Kingslayer

by Honor Raconteur

  “Amalah,” he started and ignored the gasps for his dismissal of honorifics, “what would you have me do? I do not really care anything about your dowry. I will challenge him for just you, if you so wish.”

  Grygotis and the rest of her family spluttered, staring at him as if he had just sprouted a second head. Darius spared them a glance but nothing more than that.

  Amalah looked confounded for a moment as well. Then her eyes softened and her hand lowered to reveal the gentlest smile he had ever seen from her. “I don’t care about the dowry either.”

  “Amalah!” her father barked in disbelief.

  The look that she shot her sire had enough heat to melt steel. She clearly hated that dowry, as it had forced her into a betrothal with a man she loathed. Darius hadn’t thought she’d care much about it, but he felt it only fair to ask. It was her dowry, after all. She turned to face Grygotis, her head high, like a woman geared for battle. “If you will consent to release me from our betrothal, then I will give you the dowry outright.”

  Like a penalty for a broken contract? Not a bad idea. One look at Grygotis clearly said he wouldn’t go for it, though. He was so red in the face that Darius half-expected steam to start escaping from his ears.

  “So, you think that you can buy me with my own land?” He took a menacing step toward her, hands balling into fists at his side. “You shameless woman! You and your dowry are already mine, you have no power here!”

  By the laws of this land, Grygotis was unfortunately correct. Darius had to challenge him for that reason alone. “Then my challenge stands, Grygotis.”

  The man whirled on him and snarled, “Accepted.”

  Amalah clapped her hands in delight, smile radiant.

  “Amalah,” her mother said slowly, studying her daughter as if she were some foreign creature, “are you so sure the General will win?”

  “He’ll win,” she responded matter-of-factly, as if it were already a forgone conclusion. “I’ve seen both of these men spar. Darius is clearly the better swordsman.”

  Hearing her say that so confidently made him blush a little. And yet, he felt himself stand a little taller at the same time.

  Grygotis verged on turning purple, his rage was so uncontrollable. In contrast, his voice came out raspy, as if he were straining to keep from bellowing. “You want him to win.”

  It clearly took courage and effort on her part but she didn’t retreat before him and met his eyes squarely. “Any woman would prefer to have a husband who is kind to her and respects her.”

  His head would swell uncontrollably at this rate. Darius cleared his throat slightly to prevent this from becoming an argument. “Grygotis, as I issued the challenge, the time and place are up to you.”

  Without looking away from her, Grygotis gritted out, “Tomorrow morning, daybreak. The inner courtyard of the palace. And I insist on swords.”

  The man’s pride would cost him the duel. Darius had also seen him spar—Grygotis had power, but no speed and his technique was rough. Amalah was right. He couldn’t compare to Darius in swordsmanship. “Tomorrow morning, then.” Stepping forward, he caught Amalah’s hand and squeezed it gently.

  She looked up at him with that soft smile that made his heart melt every time. He had to strangle the instinct to just take her away right now. “I will see you tomorrow.”

  Taking insult at the contact, Grygotis snarled, “Let go of her. She isn’t yours!”

  “Yet,” Darius agreed calmly. He probably would have let it go at that, but as he slowly released her hand and turned to go, he caught the look on her father’s face. He had been quiet this entire time—he couldn’t do much because the challenge was against Grygotis after all—but he clearly didn’t like this. The look that he gave his daughter made every protective instinct in Darius rear up and scream in alarm.

  In this country, a daughter did not have the same status as the men in her family. Her father could beat her within an inch of her life and no one would think it odd. Darius, as Arapeen, had a wholly different perspective on the situation. Amalah still lived with her family, and her father had access to her for eighteen hours until she came under Darius’s protection. At the moment, this seemed like a terrible state to leave her in.

  “Let me make this clear to both of you.” Darius favored them with the same look that he would’ve a barbarian captain, the one that made any man feel like death was breathing on the back of his neck. “If I find one bruise on her tomorrow, you will have broken bones. I do not care what the custom is in this country, in mine we do not ever lay our hands on a woman. She has done nothing to earn your wrath. You will not vent your frustrations out on her.”

  From the side, Sego said in a voice loud enough to reach every corner, “Your concern is not necessary, General. The rules of a challenge states that the prize must be safeguarded until the duel is complete and the victor has claimed it. Raj Sebresos is honor-bound to protect his daughter from any harm until the duel is over. I am sure that she will be in perfect health tomorrow, as he is an honorable man.”

  Darius shot him an admiring glance. Well said, Sego!

  Sebresos grimaced as if he had just bit into a sour lemon but nodded reluctantly. “I will ensure my daughter’s well-being, General Bresalier.”

  “I thank you, Raj,” Darius responded courteously. With a last smile at Amalah, he turned on his heel and walked away, Sego in his wake.

  Whispers and outright stares followed them as they exited the area. Darius waited until they were well out of earshot of everyone and back inside his wing of the palace before asking, “Is that really part of the rules of a challenge?”

  “Under the circumstances, a reminder seemed…prudent.”

  Prudent, eh? Darius shook his head and let out a breath. “Sego, what would I do without you?”

  “I’ve often asked myself the same question,” Sego responded mock-seriously, lips quirked in a hint of a smile. “The answer is terrifying.”

  Caught off-guard at this unusual display of humor, Darius laughed out loud. This man truly was worth his weight in gold.

  After years of pre-battle nights, Darius had learned how to make himself fall asleep when he truly needed to. He woke up well before dawn fully rested and completely ready to resolve this whole situation.

  Everyone in his household was up with him, bright eyed and bushy-tailed. Well, except Bohme, who had been guarding the entire night. They were all so excited about having a mistress that they talked amongst themselves as Darius headed for the courtyard, ruminating on what it would be like when Amalah had married in. Darius listened to them with half an ear as he walked, smiling at their enthusiasm. Not to mention their confidence in his victory. To hear them talk, it was like the idea of him losing the duel had never entered their minds.

  He entered the courtyard a solid half hour before daybreak. The location that Grygotis had designated stood in the very front of the palace and gave the most room for two fighters. There were no water fountains or flowers of any kind—a novelty here—and so the open space made it a central stage for any event. Someone, at some point in time, had added two tiers of wooden benches along the outer edges to give people room to sit. At that moment, half of the courtyard was filled to capacity.

  Darius stopped dead, looking around him incredulously. I know that I issued that challenge in front of several witnesses, and word spreads fast in the palace, but…this is ridiculous! Turning, he caught Sego’s attention. “I thought it was a cardinal rule that members of the court don’t rise before noon.”

  Sego’s eyes were laughing as he responded, “Clearly, they think today’s fight will be more entertaining than the back of their eyelids.”

  Great. Now the man thought himself a comedian. Darius shook his head and continued to walk across the courtyard.

  Someone had been here ahead of him and prepared the area. In the center of the benches a raised dais sat, a chair waiting for its queen. On either side of the dais were two standalone benches for the chal
lengers and their staff. Payam, carrying his flag, darted ahead and hung it upon the iron rings in the wall.

  This early, Darius really didn’t have anything to do. Prudently, he took the time to stretch and limber up. Then, because he still had time, and Grygotis hadn’t shown up yet, he borrowed Tolk and they sparred a little, which sufficiently got the blood pumping.

  “You’re in high spirits,” Tresea greeted as she approached.

  Darius and the rest of his household turned and bowed to her. “Good morning, My Queen.”

  “Good morning.” She looked him over from head to toe, mouth quirked in her habitual half smile. “You’re not worried at all, are you?”

  Darius scratched at the back of his head. “This will be very insulting to my opponent to say this, but…no, not one bit.”

  She laughed outright. “So Amalah is right? You are a better swordsman?”

  “I’ve never fought the man, but I would think she is right.” He shrugged. “Grygotis has strength, but poor reflexes and he’s not quick on his feet. I’ll beat him with speed alone, I think. Unless he somehow surprises me.”

  “For her sake, and yours, I hope he doesn’t.” She leaned in closer, smile becoming sharp. “And I hope you realize that you cannot ever lose a fight publicly. It would not do for the general of this country to lose.”

  He held up both hands in a placating gesture. “I understand, My Queen.”

  “Good.” All cheer again, she made her way to the dais.

  The next several minutes dragged for Darius. Grygotis arrived in an arrogant huff, sneering at Darius all the while. He ignored the man, eyes peeled for Amalah’s arrival. She came in shortly before daybreak, looking serene. Apparently, some care had been taken with her appearance this morning, as she looked particularly lovely. The gown she wore flattered her immensely but he also couldn’t help but note that it matched his house colors perfectly. Her silent proclamation of whose side she was on heartened him. When she saw him, she lit up in a smile bright enough to put the sun to shame and waved.

  He couldn’t help but smile and wave back.

  His steward sidled up to him and murmured, “General, you have a besotted smile on your face.”

  “Shut it, Sego,” Darius responded without losing his smile.

  From her dais, Tresea clapper her hands. “It is time! Challengers, step forward!”

  Darius slid his sword out of its sheath a bare inch and back again, a habitual check he always did before a fight. Satisfied, he gave a nod to his allies, who nodded back in encouragement. Then he walked to stand directly in front of the dais.

  Grygotis didn’t look at him as he stepped to the man’s side. He and Grygotis in a near simultaneous movement unsheathed their swords and swung them to the side, at an angle to the ground. With a fist over their hearts, they bowed to their queen.

  “Rajs, you honor me by holding to the laws of this land. Fight well,” she formally.

  They bowed once more before stepping back. Darius took an even further step back, giving himself ample room to maneuver. When he’d sparred in front of Tresea before, it had been in a place with very limited space, and so his techniques had been narrowed to just four. Now, with this wide open courtyard, he had the room to fight full out.

  Grygotis laughed and pointed at him with a mocking wave of his sword. “See how cautious he is!”

  Some of his compatriots in the crowd laughed in support of the jeer.

  Your sword is shorter than mine, of course you’re going to like close combat! Darius almost shook his head in pity for the fool. But in truth, he had no sympathy to spare for the man. In fact, if Grygotis caught fire this very moment, he’d likely throw kindling. Returning the goad, Darius lifted his sword in front of his face in a mocking salute. “Come dance, Grygotis.”

  Those dark eyes narrowed to a menacing slant. “You’re cocky, Brindisian.”

  “Is it arrogance when I always win?” he asked rhetorically.

  Both of his bodyguards, standing off to the side, chuckled. Well, alright, maybe he didn’t always win. Those two had caught him more than once. Of course, Grygotis didn’t get the inside joke. He thought the bodyguards laughed in support, as his own lackeys had done. The perceived slur went to his head and ignited his short temper. Snarling, he darted forward, swinging downward in an overhead arc. Darius met the blade with his own, but didn’t try to parry it. Instead, he used his own sword as a shield as he turned into Grygotis, left elbow coming up and ramming against the side of the man’s nose in a smooth motion.

  His opponent grunted at the impact, whirling away, but the man had a hard head. He quickly put his feet back under him, sword at the ready, even as he put a pace between them. “That’s against the rules, Brindisian!”

  “Arapeen,” Darius corrected wearily. “I’m Arapeen. I’m not going to follow your rules of dueling. The love of my life is on the line, here. Of course I’m going to fight you with everything I have.”

  Grygotis opened his mouth to object, but the queen clapped in approval, cutting him off.

  “Well said, Darius!” she called to them. “For this duel, there are no rules! Just don’t kill each other.”

  Darius was fairly sure only Grygotis had to obey that rule. He didn’t think the queen would be too upset with him if he accidentally-on-purpose killed this idiot. He stole a look at her and found her eyeing him in a pointed way. Alright, so maybe she would. He sighed regretfully.

  “Fine!” Grygotis gritted out, eyebrows slammed together, sword almost shaking in his rage. “No rules.” Proving not to have learned his lesson, he raised his sword high and charged again, swinging downward with more force.

  This time, Darius timed it so that he could hit the middle of Grygotis’s sword, slapping it casually to the side, which threw off the man’s balance as well. His body, well used to this motion, almost automatically brought his sword back up at an upwards angle, slashing straight for the man’s throat. Sands, I’m not supposed to kill him! At the last second, he turned the blade so that it hit Grygotis flat against the edge of his jaw, pulling the power and strength from the blow as much as he could.

  It struck the man squarely, sending his head snapping back, his legs staggering to the side as he fought to stay upright. In terms of combat, it was nothing more than a love tap, really. But a little harder, and it would have broken his jaw.

  Proving himself to be a man with great endurance, Grygotis quickly resumed his stance, although he did tenderly move his jaw a little.

  “You have to be more careful,” Darius warned him, not entirely joking. “I almost killed you.”

  This not-friendly warning pushed the man over the edge. With an animalistic roar, he brought his sword in low and off to the side, swinging before he even reached Darius.

  Darius didn’t even bother to touch blades with him this time. He took a single step back, evading the blade, then spun on his toes to the left, twirling his sword up and around to the other hand as he moved. With the sword in his left hand, he rammed the hilt between Grygotis’s shoulder blades, sending him sharply down and forward. But that kicked up his legs to a higher angle. Even as his opponent gasped in pain, Darius tossed the sword back to his right hand and coldly slammed the flat of the blade against Grygotis’s thigh. In a sickening crunch, the bone snapped. The sound was so loud that even the spectators could hear it and they flinched and gasped in response.

  Grygotis held back a scream but the sound that came through his teeth spoke of nothing but pain. He hobbled three steps forward, dragging his left leg behind him, before painfully turning around to face Darius. The expression on his face was that of a wounded animal who had been cornered by this unexpected and hungry predator.

  Fortunately for him, Darius wasn’t a hungry tiger looking for a nice snack. He left his blade angled and to the side, clearly not in a threatening stance. “I think I’ve won, Grygotis. Will you yield?”

  Perhaps it was wounded pride. Or perhaps desperation. Whatever the case, Grygotis sho
ok his head like an angry bull, lifting his sword in a firmer grip. “I will not! I WILL—”

  Darius moved, closing the distance between them so quickly that air vacuumed in his wake. He stopped a hair’s breadth away, his blade under Grygotis’s chin, the edge of his blade just resting against skin. Grygotis’s words died as he sucked in air on a screech of alarm. Darius looked up with the promise of death in his eyes. “You will yield or I behead you where you stand,” he breathed.

  Grygotis didn’t even dare gulp. His tongue darted out to lick dry lips. He knew that if he said “No,” Darius truly would kill him then and there and wouldn’t lose an ounce of sleep over it afterwards. “Y-yield,” he croaked.

  First good decision the man had made all day. Carefully—lest he slit the man’s throat by accident—he stepped back and lowered his sword. Grygotis faltered as well, trying to avoid putting weight on that bad leg, no doubt.

  Tresea rose from her seat and clapped three times loudly. “I am satisfied. The winner of this duel is Darius Bresalier, Raj of Soohr!”

  The crowd broke out in thundering applause. Darius didn’t expect this open approval and looked about in astonishment. He caught sight of even some of his enemies at court clapping, with grudging smiles on their faces. Apparently, in Niotan, everyone appreciated a good fight. Or perhaps he had won a measure of acceptance with them for following one of their more ancient traditions? He’d have to ask Sego for his impressions later.

  Grygotis’s men scurried to his side and quickly helped him from the field. Darius watched him go for a moment. It sat ill with him, leaving an enemy like that alive. He hoped that it wouldn’t come back to haunt him later.

  Tresea waved her hands downward, trying to get them to settle down enough for her to continue speaking. “As winner of this duel, Raj Bresalier will of course claim his prize of—oh!” she cut herself off and lifted a hand to her mouth, almost laughing.