The Bone Sword

by Walter Rhein

  Jasmine paled slightly, but she had grown too much over the last few months to uniformly object to the necessity of battle.

  Jasmine nodded.

  “Whatever happens,” he said, addressing them all, “it has been the great privilege of my life to march with you… I want you to know that.”

  Emotion welled within Malik as he spoke, and he might have faltered were it not for Gerard who reached forward and clasped his arm firmly at the elbow. Malik’s eyes met the steely gaze of the veteran soldier and he felt himself renewed.

  One by one, the others stepped forward. Each clasped Malik’s arm in a wordless sign of friendship. One by one, until Noah stepped forward and embraced him, followed by Jasmine who held him closer than he had ever known. When she stepped away, Malik found the warmth remained. He had been renewed.

  “What did you do?” he asked.

  “I’ve cared for you,” she said simply, a transparent tear trickling down her cheek. “It’s a simple magic.”

  She then reached down and picked up the bone sword. At first the act startled Malik, who somehow didn’t want for it to touch her. But such was his calm in her presence, that his lightning reflexes were quelled, and as she handed him the weapon, he found it to be lighter.

  He looked up from the gathering, allowing his eyes to linger upon all of them for just a moment more

  Malik smiled, then, almost abruptly, he turned on his heel and went forth to meet his destiny.

  Chapter 41

  Into the Maze

  The war drums sounded in the forest and the army sprang to alertness. The soldiers had slept in their clothes and boots. Many of them had slept with weapons in hand. Few would call that rest, but Malik was a campaigner and he knew. Even if you don’t sleep, you rest. Even if you sit awake all night, your eyes darting this way and that, you are still more recovered than immediately after completing a long day’s march.

  Noah on one side and Denz and Rorik on the other, he stepped forward. Cheers broke out at his approach, and the army swarmed. On the edge of the clearing, Malik turned.

  “Today, I fight in the Labyrinth,” he said.

  There was a cheer.

  “I beseech you, watch the castle, not the fight, for when the defenders become engrossed, you will have the advantage. As our enemies watch me battle, you must attack!”

  The jubilance of the army was replaced with a fierce determination.

  “If you seize your advantage, you will have victory!” Malik said, and the army lofted the words upwards with another cheer.

  Malik smiled and turned to the greensward.

  The castle door was open, and there stood Oberon with a Nightshade at each elbow.

  “Come, Malik,” he cried through cupped hands. “Our dance awaits.”

  Malik pointed at the Labyrinth.

  “I’ll meet you there, you at the eastern entrance and I at the west.”

  Oberon put his hands on his hips and laughed, but Malik ignored him.

  “Did someone think to keep a watch on the labyrinth last night?” he asked quietly, suddenly possessed of a sinking feeling.

  “Of course,” Noah replied, “it was the first thing Gerard ordered when you retired.”

  “Thank Lightbringer someone kept his head,” Malik replied. He turned to Rorik. “Stay here,” he said. “I’ll see you from below. Wave at me when Oberon enters.”

  “And if something is amiss?”

  “Wave your sword.”

  Rorik nodded. “Good luck.”

  Noah, Michael and Malik began the downhill walk to the Labyrinth keeping close to the tree line. Below them on the castle side of the greensward, Oberon and his seconds kept pace. Malik watched their every step, and even with the great distance that separated them, he could see Oberon’s mocking smile glinting in the dim morning light.

  All too soon they were there, the cracked granite entry of the Labyrinth stood before them, the twelve-foot hedges bristling with thorny ivy.

  “It is a good place for a duel,” Michael said somberly.

  “It is how it must be,” Malik replied. He gazed at Rorik up on the hill.

  Rorik waved. There was no sword.

  “The time has come,” Malik said.

  And without further comment, he drew his weapon and entered the labyrinth.

  Chapter 42

  The Battle of the Bone Swords

  Nothing existed but the familiar grooves of the bone sword digging into his palm, the feel of the earth beneath him, the rapid beating of his heart.

  Malik stepped lightly and listened, and smelled.

  All his senses were on the edge of a blade. The moist morning air was sweeter than any he had ever tasted.

  Blood surged through his limbs and fingers, he felt it flushing through his temples giving his body hypersensitivity.

  His bane was out there, waiting for him.

  The final battle had arrived.

  Even in Camden, Malik had heard countless stories of the Miscony Labyrinth. It was a marvel of botanical architecture and, indeed, one of the few reasons the Southern Kings ever found to visit the outlying fiefdoms. A quarter mile on each side, it had no doubt provided endless hours of amusement for young children of noble birth, or perhaps given a quiet private place for adolescent couples to escape the reproaches of their instructors.

  It was a place to lose yourself.

  Today, it would be a death chamber.

  Malik moved as close to the hedge wall as he dared. He did not want to brush the branches. He did not wish to make any noise that might reveal his position.

  There was no doubt Oberon was alert and listening, keen for any advantage he might gain.

  Despite his focus, Malik noticed that all was quiet beyond the Labyrinth.

  The fight had not engaged.

  The armies were watching.

  Please, Malik thought, please let them have heard me. Let them use the distraction and attack!

  The narrow passage Malik had been following expanded into a wide area about twenty meters square. There were several granite formations that were stacked to provide crawlspaces for children to play on. Malik peered into them with squinted eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of his adversary. Hoping to get the advantage of Oberon with his back turned and cut him early with a debilitating wound that might quickly win him the victory.

  His hopes, however, were futile.

  Malik heard clapping hands. His head snapped around only to see Oberon Keels standing on a nearby boulder.

  In his colossal arrogance, the lean warrior threw back his head and laughed.

  “You’ve lost already, you idiot,” he said. “You walked right by me.”

  Malik said nothing, he merely crouched with his sword ready, the sound of Oberon’s voice sending an icy shiver down his spine.

  Oberon leaped casually to the floor. He hadn’t even drawn his sword.

  “Your friends are watching, you know,” he laughed again. “I’m going to expose you as a fraud and cut out their hearts from a half mile away.”

  The lean warrior reached for his weapon casually, taking his eyes off Malik disdainfully as he did so.

  “Haven’t you figured out that you were never trained? You were never instructed? You don’t really think you have a chance against me, do you?”

  Malik’s muscles tightened and he found his voice.

  “I do have one advantage,” he said, “something you don’t possess.”

  Oberon looked up, a mocking look on his face.

  “And what—”

  His words were interrupted by the sound of a battle erupting. Oberon glanced past Malik to see the army of peasants emerging from the forest in a frantic charge against Miscony Castle. Many of them had already reached it, and had begun scaling the walls.

  “What—” Oberon said, a hint of confusion entering his voice.

  “I have loyal friends,” Malik said. He launched himself, sword flashing.

  As all eyes watched Malik and his descent into the
Labyrinth, Denz and Gerard sneaked along the tree line keeping ever to the shadows. They were moving toward the Southeast corner of the castle.

  “You’re sure this servant’s door will be there?” Gerard grunted in the still dark morning.

  “Pretty sure,” Denz replied.

  Gerard growled. It was not the sort of assurance he wanted to hear.

  A few minutes later, they stood in the trees at the far corner of the castle. The greensward before them was open and empty. The dark sky was only beginning to be lit by the rising sun.

  “That’s a lot of space to cover,” Gerard said simply.

  “Their attention will be on the Labyrinth,” Denz replied. “And should they look our way, we will be cloaked by the shadow and the light of the rising sun.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  Denz said nothing, he just shrugged and looked at the sky.

  A second later, the sun crested the horizon.

  “We must go!” he snapped, and they ran.

  Denz was swifter than Gerard, who was shorter and more stout. The warrior from Elmshearst cursed under his breath as he tried to keep Denz within arm’s reach. There was no sense, after all, in letting the only piece of cover from potential arrows get so far away that it couldn’t do him any good.

  The men sprinted.

  Above, on the wall, shadowy figures moved among the backdrop of the still-visible stars.

  The distance to the castle slowly evaporated.

  Fifty yards.

  Forty…

  Thirty…

  Gerard did the best he could to hold his labored breathing in check. When he could spare the strength, he glanced upwards at the sentries.

  Were they pausing in their patrol to stop and stare?

  Whether they were or not, a thrill of adrenaline sent Gerard’s legs pumping all the more.

  Twenty yards…

  Ten…

  With a gasp, Gerard touched the wall. He knew well that he was not yet safe, but he allowed himself the illusion to give himself some time to regain his breath. After all, what good could he do against an opponent when he was gasping and wheezing like an old woman?

  Denz looked back at him and smiled.

  “You move well,” he grinned.

  “I’d better,” Gerard replied still gasping.

  “I suppose I would, too, if I didn’t want to let a potential traitor out of my sights.” Denz said.

  Gerard went white and his breathing stilled.

  Denz chuckled.

  “Do not worry my friend. I have ever been true to our queen.”

  “I certainly hope so,” Gerard replied, “I’ve started to enjoy your company, it’d be a shame to have to kill you.”

  “I’ll kill you both myself if you don’t keep it down,” came a third whispered voice from an opened door.

  The sound had an electric effect on Denz, who promptly scurried over to the source of the noise.

  “Sergeant Hicks?”

  “The same, now get in here before they see you above.”

  Without any further urging, Denz and Gerard slipped in through the door. It closed behind them with none the wiser.

  Noah sat at the tree line and watched. From his vantage point, he could see both down into the Labyrinth and to the Southeast corner of the castle. So it was that he witnessed both Malik’s engagement with Oberon Keels, and Gerard and Denz’s admission into the castle walls.

  “It won’t be long now,” he said.

  Rorik sat with Alec and Michael on pawing steeds. Behind them were another twenty men. They were not so practiced as members of a cavalry perhaps, but all of them knew how to manage a horse, at least.

  “Keep your eyes on the gates, lads,” Rorik admonished through thin lips. “It’s going to happen soon.”

  Noah nodded, but his eyes kept drifting to the Labyrinth.

  There, Malik was facing the greatest task of any of them.

  There, Malik was slaying the ghosts of his past.

  From a distance, they saw swords flash in the morning light.

  Inside the walls, Denz embraced Sergeant Hicks warmly.

  “Was it you who set me loose?” he asked, still in a hushed voice.

  “By my order but not my hand,” Hicks said quickly. “There’s no time for pleasantries now.”

  Quickly, Hicks passed Denz and Gerard matching green tabards.

  “I’ve been recruiting men for months, and beyond those who have openly sworn allegiance to me, we have also established a rumor.”

  “A rumor?” Gerard said skeptically.

  “A rumor that the Captain will return,” as he spoke the words he nodded at Denz. “There has long been discontentment with the earl. The bastard had a tendency to bring in the cousins of the soldiers of Miscony for his pleasure. I doubt there is a man who defends these walls who hasn’t seen the earl’s foul hands upon some blood relative be it sister, mother, or cousin.”

  “But the earl is dead,” Gerard said simply.

  Hicks snorted.

  “It’ll take action, not simply the assurance of justice, to cleanse these walls. There are many good men who are itching to defend their kin.”

  Denz and Gerard slipped into their tabards quietly and drew their weapons as Hicks led them through several winding staircases toward what Gerard assumed was the courtyard.

  “How many do you have?” Denz asked.

  “One hundred sworn and loyal to me, but my guess is we’ll be able to turn many of the others once they see you.”

  Denz’s eyes narrowed to slits.

  “That leaves the Nightshades as our principle enemy.”

  “Indeed, and that’s no small task.”

  They emerged into a small gathering hall near the courtyard. The men Hicks recruited were waiting. He turned to address them, but before he spoke, he had one final word for Denz.

  “Is it true? Does she possess the healing touch?”

  “She does, indeed,” Denz replied, “I’ve felt it myself.”

  “I’m sure she’ll have ample opportunity to heal before this day is done.” Hicks turned to the gathering. “Our Captain has returned! We must strike the Nightshades now, quick and hard before they know what’s coming! Take care with your friends among the soldiers of Miscony. Turn them to our cause if you can, but protect your own skin first and foremost. The phrase that has been circulating the castle is ‘My Captain, I am yours.’ Do not trust freely any admonition of alliance besides this.”

  The men turned to Denz and made a silent salute before pouring out into the courtyard. They went silently, scaling ladders and running stairways to gather themselves against the Nightshades from the South who had come to aid their cause.

  The Nightshades were fixated on the battle in the Labyrinth, but a few of them turned at the approach of the soldiers of Miscony, only to be greeted with drawn swords and faces hard with dark purpose.

  The first ones screamed, and the others were quick to react, but it had not been much warning.

  The battle was engaged.

  In the midst of the sudden skirmish, Denz and Gerard sprinted forward to the mighty machinery that opened the castle gates. As the chaos mounted, Denz gestured to Gerard, who was stationed opposite him, and began to push.

  As the courtyard of Miscony’s castle erupted in an unexpected ambush, the doors of Miscony slowly began to open.

  Seeing the break in the castle walls, Noah drove his heels into his steed and his animal responded with a fervent charge. Noah did not even cry to his friends, for he knew they would follow him in his assault.

  He held a sword that had been taken from one of the Nightshades at Pinehill. The heft of the handle provided Noah no small comfort as he thundered forward. The weight reminded him of his training back up in the mountains with Malik and his sister.

  His sister…

  His thoughts turned to Jasmine as he urged his animal on and crossed the eternal greensward. He couldn’t help but reflect on the similarities to this mom
ent with his very first arrival at Miscony Castle.

  That time he had been jailed in a carriage; a prisoner.

  This time he held a weapon at the head of a force of men.

  But both times he had been beyond terrified.

  With every beat of his horse’s hooves, the castle loomed larger. It almost seemed as if he were entering the head of a great dragon that was waiting in the distance to consume him.

  Again, he thought of Jasmine, but this time with a wry smile.

  The fiery girl had been, of course, chomping at the bit to attack the castle along with all the others. But in the end, logic had stopped her. If she were to fall in battle, how could she heal the wounded afterward? The reasons might not have been enough to gain her happiness, but they had been sufficient to keep her safely guarded back in her tent.

  Noah would have stories for her when he returned.

  He anticipated her biting her lip in frustration the same way all sisters did when they were jealous and tormented by their brothers.

  With a laugh, Noah raised his sword once more.

  “For Queen Jasmine!” he cried.

  The call was answered.

  Malik and Oberon had a heated exchange and then broke apart. Malik stepped back, disconcerted. The strength in Oberon’s blows was greater than he had expected from such a small man. Again, the old fears gripped him. Perhaps the legend of the leader of Camden Guard was more truthful than he had given credit.

  He pushed the self-doubt away.

  “How does it feel,” Malik said snarling, “to know nobody’s watching?”

  Oberon stepped forward angrily. The Captain was not used to being anything other than in charge. He made two violent swings, driving Malik back with none of the flirtatious foreplay that Malik had observed in his swordsmanship all those years before.

  The thought gave Malik pause.

  He had observed Oberon.