Lord of Lies

by David Zindell

  Sar Tarval, however, who had added thirds in the mace and chess to his fifth at lance throwing, had taken a nasty wound to the neck in one of the preceding rounds. One of the Atharian healers had extracted the splinters of a broken lance from the muscle there and had bandaged his neck as best he could. He called for Sar Tarval to withdraw from the tournament. But Sar Tarval was a brave man and the nephew of King Mohan; he wouldn't so easily abandon the opportunity to ride against me and ruin my chances. And so, with difficulty, he climbed on top of his warhorse to seek victory and the favor of his bloodthirsty king.

  We waited with each other in the staging area while Asaru rode out to face Lord Bahram of Waas. Their battle was long and brutal, for they were both knights of great prowess. Ten times they charged each other, trying to touch their lances against belly or chest. Finally, in the eleventh charge, Asaru's lance found its way past Lord Bahram's shield and took him square over the heart. This was a clear kill. I watched in horror, however, when the button came loose from Lord Bahram's lance, even as Asaru's shield deflected it upward. The exposed steel point found a seam in the diamonds of Asaru's armor and drove straight through into his shoulder. Asaru cried out from the pain of it, and so did I. The blow nearly knocked him from his saddle. But he recovered enough to sit up straight like the victor he was and to guide his horse back to the staging area. Lord Bahram shook the blood off the tip of his lance; he shook his head in anger, becaus there was only shame and defeat in wounding an opponent in a part of the body that was not meant to be a target.

  Asaru managed to ride back to the staging area, straight up to me. I looked at the blood staining his black and silver surcoat, and I asked, 'Is it bad?'

  And Asaru, who knew me well, shook his head. 'Not bad enough to keep you from defeating Sar Tarval. Keep your mind on his lance, Val.'

  And with that, he smiled at me and waved off the grooms who would have borne him away on a litter, and he insisted on riding by himself to the white pavilion set up near the edge of the field as a house of healing. Then the heralds signaled Sar Tarval and me to take the field. We rode out fifty yards, and then charged each other. Our horses thundered across the torn turf and there was the noise of lance beating against shield. Again we charged, and yet again; we wheeled about and closed, maneuvering to strike our lances at our opponent's body. After a few moments of some violent thrusting and the buttons of our lances slamming into our steel shields we broke apart and rode off a hundred paces for another charge. But Sar Tarval suddenly slumped in his saddle as he clapped his hand to his neck. The bandage that was soaked through with btood. The judges, seeing this, called for a halt to our combat. They rode out into the field to examine Sar Tarval. It was determined that his wound needed to be re-dressed. And so the competition was suspended until this could be done.

  I followed the grooms who carried Sar Tarval across the Tournament Grounds' main road to the house of healing And Maram and Yarashan, and others, followed me. There, beneath the pavilion's flapping white silk in a large space that stank of boiling herbs and blood, the grooms set Sar Tarval on a cot next to Asaru. Master Juwain had removed my brother's armor and was already working on his pierced shoulder.

  Another healer, from Nar, began cutting away Sar Tarval's red bandage.

  Thirty-six knights lay on other cots, and one of these was Baltasar, who had a badly cut hand. A worried Lansar Raasharu stood over him. I greeted both of them. And then I turned to touch eyes with my brother. 'The wound is bad, isn't it?' I said to him. Master Juwain's body blocked my view of Asaru's shoulder, and I was glad for that. Asaru ignored my question and asked me, 'How you prevail?'

  'No, not yet. As soon as Sar Tarval is ready, we'll cross lances again.' But this, it seemed, was not to be. Just then the low buzz of voices around the cots died to a silence as King Mohan entered the pavilion. He strode quickly forward with powerful steps as if his tight, small body could barely contain the fires that burned inside him. His hard face seemed softened by his concern for Sar Tarval. He moved right up to the edge of his cot, and he gave no care that his fine tunic -gold and emblazoned with a blue horse - might be stained with Sar Tarval's blood.

  After speaking with the healer who attended him and looking at his neck, King Mohan smiled down at his nephew and said, 'I must ask you to withdraw from the tournament.'

  Sar Tarval's dark eyes flashed toward me before turning back to his king. He said, 'I would rather die, sir.'

  'I understand - but I would rather you didn't. Your life is dear to me.'

  Sar Tarval nodded his head, and winced from the sudden pain. 'Yes, you saved it at the Silver River. At great risk to your own.'

  At the mention of this fierce battle with Kaash, King Mohan's eyes flared brightly. And then he asked Sar Tarval again, 'Will you withdraw?'

  Again Sar Tarval looked at me for a long few moments. And he sighed out, 'If that is your will, sir.'

  Maram, standing by my side, clapped his hand against my shoulder and smiled at me. With Sar Tarval's withdrawal, I was assured of at least a second at the long lance, and five precious points.

  King Mohan now turned to stare at me. His face was full of simple emotions: anger; disappointment; pride; jealousy; love. I said to him, 'I don't understand, sir. I thought you wanted me to lose.'

  'What I want,' he told me, 'is of no importance.'

  I shook my head at this because these were not words that I expected this willful man ever to speak.

  'A king,' he said to me by way of explanation, 'has desires, as does every man. He acts to bring them to fruition, and this is right and good. But he can never be sure his acts will lead to the desired result-he can only be sure of the acts, themselves. Therefore each act must be good and true, as and of itself. It is upon me to guard the lives of my knights as I would my own life. Or failing that, not to risk them carelessly. A king who doesn't live for the good of his men and his kingdom is no true king.'

  This was a noble thing for him to say. I bowed my head and told him, simply, 'Thank you.'

  But this only angered King Mohan. He stared up at me as he gritted his teeth. Then he said, 'You owe me no thanks. I have done what I must, and now so must you. If you are to be the Maitreya, you'll win the tournament no matter what anyone does to help or hinder you.'

  With that, he turned back to Sar Tarval and clasped his hand. Then he walked up and down the pavilion, greeting other Atharian knights and listening to the stories of how they had come by their wounds. They all looked at King Mohan with utter devotion, as did Sar Tarval. I overheard King Mohan promising a great feast in their honor when they returned to Athar. And then he said his goodbyes and walked out of the tent.

  Master Juwain, who had finished bandaging Asaru's shoulder, said to my brother, 'You should withdraw, too.'

  Maram seized upon this as a beggar might a gold coin. He added, 'Yes, if you withdraw, Val will win the long lance by default. The ten additional points will give him thirteen. Then he'll need only a second at the sword to win the tournament.'

  Yarashan, standing next to Maram, slowly nodded his head. Lord Dashavay had won a fourth at chess, which gave him seven points altogether. Ten more from a win at the sword would put him at seventeen, one behind me if I should do as Maram had said.

  'But what if Val fails to take second in the sword?' Yarashan asked. 'Then both he and Asaru would fail to gain the championship.'

  Master Juwain waved his hand at these speculations as he might shoo away a cloud of biting flies. 'King Mohan spoke truly. An action is either right or wrong. And it is right that Asaru should withdraw, as did Sar Tarval.'

  Asaru had so far endured in silence others' opinions as to what he should or should not do. And now he said, 'What is right for Sar Tarval isn't necessarily so for me. My wound poses no danger to my life.'

  'Does it not?' Master Juwain said. 'What if, in riding against Val, you reopen it? What if you bleed to death before I can help you again? Or what if you grow faint and break your neck falling off your hor
se?'

  Now it was Asaru's turn to wave off Master Juwain's speculations.

  'All right,' Master Juwain said with a sigh. 'But I'm afraid I must tell you that Lord Bahrain's lance tore a nerve. I was able to begin healing it but it needs time to regenerate fully. If you ride now, you risk the use of your arm, Asaru.'

  Asaru winced as he exerted all his will to raise up his arm and test it by flexing muscles and fingers. Seeing this, Yarashan began cursing Lord Bahram. Lord Bahram, he said, had hated Asaru ever since the Battle of Red Mountain when Yarashan had put his lance through Lord Bahram's son. Yarashan as much as accused Lord Bahram of loosening the button on his lance and wounding Asaru deliberately. But Asaru would hear no such slander against a Valari lord, not even his enemy. He returned to the matter at hand, saying, 'Some risks must be taken for the sake of honor.'

  'But there is no dishonor,' Master Juwain told him, 'in a wounded knight remaining in his bed.'

  'In this instance, there is grave dishonor. If I withdraw, many will say that I did so only to help Val win the long lance.'

  'Ah, who cares what anyone says?' Maram asked him.

  At this, Yarashan shook his head in disgust as if Maram might point at a hundred competitions and still not understand what it meant to

  be a Valari warrior.

  Asaru and I met each other's eyes. I deeply cared what others would say, and so did Yarashan - as would Baltasar and the other Guardians of the Lightstone. Our father would care, and our grandfather, if he were still alive, and all our family and friends who remained in Mesh.

  'And it is more than that,' Asaru said as he looked at me. In his steady gaze there was something that recalled our climbing mountains together beneath blue sky and sun, something so bright and beautiful that I could hardly bear to behold it. 'If you were you to win the long lance this way, Val, and so the whole tournament you would always doubt when others called you "Lord of Light". '

  'Yes,' I said to him as we clasped hands together, 'that is true.'

  'And that,' Asaru said, 'is why I cannot remain here. Now help me up, and let's finish out the day before it rains.'

  By the time we took the field again in front of King Waray's pavilion, big drops of rain were already splatting down upon our helms and horses. My brother and I charged each other across broken, bloodstained grass. Our lances, with a tong of wood against steel, glanced off each other's shields. Asaru held his with his left hand, and the force of my blow shivered up his arm into his bad shoulder, causing him to bite back the shock of pain which stabbed through him. I winced, as well. I considered lowering my shield on the next charge so that Asaru might win this overlong competition and return to his bed. But the flash of anger in his eyes as we faced each other again told me that he knew what I was thinking. It told me, too, that if I lost to him intentionally or fought half an inch beneath my best, I would make a mockery of his valor in riding against me.

  And so I charged him with all the fierceness and speed that I could summon from my horse. It would be better, I thought, to finish this as quickly as possible. Asaru clearly thought this, too, for I sensed him straining every muscle and nerve in his battered body to shift his lance at the last moment and score a kill against me. But he had taught me too well; I deflected his lance with my own even as I tried to touch its tip against his chest. He slipped sideways in his saddle then, and my lance touched only air. He smiled to have evaded me this way as the joy of battle, for a moment, washed away its agony.

  Six more times we made passes at each other. Thunder boomed closer now as rain began falling in silver, slanting sheets. After our eighth pass, made slower by the slick and sodden turf, Asaru quickly reined his horse aroud and closed with me. There followed a minute of furious, thrusting lancework as our horses screamed and struggled for purchase in the sucking mud, and lightning flashed above us. Finally, in a brilliant stroke, Asaru parried my lance with his and thrust forward quickly. His lance tip scraped across the edge of my shield and slammed into my chest. One of the judges riding nearby then held up his lance, signaling Asaru's victory.

  It was Asaru's greatest feat so far that he kept to his saddle as he rode up to King Waray to receive his prize. But there, in front of the stands, as Yarashan and I came up to him, he fell down into my arms, and we helped the grooms lay him on a litter. They bore him to the healing pavilion where Master Juwain went to work on him again. Master Juwain was already exhausted from many days of such exertions. The fire he summoned from his emerald varistei was scant. But it was enough for him to hope that Asaru might yet heal fully, if he were well-tended and fever did not take hold of him. Toward this end, I arranged for Asaru to be brought back to my tent. I laid him on my bed. I spent the night with him there, and Estrella and Behira helped me bathe him and feed him sustaining broths. By the time morning brightened my pavilion's windows, he was able to sit up and exchange a few words with me.

  'You fought well,' he said to me. His breath came out almost as weak as a whisper, for he had lost much blood.

  'You fought too well,' I said to him. 'You look as pale as a ghost.'

  'And you look tired. You should have gotten some sleep.'

  I yawned as I stretched my bruised body. How could I have slept when, for hours, I had been afraid that my brother would become a ghost?

  'Today is the day,' he said as he looked at the light streaming in the window. He watched me fasten my armor and then buckle on my sword. 'Now you'll have to win, won't you? Walk with the One, Val, and watch Lord Dashavay's sword.'

  He smiled at me as he clasped my hand weakly. And then I walked out into cool morning air to face Lord Dashavay and others.

  In the Sword Pavilion that day, the mats had been pulled up from the fencing rings to reveal nine circles of polished oak. Facing them were the center stands where King Waray and King Mohan sat between King Sandarkan and King Kurshan. Lord Viromar was present, too, and my uncle took his place next to King Danashu, who kept his wary eyes on King Hadaru as I expecting a knife in the belly for his plotting against Ishka. But King Hadaru, like the many lords, ladies and knights in the rest of the stands around the pavilion, looked straight ahead toward the three rows of fencing rings where the four hundred and forty knights remaining in the tournament would face each other with our bright kalamas.

  By good chance I drew a bye in the first round, and so I had a few moments of rest to watch Lord Dashavay at work, along with other great swordsmen such as Lord Marjay and Sar Shivamar. But by bad chance I drew Lord Dashavay as my opponent in the second round. Maram, sitting with Yarashan and me on one of the many waiting benches between the stands and the fencing rings, grumbled loudly, 'Do you suppose King Waray arranged this to knock you out early so that you don't even point?'

  'No,' I told him as I looked up at the stands where King Waray sat glaring at me. 'Surely it was just the luck of the lots.'

  Usually, in these first rounds of the competition, matches were fought in all nine rings at once, for there were many knights to be eliminated. But because King Waray and many others wished to witness my match with Lord Dashavay undistracted, the heralds called forth only Lord Dashavay and me. We took our places in the center ring. Lord Dashavay wore his green surcoat with its white lion over his gleaming armor; he was helmless, as was I. We both found places for our bare feet on the shining white wood. He drew his sword and faced me with an almost palpable confidence. He studied me with great intensity. His first match with Sar Araj had lasted exactly nine seconds, long enough for him to beat aside Sar Araj's sword and stop the arc of his own three inches from Sar Araj's head.

  I should have studied my famous opponent too; I should have looked for weakness on his striking face or in his preternaturally calm black eyes. Instead, I stared at the bloodstains that reddened the wood of our circle. I listened to the thunder of my racing heart as I waited for the judge to approach and give the signal for us to begin.

  From the bench where Lord Issur sat with Lord Mestivan and the other Ishkans, I heard Lor
d Nadhru call out to me, 'Now we'll see if it was luck that you defeated Lord Salmelu in that shameful duel!'

  I drew Alkaladur then, and many men and women in the pavilion gasped at its brightness. Flick appeared to turn a spiral around my sword's silver length before winking back into nothingness. A flicker of doubt broke the coolness of Lord Dashavay s demeanor.

  And then the judge, Old Lord Jonasar of Taron, cried out: 'Begin!'

  Lord Dashavay sprang at me without the slightest hesitation. I met his sword in a clash of steel against my sword's silver gelstei. We leapt back from each other, circled and closed again. Our swords whipped out, once, twice, thrice. The clanging of the blades was deafening; the burn of bright steel past my eyes nearly blinded me and struck fear into my heart. It was not fear for myself, or for losing this match; it was a gut-twisting dread that I might wound or kill Lord Dashavay. I knew that I could. For Kane, the bright angel of death who was my friend, had taught me too well. All the enemies that I had fought with this sword on the road to Argattha and within its dark hell of cold rock and bitter hatred had taught me, too. Something dark now dwelled within my sword as if it had drunk in these many deaths and demanded more. Or rather, something incredibly bright blazed down its shimmering length into my hands and heart, and called me to prevail at all costs even if others must be utterly destroyed. And this, I knew, was why these many months I had practiced alone with this terrible and beautiful sword.