As his fingers found the scabbard, he froze, feeling the carvings on its sides. An image of Carpason’s reaction flashed sharply to mind and, slowly letting his breath out, Arnacin shoved the thought aside and drew his sword. As he had said only moments before, he was not Miran.
Seconds later, the twosome was creeping through the camp toward the horses, as quickly as silence allowed. Thankfully, the boy was native, with their seemingly innate level of stealth, and Arnacin had trained with his sister. A slight smile passed the islander’s face at the knowledge of the superiority of his sister’s stealth as he heard the soft sound of his companion’s footsteps.
Arriving at the horses’ picket line, Arnacin untied the first one. Shoving the lead through the horse’s mouth, he tied the other end to the halter. “You know how to ride?” he whispered.
The boy nodded wordlessly and Arnacin shoved him onto the horse’s back.
That second, a shout sounded throughout the camp. Without another word or glance, the islander slapped the horse into a run, while behind them, the camp’s fires burst into life. With a clatter, men suddenly surrounded the picket line, some throwing saddles onto their horses before leaping on and others blocking Arnacin’s escape, although he had no intention of running.
As the knight closest to the islander began to hoist himself onto his newly tacked steed, Arnacin reached out and yanked the girth loose. Yelping, the man landed on his back at the islander’s feet, causing a slight grin of apology. Nothing more could be done to aid the fleeing native as sixteen horses bolted in pursuit. Likewise, nothing could alter what Arnacin feared was the end of his own life. Grace alone commanded both islander and native boy’s future.
Only as the last horse disappeared from hearing did one man gasp, “Arnacin! What have you done?”
Although the islander’s answer was only to flick his hair out of his face, his response to the duke’s demand minutes later was required.
“What is the meaning of this?” Cestmir stormed.
“Did you expect less?” Arnacin challenged.
“Yes,” the duke snapped. “Lord Carpason spoke much more of you.”
“I never promised to obey your king for his sake, but for that of Mira.”
“No, but you betrayed your word to help our cause, and thereby are still a traitor.”
“Your cause was not aided in any way by that boy.”
“No, but his escape aids their cause.”
“You don’t know that, do you?”
To the islander’s tone of finality, the duke inhaled. “Then I have no choice.”
Reaching the capitol, Lord Carpason heard that Duke Cestmir was on the field and that he wished to meet with the lord. With that information, Carpason turned back around with a fresh unit to join the duke and aid him if needed. He found the duke’s camp three days later, on the edge of Mira’s safe lands.
“Your Grace,” Carpason greeted as the duke came out of his tent to welcome the troop. “It has been awhile.”
“Well, you, my lord, are on the field far more than is good for you,” Cestmir smiled, clasping the other noble’s arm. “I was actually hoping to run into you, but it looks like you came back out to find us.”
“Your sight is correct. I gather my messenger made it through?”
“He did,” the duke said as he led the way back inside his tent. “And we succeeded in taking out another camp. We have been doing well recently.”
“How great were your losses?” the lord asked, taking the seat offered him.
“Strangely, little. Our opposition on the way there and back was greatly reduced from the usual. I can only assume the savages were too occupied in chasing the hated Miran lord.” He inclined his head in respect to Carpason, who smiled modestly.
“I admit we did not have less opposition than normal,” the lord confessed.
For a moment, Cestmir did not make any comment as he gazed off into the distance. Finally, he stated, “We won a few provisions in the battle, nothing that will last for any amount of time, but every little bit helps.” Softly, he stood, walking over to his cot. Then, picking something up and turning around, he whispered, “I believe this is yours.”
Numbly, Carpason took the proffered weapon, feeling his heart still. In his hands lay the short sword he had handed to a foreigner, what felt like years ago. Forcing air through his lungs, he breathed, “What happened to him?”
Stepping into the tent that held Arnacin, Carpason studied the captive. The islander sat tied to the tent’s center post by his wrists. His face was colorless, his lips cracked, his gaze averted from the lord’s.
Sighing, Carpason let the tent flap close behind him. “If there was one thing I would never imagine, it would be to hear the word ‘traitor’ and your name mentioned in the same sentence, Arnacin.”
Looking back up, the islander whispered hoarsely, “I’m not sorry.”
Changing the subject, the lord inquired, “Have they not given you any water?”
“I won’t let them,” Arnacin confessed. “I won’t allow someone to force-feed me as if I was incapable of doing it myself, particularly not when they’re just going to kill me later.”
Shaking his head, Carpason warned, “You may want your strength before we reach the city.” Arnacin made no reply and the noble dropped beside him, sighing. “I gather you knew exactly what you were doing.”
With a slight smile, the islander stated, “I’m not a hasty person by nature, although some might assume otherwise.”
“Arnacin, listen. Even if the boy is not a threat now, his return to his own kind, with the story of the village’s downfall, may only strengthen their wish for vengeance.”
“They will find out regardless. Something as large as that cannot be hidden, whatever you do, and who knows what mercy may inspire.”
Sighing in mild exasperation, Carpason insisted, “Arnacin, should you simply agree that his escape is a danger to our cause and say, that should you go back, you would not do the same thing, we can all pass this over as a mistake owing to your foreign roots. Should you not, I do not possess the jurisdiction to prevent you from hanging.”
“Then you cannot prevent it. I knew most of your arguments before I acted, as I’m sure Duke Cestmir told you. If I did go back, I would do the same thing, as you assuredly know. To say otherwise just to avoid the consequences would simply be a lie, and that I won’t do.”
“Arnacin, this is war. Sometimes there are things that happen in the name of our cause that none of us like, but cannot avoid. You know that.”
“Lord Carpason…” the islander persisted, “tell me, if a native woman squabbled with her people and then fled to the city, where you promised her sanctuary in exchange for information, and then her brethren arrived, swearing lifelong peace and the end of the war should you deliver her dead body to them, would you?”
The lord simply studied the islander’s earnest face. The word “no” glued itself to his tongue, yet he knew the goal of the question and could not utter that desired answer. Still, it required contemplation. Was it even related?
After another second, Arnacin added, “It would end the war and save Mira. Why would you not?”
“There are some morals that simply cannot be compromised,” Carpason finally replied. “But are we speaking of the same thing?”
“While he may eventually become one more for that side, it will be several years before he is old enough and he is just one more. The rest of that entire village was wiped out. There is no extra information he could give them that they do not already know. You would only compromise your own honor through murder, nothing more.”
For a long moment, the noble remained silent, staring at the thin slit between the tent flaps, through which the waning sunlight pierced. “Then the duke spoke true. We can only leave the judgment to Miro, and although I love and trust him, I don’t know if he’ll be wise in this matter.”
“What is wisdom in this matter, my lord?”
Again studying
the islander, Carpason returned the question, “What is it to you, Arnacin? I have a feeling your opinion will be very different from mine.”
“I’m almost…” Licking cracked lips, Arnacin breathed, “Wisdom would change that law yet still condemn me to hang.”
Disbelievingly, the lord stated, “You are an alien, Arnacin. Why would that be wisdom?”
“I deceived to achieve what I did. That calls for justice…” He fell quiet, a slight tremble betraying his fear. Although he said nothing about that emotion, he changed his sentence’s course. “But wisdom would also recognize the lack of justice that caused the original circumstances.”
Shaking his head, Carpason surmised, “You are incredibly hard on yourself and everyone else, Arnacin. There will come a time when you will have to realize that life is not—cannot—function in a black-and-white manner. If it could, our role as leaders would be much simpler.”
“And much less should be compromised than often is.”
Laughing slightly, the lord moaned, “Oh, Arnacin, if you put your rulebook into writing, I don’t know what people would do with it.”
“Laugh at it or burn it,” the islander guessed. “I have the feeling there’s not a person in the world who would try to actually live up to it.”
Exhaling, Carpason inquired, “If I temporarily release you, you won’t try to escape?”
With a ghost of a grin, Arnacin reminded, “I have nowhere to go.”
After untying the rope around the islander’s wrists, Carpason pulled out the blade that had been returned to him, stating with a touch of lightness, “You might want this.” When the islander hesitated, the lord insisted, “For as long as you live, Arnacin, this is yours. Even should you die, I will always consider it yours. I gave it to you with no intention of retrieving it.”
Sadly smiling, Arnacin accepted the weapon once more.
Carpason found that informing Cestmir of his choice, however, was far more difficult than making it. “Do you doubt that I will take full responsibility for whatever happens?”
“Don’t turn it into a matter of your honor.” Cestmir pounded the table in frustration. “Your Arnacin is entirely unpredictable. It’s nothing to do with your responsibility. I can’t have something else happen.”
“What could happen, outside of his potential escape, which I don’t fear?”
“Anything! He’s a ship in a storm! The wind could change any minute!”
“So he’s unstable?”
“Not the usual unstable, no. He’s said to assist Mira, but he has no notion of what that means and holds only to his own counsel, with no fear of the consequences!”
“Arnacin helps Mira to the best of his understanding, but—”
A shout of warning was followed by screams renting the air. The ensuing clash of metal and the natives’ battle cries forced both men to action. Drawing their blades, they raced from the tent.
Natives engaged clumps of Mirans throughout the camp, over which the emblems of Cestmir and Carpason fluttered in the breeze, unhindered by the angry fray below. Thankfully, the skirmish was brief, despite its ferocity.
Once the enemy had retreated, Carpason scouted the perimeter before returning to the duke’s tent. “They killed the patrol,” he sighed.
“So I expected,” Cestmir said, glancing up from studying the ground. “I should have expected their attack as well. With two of us here, the fact that we were on the edge of the woods meant little to them. What I still cannot fathom is the person who alerted us.” As the lord sat down opposite him raising his eyebrows politely, the duke explained, “The savages attacked before they were ready since they lost the element of surprise, and the person who told us, thereby ruining their surprise attack, was your islander.”
Innocently, Carpason asked, “And why does that surprise you?”
With an ironic smirk, Cestmir replied, “It would be common sense for someone in his position to hope for the annihilation of this camp while he slipped away. With us gone, no one would know what he did. Yet does he do that? No, he does just the opposite, and secures his execution in the process.”
Sadly, the lord nodded. “You do not yet know Arnacin. He wouldn’t do otherwise. As I was about to say before, he does what he believes is right and lets the consequences come as they will. Every individual’s life is sacred to him. He never kills lightly or allows another to be killed before him.”
The combined troop arrived in Mira three-and-a-half days later and, much as the commanders had expected, the duke instantly received a verbal message from the chamberlain asking him to the king’s presence for a report. As Cestmir left his horse with a stablehand, the messenger added, glancing at the lord, “And when all is reported, he would like to talk to you alone, my lord.”
“I’ll be there,” Carpason promised, watching them leave before turning to find that Arnacin already stood beside him.
“Some people might find that summons unnerving,” the islander whispered with a wavering grin.
“For five years, I have only received variations on that summons,” the lord admitted, putting a hand on Arnacin’s shoulder. “I wish I could say that we’ll find a way through this, Arnacin, but the best I can say is that Duke Cestmir has promised not to speak of it himself. He’ll simply alert the king that there is an issue for his judgment. Though you may doubt it, the duke is a fair, honorable man.”
Smirking, the islander stated, “I’ll be the judge of honor. Mira doesn’t usually seem to understand the meaning of the word, present company mostly excepted.”
Shaking his head, the lord gave no reply.
Chapter 8
Mediums and Savage Gods
“AND WHAT DO YOU NEED to discuss with me that Cestmir could not?” Miro demanded almost as soon as Carpason entered the hall where the king stood with his high councilor.
“I assume he informed you of his success in wiping out that village.” When the king nodded, his lord licked his lips, finishing, “A native boy survived the attack, and they took him captive… until he was released.”
“What!” the king thundered, causing the lord to wince. “Who dared such treason?”
“I do believe he can tell you himself.” Stepping sideways, Carpason called, “Arnacin.”
For a second, it seemed as if the room itself held its breath before a quiet whisper sounded behind Carpason and he knew the islander had entered the room. As Miro’s gaze darkened on a spot behind his lord, this was affirmed.
“Dare you defy your very word?” the king growled as the islander stopped beside Carpason, the lowness of his tone deadlier than his earlier outburst.
“No,” Arnacin whispered after a pause. “My word could not atone for a lack of justice, nor did I promise to aid in injustice.”
“And what, pray tell, is unjust about executing murderers?”
“Nothing, if it is indeed murderers you execute. In this instance, I do not believe it was.”
“You are not here to believe in anything to do with this war, foreigner.”
“Then why should I assist?” Arnacin demanded. As Carpason shifted beside him, he slowly exhaled, pressing, “The captive about whom we speak did not fight against us, and he was too old for you to truly trust if this city had attempted to treat him as they do others. Should they have brought him here, there would be only one course of action, and I could not be part of it.”
“He was an enemy, with information we do not wish them to possess.”
“Details or not, they own that information anyway. Do you think they come across those battlegrounds, see the signs of slaughter, of death, of birds feeding on the carcasses of their own people, and feel no rage at it—at least of some kind? They gave their land to Mira when it was in need, allowed permanent homes built when they scorn the tearing of the ground, and yet they never complained. When Carta later attacked Mira because of Cartian greed, the natives not only let Mira remain on their shore, they assisted with supplies and tactics.
“For years
afterward, Mira remembered that and, with honor, they drew a map of the land they would need, handed it to their neighbors, and promised never to grow beyond those lines. Yet that promise and honor crumbled through Mira’s wish for peace among foreign allies, and varying degrees of greed.
“Your Majesty, your neighbors, whom you war with now, expect you to lack honor. They declared war because of it, because they believed that should they not act, Mira’s lack of honor would wipe them out. Whether they hear about it or not, you are capable of proving them right or wrong, and stories of honor, as well as the lack of it, have a way of traveling thousands of miles. Don’t prove them right—don’t prove them right by killing needlessly.”
After a long moment of silence, during which both king and lord studied the islander incredulously, Miro inquired, “And for someone such as yourself, what would be your excuse for avoiding punishment?”
“I don’t have one,” Arnacin admitted softly. “Do as you wish.”
Silence fell on the room as Miro contemplated the islander, whose skin shone unusually white against his black hair. What seemed a lifetime later, Miro sighed, turning to Carpason, “How much do you trust him, my lord?”
Unable to control a relieved, weary grin, Carpason admitted, “With everything, Sire—not just my life, but the kingdom.”
A red flush colored the islander’s face, and the king nodded.
“Very well, Arnacin of Enchantress Island,” Miro growled reluctantly. “I cannot cast any swift judgment in this instance. Return tomorrow afternoon and I will have an answer—yet you must return.” With that warning, the king dismissed them.
Once they were out of earshot, Carpason soothed, “I believe you need not fear any longer. Exactly what he decides, I cannot tell you, but I highly doubt death is an option.”
Weakly, Arnacin breathed, “I hope so. I want to go home. I just want to sail home.”
Smiling sadly, the lord whispered, “You have some gift of eloquence, Arnacin. I hardly imagined that most convincing speech, mixed with as much honesty and as much of our history as it was. Whether he discusses it with his councilors or not, I doubt they shall sway whatever his opinion is now.”
The Savage War Page 13