by Jackie Dana
“What’s happening?” Bedoric murmured, his eyes shifting from Arric to the hillside. He still clutched the goblet of wine, he realized at that moment, and took a deep swallow.
By now everyone was distracted.
She craned her neck to see what was happening. Her answer came almost immediately, as a line of men appeared on the low ridge just beyond the camp, near where she and Arric had been when they spied the encampment yesterday. It was not difficult for her to recognize the new arrivals. “It’s Fantion!” She was astounded. What were his men doing here? Even though she was glad to see them, she wondered what would have made them take such a risk.
Meanwhile, Joven would not be put off. “My lord Vosira, please answer me. Are the Dosedra’s and Sarnoc’s words true?”
Bedoric’s eyes were wide. He never looked at his captain, or acknowledged his presence. Finally he found words again. “Don’t you dare say any more!” he ordered his brother. “You don’t know what you’re saying. I am Vosira. It is done.” He pointed to Arric’s ring with a shaking hand. “That is not yours to wear. It is mine. I am Vosira. You see, I wear the torc, not you. The ring means nothing. I am Vosira.”
It was as if he thought the repetition would make everyone forget what he was being accused of now. Faced with the doubt of everyone in the tent, she realized that even the hard, physical evidence of his rank, the glysar torc, seemed ephemeral, and she saw the truth of the situation register in Bedoric’s eyes. Did Arric read it the same way? She tried to decipher the look on his face. There was solid, unflinching determination, but little else. Was he afraid? She wondered. Was he sorry? Or had the final accounting of his brother’s guilt erased lesser emotions?
Bedoric saw neither sorrow nor fear in his brother’s lethal stance. Arric carried no weapon, but he might have killed him right then if he could, and his brother knew it. Finding his options evaporating in the sinking cold, Bedoric turned away and fled into the folds of the tent behind him.
The Vosira’s captain, bewildered at the sudden turn of events, looked to the Sarnoc leader, who closed his eyes. Then he glanced to Arric.
In response, Arric held up his hand to silence any questions, and then said in a loud and powerful voice, “justice must be brought to Sarducia tonight. The people must never believe that the Vosira is above his own laws. For the crimes against our father, and our land, I declare Bedoric’s life to be forfeit to me.”
Vaj handed Bedoric’s sword to Arric, who accepted it with a grimace, as if just touching it might bring his own death. For a moment, a long span of time in which she dared not breathe, he held the bejeweled weapon in silence, as if weighing it with his hand. The hilt was elaborate and luxuriously decorated, but the blade was a fine piece of steel.
Then, with determination etched on his face, Arric disappeared into the tent after his brother.
No one moved to stop him.
“Brother, are you here?” she heard him call out, his voice muffled by a layer of canvas.
There was no response.
“By the gods, brother, show yourself!” There was the sound of him kicking aside pillows and the crash of pottery and silver utensils as he knocked over a tray. “Bedoric?”
Silence.
“Damn you, Bedoric!” He turned and stormed out of the tent. “I must have light! It is pitch black in there!”
Vaj nodded and stepped forth. “I can assist you.”
“I need a torch, Sarnoc.”
In response, Vaj cast a ball of blue light in the direction of the tent.
“What are you... oh, never mind,” Arric said, exasperated. “Follow me.”
He returned to the tent, this time with the Sarnoc magelight illuminating his way. “Bedoric—where are you?”
She saw the Vosira run into the tent. Everyone had seen him. There was likely just the one entrance. Why was Arric having such a difficult time locating him?
Having nothing else to do, she slowly turned to Rynar, to see his expression. How had he weathered the accusations? She suspected he knew how Vosira Parmon had died, and wondered how Arric would deal with him.
The Aldrish was no longer standing near the corner of the tent, however. At some point during the confrontation, he had disappeared entirely.
“Oh sweet Kerthal,” Arric cried out, and Kate’s attention returned to the voices inside the tent, now filled with a blue light. “What in the gods’ names happened?”
“It was this,” Vaj announced. “Poison.”
“What? How is that possible? He could not have...”
“I can definitely detect the herbs used here—they are quite potent. For someone who consumed them, death would be almost instantaneous.”
“Let me see it.” There was a pause, and then the sound of pottery smashing against something hard, such as a chest. Then the tent flap opened, and the two men walked out.
Arric’s face was flushed. “Blast it, Sarnoc. Bedoric came here with confidence—he would not have doubted his success. Yet he drank poison? This is an admission of defeat! It makes no sense...”
Rynar.
The thought must have occurred to him at the same time it did to Kate. “Ahh!” Arric cried out, his fist pounding the air. “He shall die for this!” he announced, enraged. He stormed out of the tent looking for the Aldrish.
She ran behind him.
Chapter 59
When she found him again inside the Aldrish’s tent, Arric already held the sword at Rynar’s back. “Filthy coward. You shall answer to me now.”
Arric was not one to hide his emotions, and she had seen him angry more than once, but nothing she had witnessed before compared to the naked hostility that possessed him at this moment. He was prepared to lunge and drive the blade right through the Aldrish. Every hair on his head and arms bristled with the intensity of this burst of hatred coming from him; it oozed from his pores. Even when he confronted Bedoric he hadn’t been like this. His fury knew no match, his impatience for revenge terrifying.
With the blade between his shoulder blades, she saw the Aldrish stiffen, but then without warning he somersaulted forward, escaping the danger. In a remarkable move, he had located his own weapon and regained his footing by the time Arric had reached him again. Unlike Arric, Rynar was calm, and stared at his opponent with cool calculation. He showed none of the illness from a few moments before, and remarkably, appeared fully recovered from the failed healing attempt.
She didn’t want to watch the two men fight. Not these two. It was a terrible match. Arric was taller, and more muscular, and had served as a soldier. Rynar was smaller, and spent most of his time indoors, but she had watched him practice. He was fast, and agile, and in all the times she had seen him engage an opponent, he had never lost.
A vicious dog pitted against a rattlesnake.
“Don’t do this, Arric.” She saw his shoulder twitch as she addressed him, but he did not lower his sword or turn around towards her. “Let the Sarnoc deal with him.” There would be no winners here, not in this tent. “Haven’t enough men died tonight?”
“Nay.” It was addressed more towards Rynar than herself. “Thanks to him, my brother is dead. Now it’s his turn.”
“Kate is right, Dosedra. I am not your enemy. We need not fight.”
“You afraid, Aldrish?”
“Of you, Dosedra? Never.” He took a step to the side, easily avoiding Arric’s first maneuver. “My dear, leave us,” he suggested to Kate, his eyes never leaving his foe. He held his sword low, but was ready to strike at any moment. “It appears that he and I have a bit of unfinished business.”
“Aye, Kate, go find Sarnoc Vaj,” Arric said, and took a step away from the tent opening, his own gaze locked on his intended opponent.
She realized he would kill the Aldrish, or die trying. It seemed Arric had no self-control left. Tonight, Rynar represented everything he had learned to hate in this world. Did he really think eight years of frustration, guilt and anger could be assuaged in a single fight? “No, I wo
n’t leave you two to chop each other to bits.” It was her attempt to impose a tiny bit of reason into the impending conflict. She assessed the posture of each, and their expressions. Whether or not either would die, all the same it would be bloody, she was sure of it. “Arric, let’s just walk out of here. You’ve accomplished what you came for.”
He took another step away from the opening, and kicked away a pile of blankets. She could tell he was measuring up his opponent, searching for weaknesses. “Nay. This man must answer to me for all he has done, to you and to my brother. To Nyvas.” He stumbled into a tray and knocked it away with a swing of his arm. “And to Sofinar.”
“I’m impressed, Dosedra. I never thought you would find a way to blame me for all of those things.” He nodded once in appreciation, as he circled a little to the left. From the way his eyes danced over Arric’s figure, he also was considering his strategy. “You know, I had nothing to do with any of that.”
“Don’t try to erase your guilt in all of this. Even with what you tried to do in there,” he nodded towards the other tent, where even now Sofinar’s corpse lay on the grass, “his death is on your hands.” Arric shifted his weight between his legs, looking for an opening. “After everything you have done, you don’t deserve to walk on Sarducian soil.”
“On the contrary, Dosedra, it is you who should not be here. Who between us has committed the worse crimes, eh?” Boldly he added, “you cannot deny that there is much Mosumi blood on your hands.”
Arric’s elbow jerked, and she gasped, thinking he was about to impale Rynar right then and there. He withheld the blow, however. “That was your doing as well, Aldrish.”
Rynar chuckled. “Nay, not mine. If you weren’t driven by such blind hatred, Dosedra, you’d recognize that I have been trying to bring an end to Sarducia’s relationship with Hansar, not make it stronger. I never endorsed the killing of Mosumi, just as I didn’t want Sarducia to trade any more of its glysar.” He took a deep breath, his sword arm remaining steady. “If you wish to hate anyone, you might start with your brother and father. They were the ones to weaken Sarducia by giving up our precious glysar for some bits of cloth and wine. Do you have any idea how much metal ore has been shipped abroad?”
“What? You’re trying to tell me that this is all about glysar?” Arric asked, incredulous. “All these deaths have been over some damn metal?”
“Dosedra, do you not understand how important glysar is? Without it, Sarducia itself will collapse.”
“Aldrish, that’s nothing but a legend.” Even as he spoke, he circled around in the tent, seeking an opening, and Rynar matched his steps.
“Nay, it is true, and the Sarnoc will confirm it. Did Sofinar never teach you that it is the source of all that is unique to our land, from the power of the Sarnoc down to your own land-instinct? Already, with what we’ve lost, those skills are not what they once were.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Kate realized that Rynar’s explanation accounted for the manifests she had seen on his table. He was no glorified accountant; he had been calculating the loss of that silvery metal.
“Very well, Dosedra, believe what you will. I did what was necessary to save this land. If your brother had only listened to me, this all could have been avoided.”
“No matter what twisted rationale you might offer now for your actions, for your support of my brother’s crimes, had the opportunity presented itself, I would have killed you long before now.” Arric narrowed his eyes and issued a verbal challenge. “It ends here, tonight, Aldrish. I shall not spare you.”
“Nor I, Dosedra.” Rynar did not flinch. From where she stood, she could see into his eyes, the dark pupils like drops of black ink against his paper-white eyes. “I welcome the opportunity to fight you, finally.”
So they had expressed their intentions. It was to be a fight to the death.
She held her breath. It had come to this?
Who would strike first?
Her answer came as Rynar leapt over a large pillow and thrust his sword at the Dosedra. His momentum caused his blade to slam hard against Arric’s sword, but Arric was able to knock it away with a wide swing of his arms, his hands firm on the leather grip of his weapon. It was then that she realized he had retained his brother’s sword, rather than take one from a soldier. Fitting, she thought, that he would avenge his brother with the Vosira’s own sword. She watched as he took two broad steps towards Rynar, forcing the Aldrish back against the wall of the tent.
Again their blades crashed together, and again, and again.
Both fought skillfully. Arric was the more passionate, emotional attacker, while Rynar seemed almost detached, as if it was little more than an academic exercise, but that led to his greater precision. When he noticed that he had been backed up against the side of the tent, he swung low, at Arric’s knees, and although Arric was able to parry the blow, the two weapons came together with a shuddering clang. They both grimaced, struggling to hold off the other, pushing with their shoulders, and the weight of their chests, against the other. The swords screamed, squealed, the high pitch of steel scraping against steel.
In the press of the moment Rynar managed somehow to shove at Arric with his free hand with enough force to compel him to retreat slightly, breaking them apart.
Another jab by Arric, and Rynar knocked it away, swinging the sword with the strength and accuracy of a batter hitting a home run. She was surprised that Rynar’s slight build could hide such power. Apparently Arric was too, for he had a shocked expression, his eyebrows raised and his nose slightly scrunched up. He answered with a low feint and then a high swing of his sword, and Rynar, his foot caught in a blanket, did not respond fast enough. Arric’s sword caught him on the shoulder, and tore the fabric of his shirt, cutting the skin below.
“Stop it,” she screamed as she saw new blood spilled. “Both of you, stop it!” Without thinking about the repercussions, she advanced on the men locked in combat, as if to throw herself between them.
Rynar did not flinch as she approached, but Arric, seeing her out of the corner of his eye, turned his head for a split second, and in that second, Rynar jabbed his blade and connected with Arric’s thigh.
“Ahhh,” Arric gasped in pain. Then in a scathing tone, he snapped, “Kate, out. Now.” This time there was no room for negotiation or argument, and thus scolded for her transgression, she made her way, backwards, to the tent opening. As soon as her feet touched the ground outside the tent, she stopped, standing there to watch the continuation of the grueling grudge match between the men.
Although Arric had drawn first blood, the wound Rynar had inflicted on his leg was bleeding more than the injury he had caused the Aldrish. Rather than it slowing him down, however, Arric seemed reenergized by the pain. He leapt forward, swinging the sword dangerously. His resurgence of strength caused Rynar to back up again, but then he raised his own sword with a circular sweep and connected with Arric’s, the two metal blades again grinding together. After that, the men crossed back and forth in the tent, appearing to be little more than shadow puppets in the dim light of the candles in the corners. Arric’s taller silhouette raised his shadow sword high, and swung it down hard, but the shorter silhouette met the trajectory and, as the two heavy steel blades again collided, both men groaned.
So it went, grunts and growls, thuds and clangs. As the sound of the fight echoed in the camp, several Senvosra approached, and a few stood beside Kate at the doorway of the tent. None made an effort to enter, though if they had tried, they would have had to fight her first.
Again Rynar slipped past his defenses, and this time the tip of his blade connected with Arric’s cheek. They were close enough to her that she could see the line of dark blood seep down to his chin, and she shrank back from the doorway.
Was it actually possible that Rynar would win this conflict? He was in good health and had been able to keep his skills honed with daily practice. Yet he had engaged in a healing attempt a short time ago that
must have tired him. Then there was Arric, who was by far the superior swordsman, but who had been imprisoned for weeks, unable to practice or exercise, followed by their difficult journey to Altopon, and the lingering effects of adoli. Did the Aldrish have the advantage here? A few minutes later, she had new reason to worry. He should have been exhausted, but Rynar’s resilience was remarkable, and for him the fight appeared almost amusing, and he continued to parry Arric’s offense without significant physical cost. Arric, meanwhile, was rapidly tiring, perspiration soaking his hair and his shirt.
Eight years in Froida fighting in god knows what conditions, only to be defeated back home, in a battle against the Aldrish? The irony that Rynar was likely of Mosumi ancestry himself wasn’t lost on Kate. Neither was the rapidly deteriorating situation. As she watched, Arric suddenly had a clear line of attack when Rynar overcompensated on a lunge and lost his balance, and with that opening Arric should have been able to inflict a significant wound to his opponent. Whether it was exhaustion or unwillingness to attack, he allowed the moment to pass him by, instead taking the time to catch his breath and wipe the sweat from his face with the back of his hand.
The lapse was not lost on Rynar. When he recovered, he raised his sword again, holding it so the tip was pointed at Arric’s heaving chest, just a foot away.
She gasped. Never before in her life had she felt such dark, intense anger towards another person as she did towards Rynar, who looked like he was on the verge of killing Arric. At that moment, she would have run towards the combatants had a hand not clapped down on her shoulder.
“This is not your fight, Bhara,” Sarnoc Vaj commanded. “Stay here.”
Every muscle in her body was tensed. Her breathing was shallow and shaky. “But—” The compulsion to run inside was too great to ignore, but Vaj held her firmly.
“Stay here.”
Both men were unaware of their audience. “Do you yield?” Rynar demanded of him.
“Nay, Aldrish,” Arric responded defiantly. He shook his head and droplets of sweat flew from his hair, sparkling for a second as they caught the light of the candles before vanishing into the shadows of the carpet. “I have fought far better opponents than you, and for far longer than this.”