by Jackie Dana
“Here is your Sarnoc,” Bedoric offered casually.
Arric sat motionless, staring in disbelief as Sofinar, his mentor and friend—a man that until a day ago he believed had died—was tossed like rubbish on the grass a few feet away from him.
Meanwhile, Rynar pretended to rub a spot on his forehead, the gesture perhaps intended to hide his own discomfort at the abuse the Sarnoc had received.
Unable to hide his own astonishment at Sofinar’s treatment, Vaj stared without speaking, the look in his eyes akin to what might expect to see from someone stabbed through the chest and pinned against a wall with a dagger. From what Kate understood, for centuries people had treated the Sarnoc with deference and respect, and as far as she understood it, not even the Vosira ever dared a hand on any of their number. Yet, unbelievably, Bedoric had broken an ancient agreement.
Unlike her dumbstruck companions, Kate could not remain silent. Sofinar—or as she knew him, Torv—was a kindly older man who deserved none of this. “Why did you do this to him? How could you?”
Bedoric held out his hands as if helpless. “He resisted arrest. My men were under orders to take him into custody, no matter what it took. When he fought, they had to fight back. That is all.”
Vaj’s face contorted into anger. “This is an outrage,” he exclaimed, his eyes moving directly to the silver torc around Bedoric’s neck. “You made an oath to work with Sarnoc, and to share the land with us. Such treatment of Sarnoc Sofinar proves that you are the oath-breaker in this tent, Vosira, not the Sarnoc. You have broken faith with us, and such a transgression shall never be forgiven.”
Bedoric’s hand instinctively moved to his collarbone, and he touched the glysar band, as if expecting something to happen. When nothing did, he smiled. “Sarnoc, you yourself acknowledged Sofinar’s fhaoli status years ago. By doing so you granted me the absolute right over this man’s life or death.”
“Nay, Vosira. We had agreed. His life was to be spared, and he was to leave Loraden and go into exile.”
“Then what would you say to the fact that he was captured not only in Loraden, but in the keep itself, where he had been living under my nose for years? Again, it appears he was the one to break a promise, Sarnoc, not me.” He measured the response of each of his visitors in turn. “You all appear gravely concerned for the fhaoli here. Shall I ensure his pain comes to a swift end?” He nodded to Joven, who immediately unsheathed his blade.
Seeing the sword, Vaj did not move from his seat, but he glared at the Vosira as if daring him. On the other hand, Kate nearly tumbled from her cushion, and Arric had already gotten his feet underneath him, and crouched beside her.
The Senvosra captain never looked to the visitors. Instead, after two precise steps forward, and without ceremony, Joven quickly sank the blade into the man’s heart.
Sofinar made a deep sigh as he collapsed onto the grass, the life pouring from him.
Kate screamed.
Arric jumped up and tackled Joven, knocking him to the tent floor and pinning him down.
And Vaj jumped forward and fell to his knees beside his colleague, cradling his fellow Sarnoc’s head in his lap, using his hands to seek the source of the blood, as if he alone could slow the bleeding.
Even Rynar was unhinged by the action. “By the gods, Bedoric, what have you done?” Without waiting for a response, he was on his feet, and he climbed over the table, knocking over one of the goblets, and then pushed a soldier aside.
Bedoric did not offer a response to his Aldrish, nor had he lost his presence of mind. With a wave of each hand, he called soldiers, standing on either side of the doorway of the tent, towards him. “Arrest the girl and my brother. Escort the Sarnoc back to the torrapon. And then, prepare our assault.”
Immediately a half-dozen men surrounded Arric and Kate, holding them firmly.
No one moved after that. Instead, they all stared as Rynar bent over Sofinar’s bound, bleeding body. All were familiar with healers in general, but none but Kate had seen the Aldrish play this role. While Vaj worked to untie the ropes, Rynar placed his hands over Sofinar’s abdomen, and with perspiration beading on his forehead, he struggled to stop the flow of blood. When the Sarnoc had finished with the ropes, the unlikely team laid the Sarnoc flat on his back while Rynar continued to work.
Bedoric oversaw the efforts with his mouth standing open, and his arms crossed. As his Aldrish sunk into deep concentration, his eyes closed and his head slumped forward, it was too much for the Vosira.
“Aldrish—what are you doing?” he shouted. “Do not interfere with this!” It was as if barking commands was his only means to deal with such an unexpected turn of events. “Guards, take the Aldrish back to his tent.”
After the other soldier had grabbed Arric, Joven had regained his position next to the Vosira. Intending to remove the Aldrish, he placed his hands on Rynar’s shoulders, only to jerk them away and sway backwards. “He’s burning up!” he said with a start. “What is he doing? It’s like he’s on fire!”
Struggling against the grip of the soldier, Kate tried to break free so she could sit beside Rynar. She didn’t know what she could do, but she remembered Nyvas, and it seemed that her presence had helped somehow—or at least Rynar thought it had. As she strained against the guards who held her, leaning towards Rynar and Sofinar, she heard a woman’s voice in her head. Not a Sarnoc, but a woman.
«This is done.» The voice was firm. «Do not intervene. Everyone dies. Sofinar chose this time and place for a reason. Do not despair, but help him see.»
What? Help whom? She didn’t know what was going on, or who was speaking to her. She quickly framed a series of questions in her head, but the voice did not answer.
Meanwhile, she noticed that Rynar began to sway from the effort of healing. She understood that a healer took on a measure of the pain and weakness of the injured person, and suddenly it dawned on her that in doing so, it was possible to cross a line from which it would be impossible to return. This was why Lysander had not tried to heal Nyvas; once someone died, if a healer tried to revive that person, his own life energy might get sucked into the corpse without any means to return.
What was happening in front of her now was a struggle between a dying man, desperate to pass into Yoren’s world, and a stubborn healer who was caught up in the idea of saving a murdered Sarnoc.
Despite the tight grip of two soldiers, their leather gloves bruising her skin as they held her, she pulled forward, but with new intent. “Rynar, leave him.”
Arric swung his head in her direction. Like her, he could not move, thanks to the consideration of his brother’s troops. “Kate? What are you doing?”
She tried to raise her arms against the solders’ grip, and struggled to get free of them. “Let me go,” she snarled, in a low voice that offered no room for debate. “I’m not going anywhere.” Surprised by her tone, the soldier on her left relaxed his hold, and as soon as she sensed that, she pulled forward, breaking free of the second man. Then she knelt down beside the Aldrish. “It’s okay, he wanted this to happen,” she whispered. “Let him go.”
Rynar was too deeply engrossed in the act of healing to respond to her, but Vaj looked up, his steel gray eyes searching as he caught her glance. “Why would you say this, Bhara?”
“Never mind. Sarnoc, help me bring him out.”
“Who, the Aldrish?” Vaj looked at the dying Sarnoc and Rynar, and caught her meaning. He seemed disinclined to assist her. “Nay, Kate, he knows what he’s doing.”
“You would allow him to die, as well?” When the sword had sliced into Sofinar, she was angry. Now, however, she was inflamed with utter outrage at his suggestion. “Do it, Sarnoc.”
Vaj looked at her, his eyes narrowed. He was unaccustomed to anyone challenging his authority. “Bhara, you dare to presume this?”
“Yes, I dare it. Bring him out.”
“Very well.” Vaj brought his hands to Rynar’s chin. As he lifted the man’s head, she noticed that the A
ldrish’s face was flushed red, as if he had attempted to soak up Sofinar’s blood into his own body. Then he slumped over to the side.
Vaj nodded. “Sofinar’s heart has stopped. I told the Aldrish it was over.”
Rynar quickly regained consciousness, but for a moment his movements were sluggish. His face was slick with sweat, although the flush had subsided. “Kate, you should not have done that,” he said weakly.
It wasn’t exactly what she expected him to say, and she made a nervous smile before she stood up again. “I didn’t do anything,” she suggested to the small audience gathered around the dead Sarnoc, though her words were lost in the larger events around them.
As Sofinar lay on the blood-soaked grass under their feet, Vaj stood up as well, his tunic and trousers stained red. “Vosira,” he began, his tone indicating that his emotions would remain tightly leashed, “such an act as this is clearly in violation of the oath you took.” He pointed at Bedoric’s collarbone. “That torc symbolizes a bond of trust that you have flagrantly discarded.”
“Aye, Sarnoc,” Bedoric replied, with a grin, “but it is mine all the same. I am Vosira, and you cannot change that.”
“Perhaps not, but I can show Sarducia what kind of Vosira you are.” His arm shot out to the side. “Release your brother. He has things he wishes to say to you.”
“The fhaoli has no rights here, Sarnoc. I shall not release him.” He waved his arms at the Senvosra in the tent. “Take the Sarnoc back to the stones. I am finished listening to him.” Despite his command, however, the Senvosra avoided contact with Sarnoc Vaj. Bedoric gasped. “Fools!” he cried. “You retreat from one of them?”
“Your men are wise,” Vaj said. “They understand who wields the power here. It is the Sarnoc, not you.”
“I am Vosira,” Bedoric reminded him, his voice raised in anger. Staring at Sofinar’s body, he said with confidence, “I think it’s clear here that Sarnoc hold no authority within in this tent.” He stood up and pulled his own sword from his belt, and gesturing with it, pointed it in Sarnoc Vaj’s direction. “The Sarnoc are traitors to the kingdom. By consorting with these fhaoli and providing them shelter, you become fhaoli as well. If you do not leave immediately, I shall have you arrested.”
Still, Vaj’s voice was firm. “Nay, Vosira. Order your men to stand down.”
Kate blinked. Had they come to a stalemate?
Surprised by the Sarnoc’s defiance even as a blade hovered before him, Bedoric’s eyes widened. In response, he pressed the tip against the Sarnoc’s chest. He looked over each shoulder in search of his officers. “Men, I order you to arrest him.” He glared at the Sarnoc. “You and your kind have meddled in the affairs of Sarducia for too long.”
She held her breath. Arric had promised the Sarnoc would protect them, but so far the promise had been shown to be an empty one. If Vaj could not save Sofinar, and if the Vosira had so little compunction about killing him in front of the Sarnoc leader himself, then she feared they were all doomed. This time, with all the soldiers around, there would be no easy escape back to Altopon.
During the exchange, no one noticed that Rynar had gotten to his feet and stumbled to the rear of the tent. He now returned, moving slowly, his blank expression exhibiting the physical and psychological drain of an intense healing attempt, and his clothing stained with Sofinar’s blood. “Vosira,” he said, his voice mellow like sweet pudding, “do not allow your anger to cloud your judgment.” Even in his state, he had the presence of mind to lift the Vosira’s goblet and fill it with wine.
Bedoric turned to him as if to ask a question, but Rynar just handed him the goblet and shrugged. Using this distraction to his advantage, Vaj stepped beside the Vosira and boldly took the hilt of the Vosira’s weapon from under his sweaty fingers. Oddly, Bedoric didn’t resist. Had he lost his nerve, she wondered? Or was he just confused?
“Before you take us into custody, Vosira,” the Sarnoc said, “I would like to remind you that Arric has a few words he would like to say to you.” Vaj held the sword, point to the ground, and stepped back three paces.
Bedoric’s rage was still etched on his face, but the edges had softened. She wondered if he was affected most by the realization he had killed a Sarnoc, that the Sarnoc leader was threatening him, or that his Aldrish had tried to save Sofinar through healing.
Or perhaps it was that his brother was now standing in front of him with his right hand pressed against his chest, a bright glysar ring sparkling on his middle finger.
Hatred had fueled his courage to face down the Sarnoc leader, but now, a goblet of wine in his left hand, and suddenly grasping at air with his right, belatedly realizing that his hand no longer held his sword, the Vosira glared at his brother. “What could you possibly have to say to me?”
Arric glanced down at the hands gripping his arms, and wrenched himself free. Then he stood alone in the middle of the tent, in front of his brother. Both Kate and Vaj stepped to the side, and even Rynar backed up a few paces. The presence of others wasn’t likely a matter of concern to the two brothers, who now stood face to face. Bedoric’s eyes would not remain in one place, but shifted between his brother’s face, the ground, and to Rynar, while Arric’s were locked in an inflexible stare.
Arric raised his hand, palm down and outspread, as if offering it to Bedoric to embrace, or kiss. It was his right hand, with the glysar ring. “Shall you reconsider the names you call me, brother?”
“Where did you get that ring?”
Arric dropped his hand again, and this time, hanging at his side, it had clenched into a fist. “Our father gave it to me, Bedoric, as you have known all along.”
Chapter 58
Despite the chill in the evening air, Vosira Bedoric was sweating now, but said nothing.
Arric must have taken Bedoric’s silence as an admission of guilt. He turned, and in a clear voice, called out, “members of the Senvosra! It is for everyone here to bear witness to what I am about to say!” Several soldiers heard him shout, and out of curiosity began to approach, ducking under the canvas flaps of the canopy. She guessed there were probably fifty soldiers camped outside Altopon tonight, and already a third had stopped what they were doing to witness the confrontation between the two royal brothers.
As men crowded around, Arric turned back to the Vosira, and with his head bowed, spoke very softly. “I once loved you, Bedoric, even idolized you,” he whispered, so low even she could barely hear him. “What I must do pains me more than you will ever know.”
At these words Bedoric began to sweat in earnest, but he did not respond. Without the strength of his Aldrish, who had retreated to the corner of the tent, he had abandoned his confident swagger. He licked his lips and looked around the tent, but it was futile—no one would join him at his side, to offer reinforcement. He had to face his brother alone.
Arric continued to gaze into his brother’s eyes under the shaggy brows. His fists were clenched at his sides, as if it took tremendous courage for him to stand there. But when the next words came from his mouth there was no hesitation or wavering in his voice. “I name you, Vosira Bedoric é Sarducia, as party to the murders of our father, Vosira Parmon, and of Sarnoc Sofinar, a man that you knew to be innocent of any crime, and whose blood even now stains the ground on which you walk. Because you have aided in the death of both Vosira and Sarnoc, I name you traitor to the Sarducian people and to the Oath Vosidari.”
All the soldiers in the camp heard these words. Many drew their weapons and stood ready to defend their monarch. Others, uncertain, remained still.
Bedoric’s lips moved, but no sound came. It was as if he was incapable of denying the charges laid against him.
Then Vaj stepped beside Arric. “Heed these words, men of Sarducia,” he said, his voice loud enough to be heard in every tent. “You have all been misled by the Vosira.” He paused to allow the soldiers to react to his statement. There were several shouts and complaints, but no one approached Arric or the Sarnoc to challenge them.
After the initial outburst of surprise and denial, Vaj continued. “The man before you, Vosira Bedoric, allowed Sarnoc Sofinar and an innocent boy, the son of Bhagal Elric, to unjustly bear the blame for a crime that he himself committed.” He took a step towards the closest soldiers. “Upon learning that his brother had been named Charvos, Bedoric killed Vosira Parmon, their father, and then manipulated the Council Vosidari to proclaim him as the next Vosira before the truth could be known. He then dared to take an oath to the gods promising to protect the land promote justice among its people. Such was a false oath. Let it be known throughout the isle—as Sarnoc leader I renounce our pledge of peace with all of Sarducia as long as you support this man as your Vosira.”
The soldiers stared at him, dumbfounded. Several moved closer to the canvas pavilion, outrage plain upon their faces.
For his part, Bedoric still did not deny any of the charges against him. Instead, he stood in place, perspiring heavily, his head hung low and his shoulders hunched.
Captain Joven stepped forth. “Vosira, are the Sarnoc’s words true?” he asked, challenging Bedoric in a manner none would have imagined doing moments before.
Bedoric licked his lips and backed up a few steps, towards the opening behind him. Kate realized there was a second tent behind him that likely served as his personal chambers, while this tent’s purpose was more akin to his council or audience chamber.
A commotion from the edges of the camp called their attention away from the Vosira. A soldier on horseback, someone who would not have heard the recent exchange, was galloping up the hill, racing directly towards them under the yellow canopy. “My lord Vosira,” he pronounced, his words slurred. Then he fell from the horse, an arrow shaft protruding from between his shoulders.
“Well, that was unexpected,” she said under her breath. Had the Senvosra turned on themselves? It seemed unlikely.