by CJ Brightley
Taisto’s voice was high and tight with anger. “You may insult me all you wish, but I will not give up the throne so easily. You believe it is yours for the taking. I do not. It seems there is little to do but fight for it, but I doubt you have the courage.”
“I can muster the courage now.” Hakan’s voice rang out clear and strong.
Taisto’s face was white with anger as he drew his sword. He studied Hakan as he slowly wiped the blade with a white cloth that had been sitting on his desk.
I spoke quietly. “It is not fitting for a prince to duel a common thief and traitor. I offer my sword in your service, if you care to command me, Prince Hakan Ithel.”
The corners of Hakan’s mouth twitched in what might have been a smile if he had not been so nervous. “Thank you, Kemen. But I will cross swords with him. Some have doubted that I own the courage to rule, and I would prove them wrong. If any man doubts me, take heed now.”
Again my voice was quiet in my attempt to be calming. “Perhaps you both would be better served to take the fight to the great hall. There’s more room.”
Hakan nodded, but Taisto shook his head.
“There’s no need for that. It will be over soon. If all but five men of your men and five of mine go out into the hallway to wait, we’ll have plenty of room in here, and plenty of witnesses for your cowardice.” He was smiling again, a cold confident set to his lips.
I saw Hakan’s jaw tighten, but he only nodded in reply, and Taisto motioned his men out into the hallway. Hayato sent out the suvari as well. When I glanced back into the hallway outside, they were staring tensely at each other, and I wondered whether they were really on different sides at all. Taisto’s men looked shaken and unsure of their loyalties.
Those of us left pressed ourselves against the walls, leaving a large clear space in the middle of the room, bounded on one end by the heavy wooden desk. I ached to take Taisto’s head myself, and my stomach twisted with fear for Hakan. He was not ready for it. All our training, hours and hours of grueling training, for I had pushed him very hard, had come to this.
He was young and he was brave. He was very smart. But he was only one step above mediocre with a sword. He had neither the speed nor the strength necessary to defeat Taisto, who held his sword with the familiarity of long use.
Every muscle in my body was taut with fear for the boy. I wondered how dishonorable it would be to kill Taisto myself. To my mind, Hakan had earned the throne already through honorable conduct, his education and wisdom, his agreements with Tafari. He would be best for Erdem. Surely a man could do something dishonorable, on the surface, for the good of Erdem? I wondered if Hakan would think me despicable if I did so. For his life, and for the good of Erdem, I might do it anyway.
Hakan drew his sword, the one I’d given him, and Taisto smiled coldly when he saw Hakan’s hand shaking.
“Still afraid of swords, aren’t you, boy?”
“I’m not stupid. If you’re not afraid, you’re less clever than I’d given you credit for.”
They took their stances as for a formal duel. Taisto’s bow was graceful and mocking, not nearly as low as it should have been. Hakan’s was perfect in courtesy, and he remembered not to take his eyes off Taisto. I had taught him never to look away from an enemy.
Then the duel began. Taisto attacked and then retreated, testing Hakan, not yet interested in killing him. In and out. Hakan’s form was abysmal, worse than it had been in months. He was afraid, licking dry lips in a pause in the action while Taisto studied him. Taisto arrogantly left him several openings, but Hakan did not attack, and I cursed myself for not pushing him harder.
I had drilled him over and over again on parries and blocks. One must first stay alive before one can counterattack. At least Hakan was doing that well, for despite his shoddy footwork and his sloppy form he blocked every strike. Taisto grew more confident as they circled, and I could see the lust for blood in his eyes. Blood and power, for his ultimate goal I believe was not murder but power.
Taisto glanced at me periodically, though he did not look at any of the other soldiers about the room. He spoke coolly, though both he and Hakan were breathing a little harder now.
“How much did you pay for your Dari dog?”
“He’s a friend. A good one.” Hakan’s voice shook with anger and fatigue.
Taisto could have killed him several times over, but he was toying with him. Whether it was for his own amusement or for some other purpose I never knew, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if he meant to use it for his glory in front of the soldiers watching. I wished Hakan wouldn’t show his fear, wouldn’t show that he was weary. He’d put on the façade for Tafari, he could have done it again. Taisto would take advantage of his weakness.
“Kemen Sendoa, is it?”
“Aye.” Hakan blocked another strike by Taisto. His footwork was barely good enough to keep him moving, his form scarcely better than an utter beginner.
“I thought I killed him once. He’s trouble, along with his friends. Though they were not so difficult to dispose of.”
My jaw tightened in anger when I thought about Yuudai, and suddenly I realized what Hakan was doing. He wanted to be underestimated.
Taisto was directly in front of me some distance away, his right side facing me, Hakan far off to my right. I stepped forward, my footstep deliberately loud and ringing, my hand on my sword.
Taisto swung wildly at me, taking his eyes from Hakan. In that moment Hakan lunged forward and buried his sword into Taisto’s belly, ducking under the weak swing of Taisto’s sword back at him as he pulled away. I’d twisted away from Taisto’s sword, which, instead of spilling my guts on the marble floor as he had intended, merely grazed my arm. I stepped in again to grab Taisto’s wrist, bringing his sword down and forcing it from his hand.
Hakan stepped away and watched, very pale, still holding his bloody sword. Taisto dropped to his knees, clutching weakly at his stomach, bright red blood pulsing out in a fading rhythm. His face was terrible to see, but mercifully, his death did not last long. He collapsed sideways, an awkward and undignified way to die. I could find in myself no pity for him.
Hakan turned away and dropped his sword. It fell with a great clatter which rang in the room, and when the sound faded there was nothing but silence.
Everyone’s eyes remained on Hakan, and he must have realized it, for he drew himself up stiffly. “Take the body away.”
Taisto’s men stepped forward quietly, taking the body by wrists and ankles and slowly carrying it out through the hallway. The blood smear on the marble floor looked vulgar, almost profane.
The scratch on my arm was stinging more than I would have expected. Hakan was shaking visibly now, and he walked to the end of the room to lean half-sitting against the desk. I followed him. He looked very young and very overwhelmed, grieving, though I cannot imagine it was for Taisto. More likely it was for the time in which he had taken no one’s life, drawn no blood. It is a form of innocence you can never return to, and I mourned it as well.
I sat beside him in silence and inspected the cut on my arm. It was burning like fire, and the edges were an angry red, though the cut was scarcely more than an inch long and not at all deep. Odd.
Finally I spoke. “You did well. Don’t regret it, Hakan. You had no other choice.” My mind felt fuzzy, and I was thirsty.
Hakan looked at me and I blinked. His face suddenly split into two, the double images wavering before me.
“What’s wrong?” His voice sounded very distant.
I felt light-headed, and suddenly I understood.
“His blade was poisoned.” That’s what I intended to say, anyway. I am unsure if the words came out clearly, for I heard Hakan speaking and could not decipher his words anymore. My tongue seemed very large in my mouth.
I remember sliding down to sit leaning against the front of the desk and Hakan’s voice shouting, and after that everything is unclear for some time.
22
I
f the darkness after my ribs were broken was warm and welcoming, this one was hot and feverish and entirely unpleasant. My skin pricked with chill while I sweated through the sheets. Every muscle in my body ached and I shook violently with fever. I felt cool hands on my forehead and I choked on honeyed wine at times, but I lived more in dreams than in reality. I watched Yuudai die again. I relived the campaign in the south, but only the horrifying parts.
I watched Hakan’s duel with Taisto over and over. Once I was Taisto, and I watched my own hand plunge a sword into Hakan’s body. He writhed in pain, blood coming from his mouth, his eyes huge and reproachful on mine. Another time I watched Hakan kill Taisto, but then collapse in grief himself, cursing me for teaching him violence.
I suppose I should have died. That was no doubt Taisto’s intent, though I imagine the poisoned blade was meant for Hakan. That I was there was only a happy coincidence for him, a chance to remedy that earlier failure to eliminate me. I am much larger than Hakan, larger than nearly any Tuyet man, and the scratch was so small I had not received much of the poison. An unpleasant death it would have been, too. I count myself very fortunate.
When I was aware enough to appreciate my surroundings again, I was amazed. I’d been inside the palace only once before, on taking the oath of service before the king Hakan Emyr. That took place in the great throne room, and didn’t last long, for we were hurried back out to duty. I’d been fourteen years old, tall, gawky and painfully shy, awed by the king’s grandeur and the beautiful age of the palace. Even the Golden Eagle Regnant had been presented outside on the palace lawn. A Dari, even a soldier serving the king, wasn’t entirely welcome in the palace.
My room was luxuriously appointed, but much smaller than the great throne room. It was warm and richly inviting, elegant. The bed in which I lay was covered in gorgeous green blankets with gold and silver threads woven into them. The outlines of the royal crest glinted in the light. The walls were covered in tapestries, and large windows all along one wall let in streams of golden light. The windows were open, and I could hear the stamp of horse hooves outside far away, birdcalls, and distant voices singing and laughing. The air carried the scent of flowers, and I wondered if there was a garden behind the palace.
There was a small table in front of the windows with two matching chairs carved of dark wood, intricately beautiful with the curving lines of classical Erdemen design. On it was a gleaming silver tray with a light breakfast of tea, fluffy brown bread, grapes, goat cheese, and some sort of little pastries that I had never seen before.
I was terribly thirsty and so I struggled from the bed, feeling the edges of fever not entirely receded. I ate sitting at the little table. The tea was still quite warm; I thought I recognized the smell of an expensive tea from the south that I’d wanted to try when I was there but had never been able to afford. The pastries had some sort of honey and nut mixture inside, and I wondered whether Hakan ate like this every day as a child. I’d never seen such luxury.
I was dressed in a rich silk robe, though I didn’t remember changing clothes.
How long had I been ill? I searched the room until I found my own clothes neatly folded on a trunk at the end of the bed. Good.
Wearing familiar clothes, I felt a bit more like myself, though my arms and legs still felt hollow and weak from fever. I opened the door and looked out into the hall. There was a young girl walking quickly toward my room, and she startled in surprise when she saw me.
“Where is the prince Hakan Ithel?” My voice was rough from disuse. “What day is it?”
She swallowed and curtsied politely. “It is Nelja, sir. You have been ill for three days. The prince Hakan Ithel is in his working office. Would you like to see him?” Her voice was high and clear, still childish. She must have been no more than fourteen or so. She spoke very courteously, her eyes cast down in respect.
“Please.”
She curtsied again. “This way. Are you feeling better, sir?”
“Aye. Thank you.” I followed her.
She walked quickly, and I cursed the weakness that made me stumble in the long hallway. I had to pause and lean against the wall a moment when my head whirled.
She was back at my side immediately. “I’m sorry I’m going too fast. Father tells me I walk too fast. Do you want me to get someone to help you?” Her eyes were very wide, no longer quite so afraid. I must have looked awful, and I felt very self-conscious. Even a young girl can cause a man to stand up straighter.
“No. Thank you.” I was too proud to ask her to walk more slowly, but she did anyway. We walked through several halls until we reached a very ornate door.
The girl knocked quietly, and at a sound from within, she opened the door. She stepped inside and I heard her speak. “Your Royal Highness, Kemen Sendoa is awake and wishes to see you.”
In a moment, she opened the door wider. Hakan was already on his feet striding toward me, and he stopped in surprise. “Kemen, you should be in bed! Come in, sit down and rest.”
I nodded my thanks to the girl and stepped inside. She closed the door behind me. I sat, but I didn’t really feel any more comfortable. The chair was of rich red velvet and ornate wood, and I felt very out of place. Hakan sat across from me, smiling with pleasure. He seemed totally at ease in the rich surroundings, and though it should not have, it startled me to realize that the palace was his home.
“Are you feeling any better?”
I nodded. “Aye, thank you.”
“I suppose you’ll want to know what happened then. It’s Nelja. The fight with Taisto was on Edella, so you’ve been ill for three days.”
I nodded.
“Katsu Itxaro received your message and turned around immediately, sending his own apology to Tafari and request for safe passage back to the border. Tafari granted it, and they were escorted courteously to the border. This of course is due to the respect they both have for you, so Erdem and I are again in your debt.”
I looked down at my boots. Though they had been neatly cleaned, they were still only a soldier’s boots. They looked rough and uncultured on the ornate rug.
“You did well in the duel.” I didn’t know what else to say, but he did deserve that.
He smiled. “You thought I’d forgotten everything you taught me.”
I nodded. “At first.”
“I wanted him to underestimate me. I’m not any good with a sword, and I never will be. I had to do it that way, let him think me helpless.”
I nodded.
“Thank you for giving me the opening, though. You know I’ve never been good at making my own.”
I nodded again. In truth, I had done it almost without thinking.
“I’ve planned the coronation for Seitsema, in three more days.” Something was familiar about that date, but my mind was still cloudy.
“It’s five months to the day since my father died and the three hundredth anniversary of Hiraku’s victory at Silverhill.” Yes. Tarmo Hiraku, one of the great heroes of Erdem, had won his greatest battle on that date while leading the united eastern Tuyet forces against the Tarvil. I must have been more ill than I realized if I hadn’t remembered that.
Hakan’s voice broke into my thoughts. “Traditionally the king, if he is yet alive, crowns his son. If the prince is a minor when the king dies, the regent crowns the prince upon his majority. If the king dies before crowning his son, and the son is not a minor, the prince crowns himself.”
This I knew.
“Kemen, I would be honored if you would crown me king in three days’ time.”
My jaw dropped in surprise.
Hakan smiled. “Don’t protest. It makes perfect sense. If a prince crowns himself, the implication is that he has taken the throne himself. You have earned this throne for me, and if you want it, I will give it to you without protest.”
I shook my head, as he must have known I would.
“My father would have done it if he were alive. I would be honored if you would serve in his stead.”
He laughed gently and put one hand on my shoulder for just a moment. “No. It is I who am honored by your friendship. I would ask, most humbly, if you would continue to serve me as advisor. I have great need of good men. Trustworthy, honorable, wise, and brave. A king cannot ask for more than that.”
“Aye.” I smiled at him when I looked up. My arms prickled with chill. The fever was rising again; I could feel it in the tingling of my scalp and the odd hollow feeling of my arms and legs when I rose to bow formally to him. He deserved that honor, though, and I was glad to give it.
There was a knock at the door, and I was able to sit again without Hakan realizing how much the bow had taxed me. “Your Royal Highness, Commander Yoshiro Kepa is here to see Kemen Sendoa. Should I tell him to wait or send him in?”
Hakan glanced at me and I shrugged. Hakan answered, “Send him in. And bring some wine when you come.”
It was a few minutes before there was a knock on the door. The girl entered and curtsied as she introduced Commander Kepa, and he bowed deeply to Hakan and then to me. He was older than I was by some ten or twelve years, with the erect bearing of a lifelong soldier. Hakan motioned him to a chair, and he sat uncomfortably, his back rigidly straight. I knew the feeling. A soldier does not sit in the presence of a king, even a king not yet crowned.
“Your Highness, I am honored to serve you. Yet I hope you will forgive me now, for what I have to say more closely concerns your friend Kemen Sendoa.”
I sat up even straighter. Even my bones felt cold, and I hoped that my slight shivering wasn’t noticeable.
Kepa studied me a moment before speaking again. “I am honored to meet you at last, Sendoa. Our paths have crossed before, but I didn’t have the honor of meeting you in person then. I wanted to express my regret for the way you were discharged from the kedani. It was on my orders, but it was not my will.”