by Tristan Vick
A strand of hair falls into my line of sight, but I don’t take my eyes off Dathrium for an instant. I know all about Lord Dathrium’s prowess upon the battlefield. In the rare times that he talked about the war, Master Kel mentioned Dathrium. He told me that Dathrium was one of the greatest warriors he’d ever seen. That’s how I know he wouldn’t hesitate to cut me down where I stand should I make one little misstep.
Alert, I keep my eyes fixed on him as though he were a golden-eyed panther watching me from beyond the camouflage of forest foliage, ready to spring on me when I least expect it. I study his face and movements attentively, looking for any sign of what he might be thinking from behind his deep-set eyes.
Lord Dathrium grins back at me with a manic smile that gives him an excited, diabolic look. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear by the Goddess he was the devil Vulcanus himself.
We circle one another. He shuffles noisily in his armor as he repositions himself to counter me, and I adjust my footing accordingly.
If Dathrium is half the legend that Master Kel told me about in the stories of the war, he’ll most certainly match me skill for skill. Still, I have a couple of advantages over him. For starters, his heavy plated armor weighs him down considerably. I only ever use a lightweight leather armor. I wear a vest to protect my torso, a leather cuisse to protect my upper thighs, and vambraces for my forearms along with matching greaves for my shins.
Without heavy metal to weigh me down, I can move as swiftly and nimbly as the wind. The elf armor I wear is segmented, like an insect’s body, so I can move without restriction. I can even tuck, duck, and roll if need be. And although such lightweight armor won’t protect me from a lethal blow, it does deflect most glancing scrapes and jabs.
The other advantage I have is that, although he was once a skilled soldier, Dathrium has fallen out of shape and has become complacent in his old age. Still, I keep my feet moving and keep him guessing as to my next move. There’s no going halfway with someone who’s determined to take off your head.
Lord Dathrium raises his crescent saber high above him and glowers at me. His eyes glow white-hot with unbridled fury.
“Your skills with a blade are impressive,” he snarls. The compliment is both reluctant and unexpected. I can tell that he’s annoyed that he is being challenged by an unassuming young woman. He even makes a point of it when he adds in a condescending tone, “For a peasant girl.”
“I am no peasant,” I inform him. “I hail from the northern kingdom of Bellera. My people have no caste system. No hierarchy to divide us. Everyone is treated as an equal and everyone learns to fight like a warrior. We are an ancient and noble race, and will never be intimidated.”
Dathrium’s eyes grow large and one eyebrow rises in an inquisitive fashion. “Ha!” he bellows. “A barbarian girl?!”
His voice is full of disdain, but I do my best to ignore it. There’s no sense in letting his empty taunts goad me into losing my cool and making reckless decisions.
“Why do you laugh, Lord Dathrium?” I ask him. “Have I said something to amuse you?”
“Indeed,” he sneers, his nostrils flaring with disgust. “I should have guessed by your lack of etiquette that you were a mere barbarian girl. But perhaps I can teach you a thing or two about social standing, and of kneeling before your king, after I beat the insolence out of you!”
Growing up in the highlands, I was painfully aware of the prejudice against my people. It was all too common among the noble lords of the kingdoms of Valandra. Only Valandra, the capitol, and Urhuhlin, the dwarf kingdom, traded with the northern tribes of Bellera and Yulandra. That is, until Lord Dathrium took power.
“Funny,” I say, mockingly, “that you would resort to the barbaric custom of confining me to a cage yet have the audacity to call me the barbarian. It seems the only barbarian here is you, Lord Dathrium!”
“Gah!” Lord Dathrium sputters, angered by my continued defiance. Sure enough, he takes the bait and lunges at me, swinging wildly as he lumbers toward me.
Our swords spark and sing again with the song of clashing steel. But his clumsy blows are no match for my disciplined hand, my youth, and my stamina.
It is quite apparent to me now that Lord Dathrium hasn’t had to fight any of his own battles in quite some time. After all, he has the entire Royal Guard at his disposal.
I use my sword like a staff, taking it in both hands. I thrust forward and slam it into Dathrium’s chest. He staggers back, his garish black armor rattling like old pots and pans as he tries to catch his footing.
Even though Lord Dathrium is my sworn enemy, in the heat of the battle I cannot help but admire the exquisiteness of his armor. It is patterned with gold runes written in the language of the Dark Elves, and although I cannot read it I can guess at its purpose, an obvious incantation meant to shield him from the hexes and spells of his enemies.
Perhaps even more alluring is the strange black aura the armor emanates. It’s the blackest aura I’ve ever seen. It seems as if dark flames, darker than the midnight sky, radiate off of it. A truly frightening sight.
I widen my stance and hold my blue steel katana at the ready, waiting for him to make the next move. By the look on Dathrium’s face I can tell he is growing vexed by not being able to dispatch me quickly.
“You fight well, girl,” Dathrium says from behind clenched teeth. I know he’s only stalling.
“I wish I could say the same, Dathrium.”
“Defiant to the end, no doubt. But that’s just fine by me,” he says with a sinister grin. “It will make breaking you all the more fun.”
“We’ll see, Lord Dathrium, who breaks who. That is, if I don’t die of boredom from your incessant blathering first.”
“GRAH!” he roars, angered by my taunt. Dathrium springs forward and brings his crescent saber down with a wrenching blow. Then another. And another.
I deflect his attacks with my katana but he uses his mass to push me back toward the wall. Each time his blade crashes down on mine it feels as hard as a blacksmith’s hammer slamming down on an anvil. There is another spray of sparks.
Seeing that I’m getting boxed in, I smile at Dathrium. He pulls back, curious as to what I’ll do next. Seeing my chance, I turn and run straight for the wall. I leap forward and run up the wall. Once I’m near the top I kick off, and leap backward. I fly over Dathrium’s head in one fluid motion and then land on the ground behind him. I extend my sword and wait for Dathrium to turn around.
Once he does, he looks impressed. As the light gleams off my blade, I motion with my fingers for him to continue with our sparring.
“So, girl,” Dathrium growls, his eyes fixed on me with all the malice he can muster. “You think you can overthrow a king, do you?”
“All kings who live by the sword shall fall by the sword,” I say with a grin pressed tightly upon my lips.
“Indeed,” he responds. “I suppose it can’t be helped though. After all, if a king wants to make his mark on the world, he must do so through conquest and great victories upon the battlefield. Even the late King Pelos died fighting to keep the twelve kingdoms united. It will be his victories upon the battlefield the bards sing of for generations to come. Not what treaties he signed.”
“And what about you, Lord Dathrium?” I ask. “What songs will the bards sing of you after you’re gone? Will they sing of a great king who kept the realms united under a banner of peace and prosperity, or will they sing of the fool who let it all fall to ruin because he cared more about his own greatness that doing what was right?”
“Does it matter?” he sneers. “As the cousin and only surviving heir of King Pelos, my royal bloodline is not in question. I am the rightful successor to the throne!”
“King Pelos would have never betrayed the trust of his own people. He certainly never would have harmed those who defied him.”
“What do you know of what King Pelos did or didn’t do? You are but a mere girl.”
“I’m nineteen,”
I say defiantly. “A woman by anyone’s standards.”
“Very well then,” Dathrium says, circling around me like a hungry wolf circling its prey. He takes a deep breath to calm his nerves, then looks up at me and smiles. His smile is unsettling. And it’s apparent that behind his cold eyes and forced smile he knows something I don’t.
“Guards, seize the traitor!” he shouts.
Instantly, a dozen Royal Guards flood into the room and take their positions all around me, forming a tight circle. Dathrium’s thin-lipped grin turns into a wide toothy one, and I can’t help but laugh at his pathetic display of cowardice.
“So, Lord Dathrium,” I say contemptuously, ignoring the fact that he’s regnant imperium, or the acting king until another can be christened. “Are you so afraid to lose to a mere girl that you call in your legionnaires to do your fighting for you?”
“Seize her!” he demands, his mouth frothing with mad excitement at the chance to subdue me.
Three armed guards box me in with their shields and hit me with a blow so hard it knocks the wind right out of me. My head goes light and I fight to catch my breath. Before I can get back into a proper fighting stance, however, a fourth guard sneaks up from behind and grabs me.
“Let go of me!” I scream, kicking and squirming. But it’s no use. His grip is too tight.
Without warning, he slams me into the ground so hard I lose my breath. My blade slips from my grasp and lands a few feet from where I lie. I reach my slender fingers out toward it, but before I can retrieve it a foot suddenly kicks it away. The sword scrapes and sparks along the stone floor until, at last, it rattles to a halt.
I look up just in time to see Lord Dathrium’s wild eyes and manic grin staring down at me with vicious intent. And then, without another moment’s hesitation, his black gauntleted fist careens toward my face. I feel a sharp pain and then everything goes dark.
34
Voices are murmuring in the darkness. Or what I think is darkness until I begin to stir awake and open my eyes. A soft orange light illuminates my surroundings but everything is blurry. Squinting into the light, I think I must have gotten hit harder than I thought. And the colossal headache that is drilling into my brain with glowing hot needles from every conceivable direction confirms it.
“Ah, she’s finally awake,” a soft and gentle voice says. It’s a woman’s voice. I feel a damp cloth on my forehead and I look up. A woman with a pleasant face and golden hair leans over me, but she too is blurry for my vision to make out clearly.
“Who…who are you?” I ask, attempting to sit up. But a sharp pain, like a fisherman’s harpoon, drags me back down again.
“It’s all right,” the voice tells me. “You’re safe here.”
“When will she be ready?” a gruff voice asks. I recognize the voice. It’s Dathrium’s.
I force myself to sit up, ignoring the needle-like pain that seems to penetrate my skull from every possible angle. “Dathrium!” I snarl.
“Keep calm,” the woman’s voice tells me and she gently pushes me back down onto the bed.
Things are finally beginning to clear up. Its apparent that I’m still in Dathrium’s chambers. A beautiful woman I do not recognize is attending to my wounds. She is wearing the royal physician’s emblem, a double-headed phoenix holding a Calendula flower in one claw and a cluster of hawthorn berries in the other. Both herbs are used for medicinal remedies and have become associated with the symbol all medical practitioners use.
Leaning on my elbow, I rub my throbbing head with my other hand. “Why am I still here?”
Dathrium paces back and forth with his arms locked behind his back no more than five meters from the bedside. “It seems both you and I have something in common,” he informs me.
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” I ask. A sharp pain in the back of my head causes me to groan and the woman helps me back down onto the bed.
His arms still folded behind his back, he looks over his shoulder at me. “We’re both the victims of an elaborate deception.”
“How do I know you’re not just lying to me?”
Dathrium stops his pacing and turns toward me. “I could have had my guards toss you back into the dungeon to rot, but I didn’t. Instead, you are here in my personal chambers getting medical treatment. I’ve extended the olive branch in the hope that you’ll trust me just enough to hear me out. I hope you will chose to do the same.”
As much as I despise Dathrium, I decide I had better hear him out. After all, everything he’s done thus far has proven he doesn’t want me dead. What he needs is information. And I need the same.
“Fine,” I moan. “What do you want to know?”
“You said the army of the dead marches on Sabolin. You said it attacked Bellera a fortnight ago. If this is true, why haven’t I heard about this?”
“Oh, I assure you, it’s the truth. And I don’t know why you haven’t heard anything of it. The army marches in your name—everyone to the north knows you are waging war one them.”
“I’ve issued no such declaration,” he roars, his temper flaring. Stopping his anger from erupting and further, his begins his pacing again.
Unexpectedly, there is a knock at the door.
“Enter!” Dathrium bellows.
A messenger wearing the normal gray and blue tunic enters and takes a deep bow. “Your Lordship, the esteemed Dragoron wishes to have a word, if your Lordship can spare the time.”
“Inform Lord Dragoron that I am busy, but that I wish to speak with him. Send him in.”
Dragoron suddenly appears in the doorway and bows reverently. After paying his respect, he tucks both hands in his oversized sleeves and grips his forearms in a sagely manner. He walks to us, his black imperial robes flowing majestically.
Lord Dathrium waves at the nurse to leave the room, and says, “You are dismissed.”
“But your Highness, she has a concussion and—”
“You are dismissed,” he reiterates more forcefully.
She gathers her things, stands up, presses down her apron, and then scurries out the door. The messenger boy is quick to follow and closes the door behind him.
“You…” I gasp, glowering at Dragoron. “I saw you crushed under the stone pillars.”
“I’m afraid the rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.” Dragoron chuckles.
“What news do you bring your king?” Dathrium asks.
Dragoron shoots me a scornful look and says, “Why don’t we ask your little friend here? I’m sure she knows something. After all, trouble seems to follow her wherever she goes.”
“There will be no need to interrogate her any further. In fact, she’s been of great help to me.”
“Oh, really?” Dragoron asks in an enquiring tone. He raises an eyebrow and stares at me inquisitively, not taking his eyes off of me for an instant. Admittedly, it’s a little unnerving, considering I’m bedridden.
“What do you know of the rumors of the army of the dead? Arianna,” Dathrium relays, motioning toward me with his hand, “informs me that not one, but two of Valandra’s provinces have been attacked by the wraith knight Ashram. Is this true?”
After a long pause, Dragoron finally says, “I’m afraid it is, your majesty.”
“Why wasn’t I informed of this?” Dathrium roars, his short fuse dangerously close to going off.
“With the passing of your cousin, and everything that’s transpired, not to mention this young lady’s troublesome antics, I didn’t want to overwhelm you with more bad news.”
“Never mind that!” Dathrium grumbles. “If a sparrow so much as passes wind, I want to know about it. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, my liege,” Dragoron answers, taking another reverent bow.
“What have we done about it?”
“I sent a conscript of legionnaires to evaluate the level of the threat to both locations. I have not heard back from them.”
“Dispatch a messenger to both regions. I want to have word back by su
ndown tomorrow.”
“Yes, sire.”
“Also, have my horse prepared. I ride for Koroth tonight. I must speak with the Grand Magus about why the army of the dead is risen again.”
“As your worshipfulness desires.”
“And one more thing,” Lord Dathrium says, turning his attention back to me. “Have this girl cleaned up. Give her a room and a dress.” His eyes meet mine. “I want you to join me for supper tonight. It’s just a small gathering. An informal banquet of sorts.”
Words escape me. I’ve never been to a royal banquet, let alone been pardoned so quickly after trying to assassinate a king. “But your lordship, I tried to kill you. How do you know that you can trust me?”
“I don’t,” Dathrium replies. “But before you try to complete your mission, give me a chance to prove to you I’m not the monster you think I am.”
I honestly don’t know what to think. There’s simply not enough information for me to make up my mind on what are lies and what are truths. And for the first time in my life I feel like I’ve been used. Like I’m some kind of pawn in someone else’s chess game. But exactly whose, I cannot say.
Dathrium helps me to my feet, and to show that he holds no ill will against me, he gives me back my sword. I’m stunned, to say the least, but I bow to him with a show of gratitude.
“Show her to her room and have someone attend to her. I want her looking like a princess and not some highland rogue by nightfall.”
“Yes, your majesty,” Dragoron says. Then, swirling around, his ropes floating in the air as he spins, Dragoron calls out to me, “Follow me, if you will.”
I look back at Dathrium, who nods for me to follow Dragoron, and so I do. As I exit Dathrium’s chambers, I cannot help but feel a terrible sense of uncertainty. I no longer know my place. I no longer know whom to trust.
Nevertheless, I feel the intense urge to follow things through to the end and see whether I can discover any more clues. I must learn who has been manipulating me like their personal marionette and, if the Goddess is willing, reveal what their master plan is and expose them.