Battle Across Worlds

by Dean Chalmers

  Jack doffed his hat and bowed. “I swear by my life and my Dragoon’s honor that I will do so.”

  But, despite the vow, he felt powerless. He fought against a sudden weight of despair that seemed to press on him like a crushing hand.

  The little Xai Ashaon, Jarlus, stepped forward, a cluster of his blue-clad guards parting to let him through. He drew his hooked sword, smiled, and nodded towards Ralley as if this were a friendly and harmless contest—as if they were about to toss horseshoes, or bowl at pins on the green!

  Jack had a very ungentlemanly thought about sticking a knife in that smug little throat.

  A larger crowd had now gathered around the center of the vast hall, courtiers in brightly colored tunics and gowns mingling with young servant girls and boys, all whispering about the coming duel.

  They suddenly went quiet, and Phaedon himself parted the crowd, his head bent in anger. He began speaking in booming tones, and the crowd seemed troubled at his words.

  “What is he saying?” Jack asked.

  “He says his heart is wounded,” Ralley whispered. “Jarlus has been like a member of his family and he feels as if he has been betrayed again, just as she betrayed him.”

  “Lanaya?”

  Ralley nodded.

  “He is also threatening Jarlus with every torture he can command should he kill me.”

  At this, Jack noticed that the little Xai Ashaon lost his smug smile for a moment, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

  He’s most concerned about upsetting his King, Jack thought. It’s not fear in his eyes now, it’s … regret?

  “It’s time,” Ralley said, placing a hand on Jack’s shoulder as if the Dragoon were the one needing reassurance.

  Ralley stepped into the center of the hall and raised the Phaedon’s heavy, hooked sword in front of him. Jarlus came forward to meet him, his own hooked blade dangling loosely from his hand.

  He tapped the floor with it … Was he mocking Ralley?

  Someone touched Jack’s shoulder, then took his hand. It was Taxamia. Her hand was soft but her grip was crushing. Despite her composure, despite the fire in her eyes—she was afraid for Ralley, that much was clear.

  “Ralley’s quite strong, with that fire in him,” Jack told her. “And fast.”

  She nodded. “We have that advantage.”

  Phaedon stepped forward and raised his arm.

  Ralley crouched, his blade held straight before him, readied for battle.

  Jarlus leaned lazily on his blade, rotating his head to stretch his neck.

  The Phaedon’s arm dropped—

  And Ralley rushed forward, his blade thrusting at Jarlus’s chest. He stabbed vigorously, but the Xai Ashaon jumped back again and again, just out of reach of the weapon. The little man twisted away, so that Ralley had to turn and begin a fresh assault.

  This time, Jarlus danced back to avoid every thrust, then hit Ralley’s blade with his own sword, just hard enough to make it sound.

  Thrust—shuffle back—CLANG.

  Thrust—shuffle—CLANG.

  Jarlus danced back so far that a group of onlookers was forced to hastily retreat, lest they become entangled in the combat. The circle of spectators widened as they all took a precautionary step away from the duelists.

  Taking a new approach, Ralley tried to slash his opponent with the tip of the sword, weaving it in vicious loops. But he just wasn’t fast enough.

  “He’s using it like a rapier,” Jack said to Taxamia. “But it’s not balanced for that. … RALLEY!” he shouted. “Cut with it! You have to slash wide!”

  Ralley did not acknowledge the advice, but a few seconds later he lifted his blade high and cut down at a steep angle.

  But the little Xai Ashaon was fast.

  He managed to dodge Ralley’s crushing blow, then spun away in the time it took Ralley to recover for another swing.

  Suddenly, Jarlus’s own blade flashed into motion. He whirled and swung it low, cutting at Ralley’s legs.

  Ralley brought his blade down to block, but a second too late …

  A line of red appeared on his right leg just above Ralley’s knee, spreading into a pink blotch as it was soaked up by the surrounding fabric of the tunic.

  Jack felt Taxamia jerk beside him as the wound was dealt, and she squeezed his hand hard enough that Jack winced.

  Nonetheless, Ralley’s wound did not look serious, and his footing did not seem to suffer. He charged for another slice at his opponent …

  And Jarlus flew under the raised blade to slice at Ralley’s abdomen. Another line of red appeared, the linen tunic neatly sliced to reveal a precise wound in the pale skin underneath.

  “Those are minor cuts,” Jack said.

  And the cruel truth hit him … Jarlus was still playing with his friend. The cuts were meant to be minor.

  If Ralley kept himself open like that, sooner or later the Xai Ashaon would tire of toying with him, and would slice him open like a slaughtered lamb …

  Ralley kept his sword at waist-height, ready to block slashes from his smaller adversary. This time, when Jarlus came close, his sword met the metal of Ralley’s own weapon.

  CLANG-CLANG-CLANG, Ralley blocked again and again, unflinching.

  Then, the little man jumped up and sliced high.

  He was incredibly nimble, and Ralley couldn’t bring his blade up before Jarlus’s weapon flashed in his face. A slash of red appeared on his forehead, blood running down into his eye.

  Taxamia’s hand pumped Jack’s own, and her crushing strength made him gasp.

  “Princess …” he said, “your grip, if you might …”

  She nodded, and her hand relaxed.

  Her palm was sweaty now, and Jack looked up to see that her forehead was beaded with perspiration, as if she was fighting the duel along with her lover.

  Perhaps, in a way, she was … There was much to this “link” between them that he still didn’t understand.

  He turned back to the fight. Jarlus had backed up, out of Ralley’s reach for the moment, gloating.

  “Yao wa nen maer,” he hissed, “aedia en pauon!”

  “What did he say?” Jack asked Taxamia.

  “That Ralley does not deserve me,” Taxamia repeated flatly. “And … that he has lain with his own mother.”

  Jack whispered a string of curses.

  Hearing the insult, Ralley jerked back as if he had been dealt an actual blow. He raised his sword, sprinted forward—

  —and leapt into the air, coming in high, soaring over the floor towards Jarlus. Had it been anyone else doing this, Jack wouldn’t have believed his eyes.

  Ralley covered a distance of at least ten feet with his jump, and as he came down his blade swept down in an arc.

  It CLANGED fiercely against Jarlus’s weapon, the force of the blow knocking the blade from the Xai Ashaon’s grip and sending it spinning off across the floor!

  Jarlus shuffled sideways, reaching into his tunic as he moved. He pulled out a short bronze knife, its blade curved like a claw. Raising it, he bared his teeth.

  “A dagger!” Jack gasped. “Is he allowed to do that?”

  “Yes,” Taxamia said. “And Jarlus is a baekon master of the knife.”

  “Which means?”

  She closed her eyes. “Ralley is in more trouble now than he was before.”

  #

  Ralley watched as Jarlus drew the deadly claw dagger.

  “I want you close,” the Xai Ashaon snarled, his expression that of a manic fiend. “Look at me.”

  He darted in, spinning low, stabbing quickly. Rally swung his blade in frantic arcs, weaving a golden web in the air. But Jarlus dropped to the floor, rolling under the attack and springing to his feet again once he was out of Ralley’s reach.

  Ralley leapt forward, chopping down with his blade. With a loud CLANG it hit the floor several feet from his nimble-footed opponent.

  “Frustrated?” Jarlus asked.

  Smiling, the Xai Ashaon darted in ag
ain, his tiny blade held high like the fang of a serpent. His arm flashed out and he stabbed, catching Ralley’s left forearm, piercing it. Pain flared there, but Ralley forced it out of his mind, willing his body to ignore the wound.

  This was going on too long, and he was getting nowhere.

  Jack had been right. The Dameryan blade was ill-suited to Ralley’s own fencing style, and he had no idea how to wield it properly.

  So he made a decision.

  With a grunt, he tossed the blade aside. It clattered away across the floor as he rushed unarmed at Jarlus. The Xai Ashaon stabbed at him, but Ralley caught the wrist his opponent’s knife hand, gripping it as hard as he could and holding it steady.

  Jarlus looked up at him, his eyes wide with surprise.

  “Drop your knife,” Ralley said. “Do it now and I won’t break your wrist.”

  Jarlus blinked—and then started to chuckle. “How generous.”

  Before Ralley could react, his opponent slid low, twisting his body, his arm and wrist writhing like a snake. He slipped free of Ralley’s sweat-slick hand, and then he was coming up …

  And the point of the dagger was at Ralley’s throat.

  “I’ll be generous now, boy,” he hissed. “I’ll repeat my offer. Renounce your claim on the princess, and you can walk away.”

  Ralley shook his head, feeling the dagger’s tip scratch his throat as he did so. “No. Never.”

  “Look at me,” Jarlus said. “If you’re not a coward, look at me!”

  Ralley did so, willing himself to be strong, wishing that the fiery power inside of him might burn the arrogant Jarlus to ash where he stood …

  “Look at me and tell me that you renounce her! You’ll never touch her again.”

  “NO!”

  Jarlus moved his face as close to Ralley’s as he could. Ralley could feel the Xai Ashaon’s breath on his neck. “Renounce her or die!”

  “I WILL NOT!” Ralley shouted, his voice so loud that it rang in his own ears.

  Jarlus stared at him for a long moment, his eyes slitted in scrutiny.

  Then, with a dramatic sigh, he pulled his dagger away and stepped back.

  “Challenge is over,” he announced. “The stranger wins.”

  “What?” Phaedon exclaimed. A rumble of confused voices rose up amidst the crowd.

  Taxamia and Jack rushed forward to Ralley, checking his wounds, asking if he was all right.

  There were tears in the Princess’s eyes, and Jack looked deathly pale.

  “Ralley, I thought I said not scare me like that again?” Jack said.

  Taxamia hugged Ralley and kissed his cheek, and he embraced her. He felt her go slack in his arms just as his own frayed nerves and exhaustion caught up to him, the fiery state fading.

  “I passed the test,” he said. “Thank God.”

  Jarlus dropped his dagger and walked over to where the Phaedon stood, his eyes downcast and his hands spread in supplication.

  “Forgive me, Pai Phaedon,” he said. He fell to his knees, bowing low in front of his lord, his palms flat on the floor. “I would never go against your Highness’s wishes unless the need was dire. But, once before, my love for your family blinded me to a monster in our midst—much to my enduring shame. I could not allow that to happen again. I had to look into Master Ralley’s eyes, had to take him to the edge and see for myself.”

  “And what did you see?” Phaedon asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

  Jarlus rose up on his knees, turned his head to look at Ralley. “He speaks truthfully of his intentions. And whatever power burns within him, it is not the same evil that strengthens her. So, I give him my full trust and aid, and vow to serve him as my Phaedon wishes.”

  Orcus Gaelti stepped forward, frowning openly now—an extreme expression by his standards. His wooden eye-shield could not hide his anger. “And you could not trust the Order’s judgment on this? You had to enrage Phaedon and draw blood from one of the da’ta se?”

  Jarlus shrugged. “Yes, I did.”

  “And now you will stand in the way of our plans and what needs to be done?”

  Jarlus shook his head “Proceed with your mission. But you’ll need expert scouts to find anything in those jungles, and I want to stay close to protect the Princess and her betrothed. This is a job for my Xa Ashaon scouts—and for myself. I’m coming along.”

  “Very well.” Gaelti turned to Phaedon. “I suggest that the scouting party should prepare to leave as soon as possible.”

  “What?” the Phaedon boomed. “No time for an engagement party for our young lovers? No dancing girls and drinking and carpets of flowers?”

  “No, Highness.” Gaelti shook his head, his expression once again unreadable. “I recommend haste. I want to take the da’ta se over to the Valley of Tombs to observe the Key early tomorrow, and by the time we return to Xai Kaor the flyers should be ready. Agreed?”

  Ralley took the Princess’s hand and stepped forward. “We’ll be ready,” he said.

  Jarlus turned to Ralley, wearing bemused smile under his hawkish nose, and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Master Ralley, you understood my purpose all along, did you not?”

  Ralley nodded. “Yes …I …I knew it was a test. I did not know if I would pass, though.”

  Jarlus leaned close. “You are strong. Indeed, I think I underestimated your strength …” he rubbed his wrist where Ralley had clamped down on it. “You are fast, and you are observant. You fight rashly and have no knowledge of the hooked sword, true, but that can be corrected.”

  Ralley was stunned. “You would train me?”

  He nodded. “When there is time. After all, you are going to be a Culcras prince, and I have trained all of the men of the family.”

  “What about the other half of the da’ta se?” Taxamia asked. “Our strength is shared. I want to learn as well. It only makes sense.”

  Jarlus shrugged. “If the Princess desires, so be it. I don’t understand this da’ta se bond of yours; but we must be open to new ideas these days, as Master Gaelti is so fond of telling us all.”

  Taxamia smiled, and leaned her head on Ralley’s shoulder. It felt very good to have her there, and he found himself softly whistling a trilling little tune.

  “Come now,” Jarlus said. “Master Ralley, you must be cleaned and bandaged. And you both need to rest … “

  The Xai Ashaon picked up his claw dagger and swept it forward in the air, striking like a viper at an imaginary foe.

  “Tomorrow, we go looking for her.”

  -21-

  Ed stood out of sight beside the cell door, holding Julea’s glass oil lamp.

  He watched as she screamed: “Help! Help!” in her little-girlish voice, and jumped up again and again to peek out of the tiny barred windowed set high in the door.

  It was all part of Ed’s plan.

  It wasn’t a very good plan, but it was something. Of course, if it actually worked and by some miracle they got out of the Guardian’s house, then the real challenge would begin. They had no proof of the “bad things”—as Julea called them—which were happening at the estate.

  And who would believe them without evidence? Just a crippled joke of a constable, and the Guardian’s run-away daughter …

  Still, he’d promised Julea that he would get her out. She trusted him, dammit! If they made it past the servants and the Grenadiers, he’d get her to Mother Henne, and then …

  Well, he’d figure that out later.

  Julea kept bouncing up and down and yelling in her childish voice: “Help me, please, help me!”

  Would Mott hear, would he respond?

  Suddenly, Julea grew quiet. There were shuffling footsteps.

  And then, Ed heard that scratchy dead voice:

  “The sinner makethhhhh himsssself a cage of eternal suff…fering,” it hissed.

  “I need to get out!” Julea pleaded. “That bad man Edwyn tricked me and got out and put me in here. Father’s not going to like it, you have to get me out fast!”
>
  “He is ssshackled by his own sssin,” the voice rasped, “and a weight on his ssspirit is the sssin of his father and the lusst of his concep-ssshun.”

  The lamp was heavy in Ed’s hand. He took a deep breath, trying to be patient—but it was very hard. Every muscle in his body was tensed up, even ones he’d never known he’d had before.

  “There’s a key over there,” Julea said. “You could get it, Reverend Mott. You could let me out.”

  There was no response from Mott—at least, nothing that Ed could hear.

  You bastard, he thought. Just open the door. Open the door and let me smash—

  He had a sudden idea. He reached out and tugged on Julea’s sleeve, hoping that Mott wouldn’t see his hand.

  “He’s always talking in scripture, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Do you know the story about the linen maid who was unjustly imprisoned by her master?” It was one of those hoary old parables that came up time and time again in Stefanite church sermons.

  She nodded again.

  “Let’s try that. Remind him …”

  Standing on tiptoe, she addressed Mott: “Reverend, do you know the story about the linen maid, from the Holy Book? And she was faithful to God and never gave up. And God sent an angel to free her and unlock the door. You know that story, don’t you?”

  “The knowledge of Godsss word residesss in mmmmine heart,” he hissed, “with the t-t-terror and love it bringssh.”

  “You could get the key for me, Reverend Mott. You could be my angel and let me out. I’ve been good and just and God would want you to do that, right?”

  There was a long moment of silence, and then Ed thought he could hear faint footsteps, moving away.

  “He’s going for the key?” he asked.

  She smiled nervously and nodded.

  Ed looked to the lamp that he held. Its wick burned brightly above a glass reservoir filled with clear fluid. All-glass lamps like this were pretty, but could start fires when smashed; his mother had refused to have one in the house for that reason.

  He hoped this one was as dangerous as his mother had feared. In fact, he was counting on it.

  Scraping footsteps approached, and then there was the sound of a key in a lock, a padlock falling open with a soft clink.