by Martin Owton
“I’ll be back for you, bitch,” he grated, then sprinted off up the lane.
Aron rounded the corner and stopped abruptly, sword in hand. He could hear the clansman approaching. High or low thought Aron as he held his breath waiting. The clansman reached the corner. Low. Aron’s sword slashed across the clansman’s thigh as he barrelled round the corner, sword held in front of his body. He screamed and collapsed in a sprawl. Aron stepped forward and silenced him forever with a cut across the throat.
The third assassin charged out of the lane straight at Aron without hesitation. Aron side-stepped and a wide slash missed him by an armslength. Aron rebalanced to face him as the clansman whirled to strike again. He danced back as the longsword carved the air in front of him then darted forward to cut his opponent’s shoulder. The clansman snarled in pain but did not retreat. Aron looked into his eyes and saw only the madness of blood rage as he launched another attack. Aron blocked the swing of the longsword with his own blade, pivoted on his left leg and kicked the clansman hard just below the right knee. He grunted and stumbled sideways, but stayed on his feet. Aron attacked, instantly pressing his advantage; stepping inside the arc of the longsword, he shifted his sword to his left hand and drew the throwing knife from its sheath at the nape of his neck and brought it up beneath the clansman’s chin.
“Drop the sword,” Aron said as the clansman’s foul breath washed over him. There was a moment’s defiance in the man’s dark eyes then the longsword clattered on the cobbles.
“Who?” demanded Aron just pricking the stubbled skin with his knifepoint. There was no reply and the defiance re-entered the clansman’s eyes. Aron shifted the knifepoint to the cheek just below the left eye.
“There are worse things than dying,” he said softly, pressing the point just enough to draw blood.
“Hercival,” the clansman said hoarsely. “Hercival of Sarazan.”
“Very wise,” said Aron. He withdrew the knife a few inches and then struck suddenly below the clansman’s ear, stabbing deep into the neck. The clansman gasped, his eyes opened wide in surprise, he spasmed briefly and slumped to the ground. Aron stepped back and looked up to see where the girls were. He sheathed his knife and walked up the lane to the doorway in which they huddled.
“Are you alright?” asked Edith, her voice shaking, her face pale and eyes too wide.
“I’m fine,” said Aron.
“We were so scared,” Celaine said, and started to cry.
Aron reached out to comfort her but found both girls in his arms. He held them tight as they sobbed and out of the corner of his eye he saw a crowd begin to gather.
“We need to go,” he whispered.
“Is it safe?”asked Celaine.
“It’s safe, they’re all dead,” said Aron reassuringly. “Let’s go back to the inn.”
An arm around each girl, Aron headed up the lane, leaving the three dead clansman to the crowd. They walked in silence as fast as Aron could manage with both girls held close. He glanced back to see if anyone followed them but the lane was empty.
They walked without noticing the passage of time through lanes so narrow that the upper stories of the houses almost touched above them until they came in sight of the Seven Stars. As the adrenaline of the fight left him Aron’s back began to glow with a distant ache from the strain he’d put on his wounds. Could be worse, he thought. Three assassins and all I’ve got is a sore back.
“Stop here and we’ll clean you up,” said Edith. “You’ve got blood on your face; we can’t take you back to Mama in that state.”
She made Aron sit down beside the horsetrough and with a moistened handkerchief washed the blood from Aron’s face and arms. Celaine sat beside him silently holding his hand.
“You were unbelievable, you know,” said Edith. “I thought you were dead for sure when that swordsman came up behind you. I’ve never seen anything like it. Marek never had a chance, did he?”
Aron looked up at her.
“Not really,” he said, getting the full benefit of the blue eyes. “He was dead as soon as he drew his sword.”
“He’s no loss, I never liked him,” said Edith. “But you were like something out of the bard’s tales.”
“You shouldn’t listen too closely to the bard’s tales,” said Aron suddenly serious. “Life’s not like that.”
“But it is,” said Edith. “You appear in Nandor just when we need you most and you rescue Maldwyn from Sarazan. Now you’re going fight for us before the High King and win a great victory.”
She smiled, blue eyes filled with enthusiasm and hope.
Aron turned away, unwilling to prick the bubble.
“Let’s go inside then,” he said.
He stood up and immediately Celaine slipped her arm around him.
***
“You’re back early,” said Lady Alice as Aron followed the girls into the sitting room. She looked at her daughters’ faces. “What’s happened?”
“We were attacked,” said Aron. “Three Saxish clansmen.”
“What?” Lady Alice dropped her embroidery in shock. “Are you hurt?”
“No Mama, we’re fine. Aron killed them all,” said Edith. “All three. It was incredible.”
“What’s going on?” Earl Baldwin emerged from his bedroom wearing a crumpled and stained robe, his thin hair in disarray. “Who’ve you killed?”
“Three Saxish clansmen,” said Aron.
“Excellent. Well done, my lad. Have a drink.”
Earl Baldwin smiled broadly and moved towards the wine bottles on the table. He poured two generous glasses of red wine and held one out to Aron.
“Tell me all about it,” said Baldwin. “What were they armed with? How did they come at you?”
Aron took a mouthful of wine and had to restrain himself from spitting the bitter brew onto the floor. How on earth can he drink this? he thought.
“There were two in front and one behind, all with longswords,” said Edith enthusiastically, as Aron struggled to swallow his wine.
“Your ladies can tell you all about it, they had a much better view than me, my Lord,” said Aron putting the glass to one side. “If you’ll excuse me, I still have a blademaster waiting for me.”
“That’s all right, lad,” said Earl Baldwin. “We mustn’t keep you from your training.”
Lady Alice caught Aron’s eye as he turned for the door and her expression clearly said that the discussion was not over.
***
It was late evening with the full moon riding in a clear sky above the city when Aron returned to the Seven Stars. He had worked long and hard with the blademaster and then accepted his invitation to supper. They passed the evening swapping stories over a bottle of wine with Aron listening intently to every snippet of information about Mikael, the blademaster of Sarazan.
Aron was tired as he climbed the stairs that led to his room beneath the eves and his back ached. He saw the glow of light beneath the door of the Nandor suite and, remembering Lady Alice’s expression, thought about passing by. Instead he knocked softly.
“Enter,” Lady Alice called.
He pushed the door open and walked in. Lady Alice was sitting with her embroidery on her knee, a stern frown on her face. Aron had seen this expression many times before, but never directed at him.
“I want you to explain what happened today,” she said tightly. “You promised me the girls would be safe with you. Celaine was very upset. I’ve had to give her a sleeping draught to calm her.”
“It was nothing I could avoid,” said Aron. “The men I killed were assassins hired by Lord Hercival of Sarazan. One of them told me before I killed him.”
“Iduna save us.”
Lady Alice clasped her hands to her face, dropping her embroidery on the floor.
“The only reason I survived is they were Saxish,” Aron said, kneeling to recover the embroidery. “I’ve been suspicious of Saxishmen since they betrayed D
arien at the siege, and when I saw one tailing us I was ready.”
“They could have killed you all.”
“Yes.” Aron passed the embroidery back to her and she caught his hand.
“I’m so sorry I doubted you,”she paused. “Can you forgive me?”
She looked at him her eyes dark in the candlelight.
“There is nothing to forgive,” Aron said softly.
“You know that’s not true. It was ungracious of me after you have done so much for us already,”she faltered and then continued in a whisper. “I have no excuse except that I stand on the edge of the ruination of my entire life.”
Aron was conscious then of how tightly she gripped his hand and looked around guiltily for Baldwin.
“Thank you,” Lady Alice said. “Thank you for being here. I’ve had to be strong for everyone for so long, but there’s no-one to be strong for me.”
“Baldwin?”
She shook her head slowly.
“Don’t judge him too harshly. Maldwyn’s capture hit him hard. He’s lived all his life in his father’s shadow, and the old man never once reached out to him as a father should.”
Aron, feeling utterly helpless, said nothing and waited for her to continue.
“I was younger than Edith when I married him. My father was a merchant; he thought it would bring honour to the family, but he didn’t live to see his first grandchild.” She loosened her hold on Aron to push back a stray lock of dark hair. “At first it was like a dream to be Countess of Nandor, but you have to wake from dreams.”
“Where is Baldwin now?”
“Gone. He dragged poor Thalon off to some cockfight. He’ll come back drunk again. I don’t remember the last time he came to bed sober. I’m so alone in this, and all he does is drink. We could lose everything and I’m pregnant again. I sent Glynis to get the herbs after I laid with you, but they were mouldy and they didn’t work.” She swallowed hard. “My mother was younger than this when she died in childbed and I’m frightened.”
She shivered despite the warmth of the room. Aron looked into her lovely blue eyes and saw a depth of sadness that made his heart turn over. He wanted to tell her that everything would be alright, but he couldn’t speak the lie. She took his hands again, leaned forward and very deliberately kissed him, softly at first, but then with rising passion and hunger.
CHAPTER 37
It was still dark when Aron woke. He went to the window of his little room on the top floor of The Seven Stars and looked out eastward over the city. He stood and watched the silver on the horizon pass through pink to yellow as dawn rolled across the land. Might as well enjoy it, he thought. This could be my last one. The sky was clear and the day promised to be hot. Must drink plenty of water before the fight. He watched as the city started to come to life. Then, with the early morning sun on his face, he shaved carefully using one of his throwing knives.
He turned from the window and pulled out his pack to prepare his gear for the day. At the bottom he found the handkerchief Edith had given him back in Nandor. He sat on the bed holding the stained and crumpled scrap, remembering her smile and her laughter and, above all, her blue eyes looking at him, reminding him of all that was at stake today. You can’t think about that; you must clear your mind of everything except your opponent. He put the handkerchief back in his pack beside his money pouch, spare shirt and leggings. But I’ll take it with me into the arena.
Aron thought about breakfast. He didn’t feel hungry in the least, but he’d need a good solid breakfast and then nothing after; the fight was in the afternoon, the exact time dependent on the bouts scheduled before his. He wondered how the rest of the Nandor party had slept - poorly he suspected. Last night’s supper had been a quiet and strained affair as if everyone had suddenly realised the enormity of the next day’s events. It was probably the first night Earl Baldwin had gone to bed sober that year.
Aron drew out his sword and whetstone and began to work on the blade. It didn’t really need doing, but it was a task to absorb himself in. Once that was done, he worked on each of his knives even though he would not be taking them into the arena.
The knives packed away, he decided it was time for breakfast even though he still wasn’t hungry. He made his way down to the Nandor suite to find them all at breakfast, even Earl Baldwin. Edith and Celaine greeted him with nervous smiles. Aron’s heart gave a little skip at the sight of them.
“Good morning, Aron,” said Lady Alice. “I hope you slept well. Will you have some breakfast?”
“Yes, thank you,” said Aron, though he still had no appetite.
“A good jug of red wine should set you up nicely,” said Earl Baldwin. “I always like to start the day with a quart or so when I’m hunting.”
Aron smiled politetely. “I fear I would be asleep by the time of the fight, my Lord.”
“Leave the lad alone, Baldwin,” said Lady Alice firmly. “He’s the Academy trained one, not you.”
Aron served himself with bread, cold ham and a large mug of milk and sat down at the table conscious of Edith and Celaine’s silent gaze. He wanted to say something reassuring, but couldn’t think of anything.
“When are you going to the arena?” asked Lady Alice.
“Sometime after midday,” said Aron. “I need to have plenty of time to prepare and I want to go to the temple this morning. I must thank the priestesses.”
“They certainly did a fine job,” said Lady Alice. “Who would have thought you’d be fit to fight so soon after such injuries?”
“We should all go,” said Celaine which provoked a fierce frown from Baldwin.
“You needn’t go if you don’t want to,” said Lady Alice to Baldwin. “Though you’ve plenty to be thankful for. Without them there would be no champion for Nandor.”
Baldwin grunted in reply.
“I thought not. Suit yourself then. Are you presentable girls? Edith, go and brush your hair. We’ll go as soon as Aron is ready.”
***
Lord Hercival stalked into the garden, his fists tight knots of anger. Twelve days had passed since he had paid the Saxishmen for Aron’s death and he had heard nothing. Clearly they had cheated him and there seemed to be nothing he could do. He certainly couldn’t go back to the tavern in search of them on his own, and there was no possibility of taking a squad of Sarazan soldiers with him, his father had seen to that. He ground his teeth with rage.
“Good afternoon, my Lord. I am most glad to see you.”
Hercival looked up at the sound of the voice and saw Tancred walking swiftly towards him.
“Perhaps you can tell me what is going on,” said Tancred. “Your men haven’t allowed me to leave the grounds since Maldwyn was recaptured and now they tell me that everything will be resolved today.”
“Ah, Tancred,” said Hercival smiling coldly. “In truth today all will be resolved and Aron of Darien will finally meet the end he so richly deserves.”
“Why? What is happening?”
“Aron stands as champion of Nandor in the arena this afternoon. Mikael, the senior blademaster of Sarazan, is going to kill him and then your fleabitten uncle will have to pay the ransom for Maldwyn.”
“Why is Maldwyn still alive?” said Tancred angrily.
“It’s out of my hands now. My father has taken charge of everything.”
“And why am I not allowed to leave the grounds?”
“Did no-one mention that we’re holding you to ransom along with your cousin?” said Hercival mockingly. “I do apologise for the oversight.”
Tancred stared in astonishment at Hercival. “We had an agreement,” he said, his eyes blazing with anger.
“Had we? Did I swear an oath? Have you witnesses?”
“You treacherous bastard.”
“You’re a fine one to accuse me of treachery. Who was it who was only too happy to sell his cousin?” Hercival laughed. “You’re a fool to try to play this game of house. You have
not the wit for it. Go back to your sheep.”
Tancred’s reply was to hurl himself at Hercival tumbling both of them to to the gravelled path. They rolled into a flowerbed and Tancred came up on top, his hands around Hercival’s neck. Hercival bellowed at the top of his voice for the guards and battered ineffectively at Tancred’s head and shoulders as Tancred struggled to apply his full weight onto Hercival’s throat.
The blood pounded in Hercival’s head and his vision was growing dark when the pressure was suddenly released. He lay back on the soft earth gulping in great draughts of air.
“My Lord. My Lord. Are you alright? Will I call the healer, my Lord?”
Hercival sat up still gasping. Beside him, a sergeant guardsman stared anxiously at him; another two guardsmen were sitting on Tancred, pinning him to the gravel path. Hercival struggled to his feet and then kicked out at Tancred, catching him in the stomach.
“My Lord, stop!” cried the sergeant. “He is a ransom prisoner.”
He interposed himself between Hercival and the helpless Tancred. “Your Lord Father ordered that they be correctly treated at all times.”
“Damn my Lord Father,” shouted Hercival. “Take him then and get him out of my sight.”
He turned and strode out of the garden massaging his throat as he went.
***
It was just short of midday when Aron, Lady Alice and her daughters left the Temple of Iduna. Earl Baldwin was pacing up and down in the sittingroom of The Seven Stars when they returned.
“Where did you get to?” he asked. “It’s time we were on our way to the arena.”
“Sit down, Baldwin,” said Lady Alice. “Before you wear a hole in the floor. We’ve plenty of time. They can hardly start without us.” She looked critically at her husband. “Is that the cleanest shirt you could find?”
Earl Baldwin looked at her quizzically. “What’s wrong with it?”
“There’s a stain on the collar. It looks like soup or gravy. Really, Baldwin. His Majesty might be there, and you can’t meet him in a soup-stained shirt.”