One Battle Lord’s Fate

by Linda Mooney

  Yulen D’Jacques stopped a few yards away from his half-brother. His weapon was in one hand, but with the tip down. Miraculously, the courtyard bell stopped ringing. The silence allowed Yulen to speak.

  “Rafe D’Jacques! Hear me, and all people within the sound of my voice! I am Yulen D’Jacques, rightful Battle Lord of this compound, Alta Novis! And I challenge you, brother, for possession of it, and custody of all who inhabit within its walls.” His voice was loud and deep. Rafe knew it carried as far as the shops and markets.

  Once his initial shock was over, he could smile at the man standing not far away. “I’m delighted to see you, dear brother. I was wondering how long it would take you to return and try to wrest this place from my grasp.”

  Yulen returned the smile. His weapon never wavered, but he took the stance of a man about to do battle. “You took something of mine. I’m here to take it back.”

  Something exploded nearby. It sounded like one of the main poles in the compound walls reacting to the fire. Rafe’s smile widened.

  “Tell you what, Yulen. After some consideration, why don’t I just give this place back to you? It’s a bit too big for my purposes. And, besides, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to rid it of the stench of Mutah.”

  Yulen laughed lightly. Lifting his sword, he grasped the hilt with both hands, flexing his fingers for a firm grip. “Fleeing like the rat I knew you were the moment I set eyes on you. A rat and a traitor.”

  There was an unexpected movement to the side. Janelle launched herself at Yulen, dagger raised over her head, when another sword slapped her hand with the flat of the blade. The woman shrieked in pain and anger as she fell to the ground. Two soldiers appeared out of the smoke to grab her by the arms and haul her to her feet.

  “Let me go! Get your fucking hands off me! I’m the Lady of this compound! You do as I say, or I’ll have your heads for this!”

  Despite her struggling and threats, the two men remained calm as they held her prisoner.

  “Release my mother,” Rafe ordered the men. “Release her now.”

  “No.” Yulen took a step forward.

  The simple answer made Rafe pause. “No?”

  “Not until I’ve paid you back for the excellent hospitality you’ve shown my people, my men, my friends, and my wife.”

  Rafe sneered. “Your friends and your wife are Mutah. They’re no different than those nightmarish creatures attacking this compound.” He paused as he realized something. “How did you get in when the exits are covered?”

  Unexpectedly, he saw several figures emerge from the haze. They were his soldiers, coming in to watch his back. Rafe tilted his head in Yulen’s direction. “Attack the Battle Lord!” he ordered loudly.

  His men remained where they stood. They neither responded or moved to follow his orders. Rafe almost gaped at them, when a man stepped up behind each soldier and placed a knife at their throats. It seemed Yulen had covered all his bases.

  “I see the rats did not desert the burning building. Instead, they were hiding as I thought all along.”

  “Not hiding, Rafe. Waiting to be released from the dungeon where you put them. The rest of my men are following my orders. At this moment, they’re surrounding the Bloods and attacking them from the rear.”

  “Too bad that leaves no one to watch the fire.”

  Yulen chuckled and shook his head. “Look around you, Rafe. Do you see the smoke dissipating? Have you noticed the fire is slowly diminishing?” At Rafe’s disbelieving expression, he pressed the point. “You refused to listen when I was explaining the difference between Mutah and Bloods. The creatures attacking are Bloods. They are as different from Normals and Mutah as the mutated animals. The Mutah are us, only better. Stronger. They have enhanced speed and eyesight and hearing. They can throw farther and aim with better accuracy. If they are injured, they heal faster than Normals, plus their pain tolerance is higher. The Mutah are us, but better.” He tilted his head in the direction of the wall. “They are the ones fighting the fire. They’re defending the homes you drove them away from.”

  “No Mutah is better than me.”

  “I disagree. Every Mutah is better than you. They’re better than both of us, both physically and mentally.” Yulen hefted his sword. “You lose, Rafe. Because of what you have done to my compound, to my people, to my friends, and especially to my wife, you will not live to return to Alta Seran. You made your choices. Now you will pay for them.”

  “I don’t mind a fair fight, dear brother. But I never took you to be the sort who stacked the odds in his favor.”

  Yulen frowned. “Are you implying that I’ve made this a one-sided fight?”

  Rafe pounded his chest once. “I’m the vulnerable one. I have no armor to protect me. Hence, that makes you the greater coward. Yes, I’m calling this duel unfair.”

  Instead of responding, Yulen made a gesture to someone standing behind him. Instantly, two soldiers stepped forward and quickly unbuckled the straps keeping the armor together. Once the breastplate, back, and shoulder caps were carried away, Yulen held out his arms.

  “I still have my wristlets and shin guards. Shall I removed them, too?”

  Rafe laughed and raised his sword. “No need. This will have to be a short conflict, as I have more important things to do. You know, brother, I’ve wondered what it would be like to take you on. I’m going to enjoy this immensely.”

  He dove for Yulen before he was finished speaking. Yulen jumped back, dropping his blade to protect his legs. The clang of metal upon metal was as loud as the bell.

  Whirling around, Rafe lifted his sword and brought it straight down, aiming for Yulen’s head. Yulen dropped to one knee, raising his blade to deflect it.

  It was quickly evident to those watching that Rafe had taken the offense. But to Yulen’s men, they recognized a familiar strategy. Yulen was letting his brother expend his energy by tricking Rafe to use up his rage-infused strength at the beginning before turning the tables. It was a dangerous tactic, and more than once Yulen had suffered injuries.

  Rafe twisted his wrist at the last second. His sword slid along Yulen’s with a shrill, nerve-numbing screech. Yulen rolled backward onto the ground and kicked at Rafe’s legs. He connected with one, and Rafe fell to the side. Both men quickly recovered, giving each other a bit of space as they faced each other.

  Rafe lunged, hoping to connect with the chest or stomach. Yulen smoothly side-stepped and swung for Rafe’s neck. Rafe ducked in time, but the blade managed to catch the top of his skull. His hair was shaved so close to the skin, it left a bloody burn. Rafe cried out and stepped back. He touched the top of his head and winced. He lifted blood-smeared fingers for Yulen to see.

  “First blood, little brother.” His eyes sparkled.

  “And more to come.”

  Yulen rushed the man. Rafe jumped, barely getting his sword up before Yulen’s blade met his with a loud clang. The force of the attack shoved Rafe’s sword less than an inch from his nose before the quillions locked together. Gloved hand pressed against gloved hand.

  Laughing, Rafe backed away, ducked, and rolled, putting a bit of distance between him and the Battle Lord. He felt a breath of wind against his cheek, and realized a sword barely missed carving into his eye. Bending over, he grabbed a handful of dirt and dry grass, and threw it in Yulen’s direction. Yulen caught the faceful of dirt and retreated to wipe his face.

  Rafe held out his sword, drawing little circles with the tip. He was breathing heavily, but so was his brother. “While we have this moment, I have a confession to make. That blue-haired Mutah of yours sure was a sweet piece of meat.”

  He got the reaction he wanted. Yulen’s face darkened.

  “You’re lying. Atty said she was not touched.”

  Rafe laughed, keeping his eyes on the advancing man. “Of course she would tell you that. How would she know? She was unconscious the whole time!”

  Yulen charged him, sword raised. It was a silent attack, but deadly. Rafe s
tood his ground, ready to connect. At the last possible second, Yulen veered to the side. His sword came down and around. It caught Rafe at the hip, slicing through the jerkin and breeches, all the way to the skin.

  Rafe roared in anger and ran at his brother. Swords clanged. They grunted as their bodies collided. Yulen shoved himself away, but his foot slid on a rock, and he stumbled. Rafe yelled and pressed his advantage. Sunlight glinted off of a blade, and Yulen cried out as the sword entered his thigh.

  Laughing hysterically, Rafe tried to keep the pressure on the sword, but Yulen slipped out from underneath. Both men stared at each other.

  “I’m surprised by how inept you are with the sword,” Rafe taunted. “I would have thought a Battle Lord like you would have more endurance.”

  There was movement at the edge of the crowd. By now, the number of people watching and awaiting the outcome had grown. Rafe sniffed. The smoke was almost completely dissipated. Sounds of fighting were still audible in the background, but the heart of the battle had shifted to the two men in their makeshift ring.

  They circled each other. Yulen had a noticeable limp as blood soaked his breeches, to leave wet bootprints on the ground. Rafe could tell the man was weakening quickly. It was time to press his advantage.

  He began a barrage of fast attacks, swinging his sword in large arcs from one side to the other, moving with furious intention. It was all Yulen could do to beat off the downward strokes as he backed away from the onslaught. The crowd was forced to part as the two opponents advanced toward the center of the courtyard.

  Rafe reached deep inside himself, dredging up tricks he hadn’t used in years as he tried to breach Yulen’s defenses. Yet, somehow, the man managed to hold him at bay, although his actions were beginning to show signs of fatigue. His face was white and sweaty. The deep wound in his thigh continued to leave splotches of blood on the ground.

  The moment Rafe had waited for finally came. With one hard swing, he knocked Yulen’s sword from the man’s hand. The weapon skidded across the ground, but no one dared to touch it. With one swift kick, he knocked the man’s feet out from under him, and the ex-Battle Lord of Alta Novis fell on his side.

  Gasps came from the crowd, yet no one tried to interfere. They all knew the penalty if they did.

  Rafe stared down at his brother, who laid breathing heavily at his feet. He clasped the hilt with both hands and lifted his sword, prepared to bring it straight down, into Yulen’s chest.

  “And to the victor goes the spoils,” Rafe snickered. Raising his weapon, he barely saw the glint of metal until the short sword plowed into his lower belly, slicing through intestines and stomach with one upward jerk.

  He stood frozen in shock as the realization slowly sunk into his brain. He saw Yulen lurch to his feet and detach the blade from the spring-loaded mechanism hidden by his armored wristbands. Grabbing the handle with both hands, Yulen placed his good foot on top of Rafe’s and heaved upward. The finely honed sword slid past the ribcage and into the heart. Blood and intestines gushed from the slit in Rafe’s abdomen, but he remained standing.

  His body was growing cold. He knew he was dying. He knew he had lost. He tried to turn his head for one final look at his mother, but he no longer had motor control. His last thought was one of puzzlement.

  Where had he gone wrong?

  *

  Stepping back, Yulen dropped the short sword and picked up his own. Then, spinning around to give himself momentum, he brought the weapon over and across, severing Rafe’s head from the body.

  The head flew up into the air. At the top of the arch, from out of nowhere, an arrow plunged into the skull’s eye, sending the head sailing over the crowd, and burying its tip in one of the courtyard bell’s stanchions.

  A woman screamed. Janelle ran at Yulen, her dagger in hand, but Mastin managed to snag and unarm her before she’d taken a half-dozen steps.

  Silence filled the courtyard. Yulen staggered on his feet, but waved off any attempt by one of his men to help. A solitary figure, still holding her crossbow, made her way through the townspeople and over to her husband, who finally relented.

  He looked up at the men and women gathered. “To all soldiers who fought under Rafe D’Jacques banner, you are ordered to leave this compound immediately. You are allowed to keep your weapons in case of an attack, but all personal possessions must remain behind. You will be given no food or water for your journey, only the horse you arrived on.” He nodded to Mastin, who proceeded to follow through with the orders.

  Janelle was dragged away without further comment. Yulen and Atty watched her go without regret. Yulen continued.

  “Please send out word that all Mutah who were banished from Alta Novis are welcome to return. They will also be compensated for any personal possessions absconded by my half-brother.”

  “Yulen.”

  They turned to find Renken stepping forward. He was holding onto a squirming man by the collar. Yulen recognized Rafe’s Second. He glanced back at the ex-mercenary.

  “I think we need to squeeze him for any information he has regarding D’Jacques’ plans,” Renken suggested. “We need to find out how much damage the man’s done, or was beginning to do.”

  “I agree,” Atty whispered.

  So did Yulen. “Take him to the main lodge.”

  Paxton pointed to the body. “What do we do with that?”

  “Toss it over the wall for the animals to feed on.”

  “And that?” He motioned at the head.

  “Leave it,” Yulen ordered. “For now.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Interesting

  “There. That ought to do you.” Berta stepped back. “Comfy?”

  “I’m fine,” Yulen tried to assure the woman.

  “Can I get you anything else? Something to drink? How about a nice cold mug of beer?”

  “I would love a cold mug of beer. Thank you.”

  The woman smiled. “One mug of beer, coming up!” She hurried back into the kitchen, leaving the Battle Lord to his work. Work which he sadly did not want to contemplate, much less do. But MaGrath had ordered Yulen to get as much bed rest as possible if he wanted the bone-deep gash in his thigh to heal quickly.

  “No riding. No swordplay. And certainly no overt calisthenics with Atty after dark,” the physician had said with a twinkle in his eye.

  But remaining in bed had been sheer torture. He was going stir crazy from inactivity. It was only after begging the doctor for a reprieve that he was allowed to come downstairs, into the main lodge’s dining hall for short periods of time.

  And, because it needed to be done, he’d relented to going over the paperwork he’d been dreading.

  Picking up a sheaf of inventory sheets, he tried concentrating on the details. Berta placed the mug of beer to the side and left without interrupting him further.

  It was a minor miracle he was able to make sense out of the numbers. Initialing one request, he put another aside, with the intention of double-checking the totals, and reached for another piece of paper.

  Movement overhead caught it attention. Yulen glanced up to see Atty coming down the stairs from their old rooms. She smiled at him, and walked over to lay an arm across his shoulders.

  “My, my. I never thought I’d see the day when you would voluntarily tackle the one aspect of being a Battle Lord that you thoroughly detest,” she teased.

  He sipped his beer. “I tell myself every month it must be done, and someone I manage to get through it without too much bloodshed. Although, I have to admit, there are times I’d rather fight a crazed bull ferret than do this.” He sighed as she kneaded the muscles in his broad shoulders and neck. “That feels good. Is Mattox asleep?”

  “And already snoring. That bottom drawer of your old bureau was just the right size for him. I’m surprised all the furniture in that room is still intact.”

  “Rafe probably never knew it was where we lived when we first got together. Otherwise, he would have torched it like
he did our lodge.”

  Atty circled his upper chest with her arms and rested her cheek next to his face. “How long did they say it would take to rebuild the lodge?”

  “At least a couple of months. They also need to replace the timbers that were burnt.” Yulen reached up and lightly tapped the cast on her wrist. “How much longer did Liam say?”

  “Actually, he said he’s thinking it might come off this weekend.”

  “That soon? That’s good. Bet you’re itching to get back to practice.” He drew his fingers through her ebony hair. In the short couple of weeks since she’d been forced to color it, he could already see nearly an inch of its natural dark blue shade at the scalp. “And, before you ask, Gracen said he would have us a new headboard and bed frame finished around the same time.”

  At the end of the hall, one of the two main doors opened, and a soldier entered. Once inside, he saluted and waited to be called forward.

  “Yes, Sampson. What is it?”

  Atty’s hand was immediately on his upper arm. “You promised Mastin would handle the day-to-day affairs while you recovered,” she reminded him.

  “And I will. Don’t worry.”

  The soldier carried a saddlebag over his shoulder. Hefting it onto the table, he extracted a sheaf of papers, solidly rolled up inside a leather carrier, and tied with thick strip of hide. Saluting the Battle Lord again, the man exited the hall.

  Yulen untied the bundle and unrolled it. Inside the carrier was a letter and two familiar documents, plus a third document that was new.

  Atty gasped. “The treaties!”

  “The letter’s from Zane. ‘Dear Yulen. After our banishment from Alta Novis, I persuaded the remaining Battle Lords to meet at Foster City. There, we kept a close ear and eye on the developments at your compound. In the meantime, we all agreed to bind ourselves to your treaties, which I absconded with. I didn’t think Rafe D’Jacques would mind if I possessed them. Once we received word you had killed the man and reclaimed the compound, we chartered a third proposal. This proposal simply states that the five Battle Lords who had sided with D’Jacques are banned from all commerce and aide with any and all compounds who signed the treaties. In short, they and their compounds will receive no help, either financially or militarily. They have become an anathema, and thus they will be punished by denying them everything a Battle Lord needs to maintain a safe and prosperous compound. Of course, in the event one of them sees the error of his ways, we have allowed conditions where he can be reinstated, but the conditions he must adhere to are brutal. All three treaties you now have in your hands. Each Battle Lord has had copies made for his own safekeeping, and the men are on their way back home. Congratulations, Yulen. You’ve accomplished something never before imagined. Here’s to a better and brighter future. Your friend, Zane Batuset’.”