by Martin Owton
Aron sat up with a start, eyes and mouth wide open. “What did you say?”
Iduna smiled, eyes sparkling mischievously. “One of them carries your child.”
Aron felt as if all the breath had been sucked out of him. “Lady Alice,” he gasped.
“The very same.”
“Does she know?”
Iduna’s smile broadened. “She knows. How could she not?”
“And she prays for me?”
“She prays for you as do her daughters.”
Aron’s mind filled with their faces and his heart burned with a longing to see them. Iduna looked at him, the brightness of her eyes fading, her smile becoming wistful.
“The road is grievous and filled with pain.” Tears glistened at the corners of her eyes. “You are welcome to stay.”
She glanced meaningfully at a dish of golden apples that sat on the grass nearby.
“I never yet turned aside from a road because it was hard.” Aron looked at her, but found it difficult to meet her eyes. “Would you wish me to stay?”
“I would.”
Aron’s heart turned over at the sadness and longing in her voice.
“Why did you tell me they’re praying for me?”
“How could I deny the mother of your child?” She looked at him defiantly and a tear ran down her cheek. “I will not lie to keep you with me.”
His heart breaking, Aron reached for her.
“The road need not be walked just yet.”
***
Aron awoke to pain and thirst. His last memory was of Iduna’s face close to his and her whisper.
“Keep me always in your heart, and you will always find me.”
Now his back burned with a constant pain as if he lay too close to a great fire. He tried to roll on his side and sit up, but a lash of pure agony surged through his back and he flopped back face down onto the bed. He gasped with the pain and a shadowed figure moved beside him.
“Mama, he’s awake.” A girl’s voice. Edith or Celaine? He struggled to focus on her face in the candlelight, but she remained a blur as she threw her arms around him and planted a tearful kiss on his face.
“Come away, girl, and let me see to him.” The room grew brighter as Lady Alice came in carrying a lantern and knelt by Aron’s bedside. “Thank the Goddess, our prayers are answered. Run and fetch Lorai, Celaine.”
Celaine scurried out of the room. Lady Alice put down the lantern, poured a cup of water and lifted it to Aron’s lips.
“Drink. You must be parched. Just raise your head a little.”
Aron lifted his head, wincing with the pain the movement brought and drank thirstily.
“Where am I?” he croaked when the cup was empty
“The temple of Iduna,” she said stroking his hair and raising the cup to his lips again.
“How long?”
“It is a night and a day since the girls found you at Tirellan’s and brought you here.”
“How?”
“We’ll talk later, when you’re stronger.” She paused to wipe a tear from her cheek. “You just concentrate on getting better.”
She kissed him and then straightened up hurriedly as she heard Lorai and Celaine approaching. Lorai went straight to Aron’s bedside.
“How are you feeling, young man?” she asked laying a hand on his forehead. “You’ve no fever, thank the Lady.”
“Everything hurts,” groaned Aron.
“No doubt,” said Lorai. “But we can’t leave you lying there too long. You need to be up and about, or you’ll lose flexibility as you heal.”
Aron groaned again in reply.
“But he’s in pain,” cried Celaine. “Can’t you do something?”
“I have the milk of the poppy, but that has its own dangers. It would be better if he could bear it….can you do that, lad?”
“Tomorrow,” rasped Aron. “Give me the poppy tonight.”
Lorai pursed her lips in disapproval, but reached into her bag and drew out a small bottle.
“For tonight only.”
She poured a measure of the milky liquid into the drinking cup and passed it to Aron; gasping with pain, he propped himself up on one elbow to drink.
“You must drink plenty, my lad,” said Lorai. “You’ve lost blood and you must make more.” She watched as he drank the cupful. “Sleep tonight and we’ll have you out of bed tomorrow.” She turned for the door, speaking to Lady Alice as she left. “Make sure he drinks as much as he can take. I’ll be back early tomorrow.”
Aron held out the cup, Lady Alice refilled it and he drained it to wash the bitter taste from his mouth. Behind him Celaine rearranged the pillows so that he could at least partially sit up without lying on his wounds then sat on a stool beside the bed as close as she could get to him.
Aron felt the drug begin to have its effect; the bright fierce pain of his wounds faded to a distant, almost pleasant glow. He moved experimentally and while there was pain, it seemed that it belonged to someone else. He lifted himself and turned to sit up, resting on the pillows. He half expected to see the mist creeping across the floor as when he slipped into the spirit world, but it did not happen this time, which was just as well; Iduna had permitted him to return, but would she do so again? That he owed his life to her was undeniable, but he was not yet ready to surrender his independence. She loved him now, but the storytellers told many tales of the fickleness of the gods and he’d seen what happened to those who displeased her. He didn’t fancy a future as a garden ornament.
“What happened to Tirellan?” he asked.
There was a moment’s silence; Lady Alice looked meaningfully at Celaine.
“He’s dead,” said Celaine quietly, an edge of sadness in her voice. “He was dead when we got there, Cristoff too.”
“He killed my father,” said Aron, his own voice sounding to him as if someone else at the end of a long corridor spoke the words. “And the rest of the Darien garrison.”
“Oh,” said Celaine, her voice full of dismay. “He seemed so nice and clever to me.”
She sounded very young to Aron at that moment.
“We had no idea,” said Lady Alice. “We met him on the road. He did us a great service and, as we were strangers in the city, we were grateful for his aid.”
“But why are you here at all?” asked Aron.
“We came to see his Majesty,” said Lady Alice. “It seemed our only hope when Sarazan demanded ransom for Tancred too.”
“Petter arranged for father to see the King,” said Celaine. “I was going to ask him to be our champion against Sarazan to free Maldwyn and Tancred.”
“Maldwyn?” Something nibbled at the edge of Aron’s memory. “But Maldwyn was with me.”
“With you?” Celaine’s mouth dropped open in astonishment.
“But why didn’t you bring him to us?” said Lady Alice.
“Haven’t you seen him?”Aron looked at them feeling as if they were on the shore and he in a boat drifting away. “I took Maldwyn out of Castle Sarazan and brought him here, to the city with Davo. But we didn’t know you were here.”
“Where is he now, then?” asked Lady Alice. “Sarazan would scarcely agree to a trial of champions if they didn’t hold him.”
“He went missing a few days ago,” said Aron slipping further away downriver. “I hoped he might have come to you.”
“We haven’t seen him,” said Lady Alice. “We wouldn’t need a champion if we had.”
“Will you be our champion?” said Celaine, clutching his hand, her eyes very wide.
“Of course I will.” Aron heard someone say with his voice.
CHAPTER 35
Lord Hercival paused outside his father’s study to run a comb through his hair before knocking on the door. I will not let him humiliate me. I’m his son too, he thought, but his stomach still tightened with anxiety when he knocked and the voice called ‘enter’.
“Herciv
al. You took your time.”
The Duke was seated behind a large wooden desk, his hook-nosed face reflected in the highly polished surface.
“No good to see you, did you have a pleasant trip, father?”
Hercival looked around for somewhere to sit down; there was nowhere save the rug.
“Don’t take that tone with me,” said the Duke sharply. “Did you see your brother?”
“No, father. He must have dallied on the way.”
The Duke frowned and glared at his son.
“He will take over the running of Sarazan which you cannot be trusted with. Now I want you to explain to me this affair with Nandor. To save you the trouble of lying, I will tell you what I already know.”
Hercival felt his stomach tighten further.
“You and your worthless ragtag of friends went to the manor at Two Fords at the mouth of the Tymion, against my specific instructions. There you drank, caroused and abused all you found. When two of the kitchen girls fled your attentions, you and your friends pursued them up the valley into woods where you met Maldwyn of Nandor. Have I missed anything?”
“May I not visit my own property? Grandfather left the manor to me.”
“Not when I’ve expressly forbidden it.”
Hercival looked at the floor.
“They attacked us without warning,” he said.
“No, they did not,” replied the Duke coldly. “You had time enough to withdraw.”
“I was defending the honour of Sarazan.” Surely he can’t disapprove of that? thought Hercival defiantly. “It’s what Grandfather would have done.”
The Duke glared at his son and took his time before replying.
“Let me tell you what I have been doing for the last six months for the honour of Sarazan. At His Majesty’s instruction, I have been visiting Lords around this kingdom trying to heal feuds. So how does it make me look to have a neighbour’s son held for ransom in my house? I’ll tell you. It makes me look a knave and a hypocrite, or else a fool who can’t control his children. So where does that leave the honour of Sarazan?”
Hercival kept his eyes lowered to avoid his father’s stare.
“His Majesty,” continued the Duke in a calm, even voice, “was not impressed; which is most regrettable as we had been discussing the possibility of Princess Lucienna marrying your brother. I think you can appreciate the honour this would bring to Sarazan. Look at me, damn you!”
Hercival raised his eyes to meet his father’s furious gaze, feeling as if he was a child again.
“Your reckless disobedience has threatened all this and now Mikael has to risk his life to mend it.”
“What? Why?”
“His Majesty has decreed that the dispute will be settled in the arena by trial of champions, and I have no alternative than to comply if I wish to retain a shred of dignity. Mikael, being the truly honourable man he is, has demanded the right to be our champion. It seems the only way out of this tangle of folly that you have landed us in.”
“So what’s the problem? Mikael can take care of anyone that Nandor has.”
“Do you think so?” The Duke glared. “They have named Aron of Darien as their champion.”
“But he’s just….”
Hercival groped for the words, but the Duke cut him off.
“Just a very dangerous swordsman. Academy trained, and a real threat to Mikael. I should have thought he had done us enough damage and that you would have some respect for him.”
“I had no idea,” said Hercival lamely, wishing that the conversation was over.
“Quite,” said the Duke coldly. “Yet you chose to ignore Master Ezrin’s warning. This whole tragic mess flows from you and decisions you made. I am gravely disappointed with you, Hercival. At your age I had command of an army, yet I find I am unable to trust you with the running of a pie stall. You will remain under my direct supervision until such time as you show signs of maturity. Now get out of my sight.”
“Yes, father,” said Hercival.
He turned for the door, his cheeks burning. He more than half expected his father to call him back to say something more but the Duke did not speak.
Hercival stalked back to his rooms anger seething in his heart as he reviewed the meeting. Everything he had done was for the honour of Sarazan, the way that noblemen of honour had acted for hundreds of years, and if it was at the expense of a neighbour then that was what had made Sarazan powerful. His grandfather would have understood. He wished the old man was still around. He would have thought his son had water in his veins instead of Sarazan blood. Perhaps his father was right about Ezrin though, even if his warning had been vague. Hercival mentally kicked himself; had he heeded the wizard, Aron of Darien would have been hanging from the gatehouse before he could do any damage. At least that was one thing he could do something about. Everything was for sale in the Holy City, even someone’s death. He wondered how much an assassin would cost, more than the small amount of coin he had probably. He strode into his room straight to a chest of drawers, and took out a jewelled dagger; a present from his grandfather. Appropriate, he thought, the old man would approve of this. He should be able to pawn it for enough to buy Aron’s death. He slipped it into his belt pouch and turned for the door. It was still early in the day, but he knew of a tavern where he should be able to buy the kind of men he needed.
***
The Duke of Sarazan was sitting with his head in his hands when he heard the knock at the door. He pulled himself upright with a grimace and then called out, “Enter.”
His expression relaxed as he saw his vistor was a short but athletically built man of around forty.
“Ah, Mikael, come and sit down,” the Duke said. “Will you take a drink?”
“Thank you no, my Lord. Not now that I’m in training,” said Mikael.
“When have you ever been out of training?” said the Duke. “You don’t mind if I do?” He turned to a shelf behind him and selected a bottle from the several that stood there. “I know it’s early, but under the circumstances.”
“You’ve spoken to Hercival then.”
The Duke sighed wearily. “I have, and he is quite unrepentant.” He poured a generous measure of red wine into a goblet. “So what have you discovered about this Aron of Darien? Was he truly at the Academy?”
“Oh yes. And highly thought of too. A serious young man, not impetuous as so many of them can be at that age.”
“Dangerous?”
The Duke took another sip of wine.
“Certainly.”
“You don’t have to do this. One of the other blademasters could take your place. Young Morin could do with the experience.”
“It’s what you pay me for,” said Mikael evenly. “And besides, how would it look if I passed on it and Morin got himself killed?”
“You’re far more valuable to me than Morin. Who else can I rely on for sound advice? And where would I get another chess partner?”
“One who lets you win, you mean.”
“Seriously, Mikael. I’ve lost too many friends in these last few years. You’re irreplaceable and I would be happy if one of the others took your place. The Tymion valley is not worth a drop of your blood spilled.”
“Is that an order, my Lord?”
“No, Mikael. It’s a request.”
“One I must regretfully decline. I have to do this. I am the senior blademaster of Sarazan. The land may be worthless, but the honour of Sarazan is not. This Aron hasn’t fought in the arena before, I have many times. He may not handle the occasion. He’s a young man and may make a young man’s mistake and I will be waiting.”
“I thought you said he wasn’t impetuous?”
“He may not be, but he will still feel all the pressure.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It is, my Lord.”
“If only other things were too,” sighed the Duke. “Tell me what I should do with Hercival.”<
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***
“Were you looking for something in particular, my Lord?” asked the serving man as he placed a tankard of ale on the table, slopping much onto the floor.
“Why do you call me my Lord?” asked Lord Hercival, squinting at the man in the halflight of the taproom.
“The way you speak, the clothes you wear, the way you look at people.”
There was no respect in the man’s attitude. Hercival felt a chill shiver of fear run through him.
“Now what are you looking for?”
“Some men to perform a small task,” said Hercival. “I’ll pay well.”
“Local or upcountry?”
A knife scar writhed across the man’s unshaven cheek as he spoke. Hercival thought for a moment about leaving the tavern right then but instead said, “Local.”
“You might want to talk to them lads then.” The man gestured at a corner table. “If you don’t mind they’re Saxish.”
Hercival looked over at the corner. Three large men sat there in shadow. He could just make out the long dark hair caught in ponytails and the leather waistcoats that were characteristic of the Saxish clansmen.
“Thank you,” he said, expecting the serving man to move away then but he didn’t, and Hercival realised that he was expecting to be paid for the information. He dropped a small coin onto the table; the man swept it up and scowled at him.
“Thank you, my Lord,” he muttered before turning away.
Hercival drank his ale and took a moment to consider what he was going to say; then, heart pounding, he walked over to the clansmen. Three pairs of dark eyes turned to look at him.
“Whaddya want?” asked one, his harsh accent so distorting the words that Hercival could barely understand him.
“I’m looking for someone to do a little job for me.” Lord Hercival glanced around to check that there was no-one in earshot. “It’s local, here in the city.”
“Yeah.” The dark eyes glinted. “Kind of a job?”
“There’s someone I want taken care of.”
“Permanent?”
“Permanent.”
There was a wolfish flash of teeth. “It cost.”
Lord Hercival smiled. “How much?”