They were about three-quarters the way across when a booming voice near the platform rang out. “I demand the Right of Oktar.”
Ayrion’s muscles tightened. “I was afraid of this.”
“How dare you challenge me like this, Kerson!” Kira shouted, not caring one whit about Ayrion’s blade at her throat.
A head moved through the crowd. It was easily seen since it stood above the rest. The big man pushed his way through, but he didn’t have to push hard. The others were quick to get out of his way. He wore an outfit of leather strapping. His arms were sleeveless and for good reason. It would have cost a fortune to tailor a tunic to the size of them. Ayrion had to get control of the situation before the man’s bravado seeped its way into the surrounding gathering, giving them all cause to question the validity of their chief’s position.
“Since she is under my . . . well, my care,” Ayrion cut in. “I will accept that challenge for her by proxy.”
The man stopped about ten paces away. “Huh?” The fierce mammoth cocked his head to the side, obviously confused. He pushed a wad of scruffy hair out of his eyes, revealing a number of nasty scars across the top of his forehead and face. He had clearly seen one too many ends of a knife.
Ayrion rolled his eyes. “Oh for pity’s sake, in other words, I will be her substitute. No wonder you all are living underground. With people like this—” He pointing directly at Kerson. “—wanting to be your leader, I’d be embarrassed to show my face too.”
Kira kicked him in the shin. “What are you doing, you idiot?” she muttered under her breath so only he could hear. “You’re going to get us all killed. Shut your mouth.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Obviously not. Kerson’s never lost a fight. I don’t care if you are the Guardian Protector. He will eat you alive and then look to me and your hussy here for dessert.” She stared into his eyes, studying his face, and then cocked her head to the side with a quizzical look. “Or is Death’s Shadow about to make an appearance?”
“I am not a hussy!” Amarysia snorted.
Ayrion didn’t respond to either woman as he watched Kerson for his agreement. In the Warrens, a show of force was the only respect they acknowledged. Much like his challenge to Captain Barthol while climbing the High Guard ranks years ago, Ayrion needed this to be a spectacle. But unlike that encounter, which ultimately ended in the forging of a close friend and confidant, Ayrion knew this fight would only be concluded with one or both lying in a pool of blood.
“Well, do we have an accord?” Ayrion smirked. “That means deal, by the way.”
Kerson looked Ayrion over and smiled. “If you want to die so badly,” he said with a gruff, booming voice, “then I’ll be more than happy to oblige. That means . . . yes.”
“Very good.” Aryion handed Kira over to Amarysia as everyone backed away, leaving them an open area in the center of the chamber. Ayrion made a show of stretching his muscles by bending over and touching the tops of his boots before swinging his arms around in a rather clumsy fashion as if to warm up.
Many of those standing around chuckled, if not openly laughed. They no doubt expected him to suffer a quick and brutal death. Ayrion, as was his ritual before a fight, pulled a long strip of crimson cloth from the back pocket of his black leather trousers and proceeded to tie back his hair.
He left the two women on the edge of the circle and walked to the center of the ring where Kerson eagerly waited.
An elderly man with a large ceremonial staff stepped from the crowd and joined them in the middle. “Let it be observed that we have a challenge for the right of chief. Any man who interferes will forfeit their life in turn. This challenge, once invoked, cannot be undone. Are you both in agreement?”
Kerson was the first to answer. “I will squash him like a bug.”
Ayrion nodded to the old man.
“Very well. Under the Articles of the Clans and the agreement of both parties, I declare this challenge initiated.” The old man was quite spry for his age as he rushed back into the awaiting crowd and out of the way of any loose weapons.
Kerson unhooked a battle-axe from his side. Ayrion had rarely seen a weapon of such girth, and being a weapon’s master, that was saying something. The handle looked as broad as some small trees. If he was to gain this crowd’s respect, he had clearly picked the right man to challenge.
“After I cut you in half, I’m going to take your women and show them what a real man is like.”
“You just try it, Kerson!” Kira hissed from the side, “and I’ll cut off your testicles and feed them to you!”
The big man bellowed with laughter and turned his attention back to his opponent. “Let’s get this over with quick so I can enjoy the spoils.”
Ayrion left both his blades in their sheaths. “Are you going to talk me to death or are we going to lock steel?” he asked, baiting Kerson into acting—and act he did. Kerson roared and swung his huge axe around in hopes of lopping off Ayrion’s head, but instead of flesh ripping, bones snapping, and blood soaking the crowd, his blade hit nothing but air as Ayrion ducked and spun underneath the big man, coming out at his side.
Without losing momentum, Kerson swung his axe over his head and down as if wanting to make good on his promise of cutting Ayrion clean in half. Ayrion side-stepped the swing and let the axe plummet to his right.
“Is that all you’ve got? I thought you were going to squash me like a bug.” Ayrion moved back to the center of the ring and waited. He still hadn’t reached for his weapons, both blades resting snugly on his back.
“Well, if you’d face me like a man and not some little grasshopper, hop, hop, hopping around, I would!”
“Alright. I promise this time, I won’t move from this spot.”
“Ayrion, what are you doing?” Amarysia hollered from the side.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head, hussy,” Kira said. “Just watch.”
Kerson circled, not quite as willing to go charging in this time, wondering if this was some sort of trick. The crowd cheered the big man on, hungering for the kill. Ayrion felt sorry for Kira. He wondered how she had gotten herself tangled up in this mess. He only hoped he was going to be able to keep her alive long enough for her to go back to it if she so desired.
He needed the big man enraged. “The more emotion one brings to a fight, the less clearly they are able to think,” his father had often said. Ayrion closed his eyes and cleared his mind, as he’d done so many times before.
He could hear Amarysia shouting at him from off to the side. “Ayrion, open your eyes! Open your eyes!”
“Hush it, hussy!” Kira shot back. “Just wait. Death’s Shadow is finally making his return.”
Ayrion left his swords in their sheaths and let his magic take over. Thankfully, with Po still locked in Kira’s chambers, he was able to use it once again. He could feel Kerson’s movements; hear the big man’s anxious breath. The vision engulfed him, and he saw what he needed to do.
Opening his eyes, he watched as Kerson charged across the ring. Stopping him would have been like stopping a boulder plummeting down the side of a mountain. Bracing himself, he let the huge man get within a couple paces and readied himself for the swing. Sure enough, the axe blade just cleared Ayrion’s head with a loud swoosh as he dropped into a ball and waited for the inevitable impact of Kerson’s legs slamming into him.
With all the force he could muster, Ayrion pushed upwards with his legs and flipped Kerson clean over his body. The huge man flew into the crowd behind him, cursing the whole way through the air. It happened so fast, most of the onlookers were unable to dive out of the way before Kerson’s thick frame slammed into them, snapping them apart like dried cornstalks.
Ayrion could see that if he wanted to survive this, he was going to have to do something overtly impressive, something that would silence any others who dared make challenge. With this in mind, he untied the strip of cloth holding back his raven hair, and tied it over his eyes
instead. He knew how ridiculous he must have looked, but then again that was the point.
Hushed whispers flooded the room as the onlookers gawked at the sight of Ayrion standing there with a blindfold over his eyes.
“What is he doing?” he heard Amarysia ask.
“He’s about to make a fool of Kerson,” Kira answered. Ayrion could almost hear Kira’s smile from her tone.
Concentrating to drown out the noise, Ayrion reached over his head and pulled free one of his black, dragon-hilt blades. His fingers tightened over the grip. The sword was now an extension of his arm. It was a part of him.
Ayrion readied himself. Kerson was good and mad now. The big clansman had been belittled in front of his peers. It wouldn’t take long for retribution to be demanded. He could hear Kerson’s harsh language as he threw people off of him and pushed his way back to his feet. He could hear the sound of the enormous axe blade scraping the stone tiles as Kerson retrieved it from where it had fallen.
Clearly not waiting a moment longer to regain his lost pride, Kerson attacked. He swung the battle-axe at Ayrion’s midriff. Ayrion danced to the left, letting it make a clear pass before spinning to the side and out of the way of Kerson’s countering backswing. Again he missed. “Stand still, you cockroach!”
Ayrion planted his feet, waiting for the right maneuver. Kerson spun around, both hands wrapped around the axe’s handle, all of his strength behind the swing. Before the big man was halfway through his lunge, Ayrion lashed out with his blade. One swift cut, like the strike of an adder, and the black steel sliced straight through the wooden handle without the slightest effort. The steel head flew over the crowd and impaled one of the stone beams on the far side of the room.
Before Kerson had a chance to realize he had just lost his weapon, Ayrion side-kicked him in the knee, snapping the bone and dropping the big man to the ground. Ayrion lifted his blade to strike when Kira’s voice cried out from behind him.
“Stop! I demand the Right of Life.”
Ayrion removed his blindfold and stepped back from where Kerson lay writhing on the ground, trying to cradle his ruined knee. The room was as quiet as a catacomb as Kira, with her arms still bound behind her, walked across the ring to stand over Kerson.
“Do you accept my offer of life?”
Ayrion had seen this before. If an enemy’s life was spared in fair combat, they were given the choice of either pledging the remainder of it to the victor or taking a swift death. It was considered the most shameful of actions to betray such a pledge. Those that did were not given a swift death, but instead, a very long and very painful one that was used as an example to discourage others from following in the same steps.
Kerson slowly scanned the surrounding faces of the clansmen and clanswomen as they all waited to see what he would do. He took a moment to glare up at Ayrion and the blade hovering just above his neck before turning back to Kira and offering a single nod.
“I accept.”
“Good,” Kira said before turning around and marching back across the ring to where Amarysia was waiting. “I believe it’s time we were going.”
The crowd parted in silence as Kira, with her hands still bound, led Ayrion and Amarysia across the room and out the heavy iron door. Everyone was quick to give Ayrion a wide berth. No one wanted to get to close to his blade. Whispers filled the chamber behind them as they passed through the small anteroom outside.
Without another word, the three ascended the stairs and under Kira’s direction, moved through the streets like ghosts floating on an evening wind. It didn’t take as long getting out of the Warrens as it did going in. Ayrion figured Kira must have taken them down a more direct path.
“Now what?” Kira asked as they stood just outside the central arches of the stone bridge connecting the palace to the mainland.
“Now, I untie you and let you go.”
The hardness in her eyes softened. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“You aren’t going to arrest me or something?”
“Not at the moment, provided you return my horse—”
“Our horses, you mean,” Amarysia was quick to add.”
“Yes, our horses.” Ayrion’s face hardened as he looked Kira in the eyes. “And if I find that Shade has been harmed in any way, the Dark Wizard himself couldn’t stop me from raining destruction down on you.”
Kira batted her lashes. “Oh, how I’ve longed to hear you talk about me in such a way.”
Ayrion rolled his eyes and sighed. “Kira, believe it or not, it was actually nice to see you. And as I promised, I’ll do whatever I can to help find Reevie and those responsible for taking your people.”
Kira rubbed her wrists after Ayrion unlocked the manacles. She took a moment to stare into his eyes. “I believe you,” she said. From her finger, she removed a large gold ring and held it out to him.
“What’s this?” he asked as he turned it over for a quick evaluation. It was set in diamonds. At its center, engraved in red, was a symbol that Ayrion recognized as the crest of the clans.
“If you ever have need of me, the ring will grant you safe passage through the Warrens. No one would dare harm anyone wearing that ring. It symbolizes the clan’s protection.”
“What happened with your threat of coming after me?”
Kira favored him with a measured gaze. “You just took my greatest competitor and turned him into my own personal slave. I’d say we’re even.” She started to say something more, but opted for a not-so-subtle kiss instead. “I’m glad to see you using magic again, Ayri.”
Ayrion’s eyes widened as he choked.
Amarysia’s head rose after having averted her eyes to keep from seeing Ayrion’s lips being caressed by another. “Magic? What magic?” She looked at Ayrion then at Kira then back to Ayrion. “You have magic?”
Kira raised her hand to her mouth. “Oh my, you didn’t know? How clumsy of me. Guess he doesn’t trust you, hussy, as much as he does me.”
Ayrion’s temper flared. Hailstones, Kira! She just had to find one last way to stick the knife in. Kira never could leave without getting in the last word.
“Keep him out of trouble, will ya?” Kira said with a grin.
Before Amarysia could respond, the Clan Chieftain was dashing off down the street. Ayrion felt a twinge of regret as he watched the lithe woman in her dark, red leather coat bound toward the nearest alleyway and vanish into the night.
Ayrion turned back around and stumbled for the right words. “I’m sorry about that. It’s . . . It’s not that I don’t trust you. I . . . I just prefer to keep certain things about myself private.”
“You don’t need to explain yourself to me, Ayrion. After tonight, I think we both have come to realize there are things about our lives that we’ve kept hidden.” She placed a hand on his arm. “For my part, I’m glad you found out about my . . . uh, excursions into Cheapside. It means a lot that you got to meet my brother.”
Ayrion took her hand in his, letting their fingers slide together. “It’s nice to be able to share my secret with someone I care about. If your brother or his tribe ever has need of help, just let me know.”
Amarysia ended their evening with a soft, emotional kiss. Ayrion felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders as he escorted her back to the palace. Their walk was quiet as he contemplated Reevie’s disappearance.
Chapter 43 | Valtor
ON THE THIRD FLOOR, Valtor and Dakaran sat waiting as a knock resounded on the outer door of the old library—a room undisturbed at this time of the evening. Valtor rose from his comfortable position in front of one of the many marble hearths surrounding the enormous three-story chamber and ushered in the Cylmaran Ambassador. Late as usual, I see, Valtor mused as he smiled at the ambassador and bowed. No doubt wanting to assert his dominance.
“So what’s with all the secrecy?” Belkor asked as he pushed his way past Valtor and then took a moment to gawk at the walls of books connected by gold circ
ular staircases and overhead walkways that crisscrossed from one aisle to the next. The rich rosewood shelving provided quite the contrast to the deep blue and gold coloring of the room. “Your manservant had me traipsing through every back door and side stairwell in this place.”
“We apologize for the theatrics, Ambassador,” Dakaran said as he gestured to an empty settee across from his. The steady blaze was just what they needed to break the evening chill, “but we wanted to make sure you were not spotted by one of our illustrious High Guard. They have a tendency toward loose lips, especially when around my father.”
The ambassador took his seat. His eyes were intent as he waited for someone to speak. “Well, I take it I’m not here to discuss the latest fashion in women’s undergarments . . . so let’s get on with it.”
“Fine,” Dakaran said. “I see you’re a man who doesn’t like to mince words. I can respect that. So I’ll get right to the point. Overlord Saryn needs an ally on the throne of Elondria. Something he obviously won’t find in my father.”
“Oh?” Belkor’s voice held a tinge of amused curiosity. “But I take it he will in you, Prince Dakaran?”
“Yes.”
The ambassador’s eyes swung from one face to the other. “And what’s to keep me from leaving here and going straight to the king with this news?”
Well, that would be me sucking the air from your lungs before your hand reaches the door. Valtor leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingertips together in rhythm. “Greed, for starters.”
Belkor cocked his head and raised a brow. “Go on.”
“Cylmar is a poor kingdom,” Dakaran said. “Its people are starving and you have few natural resources to speak of. I could change that.”
“And how do you propose to make that happen?”
“I suggest a trade of favors.” Dakaran leaned forward. “If Saryn will help me succeed my father’s throne, I will turn over the mining rights to the Black Hills.”
Belkor grunted. “As you have previously stated, Cylmar is a poor kingdom. How do you propose we accomplish such a feat?” He chuckled. “Lead an all-out assault on Elondria?”
The White Tower (The Aldoran Chronicles: Book 1) Page 35