Sebastian identified himself by pointing to the tattoo at his temple. The warrior’s eyes opened wide. He bowed before Sebastian. It had been many years since anyone had done that. Sebastian told the warrior to take him to Malam with haste.
They moved through the camp toward the beached ships. The order of the tents reminded Sebastian of his youth. No deviations from the Sunan discipline were tolerated. Yet, as he overheard the few men still talking around campfires, Sebastian detected excitement and more. These men were happy. They had fought for Sunan today, and they had killed many of the enemy. Many Sunans had died, too, but they were noble deaths. The camp was no funeral. It was a celebration.
Sebastian’s guide stopped before a wide plank leading up to a large ship. Four guards stood before the walkway. Even in the dark of night, their gold helmets gleamed.
Sebastian pointed again to his temple and announced his name. “Sebanith il’Seban.” Then he asked for Malam and his father.
One of the guards ran up the plank. Moments later he came back and led Sebastian to the deck, where Malam waited. Sebastian bowed to him.
“Rise,” Malam said. “I have looked forward to meeting after so long, but this timing concerns me. The prince still trusts you?”
“He does.” Sebastian held up the note. “He appointed me to bring you this message.”
Malam nodded. “Come, we will talk more below.”
Sebastian saw no sign of his father as he followed the priest to a cabin in the ship’s hull. Lanterns lit the modest room. Two candles, a blank parchment, and a skull sat on a desk by the far wall. Black cushions formed a circular sitting area.
Malam gestured for Sebastian to sit and held out his hand for the note. Sebastian gave it to him.
Malam broke the seal and read it.
“A duel could be to our advantage.” He looked up at Sebastian. His stare was unsettling. “What are the worst terms the prince told you he would accept?”
“The prince proposes ten versus ten in the field outside Valemidas. He asks—”
The priest held up his hand. “Sebanith, let’s not play games with each other. You have been away many years. Your messages have suggested you remain true to Sunan, but the culture of Valemidas will corrupt a man. Prove your loyalty to me and I might let you leave this room alive.”
Sebastian kept his face smooth and nodded. Playing both sides was more delicate than walking a knife’s edge.
“Six Valemidans against seven Sunans,” Sebastian said.
“Good.” Malam smiled. “I am glad we understand each other. We can accept those numbers if you are among the Valemidan six. The prince will agree to that?”
“He will,” Sebastian answered. “He also knows we will demand that the fighters wear no armor. He will agree to no helmets, but that is as far as he will go.”
“No helmets then,” Malam said. He rose and moved to the desk in the room. “His Excellency will agree to this. He will see his honor is at stake. I will prepare our note of acceptance. Tell me, when we win, how will the prince arrange for the city’s surrender?”
“He will appoint a Valemidan priest to persuade the people to accept it. The nobles will deliver the throne to His Excellency. The nobles have much power in Valemidas.”
“Nations accept such things when they lack a divine king.” Malam spoke and then was quiet as he finished writing.
He rolled and sealed the note. As he sat again, he leaned forward with his eyes boring into Sebastian’s. They were like pits of darkness. “When you betray and kill the prince during the duel, that will seal your place among us. But before dawn, you have another task. You must kill the high priest of Valemidas.”
“Father Yates?” Sebastian asked.
Malam nodded. “It is time for the priest to die. Kill him and leave his body somewhere the people will find it, but do not let the prince learn of it before the duel. Understood?”
“Yes, but why?” Sebastian would not have gone so far, though he wanted Yates dead.
“This battle goes beyond men,” Malam said. “The priest’s body will serve as a warning to those who meddle against me in the spiritual realm. Faith in His Excellency allows no exceptions.” The words came out like a threat.
“I will do these things,” Sebastian said. “And then I will have my reward, yes? I have long toiled for this.”
“You share His Excellency’s blood. If you do these things, I will bless you as next in line to the throne, until there are heirs. You will move ahead of your father.” Malam paused. “He is coming now.”
Sebastian heard the heavy footsteps outside the door just before it crashed open. His father stumbled in. Sebastian stood.
“Sebanith!” Seban rushed to his son and embraced him. He leaned heavily on Sebastian, as if for support. He smelled of strong spirits. “Look at you, as strong a man as I ever was!”
“Father, I have long looked to this moment.”
“Aye!” Seban patted him firmly on the cheek. “It has been too long.” He turned and glared at Malam. “And yet you hid my son’s arrival from me?”
“Tomorrow you will fight against him in a duel.” Malam’s face was blank. He stood slowly. “You will say the words that signal the betrayal. Then Sebanith will join us for good. When the prince is dead, we can have our reunions. Now Sebanith has a task before him and little time.”
“He can’t leave now,” Seban protested. “Not after so long away.”
“He leaves now,” Malam said, “if he wants to return to his noble place with my blessing and His Excellency’s favor.”
“You have no right—” Seban began.
“I will go.” Sebastian nodded to his father, who looked defeated. “We have a lifetime before us, a lifetime in Sunan’s royal court. Fight well tomorrow.”
“And you as well, my son.” The joy was gone from Seban’s face.
Malam was smiling. “This is a blessed night for Sunan. Our victory comes with the morning.” He handed the rolled note to Sebastian. It had the seal of the Sunan king. “Farewell, Sebanith.”
“Farewell.” Sebastian bowed to the priest and embraced his father.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Seban’s quiet laugh rang hollow. “And take it easy on me tomorrow. For Sunan!”
“For Sunan,” Sebastian answered.
He left the room and the ship. No one stopped him as he made his way back through the camp and to the wall of Valemidas.
Jon was waiting and dropped the rope when Sebastian approached. Sebastian climbed it, and the two of them hurried to the palace and the prince.
Andor had no doubt on his face as he took the message from Sebastian. He read the terms and then began giving orders. He told Jon to gather their fighters and meet him by the gate. He told Sebastian to get some rest before the duel. The six fighters would depart the city at dawn.
Sebastian took his leave and went straight to the Cathedral. He climbed onto the rooftop and swung through the same window he had entered before. The old man was on his knees, praying at an altar. Candles lit his wrinkled face as he turned toward Sebastian.
“You do not have to do this,” the priest said. “Fight with Valemidas, stay with Valemidas. You will be blessed if you are loyal to Andor now. But if you do what you came here to do, you will suffer for eternity.”
“I did not come to hear a sermon.” Sebastian pulled out his blade. “You knew the stakes. You have ruined my plans.”
“Plans can change, people can change.” The priest rose to his feet. “The light is within reach. I know how you have suffered in darkness, under the spell of a Sunan priest. I know it has hurt you to live a life of lies. That suffering can turn to joy. A wise man once said you must submit to supreme suffering in order to discover the completion of joy. It is within your reach.”
The priest glanced at the gleaming metal before his eyes. He did not look afraid. “Sebastian, listen to me. Let go of the weapon, take hold of joy. ”
“You have never understood,” Seb
astian said. “Some of you can walk in truth. Men born into their positions, men like Andor and His Excellency. The rest of us have to earn it, to take it, to kill for every scrap of power that fortune presents to us.”
“We are born into different places,” the priest nodded. “And you are not alone in feeling this perpetual and restless desire for power after power. It is an empty quest, Sebastian. Some of us are set aside for eternal salvation, but others face damnation in just punishment for their sin.” He lifted a finger as if signaling attention. Sebastian’s fist tightened. “But none of us know who has been chosen for any role. So all you have to do is take the next step in the direction of the light, and then the step after that one. Put down your blade and leave. I will say nothing of this.”
“You know nothing of choice,” Sebastian growled. “A father sending his son away into an unknown land, and expecting loyalty. I had no choice!”
The priest’s eyes were sad, knowing. “The time of my departure has come,” the priest said. He looked up to the ceiling. “I have fought the good fight, finished the course, and kept the faith. In eternity there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness.”
Sebastian no longer heard the priest’s words. He was numb to everything. He did not feel his blade as it sank into the priest’s side. He did not think as he carried the body out, slumped over his shoulder like a sack. All he heard and felt and knew were Malam’s words, it is time for the priest to die.
***
Dawn brought an unseasonably warm and clear winter morning upon the empty plaza of Valemidas. The soldiers manned the city’s walls. The prince and his men were by the gate, preparing for the duel. And so it was some time before the first passing servants and messengers were shocked to see the body of the old priest on the white tree.
His arms were spread wide, tied around the thick trunk. His legs were tied together at his ankles. His head fell lifeless to the side. The dried blood on his skin was as dark as the scarred letters on the tree behind him.
Yates would have said he was just a man, but in death, he had the look of a saint.
Chapter 30
THE DUEL
“Hasten and come,
all you surrounding nations,
and gather yourselves there.
Bring down your warriors, O Lord.”
Jon swung his arms, trying to get loose, to work out the morning stiffness. They would leave the gate any moment now for the duel.
His thoughts ran through the prior night, the day before, and the night before that. That little stretch of time held enough for a lifetime.
First there was his love, Mailyn, giving birth to Tryst’s son. He figured it had been Father Yates’ plan from the beginning. She would move into his quarters. He would protect her and provide for her. They would marry. He would raise the child, and no one would know that the true father was Tryst. At least, that’s how it would have ended if the next part of the night had not complicated things.
A knight had come to him as he rested with Mailyn and the baby boy. The knight had said Andor needed him immediately. Jon had armed himself and rushed to the prince. Ravien had been there, but not Wren. She had somehow escaped and knew nothing of whether his brother lived. Andor had shared the news of the coming explosion, and of the need to attack the Sunans. He had given Jon the singular duty of finding Tryst and bringing him back alive.
And so Jon had. He had organized his best knights and charged with them into the Sunans. His men had killed scores as they made their way to save Tryst, Ulysses, and the others. Then they had returned to the city. Once inside the walls, Jon had discovered Wren among the survivors. They had barely talked, both because Wren had needed medical help and because Jon had been called again to the fight.
He had helped defend against wave after wave of Sunan attacks through the bitter cold day. He had never seen men fight like the Sunans. Their shields were impenetrable when held tight together. They had advanced in ranks, protecting their battering rams. When they shattered the gate, Jon had been there. He and his men had held the Sunans from breaking into the city just long enough for nightfall. The darkness had saved them.
After a quick meal and a rinse, he had been summoned again. Jon had joined the meeting in the throne room. He had listened to Andor’s plan and the debate. Then he had helped Sebastian drop over the walls so he could deliver the prince’s proposal, and a short while later he had pulled Sebastian back over the walls with a signed and sealed agreement for the prince. Jon had notified the men to meet Andor by the gate.
By then it was deep into the night, and he went to Mailyn. She had been feeding the newborn. She watched the baby’s innocent face as Jon told her that Tryst was alive, and that they would fight in a duel to settle the war. She laid the baby to sleep and then, for the first time, she came to Jon’s bed. As they held each other in quiet, Jon felt more peace than he had in months. In so many ways, all he loved and his very life hung in the balance, yet sleep overcame him. He woke well before dawn, slipped out of his quarters, and reported to Andor at the gate.
Now dawn had come. His body was waking to the reality. Excitement tingled in his limbs, overcoming his fatigue. The air felt warmer. The snow had melted, and the sky was clear. It was a perfect winter day.
Andor waved for the selected men to come. They walked out from the walls as the sun rose. Tryst and Jon flanked Andor. To the right were Ulysses and Jacodin. Sebastian was on the far left.
Andor’s selections had drawn little debate, except for Sebastian. Others had protested his inclusion, but Andor had been resolute. Sebastian had proven his loyalty, Andor insisted, and no one questioned his strength or his familiarity with Sunan fighting. Jon still did not fully trust the man. No matter what, Jon thought, he would not let Sebastian or anyone else get a clean attack at the prince without going through him first.
The Sunan men were approaching from the south. There were seven, as agreed. The young king was in the middle. He was bigger than Jon had expected. The man to his right did not have the look of a warrior. He was older and stocky, with long hair. But the other five looked deadly. Their torsos were bare, and even from this distance, Jon could see their scars and the lines of hard, battle-proven muscles. They each carried the same shield and spear that all the Sunans did.
The Sunan man furthest to the right began to chant and to run. The others joined him, and suddenly the Valemidans faced a charging line. It seemed there would be no talk first.
“Hold! Hold!” Andor shouted. He held his arms out. “Spread!” They began to put a few more feet between them.
One of the Sunans threw his spear.
Jon reacted without thought, raising his shield. The spear slammed into it and splintered the wood. His arm felt the blow as he dropped the broken shield. The spear would have hit him in the head.
“Now!” Andor commanded and they charged as planned.
The lines met at full speed.
Without his shield, Jon pulled out a dagger for his other hand. The man who had thrown his spear had drawn a short blade. He stabbed at Jon. Jon spun around the attack, but the Sunan man moved like lightning and slammed his shield into Jon, knocking him to the ground. No one in Valemidas could have done that.
Jon rolled to a crouch. The man stabbed down at him. Jon parried it and surged to his feet. The Sunan’s shield blocked Jon’s sword, but not his dagger. It plunged into the man’s neck. Jon threw him down and looked to the fight.
Jacodin was face down, motionless, and so was one Sunan warrior. Four Valemidans were enganged with a tight line of four Sunans. The Sunan king was behind their line, lunging in with spear thrusts whenever a Valemidan looked vulnerable.
Jon raced to the prince.
As the distance closed between them, Andor led a charge into the Sunan line. Ulysses struck at their left, Tryst and Sebastian at their center, and Andor at their right. Andor bashed hard into a shield and managed to isolate one of Sunans. The Sunan shields were less effective when separated from others
. Still, the Sunan man’s spear outreached Andor’s blade, keeping him at bay.
Jon circled behind the isolated Sunan. No man could hold both Andor and Jon back. Andor swung high at his front, while Jon swung low from behind. Jon’s blade slashed into the Sunan’s legs and the man fell. Andor stabbed his sword down into the man.
But as that man died, the Sunan king hurled a spear from behind Andor. Jon shouted a warning, but it came too late. The spear slammed into Andor’s leg, hitting a seam in his armor. The prince stumbled to one knee.
Jon picked up the fallen Sunan’s shield and blocked for the prince as he helped him rise to his feet again.
“I’ll be fine,” Andor grimaced.
Tryst danced into view, graceful as he wielded Zarathus. The sword dripped with blood.
“I killed another,” Tryst said.
“We have to reach their king,” Andor said. “There.” He pointed to the young man.
The three of them moved together toward him.
Sebastian was fighting against a Sunan in their path. Their arms were locked together. Sebastian suddenly slammed his head into the other man’s face. The Sunan fell, and Sebastian mercilessly plunged a dagger into his chest. Jon forgot his doubts about the spy.
Sebastian joined them as they closed on the king and the older Sunan man. It was four on two here. Twenty feet away, Ulysses was clanging his blade against the third Sunan still standing.
Andor dashed at the young king and swung down hard at him. The king blocked the attack and staggered back.
Tryst slammed into the other man’s shield and knocked him to the ground.
“Ilithir Sebanith!” the man shouted as he fell. He looked up at Sebastian.
Some change flicked in Sebastian’s face, like a dark mask dropping over it. He turned on Andor and swung his blade.
Jon tackled Sebastian, just in time. Sebastian’s attack had come within an inch of Andor’s unprotected throat.
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