This was what came of trusting others. Devlin had put his faith in the King’s justice only to be betrayed. But they had done more than betray Devlin. The court had broken faith with the people of Korinth, those whom the Baron had oppressed and tormented.
He had promised those folk that they would have justice. And they would have. He would see to it himself.
“Where is the King?”
“There is a dance tonight to celebrate the end of the festival,” Captain Drakken said.
Devlin nodded. “I will end this. Now.”
She reached forward and caught his arm. “Wait! Do not do anything foolish. Take time for counsel with those you trust. The situation may yet be saved.”
“The time for caution is past,” he said, pulling his arm free. He turned on his heel and left her office.
Captain Drakken followed, still trying to talk reason, but he turned a deaf ear to her arguments. From the corner of his eye he saw that Stephen and Ensign Mikkelson had finally caught up, and they, too, followed along, as did a small knot of guards. He thought he recognized Lieutenant Didrik among their number.
But there was no time to stop, no time to acknowledge one friend or to calm the fears of others. Devlin’s will was focused on one thing and one thing alone. Justice for the folk of Korinth.
His boots rang on the marble floors of the palace, and those servants he passed made haste to get out of his way. As he entered the main corridor, his gaze swept dismissively over the brightly colored banners that hung from the high ceiling. Heedless fools. No doubt they would continue their revels even as the earth crumbled beneath their feet.
The sounds of music and buzz of conversation grew louder as he approached the Great Hall. Two guards stood by the massive wooden doors.
Captain Drakken sprinted ahead, then turned to stand in front of the doors, blocking his way. “Do nothing in haste,” she urged.
Devlin’s eyes narrowed. For once the Geas and his own will were in perfect accord. There was justice to be done, and the path to justice lay through that door. “You will stand aside. Now.”
His voice was soft, but the flat tones brooked no disagreement. Captain Drakken stepped aside, and the guards swung open the heavy doors.
The Great Hall was ablaze with light and filled with dozens of brightly garbed dancers, who laughed and chattered above the sprightly music. Across the hall, on a raised dais as if he wished to distance himself from the celebration, sat King Olafur.
Devlin strode toward the King, brushing aside those courtiers who got in his way as if they were mere insects. Their gasps of outrage turned to shock and whispered speculation as they realized that the unshaven, travel-stained wretch invading their perfumed sanctuary was in fact the Chosen One. The laughter began to fade and the conversation grew softer, until as he reached the King, the music stopped and the room grew very still.
“Your Majesty, I have come to demand justice, and punishment for the traitor Egeslic.”
King Olafur shrank back in his chair and looked around as if for support. “We have heard the charges but there was no evidence to support them. We are convinced that these were but malicious lies meant to destroy our trust in our faithful servant.”
Duke Gerhard stepped from the crowd and approached the King, and in a moment he was joined by Lady Ingeleth.
“It is unseemly for you to disturb His Majesty at such a time,” Lady Ingeleth said. “Have you no manners at all? No discretion?”
“Justice does not wait for your convenience, my lady,” Devlin said. “I will have justice or I will know why not.”
“Justice has been served,” Duke Gerhard replied. “There was no basis to try the Baron of Korinth, let alone to convict him.”
“Then you will convict him based on my testimony, for I have witnessed his treachery with my own eyes, and spoken with the foreign allies who plotted with him. Thus I will swear as Chosen One.”
“And why should we believe your word? You have already tried once to blacken the Baron’s name by sending the worthless documents,” the Duke said.
Devlin raised his left hand so the ring of the Chosen One could be clearly seen. “You know full well the hellish Geas binds me to serve the truth and to seek justice. I will swear to the truth of my words.”
“The Chosen One speaks truly,” Stephen said. “This I swear.”
“As do I,” Ensign Mikkelson said, stepping forward. “My lord General, I bear witness to the truth of Devlin’s words. The Baron is a traitor.”
Duke Gerhard stared angrily at Ensign Mikkelson, who returned his gaze calmly. The Ensign’s words had taken great courage, for he must have known that his support of Devlin would bring down his commander’s wrath.
“If he swears by the Gods—” Lady Ingeleth began.
“No,” Duke Gerhard said. “It is a trick. And see how the Chosen One corrupts all who come into contact with him. Drakken. The Guard. Even my own officer is tainted by his presence.”
He turned to the King, and, raising his voice said, “My King, I was holding this news till after the festival, for fear of spoiling the merriment. Yet now it must be told.” He raised his arm and pointed his finger at Devlin. “This man is unfit to serve as Chosen One. He was exiled from his homeland for the crime of murdering his own family.”
A shocked gasp ran through the room.
Devlin’s hand fell to his sword and he took a half step forward.
“That is a lie.”
“And I say it is the truth,” Duke Gerhard countered. “And so say those who knew you, when you were called Devlin the Kinslayer.”
King Olafur appeared horrified, as did those others whose faces swam in his vision.
“Kinslayer,” he heard someone whisper.
For a moment the old guilt crashed over him and he shook his head to clear it. I did not kill them, he reminded himself.
“I did not kill them. You will beg my pardon. Now.”
“How can I apologize for speaking the truth?” the Duke replied.
Devlin’s vision narrowed until it seemed as if he and the Duke were alone. No one else mattered. He had the sense of inevitability, as if some part of him had known this moment would come since the first time he had encountered the Duke.
“Then you will defend your words with steel,” Devlin said.
“Damn fool!” Captain Drakken exclaimed.
The Duke smiled. “I accept your challenge. I will meet you at dawn tomorrow.”
“At dawn,” Devlin replied. He knew that the Duke felt he had won by goading Devlin into issuing the challenge, to a duel that Devlin could not win. And yet, there had been no other choice.
The courtiers nearest to them began to back away, as if they feared his mere presence would somehow taint them. In a pointed lack of courtesy Devlin turned his back on the King and the Duke, then led the way from the Great Hall into the small antechamber on the left. Captain Drakken, Lieutenant Didrik, Ensign Mikkelson, and Stephen followed along in his wake as Duke Gerhard smiled triumphantly and the courtiers watched in horrified fascination.
The antechamber was empty, save for a servant setting out refreshments. “Go,” Captain Drakken said, and the servant took one look and fled.
“You stupid fool,” Captain Drakken said, as the door swung shut behind the servant.
Devlin ignored her, choosing instead to address Ensign Mikkelson. “That was bravely done,” he said.
“I could do no less,” Ensign Mikkelson replied.
“I fear your honesty will be your undoing,” Devlin said. Duke Gerhard was not likely to forgive an officer who dared contradict him in public. Not when the officer had shown his loyalty to another. If he was lucky, Ensign Mikkelson had only thrown away his career.
“My father can always use an officer who is not afraid to speak the truth,” Stephen said. “If you go to him, he will give you a place among his armsmen.”
Devlin nodded approvingly. It was a good solution. Esker was far enough from the capital that the En
sign might be allowed to sink into obscurity.
“He goaded you into the challenge,” Captain Drakken said. Her lips were thin and her face white with anger.
“What would you have me do? Ignore his words? I cannot be the Chosen One if I do not have the people’s trust.”
“You should not have gone there tonight. You should have waited until your temper cooled and we had time to make our plans.”
He knew she was angry, and yet he could rouse no anger on his own behalf. Instead he felt the strange peace that had come over him once he had issued the challenge to the Duke. It was the peace of having surrendered to the inevitable and accepted his fate.
“There was no reason to wait,” Devlin said, trying to explain. “You heard Duke Gerhard. He was merely waiting for the right moment to loose his poisonous words. If not today, then tomorrow or a week from now. In the end, it would have been the same.”
“But why would he say such a thing?” Ensign Mikkelson asked.
“Because it is true. Or at least part of it,” Devlin said.
“I do not believe it,” Stephen declared loyally.
Captain Drakken nodded thoughtfully, while the Ensign looked at Devlin as if he had grown a second head.
Devlin ran one hand through his sweat-caked hair as he tried to think. Who could have revealed his past to the Duke’s spies? Had it been Murchadh? Agneta? Or someone nameless, who had once been known to him and had heard the parts of the tale that were well-known? In the end, it did not matter.
But his comrades, at least, deserved the truth, for they had proven their loyalty to him, and risked their own lives by showing their support.
“I did not kill my family,” Devlin said. “But I bear the blame for their deaths.”
The guilt was his, for bringing them to that cursed land. He had known of the ancient legends of that land, but foolishly he had dismissed them, thinking any danger long past. He had been wrong, and when his family had needed him most, he had not been there.
“It was my fault,” Devlin added.
“What do you mean?” Captain Drakken asked.
“The tale you heard of the banecats was true. Or at least in part. They struck without warning. The foul creatures killed my brother, his son, and my daughter. Cerrie, my wife,” his voice rasped, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. “Cerrie fought bravely, but she had only a small trowel to defend herself, and it proved no match for their claws. I returned home to find their bodies,” Devlin said. He blinked his eyes against the memory of that awful sight.
“If you were not there when the creatures attacked, then how did you come by your scars?” Captain Drakken asked.
“I hunted the creatures down and avenged my family’s deaths,” Devlin said simply. In the struggle Cerrie had wounded one of the creatures, and it had left a blood trail. It had been that trail Devlin had followed into the forest, and which had led him to the first of the evil creatures, which he then killed. Though for a time he had been sure that the pack leader had given him his death blow, before she had succumbed to her own wounds.
“But why were you exiled?” Stephen asked. “You were a hero.”
Devlin shook his head. “I was alive. That does not make me a hero. And as for the exile, the Duke’s informants have misled him. I was declared kinbereft, not kinslayer. Though the words sound similar enough in my own tongue.”
After killing the banecats it had taken Devlin several weeks to recover from his wounds. When he had finally made his way back to the settlement, Devlin had found himself shunned. Agneta had declared him responsible for the deaths of their kin, and in his grief Devlin had agreed with her harsh judgment. He could have stayed in Duncaer, though as a man who had lost kinright and one who had no heart to follow his craft, there was nothing left for him there. And so he had wandered aimlessly, until that night, which seemed so long past, when he had first heard the tale of the Chosen One.
There was a moment of silence, and none would meet his gaze.
“Are there customs or courtesies that must be followed for this duel? Or do we simply meet at dawn?” Devlin asked. Dueling was a custom of the Jorskian court. In Duncaer lethal duels were rare indeed, for the complicated web of kinship and obligation meant that any such duel had the potential to touch off a blood feud.
“You and the Duke must each appoint an agent, who will meet and agree to the arrangements. I would be honored to serve,” Lieutenant Didrik said.
Devlin hesitated. Didrik was a logical choice. And yet, given Captain Drakken’s obvious disapproval, it did not seem right to involve him in making the arrangements. Captain Drakken was a warrior, one who would not recognize defeat even when it stared her in the face. She might well order Didrik to find a way to delay the duel, hoping to avoid the inevitable.
“Your offer is gracious, but you have already drawn the Duke’s wrath once for me,” Devlin said, not wishing to insult Didrik. “Stephen, will you serve?”
Stephen nodded. “Of course,” he said, though his face was troubled. “You realize that as the challenged the Duke has the choice of weapons? Undoubtedly he will insist upon swords.”
Unspoken was the knowledge that Devlin’s weakest skill was that of swordsmanship. With another weapon, Devlin might have had a chance, but against a master swordsman the only question was how long it would take for Devlin to die.
“I expected nothing else,” Devlin said. “I will leave you to make the arrangements.”
“Wait,” Captain Drakken said. “There is still much we should discuss.”
He would not stay while his friends grieved for him as for one already dead. And there was nothing they could say, nothing they could do, that would change the outcome of the match.
“You have much to think on, not I,” said Devlin. “What happens after tomorrow morning will be your affair. And for that you will not need me.”
With that he left the room.
Captain Drakken stared angrily as the Chosen One left, though she knew her anger was as much for herself as it was for him. She should have insisted that the documents be examined as soon as Didrik had arrived, rather than delaying and giving their enemies a chance to tamper with them. Or she should have insisted that Master Dreng examine the chest, no matter what the council said. If she had been able to prove magical treachery, if she had realized that the Duke knew of Devlin’s past…
But now there was no turning back. And Devlin of Duncaer, the strongest Chosen One the Kingdom had seen for generations, was going to throw his life away. And with him went all their work, all their hopes of rallying the Kingdom in its own defense. They would never find another to take his place.
What a waste. What a stupid, awful waste. That the Chosen One should be lost merely because Duke Gerhard envied and despised his influence. If she could, she would take Devlin’s part in a heartbeat, to spare the Kingdom. She looked at the others and knew they felt the same. Yet neither Devlin nor Duke Gerhard would agree to such a substitution.
“Is there any chance he could win?” she asked Lieutenant Didrik.
“No,” Lieutenant Didrik said, his eyes sorrowful. “Devlin’s skills have grown greatly. He can best me two times out of three, and Ensign Mikkelson the same. But he is no match for a master swordsman.”
It was as she had feared. “Then he is doomed. And with him goes the last hope for the Kingdom.”
It was past midnight when Stephen knocked on the door of Solveig’s chambers. Though the hour was late, he was not surprised that Solveig opened the door at once.
“Come,” she said, taking him by the hand and leading him inside.
He allowed her to guide him to a padded chair, where he collapsed in a weary heap.
Solveig’s long hair was unbound, and she wore a simple linen shirt and trousers. She looked much younger than a woman of nearly thirty summers, and for a moment Stephen was transported back to the days of his childhood, when as a young boy he had come to his oldest sister for advice and comfort.
“I was not there but I heard what happened,” Solveig said, handing him a glass of dark red wine. “There is to be a duel?”
Stephen nodded. “All is arranged,” he said. “Devlin and Duke Gerhard will face each other at the first hour past dawn, in the grand salon of arms. They will duel with swords until one yields or is killed.”
But there would be no courtly honor, no Gods-sent reprieve. Devlin would not yield. Could not. It was not in him to beg for mercy. Devlin would die, spilling his lifeblood on the sands, while his enemies jeered in triumph.
Stephen took a quick gulp of wine, hoping he could drink himself into numbness or oblivion. But as he stared at the glass, the red wine seemed too much like blood, so he set the glass down on the floor in sudden revulsion.
Solveig sat down on the arm of the chair and put her arm around his shoulders. “I am truly sorry,” she said. “He is a great man, and I know he is your friend.”
Stephen leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
“He would not speak with me,” he said. After making the arrangements, Stephen had gone to Devlin’s quarters. Devlin had not even let Stephen enter, but instead made him stand in the hall as he outlined the protocol for the duel. Then he had bade Stephen good night, as if this were an ordinary night, and had firmly shut the door. Stephen had pounded and yelled, but there had been no answer. At last he had left in defeat.
Stephen could not imagine Devlin’s pain upon returning to find his wife and child slain—all that had given his life meaning destroyed in that instant. Devlin had let his grief show only once, when his voice had broken as he said the name of his murdered wife. Despite the pain Devlin had managed to survive, to avenge his family’s death, and to find a new purpose for his own life. Now this, too, was to be taken from him. And Devlin would not permit his friends to tell him they shared his sorrows.
“He should not be alone,” Stephen said.
Solveig stroked his hair, as she had done so many times before. “He is not alone. He knows he has your friendship and that of the others.”
“It is not fair,” Stephen said miserably. “We made the Chosen One, and bound his will with the Geas so he can serve us. And now he must pay with his life simply because he seeks to fulfill his duties as we commanded.”
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