The Star of Morcyth: The Morcyth Saga Book Five

by Brian S. Pratt

  “Do you think he had a hand in it?” Miko asks. “You being summoned I mean.”

  Shaking his head, James replies, “I doubt it. He’s probably just around to enjoy the situation. By the way, where are Jiron and Fifer?”

  “I don’t know,” Illan replies. “They left out of here several hours ago and weren’t too clear as to where they were going.”

  “I hope they’re not getting into any trouble,” he says as he digs into his dinner.

  The time for the match draws near. Jiron and Fifer begin making their way through the dark streets on their way to the courtyard behind the inn. “Nervous?” Fifer asks.

  “Not especially,” Jiron replies. Even when fighting in the pits, he never once became nervous or anxious. Some of the others had thought him somewhat odd because of that, but the closest emotion he ever feels at this time would be a sense of expectation.

  Other people on the streets are heading in the direction of the courtyard, the word of the impending fight must have spread throughout the poor section. As they reach the inn, they find carriages of obviously wealthy individuals waiting out front. “Seems this goes on a lot around here, they even attract the nobles.”

  Moving through the alley to the side of the inn, they make their way through the milling crowd. As they approach the courtyard, the press of people becomes thicker and thicker until they have to practically force their way through. Jokingly, Fifer says, “I guess we should’ve arrived earlier.”

  “It would seem that way,” replies Jiron.

  Near the end of the alley, a group of thugs are blocking the entrance to the courtyard. When Jiron tries to move past, one of them says, “Here now, who do you think you are?”

  Without even pausing, Jiron strikes out with his fists and the man falls to the ground. His two buddies immediately turn on Jiron and before the others in the crowd even know something is afoot, Jiron drops them too. Stepping over their comatose bodies, he enters the courtyard and passes through the edge of the crowd.

  “Needed a warm up,” he jokingly tells Fifer. “Glad those guys could oblige.” Fifer breaks into a laugh at that.

  Passing through the edge of the crowd, they enter the open space in the middle of the courtyard. The barman who arranged this fight stands over to one side with several of his cronies. Upon seeing Jiron, he disengages himself and makes his way over. “Didn’t think you were going to show?”

  “Sorry about that,” replies Jiron. “Was a little bit delayed.” Looking around, he asks, “Where’s my opponent?”

  “They haven’t arrived yet,” the man replies. “They’re known for being fashionably late.”

  Throughout the crowd are not only the riff raff of the area, but wealthy individuals as well as those in between. To one side a pavilion of sorts has been erected, the fact that it’s currently unoccupied leads Jiron to believe it’s for the group putting up the other fighter.

  The barkeep asks, “So what weapons are you going to choose?”

  Jiron pats the knives at his waist.

  Looking in disbelief, the barkeep exclaims, “You can’t be serious!”

  “Very,” replies Jiron.

  “But you’ll not last a minute against their champion!” insists the barkeep.

  “I’ll be fine,” asserts Jiron.

  Bystanders begin to notice Jiron and the barkeep together and a buzz begins to circulate through the crowd as he begins to be pointed out as the challenger. Money changes hands as side wagers are placed.

  Aside from the crudity of the surroundings, this place isn’t much different than the pits he fought in back in the City of Light before it was sacked by the Empire. Few places ever brought a feeling of peace to Jiron like being in the pits. At times that feeling bothered him, like he shouldn’t feel that way. Maybe it’s because he had made himself there.

  From the far side of the crowd, a hushed murmur begins as the spectators begin parting for a procession of several individuals making their way to the fight area. “They’re here,” states the barkeep.

  Five men come walking toward them, four of them obviously being from the Empire. The fifth man, larger than the rest is wearing a hooded cloak which covers his features. As the men approach, the one in the lead says, “We’re here. Where is the man to face our champion?”

  Jiron steps forward and says, “Right here.”

  Looking Jiron up and down, he grimaces and says, “I thought you had someone who would be more of a challenge than the last couple.”

  “He can fight,” the barkeep says nervously. “I saw him in action myself.”

  The man considers it for a moment and then nods his head, “So be it.” Saying something in their language to the rest of his group, they make their way over to the pavilion where they prepare.

  “Hope you can fight well,” the barkeep says nervously.

  “Why?” asks Fifer. “What difference would that make to you?”

  “If they have another poor fight, it could be bad,” he admits.

  “Been bringing him a few losers?” Jiron asks.

  “You could say that,” replies the barkeep. “After the first couple of fights, no one around here is willing to face their champion.”

  “Just who is their champion?” Fifer asks.

  “A very fierce warrior,” he answers. “Brought up from somewhere deep within the Empire. Rumor has it he’s forced to fight for that man there, but why has never been told.”

  “Interesting,” muses Jiron.

  “Looks like they’re ready,” the barkeep says.

  Glancing to the pavilion, Jiron sees the leader of the group and the large hooded man coming toward them. He and the barkeep, with Fifer staying several feet behind proceed to meet them in the center of the cleared area. A hush falls over the crowd as the two fighters meet.

  Jiron looks beneath the hood but even with the light of the many torches illuminating the courtyard, he’s still unable to make out anything underneath.

  The leader says something to his fighter who removes the hooded cloak.

  Jiron hears Fifer gasp as the features of the man he’s to fight is seen. Tattoos cover most of his exposed skin. Bearing two swords, one longer than the other, Jiron knows exactly who or rather what his opponent is. A Parvati!

  Breaking out in a grin Jiron gives the Parvati a friendly nod. A murmur grows through the crowd at his reaction. Never has anyone shown a reaction other than startlement or fear when he removed his hood. Now here’s this man, shorter and only bearing knives, giving him a friendly nod.

  The expression on the Parvati’s leader’s face shows his confusion as well. He has always revealed his warrior’s features at the last minute to instill fear and doubt in his opponents. But that didn’t happen here and he doesn’t know why.

  If the Parvati has taken any notice of Jiron’s nod, he fails to reply. His expression remains placid.

  The barkeep steps between them and says, “There’s only one rule here. He who lives, wins!”

  At that the crowd around them begins to cheer and call out. Raising a red flag high over his head, he continues, “When I let this go, begin the fight.”

  The barkeep watches as the crowd moves back a little bit further to give the combatants room to fight. When he sees enough room has been cleared he waves the flag in a circle around his head. Just before he drops it, Jiron says to the Parvati, “May your swords drink deep.”

  Stunned that he would know to say the traditional Parvati greeting, the Parvati stands there motionless when the red flag is dropped. “May your knives drink deep,” he says a smile coming to him as he draws his swords.

  Jiron draws his knives and the battle begins. The Parvati begins with a few testing maneuvers to see how strong his defenses are. After several passes, he begins the fight in earnest.

  When Jiron realized that he faced a Parvati, his first inclination was to produce the necklace and declare himself a Shynti. But what the barkeep said kept running through his mind. Rumor has it he’s forced t
o fight for that man there.

  Working more on defense than actually trying to do him harm, Jiron easily blocks every strike, deflects every thrust. “Why do you do this?” he asks the Parvati during a series of intermittent probes from the Parvati.

  “Do what?” he asks as he launches into a vicious attack which Jiron has a hard time in countering.

  “This. Fighting for that man over there,” he clarifies. “From the Parvatis I’ve known, they would never let themselves be used thus.” Blocking an attack, he steps back a minute as they both catch their breath.

  The crowd has been cheering the interplay of weapons. Over beneath the pavilion, Jiron can see the leader of the Empire’s men smiling. He’s definitely getting his money’s worth.

  “I am honor bound to fight for him so long as he doesn’t set me against my own people,” the Parvati states. Coming at Jiron again, his blades are a veritable blur as they seek to penetrate his defense. But as Jiron is only concentrating on defense, he’s unable to find an opening.

  “What happens if he should set you against one of your own?” he asks.

  “Then I am free and no longer honor bound to obey him,” he replies. Stepping backward a moment, he says, “But that is not a very likely possibility.”

  As the Parvati moves in to continue the attack, Jiron steps back and shouts “Hold!”

  Only the fact that what he said was so unexpected did the Parvati pause in his attack. The crowd surrounding them, which had so recently been cheering and screaming at the fighters, have grown quiet at the odd way in which the combatants are acting. Blood should be flowing now, instead they’re standing still, facing one another.

  Jiron glances over to the men from the Empire as he draws forth the necklace which signifies him as being a Shynti. An honor given only to the most ferocious of fighters, an honor which makes him one of them.

  When the necklace comes free of his shirt and the Parvati’s eyes rest upon it, he asks in a hushed whisper, “Where did you get that?”

  “I was given this by an old Parvati after defeating one of their number during a blood duel in the city of Korazan,” he explains.

  “You’re a Shynti?” he asks, hardly daring to believe what his eyes are telling him.

  The leader of the men from the Empire begins to sense things are not going as expected. “What’s all this?” he asks as he comes forward. “Fight!” The crowd filling the courtyard begins murmuring as they watch the scene playing out before them.

  Ignoring the man, Jiron nods his head and says, “Yes, I am. I have feasted with the Eller Tribe.”

  “Did you meet a warrior whose name was Qyith?” he asks as a strange look comes over his face.

  Nodding, Jiron replies, “He was the War Leader of the Eller Tribe. A nice man all things considered.”

  “He’s my brother,” states the Parvati. He suddenly tilts his head back and lets out with a loud, primordial cry.

  Reaching their side, the man from the Empire grabs the Parvati’s arm just as his cry comes to a close and demands, “Why have you stopped the fight?”

  Knocking his hand from his arm, the Parvati rounds on him and says, “I will no longer fight for you.”

  “What?” exclaims the man. “You are honor bound to fight as I tell you!”

  “No more will I fight honorless fights for you,” he states with finality. Pointing to Jiron, he says, “He is a Shynti of the Parvati’s which makes him one of our people. You put me to fight one of my own so that which was binding is no longer. I am free!”

  The crowd, having grown restless when the fight stopped, becomes silent as they watch the growing drama unfold before them. From the pavilion, the rest of the Empire’s people come forward to stand with their leader.

  “He is no Parvati!” the man cries out in rage. The thought that he’s going to lose his champion is almost more than he can stand. “If you do not honor your agreement, then you are an honorless swine!”

  Moving so fast as to almost be unseen, the Parvati’s sword strikes out, severing the man’s head from his shoulders. As the head flies off and bounces on the ground several feet away, the crowd becomes deathly silent as the man’s torso stumbles about for a moment before crashing to the ground.

  For a moment, the courtyard is silent as a grave, the shock of this unexpected event stunning the onlookers. Then the rest of the men from the Empire draw their swords as they rush the Parvati to avenge the death of their leader.

  Laughing, the Parvati faces them with both swords as he blocks the attack of two men. The crowd suddenly turns into a panicked mob as they race for the exits of the courtyard. None wish to be around with an actual battle going on, not just because they may get hurt, but because they don’t want to be around when the city guard arrives.

  Deflecting the attack of the two men, the Parvati has left himself open to the thrust of the third. The blade almost strikes his side when its course is deflected by a knife. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jiron coming to his aid. Laughing all the more, he cries out, “Come brother, let’s send these men to the other side!”

  “I’m with you!” Jiron cries out as he follows through with his second knife, narrowly missing the man’s stomach.

  Suddenly, one of the men facing the Parvati cries out as Fifer’s sword takes him through the side. The remaining man facing the Parvati hacks down with all his might. Using his longsword, the Parvati knocks the attacking blade to the side and then follows through with his short sword, sinking it to the hilt between the man’s ribs. Wedged in tightly, the sword is pulled from his hands as the man falls to the ground.

  Jiron, now fighting the sole remaining man, captures his sword between his knives and kicks out, catching him in the groin. With a groan the man’s strength leaves him for but a moment which is all the time Jiron needs. A quick twist of his knives and the sword is wrenched out of the man’s hands and sent flying across the courtyard.

  Jiron steps back from him just as a longsword strikes out, taking the man’s head from his shoulders. Glancing to the side, he sees the Parvati move to where his shortsword is still embedded in the dead man’s chest. Placing a foot on the dead man, he draws out his sword. Wiping both swords clean on his opponent’s clothes, he turns to see Jiron staring at him.

  “Thank you my friend,” the Parvati says.

  Jiron only nods as Fifer comes to him and says, “We’ve got to get out of here!”

  From around them they can hear the shouts and running of feet as the city guard races into the courtyard. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the man with which he made the bet on the outcome of the fight. Running over to him, he asks, “Where’s my money!”

  “What money?” the man asks.

  “I won so where’s the money you owe me?” he demands.

  Giving him a sardonic smile, the man says, “Your winning the bet was contingent on you winning the fight.” Nodding to the approaching Parvati, he adds, “He’s still alive so you didn’t win.”

  “But…” he begins when Fifer grabs his arm. “We can’t stay here!” As Fifer drags him away, the man’s laughter follows him.

  Suddenly from across the courtyard, men of the city guard begin pouring in from a side alley. “Guards!” cries out Fifer as all three of them bolt for an alleyway on the opposite side of the courtyard.

  “Just a second!” he says as he alters his course slightly and heads over to the pavilion.

  “What are you doing?” yells Fifer. The guards are coming fast toward them, one of them yells, “Halt! Stay where you are!”

  Jiron reaches the pavilion and grabs something off the ground before turning to head for the alleyway where Fifer and the Parvati are waiting for him. With a quick glance back at the approaching guards, he enters the alley. Racing down to the other side, they pray they can prevent being caught.

  Chapter Eight

  _________________________

  Knock! Knock! Knock!

  Startled out of a deep sleep, James sits up in the dark.
At first not sure just what awoke him.

  Knock! Knock! Knock!

  Again the incessant knocking upon his door thunders through the night. Getting out of bed, he notices the knocking hasn’t bothered his friend Dave who is still snoring blissfully. Dave always had been a deep sleeper. In a sleepy haze, he makes his way over to the door.

  He snaps completely awake when on the other side of the door he finds a squad of the castle guard standing in the hallway. “Are you James?” the officer in charge asks.

  “Yes,” he replies.

  “You’re under arrest,” he says.

  “What?” he exclaims in disbelief. “What for?”

  “I wasn’t told that,” the officer replies. “Now, please come with us.”

  “Let me at least get dressed first,” he says.

  The officer glances at him standing there in his small clothes and nods. As James begins closing the door, the officer pushes it back open with his hand and enters. Several of his guards come in as well.

  “What’s going on,” a groggy Dave asks from where he just woke up.

  “I’m being arrested!” states James as he begins dressing.

  “Arrested?” asks Dave, coming full awake. “Why in the hell are they arresting you?”

  “I don’t know,” he says.

  A commotion begins out in the hallway and then he hears Illan’s voice say, “James!”

  “Illan,” he hollers out to him. “They’re arresting me!”

  “Let me through,” he hears him say to the guards blocking his way into the room. One of the guards out in the hallway glances inside and when he receives a nod from his officer, steps aside and allows Illan to come in.

  To the officer, he asks, “What’s going on here?”

  Nodding to James, he replies, “He’s being placed under arrest.”

  “By whose order?” asks Illan.

  “By order of the Royal Court,” the officer says.

  “Why?”

  “He won’t say or doesn’t know,” James tells him. Finally dressed, he glances into the worried eyes of Dave and says, “Stay with Illan. I’m sure we’ll have this all cleared up in no time.”