by John Marco
‘Shinn, you son of a bitch. You told me he was dead!’
He had never expected to see Alazrian again, and he couldn’t explain it. But it was an interesting turn of events. Leth closed his eyes, trying to think, wondering how to use it to his advantage. A word popped into his mind.
Hostage.
Alazrian rode between Richius and Praxtin-Tar, shaken by the sight of Aramoor castle. He had never really cared for the structure, and seeing it again reminded him of his mother. A line of cavalry blockaded the courtyard, more of the same lance-wielding defenders that Praxtin-Tar and his horde had slaughtered. The warlord gave a low growl when he saw them, then raised his eyes to the archers on the roof, poorly hidden behind chimneys. Except for the soldiers in the courtyard, Aramoor castle was deathly still. Richius slowed his horse, letting his eyes caress his home.
‘My God,’ he said. ‘I never thought I’d see this place again.’
‘Leth has taken good care of it,’ offered Alazrian. ‘Believe it or not.’
‘It looks the same,’ remarked Richius with a sad smile.
‘Don’t get all goggle-eyed yet,’ said Rob. The priest brought his horse up and surveyed the soldiers. ‘Looks like Leth has a homecoming planned. Parry, how many horsemen would you say that is?’
Parry hooded his eyes as he peered toward the courtyard. ‘Not many. Twenty, maybe?’
‘Twenty.’ Rob turned toward Richius. ‘Twenty men between you and your throne, my lord. And we’ve only lost maybe five in all. I’d say the odds are good.’
Richius didn’t reply. Alazrian could tell he was weary. Witnessing the slaughter at the ranch had made him pensive. He looked old suddenly, like Praxtin-Tar. Just then the warlord reached out and took Alazrian’s hand.
‘You will stay back, Alazrian,’ Praxtin-Tar said in Triin. ‘My men will deal with these dogs. Then we will take the castle for you.’
‘It’s not his castle, Praxtin-Tar,’ said Richius, understanding the warlord’s words. ‘It’s mine.’
Praxtin-Tar looked at Richius, smiling darkly. Keeping his hand on Alazrian, he said, ‘I have not forgotten, Kalak. Will you join in the fight for your castle? Or will you let us do your fighting?’
‘Praxtin-Tar, stop,’ said Alazrian. ‘Let’s see what Leth has to say first.’
‘He will tell us to go to hell,’ said Jahl. ‘He’s just waiting for reinforcements from Talistan.’ He said to Richius, ‘We don’t have time to waste. We must take the castle quickly.’
‘I know,’ said Richius. ‘But let’s at least talk to them, try to make them surrender.’
‘Richius, they won’t surrender. We have to fight them. Now, while we have the muscle . . .’
‘Jahl,’ interrupted Richius. ‘Those are my orders. Now, let’s move out.’
Without another word Richius led the company toward his castle. Alazrian stayed close to him, as did Praxtin-Tar and Jahl Rob. Richius didn’t want a battle; that much was obvious. Alazrian wondered how someone so reluctant to fight had stayed alive so long. As they approached Aramoor castle, the archers on the roofs and in the windows came into view, sliding out from behind their hiding places and readying their bows. On the second-floor balcony were figures. One was a soldier in Talistanian garb. The other . . .
‘Oh, Lord,’ whispered Alazrian. ‘There he is.’
‘Who?’ asked Jahl.
‘On the balcony,’ replied Alazrian. ‘Leth.’
Elrad Leth had his hands on the railing and was leaning forward, trying to get a better look at the approaching army. He was well-dressed, as usual, and wore an enigmatic expression.
‘What’s he doing?’ asked Richius.
‘Waiting for us,’ said Alazrian. ‘Waiting for me.’
‘He must have seen you by now,’ said Richius. He gave a short laugh. Then he waved, shouting, ‘Surprised to see us, Leth?’
Leth crossed his arms. Jahl and his Saints began jeering, shaking their fists and cursing at the line of cavalry, challenging them to fight. Richius quieted them with a curt order, then brought the army to a halt just before the courtyard. Praxtin-Tar’s warriors fanned out behind them. Still Leth kept a keen smile.
‘Welcome home, Jackal,’ he cried from his balcony. ‘I should have known you’d come back.’
‘Indeed you should have. But I’ve been told by a friend that you’ve taken good care of my home.’ He gestured to Alazrian. ‘I think you know this young man, don’t you?’
Leth turned a withering scowl on Alazrian. ‘Greetings, son. I’d say it’s good to see you, but that would be a lie. And you wouldn’t believe it anyway, would you?’
‘Not after you told Shinn to kill me,’ Alazrian responded. ‘But look, Father. You failed. I’m still alive.’
‘Yes, I must talk to Shinn about that. Vantran, if I were you I’d turn around now. No one wants a bloodbath.’
Richius laughed. ‘I was just thinking the same thing! Surrender, Leth, while you have a chance.’
‘I have this castle,’ retorted Leth. ‘And I have reinforcements on the way. Why don’t you be a good traitor and shoo? And take that band of barbarians with you.’
‘Look around, Leth,’ said Richius. ‘We have over two hundred men, and they’ve already slaughtered two companies of your cavalry.’ He gestured to the line of horsemen in the courtyard. ‘Do you want these others to join them? Because I’m sure Praxtin-Tar here will oblige you.’
‘Give up,’ called Alazrian. ‘Please. Richius is right. You can’t win.’
‘And if I surrender what will happen to me?’ asked Leth. ‘Am I to be supper for those savages? I think not, boy.’
‘You’ll have a better fate than you gave my mother!’ Alazrian cried. ‘Now surrender; it’s your only chance.’
Leth seemed to consider the proposal. Along the roof, the archers awaited his word, fixing the army in their sights. The horsemen in the yard gripped their lances warily. Alazrian watched it all with dread. Seeing Leth had awakened something dark within him. Suddenly he was back in that closet again, a little boy crying from too many beatings.
‘I will talk only to Alazrian,’ said Leth at last. ‘If I must surrender, I want to speak to my son.’
‘Forget it,’ shouted Jahl.
‘You’ll surrender unconditionally,’ said Richius, ‘or I’ll give the order to attack.’
‘And just how long do you think it will take you to win the castle, Jackal? You may outnumber us, but we have the advantage.’ He gestured up at the roof lined with archers. ‘Do you really want to see your comrades die?’
‘If any one of those bowmen lets fly, we’ll rush the castle,’ Richius warned. ‘And there won’t be anything left of you to surrender.’
‘Alazrian,’ said Leth, ‘Will you come and talk to me?’
‘No, he won’t!’ cried Jahl.
Leth sighed. ‘Come on, boy. Don’t be a coward.’
The accusation rattled Alazrian. He grit his teeth. Leth was watching him. Before Richius could refuse the offer, Alazrian turned to him and said, ‘I want to do it.’
‘What? Alazrian, no!’
‘I want to, Richius,’ Alazrian insisted. ‘Please let me.’
‘Why?’ barked Jahl. ‘Alazrian, don’t be stupid.’
‘I’m not being stupid! Let me go up there and talk to him. Maybe I can convince him to surrender.’
‘No, Alazrian,’ said Richius. ‘Jahl’s right. He just wants to use you as a bargaining chip.’
‘Alazrian?’ probed Jahl. The priest’s expression had changed. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re planning something, I know it. What is it?’
Alazrian smiled grimly. ‘Jahl, this is something I have to do. Don’t ask me about it, all right?’
‘Alazrian, what the hell are you talking about?’ pressed Richius. ‘We don’t have time for nonsense!’
‘You’re right,’ Alazrian told him. ‘We don’t have time. So don’t argue wit
h me. Just let me in there.’
‘I won’t!’ snapped Richius. ‘You’re being stupid . . .’
‘No,’ said Jahl. ‘Let him go.’
‘What?’
Jahl touched Alazrian’s shoulder. ‘Are you sure?’
Alazrian wasn’t really sure, but he nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘We’ll explain it to Praxtin-Tar, then. Go with God, my son.’
‘Jahl?’ Richius sputtered. ‘What the hell is going on?’
Jahl turned to the balcony and called up to Leth, ‘All right, you bastard, he’s coming to talk to you. But if you harm a hair on his head, I’m going to skin you alive!’
Elrad Leth laughed. ‘What a pious thought, Priest.’ He waved Alazrian ahead. ‘Come on, boy. No one will harm you. You have my word.’
Leth’s word was meaningless, but Alazrian went ahead anyway, breaking away from the others and trotting into the courtyard. Behind him he heard Praxtin-Tar’s protest.
Alazrian wondered if he knew what he was doing, but he was driven by a need to face his so-called father one last time. All the memories of his childhood flooded over him as he approached the castle – his mother’s soft voice, Leth’s harsh insulting rasp, the dark recesses of the closet and the sting of the belt – it was all unstoppable suddenly, and it pushed him onward. The horsemen in the courtyard parted, letting him pass. Up ahead, the doors to the castle opened and a servant peered out.
‘Get off your horse, Master Alazrian,’ a voice directed. It was Barth, Leth’s bookkeeper. ‘The governor wants no trouble.’
Alazrian dropped from Flier’s back. Leaving the horse in the yard, he approached the doors. Barth hurried him inside.
‘Your father is waiting for you upstairs,’ said the man, closing the doors again. ‘Please, don’t do anything to anger him.’
Alazrian went through the entry hall toward the main staircase. Barth followed, chattering nervously, but the bookkeeper stopped talking when they reached the stairs. There at the top of the flight was Elrad Leth, gazing down with a twisted grin.
‘Alazrian.’
Alazrian glared up the staircase. ‘Governor.’
‘What? Won’t you call me Father any longer? Or have the Saints of the Sword thoroughly brainwashed you against me?’
‘They didn’t have to change my mind,’ sneered Alazrian. ‘I’ve always known what you are.’ He glanced around. The entire castle staff seemed to be watching him, hanging on his reply. ‘You wanted to talk about surrender, didn’t you?’ he asked. ‘So let’s talk.’
‘My, but you’ve changed!’ laughed Leth. ‘How forceful you are now. Almost a man! Come upstairs then, little man. We’ll talk in my chambers. I can keep an eye on your rabble from there.’
Leth turned and disappeared down the hall. Alazrian went up the stairs after him, leaving behind Barth and the other servants. At the top of the stairs a soldier waited, ready to escort him to the master bedchamber. There was a window in the hall, its glass broken, manned by an archer. Alazrian slipped past and saw Richius and Jahl and the others staring back at the castle. Praxtin-Tar looked furious. Seeing his protector put Alazrian at ease, but his relief was shattered by Leth’s grating voice.
‘Alazrian! Get in here, already.’
Leth was in the master bedchamber, looking out past the balcony when Alazrian entered. There were three soldiers with him, all of whom watched Alazrian closely. Leth gestured gruffly to a chair.
‘Sit there, away from the balcony.’
Alazrian did as he was told, all the while watching Leth. Though Leth put on a good show, the sight of the Triin had shaken him. He exhaled nervously then went to the bed and sat down on its edge.
‘Well?’ Leth asked sharply. ‘You care to explain what the hell you’re doing with those traitors?’
‘I came here to talk you into surrendering,’ lied Alazrian. ‘I’m not going to explain myself.’
‘I see Jahl Rob and his rebels have taught you to disrespect your elders. Quite a holy man, that one.’
‘He’s a good man. He’s twice the man you are . . . Father.’
The insult rattled Leth. He was about to rise but stopped himself. Alazrian could tell he was afraid – too afraid to strike him.
‘They’re going to kill you, you know,’ said Alazrian. ‘You won’t live to see the end of this day.’
‘Is that right?’
Alazrian nodded. ‘That’s why I’m here. I wanted to tell you that myself.’
Their eyes met. A nervousness grew inside Alazrian, and he felt his resolve slipping away. But he had come for a reason, and refused to be afraid. It would save lives, he told himself. And Leth deserved it.
‘You’re not my son,’ said Leth. ‘I’ve always known that. And I never wanted you.’
‘I know.’
Leth smiled. ‘Look at you. So cocky. You think because you’ve got an army that you’re powerful. But you’re nothing, Alazrian. You’re just a weak little half-breed.’
‘You’re wrong,’ said Alazrian. ‘I am powerful.’
‘Is that what they think? Those Triin savages out there – do they think you’re something special?’
‘I am special.’ Alazrian put out his hands. ‘Why don’t you let me show you?’
The humor left Leth’s face. ‘What is this?’
‘I have Triin magic. I can read your thoughts, and I can heal people. Let me show you.’
‘Impossible.’ Leth reared back. ‘You’re no sorcerer!’
‘Oh, but I am,’ said Alazrian. ‘That’s why the Triin follow me, because I have magic. I can prove it to you. Just give me your hands.’
Leth glanced at the bewildered soldiers, then back at Alazrian. Alazrian knew he was almost convinced.
‘You’re afraid,’ Alazrian taunted. ‘Ha! Who’s the coward now?’
‘I’m not afraid of you,’ sneered Leth. ‘I’m not afraid of anything.’
‘Then prove it. Take my hands. I’ll tell you what you’re thinking.’
‘All right,’ snapped Leth, slapping his hands into Alazrian’s. ‘Go on. Tell me what I’m thinking.’
A wall of loathing struck Alazrian like a fist. He closed his eyes, shaking his head against the shock of the connection, gripping Leth’s hands and feeling the flow of hateful energy. It was nauseating, and Alazrian’s mind flashed with pictures and bitter feelings – a great, regret-filled tide.
‘Well?’ Leth demanded. ‘What am I thinking?’
‘I . . . You’re . . .’
Leth began to laugh. ‘Oh, very good, wizard!’ He tightened his grip. ‘What else? Tell me without stuttering for once!’
Alazrian struggled to focus, to block out Leth’s taunts and to concentrate on the one thing he had come here to do. Quickly he searched the recesses of Leth’s mind, blowing away the dust and gazing down the twisted corridors, trying to locate his mother. Any love, any warm thought for her could have saved Leth, but when Alazrian found her she was in this bedroom. Leth was on top of her, half-naked and beating her. She was crying softly, taking his fists and his unwanted thrusts. The sight blinded Alazrian. He cried out, digging his nails into Leth’s hands.
‘You killed her!’ he railed.
Leth stood up, trying to get free. ‘Let go of me!’
‘You killed her, and now I’m going to kill you!’
The vision of his mother let loose a demon inside Alazrian. His healing power was a choice, he knew, as much a weapon as a salve. He focused his mind like the strength of the sun, picturing the air shooting from Leth’s chest, imagining his lungs shrivelling. Leth let out a gurgling scream. Alazrian dug into his hands. The soldiers backed away, horrified, as Leth’s scream went on and on, building to a high-pitched wail.
‘I hate you!’ Alazrian cried. ‘I hate what you did to us!’
He was weeping now, unable to stop himself. Leth’s eyes bulged, begging for mercy, but Alazrian knew no mercy. The memories of a thousand beatings drove him on. Elrad Leth ceased struggling. His head f
ell back in a wordless howl and his throat flushed scarlet, clutched by invisible fingers. With one last gasp he hissed a silent curse. His head fell forward; spittle dripped from his mouth. Alazrian let go and watched him topple to the floor.
Two lifeless eyes stared up at him.
Alazrian went to his knees beside Leth, weeping without knowing why. ‘You killed my mother. It wasn’t cancer. It was you.’
The soldiers gradually came forward. They looked at Alazrian in horror.