by John Marco
Across the table, Shinn drew a card from the deck and studied his hand. As always, he barely spoke. Leth wondered what was going on behind his steely eyes. Shinn was an excellent bodyguard and something of a friend, but he rarely confessed his feelings. When he had learned that Tassis Gayle would be fighting the Highlanders without any help from Aramoor, the Dorian hadn’t even shrugged. But that didn’t mean he didn’t think about it.
The governor glanced up at the sun. ‘Late,’ he observed. ‘Tassis probably has the Highlanders mopped up by now.’
Shinn merely contemplated his cards.
‘Don’t you think?’ probed Leth. ‘Don’t you think Gayle has defeated Redburn by now?’
The Dorian at last looked up from his cards. ‘It’s not that late.’
Leth shrugged. ‘Gayle has them outnumbered. I’m sure he can beat them easily. Hell, the savages might even have surrendered.’
‘I doubt that.’
‘Do you?’
‘It’s your turn. Do you want another card?’
Leth took a card. Hardly glancing at it, he slipped it into his hand. He had been glad not to be involved in Tassis’ bloody campaign. The Highlanders were vicious and skillful, and he didn’t really believe they would surrender. There was a battle raging, and being far from the bloodshed pleased Leth. It also made him a bit uneasy. He laid down his cards.
‘I’m not a coward, Shinn,’ he said as he displayed his hand.
‘No,’ replied Shinn. The bodyguard laid down his own hand. ‘Just a very bad card player. You lose again.’
Leth didn’t bother to curse. He didn’t care about the stupid game. His whole mind was occupied with thoughts of Talistan. He should have been willing to fight for his homeland, instead of being content with hiding. Telling himself that he was defending Aramoor against the Saints had done little to ease his conscience. Now, as he sat drinking fruit juice and playing cards, he actually felt guilty.
‘They don’t need us, though,’ he said offhandedly. ‘I mean, they have Wallach and the Voskans. We’d only be in the way.’
‘If you say so.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Shinn said, ‘Look, I go where I’m paid to go. I don’t really care if you want me to fight or play cards. Either way, I get my money.’
‘But you wouldn’t be afraid to fight the Highlanders? Wouldn’t you rather be here, safe and out of the way?’
‘You said yourself, the Highlanders are outnumbered. They won’t defeat Gayle. So what’s to be afraid of?’
‘Shinn?’ said Leth.
‘Yes?’
‘You talk too much.’
Leth rose to stretch his legs and let out a yawn. Even beneath the shade, the heat of the day had made him weary. While Shinn gathered up the cards, Leth gazed out across the grounds. Past the drilling horsemen, another rider was approaching, galloping at desperate speed. He was yelling something.
‘Shinn . . .’
‘I see him,’ said the Dorian, getting to his feet.
‘The Saints?’
‘Oh, they’d be crazy to try anything.’
But crazy described Jahl Rob and his outlaws precisely. That they might try to take advantage of the chaos in Talistan didn’t surprise Leth at all. What did surprise him was the lone rider.
‘Where the hell are the rest?’ asked Leth. ‘I sent forty men to the run!’
After a brief stop at the drilling field, the rider continued toward the castle. This time several of his fellows joined him. He galloped up to Leth, his face drenched with sweat.
‘Governor Leth,’ he cried. ‘They’re coming!’ He dropped down from his horse, almost tumbling to the ground. ‘They’re not alone, Governor. There are others with them!’
‘Make sense, man,’ Leth scolded. ‘Who’s coming?’
‘The Saints! They’re riding for the castle. But they’re not alone. Richius Vantran . . . Triin . . .’
Exasperated, Leth grabbed the man by the shoulders. ‘Look at me, you idiot,’ he snarled. ‘Are you telling me that the Jackal has a Triin army heading this way?’
The soldier nodded quickly. ‘Yes, my lord, I swear. I saw them! They’re coming for the castle. Hundreds of them!’
‘And the Saints are with them?’
‘Yes!’
Leth started sputtering, wanting to give orders but not knowing what to say. He looked at Shinn, who shrugged uselessly, then at the rider and his fellow soldiers, all of whom stared back at him blankly.
‘All right,’ said Leth. ‘Yes, all right. Let’s not stand around here, then. We have to do something!’
‘We have to stop them,’ suggested Shinn.
‘Yes, stop them,’ echoed Leth. ‘Soldier, what happened to your company? Where are they?’
‘Captured,’ replied the man. ‘They can’t help us.’
Leth felt a sweat break out over his body. ‘God almighty. All right, the rest of you – get ready to defend the castle. We’ll hold up here until reinforcements arrive from Talistan.’
‘But Talistan is in battle!’ protested Shinn.
‘Will you shut up and let me think? I need some help here!’ Leth whirled on the soldiers, studying their ranks until he found a lieutenant. ‘You,’ snapped Leth. ‘Gather as many men as you can. Bring them here to defend the castle.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said the lieutenant. ‘But, Governor, there aren’t that many of us. Most are in Talistan.’
‘Then send a rider to Gayle. Tell him we need help!’
The lieutenant wasted no time, sending one of his fellows speeding off. Then he looked at Leth.
‘Governor, it will take hours for help to reach us from Talistan.’
‘I know,’ said Leth darkly. ‘Shinn? Ideas?’
‘We need to slow them down,’ said the Dorian. ‘Send some horsemen to engage them.’
Leth nodded. ‘You heard him, Lieutenant. How many men can you spare?’
‘None! Governor, that would be suicide. You heard yourself; there are hundreds of Triin!’
‘Yes,’ agreed the rider. ‘My lord, they’ll be cut to pieces.’
‘It’s the only way to buy us time,’ said Leth. ‘Lieutenant, those are my orders. If you can spare them, send thirty lancemen.’
‘But, Governor . . . !’
‘Do it!’
The young officer’s face fell in shock. Slowly he turned to his comrades. ‘Volunteers?’
‘You, Lieutenant,’ growled Leth. ‘You lead them. And get those men assembled, right bloody now!’ He turned to his bodyguard, saying, ‘Shinn, we’ve got work to do,’ then hurried toward the castle, shouting for his servants.
Forty Nine
‘My lord, we must retreat!’
The captain stared at his king, waiting for an answer. Blood and perspiration smeared his face and he had taken a wound that made his arm dangle uselessly at his side. Tassis Gayle let his eyes linger vacantly on the soldier. He didn’t know his name. Or had he known it but simply forgotten? Things were happening so quickly. His mind tried to seize on the events but, like sand through his fingers, he couldn’t hold them.
‘My lord, are you listening to me?’ asked the soldier. ‘We are lost! We must retreat.’
Gayle tried to reply, but couldn’t utter a sound. A hundred feet in front of him, his dwindling army tried to beat back the Highlanders. The Silverknife had become a graveyard choked with the bodies of men and beasts. Redburn was dead but his kin still battled on, forcing their mounts through the Talistanian infantry. The clans of Grayfin and Kellen had miraculously turned the tide, slaughtering the cavalry. Gayle’s archers stood mutely behind him, waiting for their orders. It was all coming apart, and Gayle couldn’t stop it. Worse, somewhere in the melee was Biagio – still alive, still taunting him.
‘No,’ said Gayle finally. The thought of Biagio brought him back to reality. ‘No, we won’t retreat. Not while that demon still lives.’
The captain stepped up to Gayle’s horse. ‘But, my
lord, see for yourself!’ He pointed toward the crumbling lines of infantry. ‘They’re breaking through.’
‘They cannot,’ said Gayle. ‘I won’t have it!’ He wheeled his charger to face his archers, hardly noticing their shocked expressions. Some of them were breaking rank, running for the safety of the distant hills. ‘Fight them,’ Gayle bellowed. ‘Drop your bows and fight them!’
‘No,’ cried the captain. ‘We must fall back!’
Fury overtook Gayle. He kicked the captain, sending him sprawling. ‘You coward! You want to run away? You want to lose to some limp-wristed man-girl? We will stay and we will fight, and that means you!’
The captain staggered to his feet and ran his hand over his bleeding lip. He glared at his king. ‘I’m calling retreat,’ he threatened. ‘If you don’t do it yourself . . .’
‘You goddamn weasel, don’t you dare . . .’
‘Retreat!’ yelled the soldier. He turned and ran toward the river, screaming and waving his arms. ‘Fall back and retreat!’
‘Damn it, no!’
Alone on horseback, Gayle galloped through his remaining troops, trying to rally them. ‘Fight on!’ he ordered. ‘Fight for me and Talistan! Fight for my son and daughter!’
No one listened. The archers hurriedly disbanded, dropping their longbows and running from the field. Gayle heard the captain’s endless cry calling for retreat and begging the Highlanders for mercy. He was screaming the word ‘surrender’ now, a term that turned Gayle’s blood to ice. As his men began falling back, the Highlanders eased their attack. The noise from the Silverknife slowly ebbed. Someone in the Highland ranks called for quarter. From atop his horse Gayle peered through the press of bodies trying to locate the source of the cry. The voice was so familiar, it had to be . . .
‘Biagio!’
Biagio staggered forward, listening to the soldier calling retreat. Around him, the men of clans Kellen and Grayfin were hacking through the infantry, but now the footmen were faltering, falling back as they heard the captain’s cry. Biagio himself fell back, barely able to hold himself up. His arms ached and his side screamed with pain, and the blood from a head wound trickled into his eyes, blinding him. But he gathered enough wits to call for quarter, waving his sword as he struggled for attention.
‘Enough!’ he called. ‘They’re retreating!’
He hardly heard his voice over the sounds of battle. Men were surging out of the river desperate to escape the Highlanders and their beasts, which seemed to be everywhere now, slashing their antlers and bellowing in blood lust. Vandra Grayfin was nearby screaming atop her latapi as she drove it through a collapsing wall of soldiers. Unable to flee the river in time, the men fell beneath its crushing hooves.
‘Stop!’ roared Biagio. ‘Enough, I say!’
At last the Highlanders heard him. One by one they ceased their attack and let the Talistanians climb the riverbank to safety. In the distance, Gayle’s archers were fleeing the field. What was left of his infantry began limping after them. And in the center of the scene was Tassis Gayle, still resplendent in his armor, still vainglorious upon his charger. The King of Talistan had a broadsword in his hands and was looking toward the Silverknife – looking, Biagio realized, straight at him.
‘Gayle!’ cried Cray Kellen. The Lion bolted forward with a raised sword, rushing past Biagio.
‘No, Kellen. Stay!’
Biagio’s command stopped the Highlander midcharge.
‘Kellen, no more,’ he said wearily. ‘It’s over.’
‘It’s not over,’ said Grayfin. ‘Look at him! He’ll never surrender.’
‘You’ve lost, Gayle,’ Biagio shouted. ‘Surrender while you still have the chance.’
The king kept his broadsword in both hands. He didn’t say a word, but slowly shook his head. Biagio’s grip weakened on his weapon. He was unspeakably tired and plagued by a thousand aches; even talking exhausted him. With the Highlanders watching, Biagio trudged toward the riverbank and set foot in Talistan.
‘Tassis,’ he croaked, ‘I’m warning you. You don’t have a chance.’ He wasn’t sure if the old man realized he’d been deserted.
‘You took them from me,’ said Gayle. ‘You took away my son, then you took my daughter.’
‘Calida died from a cancer, Tassis. Blackwood died in battle.’
‘Because you abandoned him!’ Gayle thundered. ‘You left him in Lucel-Lor for Vantran to slaughter! You killed him. And now I’m going to avenge him.’
‘Look around,’ Biagio suggested. ‘What makes you think you can win?’
‘All I want is you,’ replied Gayle.
‘I’m your emperor.’
‘Never!’
‘I am,’ said Biagio. ‘Pledge yourself to me, acknowledge my claim to the throne, and I’ll let you live.’
‘In hell.’
‘Say it,’ ordered Biagio. ‘Say that I’m your emperor.’
Gayle refused to lower his weapon.
‘Tassis, I’ve changed,’ said Biagio. ‘I’m not the man I was when Blackwood died.’
Gayle laughed. ‘Men like you never change. You were a demon when you were Arkus’ spymaster, and you’re a demon now. I’m going to kill you, Biagio. I’m going to do what should have been done years ago.’
‘Oh, let me kill him!’ growled Cray Kellen. ‘Lord Emperor, please . . .’
‘No,’ spat Biagio. Suddenly he knew he had to fight Gayle. ‘I am the Emperor of Nar,’ he declared. ‘No one will take the Iron Throne from me.’
‘Prove it,’ challenged Gayle.
Biagio lifted his sword. ‘Very well, old one.’
Tassis Gayle slipped down from his mount, slapping its rump and sending it galloping off. The king took a stride toward the emperor, his sword held in both hands. He looked remarkably virile, as if his insanity had revitalized him. He held his head high as he removed his helmet and dropped it to the ground.
‘I am twice the man you are,’ he told Biagio. ‘You’re not even a man. You are a creature.’
Biagio stalked closer, keeping his weapon raised. In his youth he had studied swordplay as well as the piano, and was deft with his weapon. But he was tired, and his clash with the infantry had given him a hundred minor wounds. Blood still dripped in his eyes. Angrily he wiped it away.
Angrily . . .
Be angry, he told himself. Use your rage . . .
As he began circling his foe, he remembered how Bovadin’s drug had once given him strength. He concentrated on that feeling, summoning the drug’s remnants from the dusty corners of his mind.
‘Look at you,’ taunted Gayle. ‘You can barely stand. Who is old now, man-girl?’
The insults stung. Biagio’s eyes burned, the way they had during his treatments. His hand tightened around his sword, his fingers growing stronger. As the fury inside him crested, his mind clouded with madness.
‘I am the Emperor of Nar,’ he declared. ‘I am your master, Tassis Gayle.’
‘You are a murderer and sodomite,’ Gayle retorted. ‘You’re going straight to hell.’
Suddenly Gayle lunged forward, a scream erupting from his throat. His sword slashed down, grazing Biagio. Biagio felt the bite of the steel tear his leather armor, slicing down his arm. Quickly he turned and answered the blow, swiping his sword at Gayle’s legs. Gayle’s broadsword parried the blade easily. Biagio dropped back, breathing hard.
‘Weakling!’ jeered the armored giant. ‘Come on, Crotan! Show me what you’ve got!’
Biagio lunged toward him, unleashing a flurry of thrusts, driving Gayle backward. The old man blocked each blow expertly, using his sword and armor to every advantage. Biagio pressed the attack, forcing his spent muscles to their limits.
‘I am emperor!’ he chanted, trying to stoke his anger. ‘Emperor!’
Gayle answered his claim with a block and a back-fist, smashing his gauntlet into Biagio’s face. The shot blinded Biagio, sending him reeling. Instinctively he raised his sword to block the coming blows, working h
is blade through a haze of blood. An enormous pain shot through his skull. He was losing strength, losing the battle.
‘No!’ he cried. ‘I will win!’