The Savage War

by Esther Wallace

  There, he let his body sag against the wall as his heart rate settled, both his anger and fear dissipating.

  Yes, he knew who had given the orders to keep Cornyo and himself apart—Duke Cestmir. Duke Cestmir who thought Arnacin would fuel Cornyo’s rebellion, if not help him escape. Little did he know that nothing would shake the knight’s loyalty to Mira, nor add to his stubbornness. Helping him escape was equally impossible. Even without guards, Cornyo would never run.

  No, the only thing the duke had denied was Arnacin’s earnest apology. Little good it would have done anyway.

  Sighing, he pushed himself off the wall, heading toward the steps that would take him to his room. Before he had gone five paces, he heard the light footsteps of a child approaching.

  “Arnacin.” The soft call made him turn. Duke Cestmir’s oldest son walked toward him, a plea written in his young eyes. “The duke… You know Cornyo, you must know what… Talk to His Grace, please. He hasn’t moved since his discussion with Miro and, Arnacin…” His voice trembled, “I have never seen tears on his cheeks before. I’m afraid…”

  Sighing, the islander said, “Show me where he is.” He doubted he could be any help at all considering how badly his last meeting with Cestmir had ended, but he could not bear to say so while held by that gaze.

  The duke stood alone in a passage off the great hall, staring out of the blackened windows, even though nothing but the rain still streaming down them could be seen by then. After waving the boy away, Arnacin whispered, “Your Grace.”

  The only answer at first was the lowering of the duke’s head in anger. Without turning around to meet the islander, he whispered, voice cracking with grief, “You have forced us all to be traitors, boy. Cornyo chose to betray his king, and I was forced to betray my men, to ask them to attack, arrest and drag a friend to the capitol. I am forced to see him hanged, to testify against him, else I also betray my king and country. Is that the reward he is given for victory? For rescuing our own, he must perish at his own people’s hands.” Whirling, Cestmir growled, “And who do we have to thank for this betrayal that tears us to shreds by our own hands?”

  Arnacin said nothing, his own gaze locked on the windows. The rain pouring down them gave the illusion of them crying, but their distress was less painful than sight of the tears streaming down the noble’s cheeks.

  He knew there was nothing he could say to soothe Cestmir’s pain. He had betrayed Cornyo, and they both knew it.

  “What good have you ever brought us, Arnacin of Enchantress Island? Are we any closer to the end of this hell-driven war? Not since the day you arrived. You have achieved rather the opposite.” The duke was making no effort to retain his usual placidity.

  Finally meeting the pain etched into Cestmir’s face, the islander whispered, “Those are perhaps the most honest words a noble has ever spoken.”

  Fury turned the duke’s face red and his hand flew to the sword at his side as he snapped, “Go! Go before I take your head off.”

  With a lamenting bow, Arnacin turned away. Yet as he left, those words burning in his heart, the duke added, “And I hope never to see your horrible black head again!”

  That was not to be the end of the islander’s misery. Around midnight, he still sat on the edge of his bed, staring blindly at the floor while the candle burned to nothing on the bedside table. Only the knock on his door roused him and, fully dressed as he remained, he simply pattered softly across the floor.

  “Sara,” he gasped upon opening the door. Valoretta’s nurse stood there, nervous agitation on her face. Pressing her finger to her lips, she gestured for him to follow. Choosing to trust her, the islander obeyed.

  She led him straight to the door leading to the royal accommodations of the castle. There, Arnacin froze. Pushing him forward, Sara breathed, “The king requests your presence. Come, we cannot be seen here.”

  Still, Arnacin remained where he was. “It’s pain of death past these doors for—”

  “Yes, hush. That is why we cannot be seen. Hurry.” Hoping the nurse did not actually plan his death, the islander followed her, cringing as the doors slammed shut behind him. Instantly, the corridors changed. The floors were covered down the middle by a long carpet, the edges tiled with something shiny, now glittering in the low firelight from the hidden torch bowls cut along the corridor’s walls.

  Noticing that the islander had again halted in fear as he looked around, the nurse sighed, stepping back toward him to pluck impatiently at his sleeve. When he finally moved, she strode off toward the withdrawing room, where Miro stood staring into the fire blazing in its hearth. Nodding to the king, the nurse moved into the shadows where Valoretta sat, the only other occupant of the room.

  “Close the door, Arnacin,” Miro commanded without turning from the fire. When the soft click of the latch sounded, he asked, “Is this what you wished, Arnacin? The complete disregard of Mira? It was admitted that you told your troop to ignore orders. Is that true?”

  “You ask as if I have betrayed Mira,” Arnacin whispered.

  Whirling, Miro stormed, “You have betrayed Mira! You’ve charged her king with incompetence, convinced all you could of that lie, stolen the imaginations of the people, and used Mira’s mercy to do so! Is that not a traitor?”

  Dropping his gaze to the polished wood under his feet, Arnacin agreed, “I would consider that a traitor, if it were true.”

  “If? I say there is no if, Arnacin, son of Bozzic. Did you or did you not tell your troop to disobey orders?”

  Feeling as if it was pried out of his throat, the islander confessed, “I told them there is no such thing as a god-king, that there is a right and wrong, an honor and, sometimes, any man’s commands can fail, can go against that justice, righteousness or honor. I said that, even more important than any king’s law, is righteousness, and that all things must be tested against it—that they must think for themselves and ask themselves what is important to them. That is what I said… allowing them to decide for themselves what was right before I took them into the mountains.”

  Darkly, Miro demanded, “Do you not even feel sorry?”

  “Sorry, Your Majesty?” Arnacin softly repeated. “Yes, I am sorry—sorry I ever had to ask myself what was right or not—sorry that to accomplish what I felt was ultimately right, I committed other wrongs. Should I have done differently, however, I would’ve murdered the natives without cause, and if I couldn’t do that and withdrew my agreement to Mira, I would have betrayed its people. I still deem the actions I took as those with the least evil, but I am sorry.” Looking down as his voice cracked, he added, “Sorry that lives ever weighed so heavily on my choices. And I don’t know why—since you find me so destructive—I don’t know why you ever asked it of me.”

  Fire popped in the silence, but as he looked back up to meet the king’s eyes, Miro hastily turned away.

  “Why?” the islander breathed, pleadingly.

  Clearing his throat, the king asked, “Whatever I decide for the knight, you realize you must witness it, and that whatever sentence he is given, you are responsible for all of it.”

  “If I ever thought otherwise, I have been firmly corrected many times in these past months,” Arnacin whispered dully.

  Nodding, the king dismissed him. However, the islander did not return to his room that night. Despite the dark and the rain and howling wind lurching the vessel about, Arnacin left for his ship.

  Although Valoretta kept silent for some time the next day, she watched Arnacin’s restlessness with concern as he walked slowly up and down their library row from one end of the shelves to another.

  Finally, however, the princess sighed. “Is this to be your new habit, Arnacin? For months, I’ve concerned myself over how such an active person as yourself would stand frozen still for hours at a time, staring out some window or over some view, and now you’ve been pacing since I entered.”

  Halting, the islander drew in a shaky breath. “I can’t avoid the truth and I was tired of
staying still.”

  “What truth are you avoiding?”

  “I must take whatever punishment Miro intends for Cornyo,” Arnacin stated, as if merely a fact.

  For a long moment, the princess remained dumbstruck while, from a distant past, the islander’s words rang in her memory: That’s shifting responsibility, and it’s cowardice, pure cowardice. If someone under your charge does something wrong, you must pay the penalty, and you alone.

  Eventually, she breathed, “I thought you wished to go home.”

  Kneeling before her in earnestness, Arnacin softly admitted, “Valoretta, surely you know there is nothing I want more. If I could…” He hesitated, his gaze lowering, yet she did not dare interrupt, yearning for his heart to stay open.

  After a moment, he spoke, visibly pained. “I want nothing more than to sit among sheep, talking and, yes, competing with Charlotte again. I want to be there when she lets go of her bitterness and marries. I want to be at her wedding. I want to be there when… when she wickedly announces a first child. I want to play with William, to be there to teach him how to craft, care for, and use a bow when he is old enough. I even want to be there as Mother grows old. I want to go home.”

  Slowly taking the princess’ hand in his to arrest her gaze, Arnacin finished, “But no matter how much I yearn for all that… no matter how strong that wish is, I cannot betray Cornyo. They’re all correct, whether the knight is under my command or no. I am responsible, for in this, he is my knight. If he must perish, so must I.”

  Running her finger along the hand in hers, Valoretta whispered, “I once grew upset because I thought a boy was insisting another should have done what he himself would never do. I almost wish my anger then was justified, but as I knew long ago, there is no other Arnacin—Arnacin of Enchantress Island.”

  He simply bowed his head under the intense burden only he could fully know and, leaning forward, the princess planted a kiss on top of those black curls. For the sake of all honor, she could not stop him.

  Chapter 19

  Darien

  FOR SOME REASON, MIRO WAITED another day before calling together all those needed for a Miran trial. Since it was to be in the morning, Sara woke her charge extra early for her customary yanking of the princess’ hair. For once, the nurse had a very still, quiet and cooperative subject and, pausing in concern, she asked, “Are you well, Valoretta?”

  She had to repeat the name in growing alarm before the princess sighed, “Yes, I’m well, although perhaps I shall never be again.”

  “Tsk, child,” Sara chided, resuming her work on the auburn stands. “How could this trial ever affect your future health? Stay still,” she commanded as Valoretta’s head turned to cast the nurse a sarcastic gaze.

  “In the first place, Sara—as you well know—this is a trial of a beloved Miran knight. In the second place, he is charged for treason simply because he loved those innocents more than…” She could not finish with the “we” that wished to come forth.

  Instead, as she dropped off, Sara nodded as if knowing her thoughts, and accusingly supplied, “More than his king.”

  Yanking her hair away from the nurse’s grasp, Valoretta snapped, “I’ll do that myself, thank you very much.”

  Sighing, the nurse repeated, as she had so often before, “You can’t be expected to do your own hair with any decency. You’ll look like a street rat before you’re done.”

  And so, the oft-reiterated debate began, ending of course with Sara victorious and Valoretta shipped out to her father in all her sternest regalia.

  Not long after that, the princess followed her father into the throne room in the long, official procession dictated by the trial. Valoretta, Arnacin and Memphis took their places directly behind Miro, the queen after them, and then the other councilors and Sara.

  The accused, Cestmir and others of the duke’s men already stood present in the great hall. None of them looked happy. Cestmir glared outright, his gaze directed toward Arnacin, while Sir Cornyo himself simply looked as one resigned to his own death.

  For his own part, Arnacin looked at none of them, his gaze fixed on the floor. Only Valoretta could guess why, as she glanced at him in shared pain.

  For a long moment, Miro only sat on his throne, his laced fingers resting on his chin as he contemplated the culprit. Then, softly he asked, “Sir Cornyo, what have you done?”

  Running his fingers along the chain connecting his manacled wrists together, the knight did not look up as he whispered, “I rescued the Miran captives, Sire.”

  “How did you accomplish this?”

  Slowly, Cornyo looked up to face his king. A second passed in silence and then he cleared his throat. “I apologize, if I do not answer all your questions, Sire. I refuse to lie to you, but there are some things of which I cannot speak.”

  Miro’s thumbs tapped briefly together and Valoretta stole a glance at Arnacin. He was still studying the floor beneath his feet.

  “If it’s the difference between your life and death, would you speak?” the king asked.

  Cornyo miserably shook his head.

  “The captives had been taken into the mountains?” A nod. “Areas of which you already knew?” No response.

  After another moment of silent contemplation, Miro asked, “Did you speak to anyone here before you left, hinting at your plans?”

  “Arnacin, Sire.”

  The islander did not flinch at the inclusion of his name. If he had been guilty, it was a good show of a clear conscience, except that he was still not watching.

  “And what did he say?”

  Cornyo’s gaze flicked briefly toward the islander as he whispered, “He told me my heart was ruling my head, and that you were right. The captives were lost.”

  Even sitting with only a partial view of the king’s face, Valoretta caught his lips’ brief twitch of amusement.

  “Did you suggest to him, or anyone else, your actual plans?” It was obvious Miro wanted to know if he could wring the information out of someone else.

  “No, Sire. I made them as I went.”

  “As ever, impulsive,” someone muttered in the group of Cestmir’s men.

  As if knowing he would receive nothing more from the culprit, the king looked to Cestmir. “Where did you find him, Duke?”

  “Winliy, Sire, halfway to the capital already.”

  “Was there anyone with him?”

  “Only the Mirans that had been taken captive.”

  “Did you ask them if they had more than one rescuer?”

  “They all said Cornyo was alone. Of course, they also seemed unable to remember much of the journey back.”

  Cornyo’s gaze had fallen back to the floor, revealing nothing.

  “Did you have trouble arresting him?”

  “No, Sire.” Cestmir’s words were a sigh then, as if that truth added to his sense of betrayal. “He surrendered to us willingly, and there were no escape attempts on the way here.”

  “Very well,” Miro said with a nod. “Would any of your men like to add anything?”

  Soft whispers from the councilors carried in the long following silence to where Valoretta stood nearby. The condemnation they uttered made her chest tighten with agony, and she again glanced at Arnacin wondering when he would act, knowing he would, and wishing he would quail.

  Finally, it seemed the king had made his decision. Nodding to himself, he stated, “Sir Cornyo, I would give you the chance to admit your transgressions and swear again your utmost loyalty, but I know enough of the source of your choices to know that you will instead choose death rather than to consider your actions wrong. So be it—”

  “Your Majesty.” The soft, yet not whispered, voice cut into the king’s words, triggering an audible gasp around the room.

  Leaning back in his throne, Miro acknowledged the voice, with a sigh. “Arnacin.”

  Valoretta paled as the islander stepped around the throne to face the king. “You know the source, you say. Is not that source the truly
guilty one? Why speak to the foam lying on the shore after the ocean has withdrawn? I cannot be the one to say Cornyo is innocent—he would testify against himself if you asked that question of him—yet the crime he has committed is no worse than mine. It is far less, in fact. If you are to execute anyone, Your Majesty, I ask…” Slowly, as if fighting some part of himself, the islander bowed to one knee, finishing, “I beg that it be me. I am the instigator and, in this, the commander of his recent action. Should you still think his action worthy of death, at least make me share it, for my honor.”

  As he spoke, a spell of silence had fallen over the hall, but when he finished, Cornyo gasped, “Arnacin, you can’t. You’re guiltless. Sire, he tried to dissuade m—”

  He fell silent as Cestmir grabbed his arm in wordless warning, yet Miro did not even appear to have heard, staring at the islander without movement.

  In the ensuing silence, Memphis whispered, “He is right, Sire. You judge the snake’s coils for strangling someone, not the serpent himself.”

  Valoretta, close enough to hear, could have run him through, but she dared not say anything. This was a battle the king had to fight alone, yet she feared that its end would result in Arnacin’s as well.

  A moment passed and then Miro’s fingers twitched, as if he would have reached out to run them down the islander’s cheek, but restrained himself. Instead, he stated, “I must be the judge of that, Arnacin. You, unlike Sir Cornyo, are not Miran. Be that as it may, I am fully aware of your part in it.” Looking up toward Cornyo, he declared, “Sir Knight, you are no longer a knight of Mira. That title and property are hereby taken from you. I also banish you from Mira forever. You have until dawn tomorrow to find passage, bid farewell to all you would, and leave. Take any family willing to go, but it is for life and those who accompany you must know they also share your exile. Should you ever return, you will not see another day. So I have decided. As for you, Arnacin,” he added, looking back down at the islander, “I will content myself knowing that you are fully aware of your responsibility, that it was Arnacin of Enchantress Island who drove Cornyo from his home forever. That I deem punishment enough.”