by Chogan Swan
With this realization came another; he was still alive. He'd held off Arturo's attack for almost seven seconds without a scratch, so he knew how to use a sword. His body had reacted with sound, sure strategy.
Seth studied Arturo. The Prince was looking over the three of them. He had crossed swords with all three of them. Seth suspected his next attack would target the weakest to drop one factor from the fight.
Daglach and Chorl moved closer together now. Their obvious strategy to present a double threat and make Arturo more inclined to go after Seth. They must still hope he’d take out one sword with his death.
“If you're going to push him my way, you can forget about me trying to slow him down,” he called across the circle.
Arturo's businesslike composure dropped for a second and he laughed in a sour tone. “You are lucky they even aided you the first time. But, if you feel better with them by your side, I can arrange that.” He wheeled and rushed Daglach and Chorl, dodging the half-hearted jabs of the pikes and cut the two away from the circle's edge, driving them towards Seth.
Seth, seeing his plan, cut across the circle so he could come in on Arturo's other side to get his two reluctant partners out of his way. Arturo, breathing hard from his efforts, stepped back to meet Seth's advance. They fought toe to toe in the center of the circle. The dark metal of Arturo's swords blurred into double pinwheels. Seth's shield had been bent back across the top when he disengaged and stepped back.
“Come on you two,” called Seth over his shoulder. “He's still winded. We can wear him down and disarm him if we keep the pressure on him.” Seth circled to give the others room to come in from the other side, but as he came around, he could see Daglach and Chorl were no more use. They'd both been crippled by Arturo's attack.
Seth hadn’t seen it happen. He’d been cutting across to Arturo's other side. Daglach's thigh was pierced and pumping blood and Chorl was blinded with blood pouring out of a deep slice across his forehead.
Seth frowned. “Don't they get attention?” he asked.
“Such tender consideration for those who tried to use you as a pawn?” said Arturo with surprise and a touch of sarcasm. “But it is your prerogative to let them leave the circle, not mine.”
“Let them go then,” snapped Seth.
Two of the medics pulled Daglach and Chorl out of the circle and down the stairs.
“So, assassin…. Seth—or whatever your name is—you extend mercy to poor companions and allow me to catch my breath. Are you that confident of victory?”
Seth paused, surprised, taking in the accusation. He couldn’t help but chuckle. “You Ibuchans are suspicious aren't you?”
Seth considered. Did Arturo think Seth might beat him? Seth had fast become more aware of his sword skill, but he still felt awkward, something was keeping him from fighting to his best ability, but he didn’t know what.
Nimshi blew another blast on his whistle and Arturo circled, watching Seth for an opening. Now that there was only one opponent left, Arturo would want to be sure, before he attacked. Seth had already surprised him with unexpected ability.
Arturo began a long series of ever more complex attacks that grew in speed and duration. Seth kept up with him, only just, for a quarter-hour of blistering fighting.
Then Arturo stepped back, relief on his face. “I think I have your measure now, assassin, you’re good, but not good enough to beat me.”
Nimshi blew a quick double blast on his whistle. Pikes came between Seth and Arturo, forcing Seth back and away. Nimshi called out, “My lord do you wish this to end? Is it your opinion that you are at unwarranted risk?”
“Unwarranted risk?” spat Arturo “If by that do you mean, 'was I in danger?' then yes. I was endangered by your misrepresentation of this... your assassin.”
“What do you mean, my lord? This one is only what I told you. I had no prior knowledge of his skill. You are not alone in your surprise at his ability, but I never feared it might equal your own, since you dispatched two others with him in the ring. If you wish to end this now, we will do so and dispose of this practice partner.”
Seth's mind raced. What now? He could accuse the weaponsmaster of hiring him. That would bring down Nimshi, but it wouldn't save his own neck. Were there other options? He waited.
“You would like that,” snapped Arturo. “I expect he would have an accident before he could confess anything. But no, that is not what I want. After I finish your hired killer, I will meet you here tomorrow. We will then settle it with the sword. I would not even give you that chance if I sat the high throne now. However, I bow to the constraints of the laws binding me, whereas you do not. I'm glad I've discovered you, at least.”
Nimshi's eyes went red, and he bit his lip one short, vicious time. “You accuse me wrongly, my lord,” he said in a clear and reasonable voice that—to Seth—screamed of danger. “There is nothing to discover in this. With reflection, I am sure you will see that. Now come away. We will throw this man in the dungeon and question him to see if there is a plot.”
“No, we will do as I have said.” Arturo walked back to the center of the circle. “Blow your damned whistle.”
Seth dropped his shield from his arm and tossed it from the circle. He’d figured out at last what was slowing him. Combat with a shield wasn’t his strongest style. He gripped the familiar hilt with both hands and went into another stance, right elbow raised above and behind him.
Arturo stared. “Trying to draw this out? Who taught you that quaint old style?”
“Wouldn't I like to know,” Seth said with a touch of wistfulness.
Arturo's face softened in surprise for a moment at Seth's tone then hardened again with returning suspicion. “Well let's see how well-taught you are.” His right blade lunged forward, diving at the last moment for Seth's left foot. Seth took a half-step back and riposted with a powerful two-wristed flick that sent Arturo's short left-hand blade spinning across the circle, clattering on the spears that ringed them.
Arturo stepped back from Seth and pulled his parrying dagger from his belt. Seth took a step forward and stopped, waiting. Arturo moved in, more watchful this time, engaging for a moment then drawing back, trying to get the feel of this different style. This worked well for Seth, helping his body and mind fall into familiar tracks again. Each sally Arturo made brought Seth new confidence.
Then, all at once, Seth knew he could win. He also knew Arturo would realize it in another moment. He had to do something before Arturo's self-preservation overcame his pride.
When that happened, the young lord would call a halt and have him thrown in the dungeon. Since he'd seen the guest rooms, Seth had no wish to visit the dungeons.
He stepped left. Arturo's sword followed him, but his body did not come into line at once. He was tiring. Seth waited a moment, feigning hesitation. Arturo, sensing weakness, bored in. Seth gave ground—drawing Arturo to him.
Seth changed directions, deflecting Arturo's blade and coming inside his guard. Arturo's face was open at close range. He couldn't miss, and he could see the same knowledge in Arturo's face.
Instead, Seth turned his blade and, with the flat, struck percussively at the back of Arturo's right hand. The Prince sword dropped from his numbed grasp. Seth ignored the obvious killing stroke, coming back to the dagger hand and putting it in chancery with the hilt of his blade. He turned, pulling Arturo forward, and kicked the Prince's feet from under him. The dagger came free, and Arturo sprawled forward, weaponless.
Seth stepped back. Arturo's personal guards came through the line of spears in a panicked dash to bring their swords between Seth and their fallen lord.
Arturo rolled to his feet. His eyes smoldered with anger and humiliation. “Put him in the dungeon,” he snapped and limped off down the stairway.
Chapter 11 (Moonglow)
Moonglow wasn't sure how long he had been here; the sun never moved. Since he'd found himself in this arid wilderness, he had been hungry. Here, even this spiritual body nee
ded nourishment. A tiny pool seeped up through the sand in the shadow of a great boulder, but he was getting weaker, and soon he would be tested.
He understood now how he had come to this place and where it was. The last thing he remembered before here was the underground stronghold of Darkfire, running with the covenant appointed. He remembered a tunnel; Seth had slipped...
Now he was alone. The link with Seth had been growing stronger until the fall, now he sensed him only as a faint shadow, something had come between them.
The sun beat upon a flat land filled with boulders; dry heat shimmered in the air, but in the shade beneath the rock—hanging over the spring like a protective mother hen—it did not touch him. Moonglow rose to drink then settled again with his tail draped over his back and looked out over the wilderness.
Dragons have keen sight: eagles, hawks, vultures and wyverns see less than half of what dragons perceive in the day. Men find their gaze unsettling; their eyes—so unlike any other creatures—flash with strange colors and sparkle in hues unfamiliar. Dragons behold more than the simple spectrum of light. So, when the speck appeared on the horizon, Moonglow saw it. He’d been waiting.
In appearance, it looked like a dragon, but Moonglow knew it was not. Arrow swift, it grew ever larger, changing from the size of a raven to the size of a mountain in the space of heartbeats. Immense, it stooped upon the boulder, falling to earth amid black coils and scales, white claws and teeth, red, red eyes.
“Moonglow,” it snarled.
“Darkfire,” replied Moonglow, still coiled, but his eyes were alert, nictating membranes flaring.
Darkfire shifted to a sitting position and regarded Moonglow for long moments. Moonglow watched his eyes. Perhaps he had been expecting a weakened foe, but Darkfire would sense the harnessed flightpower throbbing from Moonglow's spirit. It would make him hesitate. He wouldn't want to expend himself. Vast as his new powers might be, he would be jealous of them—it was his way.
“Come, fly with me brother,” Darkfire said in a silky voice. “There is a fat buck not far from here where you can break your fast.”
“I think not,” said Moonglow, voice soft.
Darkfire was still, only the tip of his tail jerked. “It would be foolish to refuse my hospitality. It was I who brought you here, and all this place is mine; I control everything here.”
Moonglow shook his head. “You may think you brought me here, but you are not in control. The Creator's designs will work around you.”
“Ha!” snapped Darkfire. “How can you say the Creator controls anything when the Creator does not act? I have done as I pleased. Not once has the Almighty stood in my path, or stopped me from working my will. But I will release you from this place if only you bow to me.”
“I know what it means to eat your food,” said Moonglow. “I will not submit to you in any way.”
After a long silence, Darkfire spoke again. “O my brother, you misunderstand. You wrong me with your suspicions; my concern was only for your comfort. At least... come and fly with me. Let us climb up the sky together as we did in our youth.”
“You know I will not.”
“A dragon that dares not fly,” taunted Darkfire. “Truly you have been brought low, brother. If you do not come to your senses, you will die here.” He snapped his mouth shut, struggling to control himself. Then he continued, in a reasonable tone. “There is nothing here to sustain you but what I offer. Not long from now, you will beg me for food. I thought to save you the embarrassment, but now, perhaps I will just leave you until you wither like a sun-scorched lizard.”
“The Creator will provide,” Moonglow said.
Darkfire threw out his wings and thrust himself aloft. Wheeling about, he laughed with contempt and left the way he came. Soon he was a spot on the horizon.
Moonglow sighed. One thing Darkfire said was true. Nothing sustained him here, nothing but the water. He had the impression Darkfire was surprised at seeing the water. It gave him encouragement. Maybe Darkfire had less control than he thought. Nevertheless, he would have to find a way out of this wilderness or perish. But he dared not fly, having harnessed the miraculous power of dragonflight to overcome his weakness. On the other wing, he needed to escape or he would never fly again.
He fought down the temptation to regret his agreement to get involved with this tangle.
Count it joy.
He climbed to his feet, took one last long drink and began to walk to the mountains where he sensed a cave.
Chapter 12 (… Do A Prison Make)
Seth dreamed of a fortress with twelve towers high and squared. He was climbing the outside of one of them as it grew dark, but he kept slipping. The stones were oiled, and as the sky grew darker, he could make no progress. Desperation grew in him as he failed to make headway. He turned to look over his shoulder and found he was on a mountain looking over a dry wilderness. Below him, something trudged on four feet toward the mountain. It looked like a dragon, but wouldn't a dragon fly?
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Seth woke and jerked at the chains on his wrists. He wasn't sure what they were fastened to, but it was fifteen feet above him. At least that was his best guess in the dark—absolute, total, dark.
Still fuzzy from sleep, he wondered why he couldn't see in the dark anymore, but when the thought brought him awake, he couldn't imagine why.
He’d amused himself by swinging the chains, arriving at the guess of fifteen feet by the heft and the time it took to circle. Other than the noise he made himself, it was silent as a well.
He had heard the four guards walk away after they had chained him here, and the massive booming of the three doors that locked the passage. But other than that, it had been quiet for twenty-four hours. He wasn't sure how he knew an entire day had passed, but he was certain. At least he had found the deep hole that served as a privy. It was about six inches square at the very end of his metal tether.
Most of the time, he dozed, unsure if—or when—he would be fed.
~~~~~~~~~~{}~~~~~~~~~~
Boom... BOOM... BOOM.... He awoke again. A blinding light shone under the crack of the door. The door opened. The light flooded around the door. Seth's eyes watered at the glare. A figure, foggy in front of the light, hung the lantern and dropped a sack on the floor. “I ne'r thought I'd see you alive again.”
“Keri?”
“None other.”
Seth smiled. “Someone's decided to feed me then?”
“Yeah... Are you really an assassin?”
“Not that I know. If I was I'd be a sorry one to be in here, wouldn't I?”
Keri chuckled low, taking her hands off her hips. “Results are proof of that. I'd say.”
“You've got a new job?”
“Yeah, big demotion. But ‘least I don't need to stare at the roof of Cor's tent.”
“Mm,” Seth said, with what he hoped was a neutral tone.
“Got real hard to pretend 'n interest; the man's a cak.”
“Suppose you'd know best.”
“Damnright.”
“What have they got planned for me, Keri?”
“Don't know, Seth. Sorry. Here's a jug of water 'n two loaves, I saved the biggest ones out for y'. And here's a red fruit. It's a bit on the o'er ripe side. So eat it soon.”
“Thank you, Keri. You're kind.”
“Yeah, well it cost me nothing. I feel responsible for y' I guess, being's I spotted you floating down the river 'n all.” She stepped into the light and crouched down by him. Her hand held his chin for a brief instant. “You 'mind me of someone I knew, long time... long time ago.” She stood up, briskly, “But not that much.”
Seth smiled.
“Gotta go,” Keri said a note of pity coloring her voice.
“Go with peace.”
“Yea that'd be nice. Peace.”
Seth ate; drank; and slept again.
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Boom... BOOM... BOOM.... He estimated only a few hours had gone by. Thi
s time it was Sergeant Niall and three of Arturo's personal guard. One of them carried a hammer and a chisel, and another lugged a small portable anvil. They all had swords and short spears.
“The chains are coming off,” said Niall, motioning to the guard with the hammer. The rivets were off and the shackles dropped to the floor in a single, efficient minute.
~~~~~~~~~~{}~~~~~~~~~~
Lord Arturo was in bed. It was an impressive bed, big enough to sleep six or seven. Four posters held up a canopy and a blue, silk privacy curtain that matched the tapestries and rugs covering the rest of the room. Arturo sat propped on a pile of down pillows, silk sheets kicked into a pile at his feet, his left shoulder bandaged. He looked pale and tired; an expert had stitched the recent cut above his eye.
The guards escorting Seth into the room, glared at him in warning and took positions around him.
“Thank you, Sergeant,” said Arturo, “You can wait in the next room.”
Niall bowed and stepped out, pulling the door closed behind him.
Seth opened the interview. “I'm glad to see you survived your fight with the weaponsmaster.”
“Really?” said Arturo, trying to suppress a bitter tone. “Why is that?”
“Well... For one thing, you're the only one in this city that owes me anything.”
“Humph! My life you mean. I suppose that's one point of view.” He pulled at his chin and fixed Seth with a searching glare. After a long silence, he spoke, “I've been thinking about trust today.”
Seth nodded. “In your position, that's understandable.”
Arturo continued, “I have been told... taught, the only person to trust is someone who has everything to lose if you die or fail.”
“I suppose that's one point of view.”
Arturo paused. “I'm not used to people who talk to me without my telling them to.”