by Martin Owton
Mikael thrust forward, stabbing towards Aron’s groin, careful not to commit too much momentum forward. Aron danced backwards and parried trying to push Mikael’s blade aside to give him space to thrust, but Mikael’s wrist was stronger. Aron skipped back then forward again, feinting high, thrusting low. Mikael blocked and thrust forward. Aron read the extra half-step, dodged low and left, flicked Mikael’s blade aside and stabbed his point into Mikael’s calf. For a moment the pain registered on Mikael’s face then focus returned. The roar of the crowd rolled over them like a wave breaking on a beach.
That should slow him a bit more, thought Aron. And so it did, but Aron felt very little advantage. Mikael stopped thrusting forward, and simply stood and blocked every move Aron made.
He’s making me do all the work, tiring me and waiting for me to make a mistake. Aron’s arms felt like lead and he needed an extra time to breathe between attacks. How much longer can I go on? he thought, lungs burning and legs threatening cramp.
***
Maldwyn sat very still at the back of the Sarazan enclosure barely daring to hope. He could see Mikael was hurt and had lost the initiative, he was just standing and defending as Aron attacked. Everyone in the Sarazan party could see it. The crowd had stopped jeering and fallen silent anticipating the imminent bloody climax. The duke was sitting rigid in his chair, clutching the arms. Surely Aron would finish it at any moment. Suddenly the Duke stood up.
“We yield,” he cried in a loud voice. “Sarazan yields.”
Lord Hercival leapt to his feet and caught his father’s arm. “What are you doing?” he yelled. “You can’t yield now.”
The Duke turned furiously to Lord Hercival.
“Take your hands off me and sit down this instant or I shall have the guards remove you. I have had enough of this stupidity. Give them the land and let the boy go free. None of this is worth Mikael’s life.”
***
At the Duke’s words, the marshal stepped forward between Mikael and Aron. The arena rang with the boos of the crowd. Aron let his sword fall to his side and stood panting, unable to believe what had happened, half expecting the marshal to step back and tell them to resume. Mikael’s face contorted with anger for a moment before the discipline reasserted itself. He made the briefest of salutes to Aron then lowered his sword and limped slowly towards the entrance, back rigidly straight, looking neither left nor right. Aron turned to the royal stand and wearily raised his sword in salute to some sporadic applause from the crowd.
The guards opened the barriers across the stairways and Maldwyn was first into the arena, his long legs speeding him down the stairs and across the sand. He caught Aron in a great bearhug and lifted him off his feet, yelling in exultation and only releasing him when they were joined by the rest of the Nandor party. Lady Alice threw her arms around Maldwyn and kissed him, tears streaming down her face. Earl Baldwin took Aron’s hand, ignoring the blood that still dripped from the wound Mikael had given him.
“The finest day for Nandor,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You have brought us a wonderful victory and great honour. Now you must have your reward as was promised. The hand of one of my daughters and the rank of blademaster to the House of Nandor.”
“You do me great honour, my Lord,” said Aron, looking at Edith and Celaine. Both girls were looking horror-struck at their father’s words, their tears of joy replaced by tears of shock and disappointment.
“We will long celebrate this day in Nandor,” said Baldwin. “And tonight will be the first of the celebrations.” He seemed to notice Aron’s wound for the first time. “But first you must get that arm attended to.”
“The priests of Martis here have a good name for their care of such wounds,” said Aron. “They get plenty of practice.”
“Then let us get you to them,” said Baldwin.
Maldwyn offered his arm to Aron to assist him, but Aron declined and they all walked slowly towards the arena entrance where the acrobats were waiting to start their next display.
“Where’s Tancred?” asked Lady Alice looking around.
“He was in the Sarazan enclosure,” said Maldwyn craning his neck to look over the heads of the group. “They must have let him go at the same time as me. I wasn’t watching, but just you wait ‘til I get my hands on him; he betrayed me to Sarazan.”
“What?” exclaimed Baldwin. “When? What are you talking about?”
At that moment two priests came forward to Aron; one took his arm to examine the wound.
“I’ll be a while, I’ll see you later at the Seven Stars,” Aron said and then turned to follow the priests into the temple.
***
Tancred ran until his lungs burned, ignoring the yells of outrage as he forced his way through the crowd away from the arena. He halted and leaned gasping against a wall, looking around he realised that he had not the faintest idea of where he was. He mopped the sweat from his eyes and walked slowly to the street corner. If he could see the towers of the King’s Keep then he had only to head towards it to get to somewhere he knew. From there he could find his way to his cousins’s house. He wondered briefly about what story he would tell them. It didn’t really matter, so long as they gave him a change of clothes and enough money to see him on his way. He needed to get back to Nandor before the news of today’s events. That should not be too difficult. Earl Baldwin was likely to be too drunk to travel for at least three days by which time he could be halfway to Sarazan.
He reached the corner of the street and looked up to see the towers of the Keep looming ahead of him. What would he do when he got back to Nandor? He didn’t know, but he would have plenty of time on the way to think of something.
CHAPTER 38
Aron lay back in the bath, the water up to his chest, being careful to keep his bandaged right arm dry. Despite the warm water, the soft candlelight and his bone-weariness, he still could not relax. The ordeal he had passed through filled his mind.
He was better than me. If Saraazan hadn’t conceded I would have died out there. The thought focused his mind. He wasn’t ready to go to his grave with the enemies of Darien unpunished. Tirellan was dead, but there were others; Tentra, the treacherous Saxish chieftain, the most culpable of all. He could not accept Baldwin’s offer while they still lived.
Nandor was a trap for him; very comfortable but a trap nonetheless. Turning Baldwin’s guard into an efficient fighting force would not be enough for him and he would quickly lose his edge without good swordsmen to practise with.
The girls would be heartbroken; He had seen all too clearly the shock on their faces at their father’s words. Each had expected to be his bride and been very happy at the prospect. A part of his soul howled in anguish at the prospect of never seeing them again, but it would be better for Nandor if they were to seal alliances by taking husbands from great houses.
They will expect my decision tonight, he thought despairingly. And Baldwin will be mortally offended if I refuse. Under any other circumstances it was a handsome reward for a lowly-born sell-sword. I can’t see any other way. I have fought and bled for this reward, and now I cannot claim it. Is this part of your price, my Lady Iduna? He felt sure she would not approve of his choice. He climbed out of the bath, dried himself with a towel, and then walked slowly back to his cell, his heart heavy within him.
***
Dusk was falling when Aron left the temple. The events in the arena were long finished, but the taverns and eating houses nearby were doing a roaring trade. No-one took any notice of him as he walked wearily away, pack slung over his left shoulder to spare his wounded arm.
The Seven Stars was filled with light and laughter. The smell of roasting meat drifted tantalisingly on the evening air. Music was playing and a girl was singing ‘Bringing in the May’. His eyes pricking with tears, Aron re-adjusted his pack on his shoulder and kept walking.
***
This time there was no problem getting past the door at the ho
use of the Exiles. The doorman had been at the arena, and was full of praise for Aron as the oddsmakers had decided that the Duke’s conceding meant that bets on Aron had to be paid. Clearly the Exiles had disregarded Aron’s advice about betting on him and had won a lot of money.
Lionel was surprised to see him. “I’d have thought you’d be celebrating.”
“I need a favour,” said Aron. “I need a horse, tonight.”
“You’re leaving, but why?” Lionel said with furrowed brow. “I heard Earl Baldwin’s offered to make you blademaster of Nandor and marry one of his daughters.”
“That’s why.”
“I thought you liked the girls.”
“The girls are as sweet as any man could wish for and it’s beyond me to choose between them. But I cannot accept the offer while the Saxish traitor still lives. I swore to my father’s shade and the oath is unfulfilled.”
“Earl Baldwin will be mightily affronted.” Lionel paused. “I’ve recent reports of clansmen in Laranda. I’d be lying if I said I’m sorry about this. Nandor is a long way from the fight against Caldon.”
“Yes, it is, too far. And it rains a lot.”
Lionel smiled. “We’ve horses to spare. You’ve got to go tonight?”
“If I leave it any longer I might change my mind. I’ll send word when I’ve found somewhere in Laranda.”
“I suppose you know best. I’ll get someone to saddle up a horse for you if I can find anyone sober. Is there anything else you need?”
“Something to write with. Can you get someone to deliver a note to The Seven Stars?”
“Certainly.” Lionel moved to a cupboard and brought out ink, quill and a roll of coarse parchment. “I’ll go and get your horse ready.”
He opened the door and left Aron to compose his note.
A dozen times Aron picked up the pen, poised to write and then laid it down again. Nothing I can say will make them feel better he thought. So just tell the truth as simply as possible. He took up the pen again and wrote “I cannot choose between Edith and Celaine; therefore I regret that I must decline the great honour you have offered me.” He signed his name and then folded and sealed the parchment before he changed his mind.
Footsteps announced Lionel’s return.
“Written it?” he asked. “Good. I’ve got someone to take it round and your horse is ready. That’s if you’re still sure you’re going.”
***
It was a warm night; the gentle westerly breeze ruffled Aron’s hair, and the just past full moon gave enough light to see his way. The road was deserted, the villages he passed through dark and shuttered. They should have got my note by now. He pictured in his mind Lady Alice reading his words and saw again the dismay on Celaine and Edith’s faces. Iduna help me. Tell me I’ve done the right thing. He had never felt so alone and miserable before. Even the stars reminded him of the happy sparkle of blue eyes. I’ll never look into those eyes again. Away across the fields a pair of farmyard dogs barked furiously at his passing. He wiped his eyes and dug his heels into to his horse’s flanks to hurry him on his way.
THE END
Table of Contents
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
PROLOGUE – THE BETRAYAL OF DARIEN
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38