his head and became a caitiff. Eomare always was one. But he’s the dangerous kind of coward, the one that has no problem wielding a sword.

  Saine keeps his chains on as he pushes him into the dirt pit, the warriors around them whispering and shouting at him alike.

  Aradon turns to Saine. “Do they know who you are?”

  “They don’t need to know.”

  He shakes his head. “Is your whole life a lie? When you fought in the Battle for Rohidia, did you fight for your own survival? Because you could have left this war a long time ago.”

  “I thought about it. But then I got trapped in a hole with Kepp… Look, he’s still my friend, all right? And I still love Adriel. The only thing that’s different now is the fact that I’m finally going to get my revenge.”

  “Revenge isn’t satisfying, Saine.”

  “What would you know about it?”

  “Enough. I’ve had a taste of revenge, of hate, anger, and mercy. They all feel the same—empty.”

  “Even mercy? I thought forgiveness was the best thing that happened to you?”

  “No. Lilyara’s mercy made me feel even worse. Sure, that stain on my slate was wiped, but when you don’t deserve forgiveness, it feels dirty to receive it.”

  “Then you’re a liar as well. You tell these men that forgiveness can free them, when it will only chain them tighter?”

  “It can free them. It freed me to be who I really am. It just took me a while to realize it.”

  Saine’s eyes narrow, amused. “And who are you, Aradon?”

  “A monster.” He breaks out of the chains, and all at once the warriors around him draw their weapons, but Saine just stares at him, not wavering. “I will fight unchained, or I will not fight at all.”

  “You never deserved a duel!” Saine yells at him. “You don’t deserve to die with honor.”

  “Of course, I don’t. But I earned it.” He looks around at the Red Warriors. “I earned this! And when I’m victorious, you’ll wish you would have known that before I ever stepped foot on this battleground.”

  The Plainsman grips his shoulder. “Careful with your threats, Aradon. You’re ten years older than me. You may have more practice, but my eyes shine white just like yours.” He puts his lips close to his ear. “I will rip you apart.”

  He steps back as the trumpets flare and the drums beat, the girls playing them somewhere behind the scores of Red Warriors.

  When the Master walks onto the dirt, Saine smirks. “Have fun, girls. Try to preserve what little pride you have left, hmm? You’ll need it if you live, Your Majesty.” He pats him on the back, and steps into the lineup, a sea of black cloaks.

  Aradon scans for familiar faces, seeing many of them. Orion and Tahn, Sidah, John. Even those two numbskulls, Zachary and Joshua. The blond and brunet stand out like sore thumbs, they’re so tall, Joshua taller than the tanned Meran.

  A soft clank sends Aradon looking to the ground, a sword and shield on the dirt near the center of the pit. The Master has already taken up a sword and shield. Aradon takes a breath. Well, let’s do this. Approaching, he breaks his rules and speaks. “I thought Red Warriors didn’t use shields, Eomare?”

  “This duel is an exception, so it shouldn’t matter making a few more.” Eomare points his sword at Aradon as he grabs his own but tosses the shield away. “Stupid move, Slayer.”

  “Actually, it’s just Aradon, now. Unless you’d like to address me as king, I didn’t cut that pin out of my shoulder for nothing.”

  “You’re just lucky it didn’t cause any internal damage.”

  Aradon smiles. “Let’s say I have a tough inside.” He makes his eyes shine white, and satisfied, returns to normal once he sees the wave of fear flush the Master’s face.

  “I’d say play fair, but the cards are already in your favor, Besged.” Eomare gets into a defensive stance. He must know that’s the only way he’ll be able to beat Aradon. Not many of the Red Warriors knew he was a Besged, only a few. The Master knew.

  “This is your last chance, Eomare! Stand down.” A perfect play. Making the audience think they don’t have a deal. “Give me the Red Warriors, make me Master, and we can be who we were meant to be.”

  “This is who we are meant to be!” The Master seems to throw caution, along with common sense to the wind as he charges for him, sword in the air, shield close to his chest. Their swords connect, Aradon steady as a rock. The strike of the swords rings out as he slides his from under Eomare’s, kicking the shield out of the Master’s hand.

  Aradon swings the sword down, but the Master dodges it. He scrambles for the shield, but Aradon drops his sword. Lunging at him, he grabs his shoulder and pulls him back, yanking the sword from his hand. Eomare grabs at him, turning his head and bites Aradon’s arm. Aradon grunts but keeps his hold.

  “Won’t be doing that again, don’t want to turn into your dirt-faced friend.”

  Aradon twists, slamming Eomare onto the ground, anger filling him but not clouding his mind. He won’t talk in this fight. He won’t be distracted. He will follow his training, no matter how much he wants to yell at Eomare for the racist comment. A punch in the face is appropriate, though.

  Eomare’s nose bleeds when Aradon’s fist connects with it, the Master already cowering. But he can’t give up now, Aradon knows this. He grabs hold of his head, but the Master snatches his sword back and swings it wildly, hitting Aradon in the side. Cutting into his flesh, Aradon cries out, rolling over. Eomare doesn’t waste any time, scrambling on top of him and bringing the sword down. Aradon only has a second to grab the shield and push Eomare off him. Rushing for his own sword, both get to their feet. Circling each other now, Aradon wonders who will be the first to attack, if Eomare will once again break his defenses or if he himself will.

  His side hurts, the sword cut him deeply under the arm, into his ribcage. He can feel the blood seep out, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the Master, no matter how badly he hurts.

  Aradon gets ready when he sees Eomare run for him, sword ready. He blocks the strike, but pain bolts through his arm and side, the shock making his knees give out. Eomare kicks him, falling onto his back. The pain makes his vision blur with black spots. He’s losing a lot of blood. Too much blood. He tries to get onto his feet but doesn’t succeed when Eomare puts his boot to his chest. His muscles relax, unable to fight back. He’s been wounded before, but this is different. He feels weak. He feels…like he’s dying.

  Turning his head, he only hears the echo-like sound of Eomare’s victory speech, but sees the Master’s sword lying only feet away. Inscriptions engrave the blade. He understands some of the words, they’re in the common elf tongue. Et lamera al kiea res dieua se tora. A blade to kill the gods of man.

  Gods of man.

  Besgeds.

  This sword weakens Besgeds.

  Aradon looks up at Eomare, his vision still impaired. “You…” He coughs. “Cheated.”

  Eomare looks down at him. “Wasn’t going to let you kill me. Honestly, you thought I’d play fair?”

  “The Creed demands a fair fight.”

  “The Creed is a book written thousands of years ago, Aradon. Besides, it’s more of a guidebook, not law.”

  Angry, Arado
n grabs at him, but Eomare steps on his wound. Aradon yells out, pain stabbing him.

  “It’s over, Aradon.”

  Yes. It is. He closes his eyes.

  Drifting. Drowning. He sinks. Deeper into the water, the blackness of the river suffocating him. But sink or swim? He must decide. No sun or moonlight filters through the surface as he opens his eyes, feeling the pleasantly warm, welcoming water take away the life he’s fought so hard to keep. But he remembers this feeling. Being deep under a rushing river, pulled away by the current to only the Spirits know where.

  At that time, he had something to live for. He had been pulled to where he wanted to go. But he wishes he had drowned in that river. He wouldn’t have hurt his friends if he had. Now, he has something to live for again. He lost it for six months, but now he has found it again. Nomarah. He needs to fight for her, to see her rise into a great kingdom. He can’t fail like his ancestors before him. His father never tried, he never had the means. But he does. In this moment, he can win the duel and take control of the greatest human army since the Five Kingdoms formed.

  But he sinks deeper. Why can’t he fight? Where is the strength he needs? He wants to rebuild his kingdom. He wants to wear Idies’ crown.

  He even desires to see Ethiah again. Since Sefa, she was the only one who made him feel that way again. Warm. Thinking that maybe there was something—someone—he could love again. He doesn’t know her very well. She’s stubborn and bold. But he likes that. Sefa was like that, but Ethiah isn’t like her. She isn’t soft-spoken, but still speaks calmly. She doesn’t laugh much but she still has a humorous spark in her eyes when someone tells a joke. He observed these little things, before he went Slayer on everyone he cared about. And clearly, she felt the same way…even though it was a dream… But she was real, right? She said she was real.

  He opens his eyes as he feels a hand grasp his, being pulled through the water by a shadow. Pulled to the surface, to the riverbank. He coughs out water, looking for the face of his rescuer.

  Sefa smiles at him, her golden skin shining in the dark of night.

  “Sefa?”

  “Go, Aradon. Fight for your kingdom.” A hint of sadness sparks her eyes, but there is also a grateful joy in them. “I’m gone, Aradon. It’s time for you to be happy.”

  “I can’t be as long as the Red Warriors are alive.”

  “You confuse me, Aradon. You say you want to kill them, but you also say you’ll make them your army. You need them, but you don’t want to need them. So tell me, which will you choose? Your own vengeance? Or the means to save your people? Because I watch you, Aradon, and I realize that they are your people.”

  She puts her hand on his cheek, a soft, delicate touch. “Remember who the real enemy is, Aradon. Revera. Not the Master, nor Saine. Not the Red Warriors. Revera is the monster. If you want to be happy—and you can—then she must be stopped.”

  “You heard them. They want to kill me.”

  “They think they need to kill you. Sidah doesn’t want to. Orion doesn’t. Tahn is merely angry with you, but that doesn’t mean he wants to see you burn.” She shakes her head. “You need to trust, Aradon. If not them, then at least yourself. You’ve found your purpose again. Don’t waste it if you have no intention in pursuing it.”

  Aradon hesitates. This is when it happens. This is the moment he chooses. Live or die? No. But to fight or give up?

  “I won’t waste it.”

  Sefa smiles, and with that gesture, she fades away, along with the river, the blank night sky, and the darkness.

  He opens his eyes, the Besged state filling him. He sees Eomare’s terrified face. Void of pain, Aradon snaps Eomare’s leg, leaping to his feet. Grabbing the sword that nearly killed him, he attacks the Master with it, slashing deep between his neck and shoulder—a wound Master Eomare won’t recover from.

  Aradon turns to the crowd of Red Warriors, letting the state retreat back inside him, his eyes once again will be their normal blue. Looking around, he sees fear, respect, and anger on the warriors’ faces.

  “Today, your Master falls. A coward. Eomare didn’t uphold the Creed. He abused it. Used it against this once great regiment. But we made a deal, last night.”

  Aradon bends over, grabbing the Everstar pin that was pinned to the Master’s shirt. Lifting it in the air, he makes sure all of them can see it. “I am the heir of Idies. Being a Besged should be proof enough, but I’ve since learned I am no longer the only one…”

  He glances at Saine and can see in the man’s eyes fear that he will reveal his secret. Not today, Plainsman. Not yet.

  “But I am the only heir of Idies. You don’t have to follow me, but know that if you do, I will lead you into the battle that the weak fight and the strong avoid. Revera, the sorceress of Radian. She will fall, but we can choose whether or not she falls at our hands. If you are motivated by nothing honorable, then be motivated by ego and pride! Killing her, merely standing up against her. Your names will be written in history as heroes, not villains.”

  He turns to a new section but speaks to all of them. “I am one of you. You think I’m not, but the Creed states ‘he who has the mark of the dragon is your brother, treat him so.’” He rips off his shirt, his brand on his shoulder blade showing.

  “Is this not the dragon? Am I not your brother? We don’t have to follow traditions that have turned us into a cult by our own faults. We perverted it. So let us rewrite it. The Creed is not a book from the Spirits. It was written by man, we can rewrite it.” He shakes his head.

  “But is the Creed the problem? Or is it us? We kill for sport, for money. But we can kill for something that’s right. Something that’s just. I’m not asking you to wipe the slate clean, but I am asking you to at least give yourselves a chance at redemption.” He looks at the sword, the inscriptions shining from him holding it. He drops it.

  “I am a man. And a man is not a king without people to follow.” He lets out a breath. “We can win this war. We can fight, and we can win.”

  The crowd is silent, but one steps forward, one he doesn’t recognize. “We’ve been untouched by Revera. Why should we put ourselves into the line of her fire for you? You are no king. We make you king, and if we aren’t willing to, then how will you fight her?”

  “I will fight her with or without you. But I cannot rebuild Nomarah without you.”

  “So this is about Nomarah, not the sorceress?”

  “No. I want you to fight in the war, but I ask you only to help me bring Nomarah to her feet once again. If you want no part in protecting her people, so there can even be a kingdom if we are to win this war, then fine. Leave. But those who want a home left to rebuild, then I implore you…fight.”

  “We’re just supposed to choose?”

  Aradon turns around at the voice. Tahn’s arms are crossed, face inscrutable.

  “Yes. You choose.” He looks at the whole of the army. “You must choose. Fight or give up?”

  “You want us to throw away centuries of tradition?”

  “Since when is killing people tradition, Tahn? Since when is murdering pregnant mothers and children honorable? Idies helped write the Creed. Would he have really wanted this?”

  “You say we should ignore the Creed, but yet you think we should listen to the words of our dead king.”

  Aradon nods. “You’re right. Then listen to the one that stands before you. I’m still royal by blood, I just may not be your monarch. Revera will destroy the world. Not just Mortal, but the entirety of Ardon. We will die, Nomarah will be desecrated. Everything and everyone will perish.” He shrugs. “But maybe you all are okay with that?”

  “Of course, we aren’t, Aradon!” Saine argues. “But that doesn’t mean we should have anything to do with that witch.”

  “You have been fighting by my side for nearly a year, Saine! I don’t believe for one moment that you would have been so deeply immersed in this war if you didn’t believe in fighting it. You could have left. You could have killed us all, you h
ave the ability. But you didn’t. You found the best friend you’ll ever have, you found Adriel. But now you stand there, saying that you don’t have to have anything to do with Revera. You don’t, sure. But you want to.

  “Because like it or not, Saine. You’re in this war and you aren’t getting out of it. None of you are getting out of this war alive. Forget what I said before. You don’t have a choice. I can’t force you to fight, but Revera will. You’re all naïve if you think you’ll survive her or even make it another month. When she strikes—and she will—none of you will survive. So be the selfish murderers you are and kill her to save your own skins!”

  Insults never work out very well. But his seemed to work as they started murmuring among each other, some heads nodding. Fight fire with fire. Convince murderers with murder.

  Sidah is the one to approach him. He will be the one that carries the army’s decision.

  Aradon’s eyebrow quirks. He’ll make a good Master.

  Sidah takes a breath before he speaks. “We are with you…My King.” He holds out his hand.

  Aradon takes his gesture. “I prefer Aradon.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Hagard leans against the wall, waiting outside Alfie’s room as the elven Lord Eldorian works to save Alfie. It’s different, this time. Awyn was a greater distance away, but she held onto her soul by the herbs Kaniel gave her—apparently, they’re a magical plant with protective qualities. Hagard would laugh if they weren’t what could save his friend’s life. Alfie was attacked only miles away, but he had no herbs. This could be the end of him. Hagard shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair. He can’t lose Alfie. He’s like a little brother to him. He let down his blood family, he can’t let this one down too.

  The Kawa is quiet, this year. The winter isn’t as bad in the valley, it’s protected by mountains, but they can’t grow crops, so they rely on meat from animals. Hagard should go out and hunt, it would pass the time, keep his mind off things. But he feels he deserves this. He abandoned his mother and brothers after his father died. They begged him to stay, but his death was his fault. How could he stay after he killed his father? He deserves this torment.