‘Oh? And what point is that?’ Shuran asked. ‘You said you had an offer.’
‘I do.’ Ethalia turned to me, her eyes on mine even as she spoke to Shuran. ‘If you can defeat Falcio in battle you may do to me all those terrible things Duchess Trin felt: every bone breaking, every piece of flesh tearing.’
‘Are you mad?’ I shouted. ‘Get out of here! Run!’
But Trin had beaten me to it, for she was already crowing, ‘We accept!’ Her voice was full of excitement and laughter, as if she had just been promised a high treat ‘What a delight!’
‘Very well,’ Shuran said. ‘You have sealed your own fate with this foolishness, my Lady.’
‘I have,’ Ethalia said, her voice full of defiant sorrow. Her eyes went to the big Knight. ‘My path was that of mercy, until today; my destiny was one of— But I suppose none of that matters now.’
He smiled. ‘Fret not, my Lady. I promise you—’
Ethalia cut him off. ‘There is nothing you can do for me, Shuran, son of Caveil. You are already dead. I have killed you.’
She left him standing there with his mouth open. As she passed me, she said, ‘Be merciful, if you can, and when the time comes, make it quick.’
My chest hurt. I couldn’t breathe. I could feel the eighth death coming back. Every sight, every sound, the taste of blood in my mouth, the feeling of—
No – no, please—
I opened my eyes and looked at Kest. Save me, I thought. Get up out of that damned circle and save me from this. I can’t do this, Kest. I can’t do it without you. I watched as he strained against an invisible weight heavier than all the guilt he felt inside. He pushed and pushed and pushed, but no matter how hard he fought, still he failed.
It’s time to be brave, Falcio.
When I closed my eyes, my Aline was there, but I still couldn’t work out why she would do this to me again. Don’t make me see this, I begged, not again . . . and then, Why?
Because it’s time you stopped running away.
When? When have I run away? Ever since you died I just keep fighting and fighting and it doesn’t get any better. I’m not running, Aline.
You keep running away from my death and I need you to let it go. You need to see it one more time. You need to let it flow through you. Because the fights that matter aren’t won on skill.
I opened my eyes and looked at Ethalia and all at once I understood. I looked at Kest and I saw that he too knew what had to happen next. Shuran was better than me. He was the second-best swordsman in the world and no matter what I did, he was going to win.
*
‘I do feel genuinely sorry for you, Falcio,’ Shuran said as he began to move in lazy circles around me. ‘You never did a single thing wrong, other than to follow a dream that wasn’t yours, a set of ideals that you didn’t understand and that in the end were never meant to be.’
I thrust both my rapiers out at once, the blade in my right hand feinting towards Shuran’s right eye, hoping he’d parry instinctively and then I could evade his counter and thrust to his neck, while I prepared the blade in my left hand to slash across his armoured left leg. I knew the big Knight wouldn’t fall for the thrust to his eye, and the slash would do nothing but produce a few sparks, but sometimes these can draw the opponent’s gaze and give an opening for a thrust to the face.
But Shuran did neither; instead he moved so quickly that with his single broadsword he knocked out first my left rapier and then my right before I’d even worked out what was happening. They fell several feet away from me.
It was a masterful trick – one you would never, ever risk if you had even the slightest concern for your opponent’s skill. Was I really such a pathetic sight?
‘That’s one,’ he said to Kest. He stood aside for me and gestured to go past. ‘You should probably pick those up.’
Having no better option, I went and stopped by my swords, waiting for a moment to see if he really was going to let me pick them up.
The Knight-Commander stopped moving for a moment. ‘Saints, Falcio! You do understand, don’t you? You must know.’
‘Know what?’ I asked.
‘That on your best day – on your very best day – you could never beat me.’
‘I do know that,’ I said, ‘and thanks very much for reminding me.’
‘Then why all this pretence? Why go through the motions?’ He sounded genuinely interested.
‘Because, you . . .’ I reached for the worst insult I could think of and settled on, ‘you stupid son-of-a-Saint, I’ve been beaten and tortured and killed eight times. I’m tired and weak. My best friend sits trapped in that stupid circle, despising himself. The daughter of my King is possessed by Trin through magic – which I hate, by the way – and the woman I love has just set herself up to be killed horribly in a manner that I can’t stop replaying in my head, over and over.’
‘I don’t understand your point.’
‘My point is, you feckless thug, this isn’t my best day. It’s my worst. So I’m going to use it to put you down.’
I retrieved one of the rapiers and reached down for the second. The instant it was in my hand, I threw it at Shuran so that he’d be forced to either duck or bat it out of the way with his blade, leaving an opening for my other rapier to thrust into his groin. He moved, but barely an inch as he reached out and caught the rapier in his gloved left hand while again slamming the flat of his broadsword against the guard of my other weapon and knocking it to the ground. He looked at the blade held in his left hand for a moment, then flipped it in the air and grabbed it by the grip.
‘Here,’ he said, handing it to me. ‘I’m absolutely positive you’ll want this.’
I took a step backwards and just for a moment, I closed my eyes.
It’s time, Aline said.
I know.
You can’t hide from it.
I won’t. I’m here. I closed my eyes and I saw the light from the lantern hung from the ceiling; I saw the rough wooden tables spaced out across a dirt floor covered in crap. I saw men with rough hands and black hearts, and men in armour, smiling.
I threw myself at Shuran, my blades only barely in line, and he knocked them aside effortlessly, then struck my head with the flat of his sword. I saw stars and cursed at him, swearing like a madman, and he tried to push me back to proper fencing distance, but now I just kept running at him. When he pushed me away, I kicked out at him wildly and I felt my foot connect with something soft. He gave a yelp, his blade whipped out and I felt a cut on my cheek.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ Trin asked. ‘Why is he acting like that?’
‘I don’t know,’ Shuran said, pushing me back. ‘Perhaps he’s gone mad.’
I threw my right rapier at him, he beat it out of the air with his sword and as he did I ran in again. He brought his blade around in a smooth arc and struck me in the belly. The bone plates in my greatcoat held, but he knocked the wind out of me.
‘Gods of Love and Death,’ Trin said suddenly, ‘I know what he’s doing now.’
‘What? Is this some kind of magic?’ Shuran asked as he forced the point of my blade down to the ground. I struck out at his face with the elbow of my other arm again, and then again, and twice I connected.
He paid me back by hitting me in the cheek with the pommel of his sword. I felt a tooth break loose.
Trin’s voice was a mixture of shock and fascination. ‘No, it’s not magic at all. He’s . . . he’s fighting like her. Like his wife – he’s reliving her death.’
You’ve got that right, you fucking lunatic. I spat the tooth as hard as I could into Shuran’s face; it struck him in the eye and he yelled, though more from anger than any pain. Now I stayed in too close for him to use the edge of his sword. He struck me in the side with the pommel of his weapon, and kept doing it, and I heard one of my ribs crack, but in exchange I smashed my forehead into his face and I must have hit his bottom teeth because I felt something hard and sharp cut into my skin.
I dropped my other sword on the ground and brawled with Shuran, striking out at him with every part of me: I kicked, I punched, I bit, and while Shuran fought with consummate skill, I fought like an animal. The difference was that he was trying to win – I wasn’t. I didn’t need to. I just needed to keep everyone distracted a little longer.
I screamed, over and over again, with no idea what words were coming out of my mouth, but it didn’t matter. I was there, with her, in that damned tavern with those damned men, and yes, they were going to kill me, but I was going to take with me every piece of them that I could.
Time to be brave, sweetheart. The fights that matter most aren’t won on skill.
Shuran was yelling as well now, for he’d found himself fighting for his life despite his superior strength, despite his matchless speed and his consummate skill.
You brought Aline back, you bastards, and it’s time you met her properly.
And now the Knight-Commander was towering over me, his face red with sweat and blood and rage. He reached down, picked up one of my rapiers and tossed it to me. ‘Take it,’ he growled. ‘I want you to die with a blade in your hand.’ He’d been trying to win elegantly before and that had been his mistake. But he was done with that; now it was going to be about sheer power and speed. Shuran was going to kill me.
But the fights that matter most aren’t won on skill, and I had kept everyone’s eyes on me long enough.
‘Kest,’ I said, ‘now.’
And Shuran looked past me to see Kest on his knees inside the circle, his right hand pushing against the invisible wall that separated us as it had since my fight with Shuran had started. The Knight began laughing. ‘Is that what this was about? All that kicking and screaming? Did you think it would somehow set Kest free? I’m afraid the world doesn’t work that way.’
Kest, still on his knees in the circle, kept pushing slowly with his right hand, trying to reach us. ‘You’re a master swordsman, Shuran.’
The Knight-Commander raised an eyebrow. ‘Really, Kest? That’s what you have to say? “You’re good”?’
‘Better than good – better than Falcio.’
‘That much is evident to all concerned, I think.’
I didn’t think he needed to sound quite so sneery.
Kest’s fingertips were shaking and sweat was dripping from all his pores. It looked as if his fingers weren’t getting any closer at all, and yet I knew they were. ‘You know,’ Kest said, ‘the moment I killed Caveil, his Sainthood passed to the next most skilled swordsman in the world. Me.’
‘Yes,’ Shuran said, ‘I already knew that.’
Kest’s eyes were far away. I heard a cracking sound and wondered if the bones of his right hand were breaking. ‘It was like . . . it was as if all the power of a raging river was flowing from inside me. The sensation was . . . intoxicating . . . overwhelming.’ His hand was closer now, and I could see it was nearly past the circle.
I tensed, and Shuran noticed and smiled warmly at me. ‘Ah, ready for our seventh exchange? I believe that will be the last one.’
Kest shook his head, still pushing with all his might. Blood was dripping from his right hand. ‘Two. There are two movements left.’
Shuran’s expression was confused.
With a last, soul-breaking effort, Kest extended his right arm out, his wrist just past the circle binding him. For just an instant I looked into his eyes and saw tears of sorrow and fear. His lips barely moved as he mouthed the word ‘Now.’
I lifted my sword and in a single strike I brought it down against his exposed wrist. The blade cut through skin and muscle and bone, and Kest’s right hand fell to the ground.
‘Why . . . why would you do that? How—?’
Shuran’s eyes took on an unnatural colour. Red.
‘That was one,’ Kest growled, gripping his wrist with his remaining hand.
Shuran looked over himself. He was beginning to glow crimson.
‘Congratulations, Sir Shuran,’ I said. ‘You’re the new Saint of Swords.’
‘I . . . the sensations . . . Gods, I am the Saint of Swords. I can see . . . I can see . . .’ Shuran was smiling, an incandescent smile that lit up his face. ‘I felt that . . . even before you moved, I felt it. I see how every movement of the air—! Kest, you’re right, the sensation is like nothing else. I—’
It was only then that Sir Shuran, Knight-Commander of Aramor, bothered to take note that my rapier was thrust deep into his belly.
‘That’s two,’ Kest said, and then he fell to the ground.
Shuran looked at me and then at Kest. ‘He had . . . he gave this up? For you? Why?’
‘Because the fights that matter most aren’t won on skill,’ I said.
They’re won on sacrifice.
Chapter Forty-Seven
The War
Just before the world went mad, it went quiet.
*
It begins with Shuran staring at me, his eyes wide, his mouth pleading wordlessly. There is a foul odour in the air, and I realise I must have punctured his bowels when I ran him through with my sword. His body slides, very slowly, towards the ground, taking my rapier with it.
My now empty hands begin to shake, and at first I think it’s from exhaustion and fear but then the faint red glow starts moving slowly across the surface of my skin and I look up to see the world in front of me, full of colour and detail: a repository of never-ending challengers for me to defeat. I glance at the Knights, standing two hundred yards in front of me, and I can see the flaws inside them. I feel my friends behind me, with their own strengths and their weaknesses and I feel a sudden burst of excitement at the chance to test them, to defeat them, to watch their blood slip down the length of my blade and onto my already red hands . . .
He isn’t yours, a voice inside me says. It’s Aline, my wife, and she’s standing in front of me. She’s holding back the red.
He is called, the red voice replies.
She doesn’t answer; instead, she takes my hand and holds it up. There’s a word inscribed on it. I can’t make it out and yet between the lines and curves of the letters I see pieces of myself, and those I love.
Think of what you could accomplish with me, the red voice calls.
I believe it – I can see it. How much better would the world be if I could walk up to my enemies and just kill them? How much faster and easier life would become without any foolish notions of justice and law, which are nothing but excuses weak men make to hide their fear of doing what must be done.
I want to listen to the red voice. I want its whisper to fill me up inside.
Aline has not even a trace of concern on her face. She shows me that damned pernicious word, and again, and over again, and I know with absolute clarity why I will never, ever become the Saint of Swords, even though I was once the third-best swordsman in Tristia. Go, I say to the red voice, go and find some other fool. I’m already spoken for.
I look back down at my hands and they are my own again, pale and white and trembling, but this time shaking not with anticipation but because of fatigue.
The flat thump of Shuran’s body hitting the ground reaches my ears, and whatever combination of desperation and need that has been keeping me on my feet until that moment disappears and I drop to my knees. I can hear only the sound of my own breathing; the beat of my heart pounding faster than it should in my chest, but after a moment, even that begins to fade as the last vestiges of Shuran’s impact against the dirt die away and time starts to demand her proper pace once again.
*
For an instant, there was absolute silence.
Then Trin screamed.
She ran – or rather, Aline ran – to Shuran’s corpse. Trin beat his chest with Aline’s fists and cried with Aline’s tears, but the rage and hatred in her eyes was all Trin’s own. Then the corners of her mouth moved very slowly up as she smiled. ‘Yours for mine,’ she whispered.
Damn you, I thought helplessly, and even as I reached towards her I knew I could never
get to her in time. Trin was going to kill Aline and there was nothing I could do.
A voice yelled from behind me, ‘Now!’ and out of the corner of my eye I saw someone run past me, and before I had even finished processing the image, Valiana and Dari had grabbed a firm hold of each of Aline’s arms, stopping Trin from making Aline reach up and twist the wooden handles to drive the iron screws deep into her skull. They pulled Aline’s body to the ground and Ethalia knelt in front of her. Trin spat in her face, screaming incoherently, still struggling to free her hands, but they were sitting on her now and she wasn’t going anywhere fast.
Ethalia reached down and very carefully undid the bolts fastening the contraption around Aline’s head so she could remove it. Then with a sudden angry movement she smashed the wooden frame over her knee, and immediately Aline was herself once more.
It had all happened so fast. The three of them had orchestrated this while I was fighting Shuran . . . before any of us knew if there was any hope at all for our survival.
Damn, but I’ve known some smart women in my time . . .
Aline’s eyes fluttered open and almost instantly flooded with tears, but Valiana held her close even as Ethalia got to her feet and ran to Kest, Dariana close behind her.
‘Quickly now,’ she said, and her voice was astonishingly calm under the circumstances. ‘We must staunch the bleeding.’ She pulled a small jar of salve from a pocket in her dress as Dariana stripped off Kest’s shirt and started tearing it into bandages.
I wanted to help them, but I discovered that I hadn’t the strength to rise. I knelt there on the ground, completely useless, desperately trying to keep myself from tipping forward. I had never felt so tired before, not even when the neatha was at its most virulent inside me. I closed my eyes, just for a moment.
My wife stared back at me.
I think I like this Ethalia well enough, Falcio. She seems competent. And sensible.
I’ll tell her you think so, I said.
She laughed. So you really don’t know any more about women now than you did when I was alive.
Perhaps you could educate me. I reached a hand out towards her face.
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