The Rise of the Wrym Lord

by Wayne Thomas Batson

  She charged forward, the Daughter of Light slashing right to left and then chopping high to low. Paddock stumbled backward, righted himself, and slashed back. His blows were becoming weaker. He was tiring, but she was always mindful of the dagger.

  “Wait!” cried Paddock. “You’re one a them from Alleble! I can see it on yer armor. Yeah, you are.” He spat. “I bet I’d fetch a pretty price fer you over the water.”

  Water! Antoinette looked back at the dock. The wind had picked up and whitecaps appeared on the river. The ferry had started to pull away from the dock. But just then, someone leaped off the back of the boat. He wore a dark hood and his cape sailed behind him as he charged ashore toward Antoinette. The wind gusted, pulling his hood away and revealing the knight’s long blond hair. Kearn, Antoinette realized, and he had drawn his sword.

  Something made Antoinette turn around just in time. Paddock tried clumsily to grab her shoulders, but Antoinette whipped her blade inside out and opened a huge gash on Paddock’s hand.

  He dropped his dagger and cursed. “Arghh! My hand! You filthy maid! No price is worth this trouble. I’ll cut you in half!” He swung wildly. Antoinette blocked with her sword and shoved his blade away such that it spun Paddock around. She put her foot on his back and pushed. He sprawled face-first onto the muddy ground. He did not stir.

  “Turn to me, swordmaiden from Alleble!” a voice demanded from behind. “I would not slay a woman when her back is turned!”

  Her blade vertical in front of her, Antoinette spun around to face Kearn. And for a moment, Antoinette’s will quailed. Kearn was menacing, a living shadow, garbed all in black with his wide cape floating behind him on the wind. He seemed much taller than he had in Yewland. His green eyes smoldered, and when they flashed red, it was like torches kindling. His long hair hung in wet locks like tarnished gold upon the brow of a dead king. And kingly he looked, but dreadful. Not to be adored, but always to be followed. He slowly raised his sword—a doublewide blade, black at the hilt but gradually brightening to silver and tapering to a cruel point.

  “The upper hand was yours by chance in Yewland,” he said. “But you find yourself alone now.”

  “I am never alone!” Antoinette replied, but her mind flickered with doubt. She had, after all, ignored Kaliam’s orders and abandoned the mission for which the King had called her.

  “Oh, but you are,” Kearn hissed, circling slowly to Antoinette’s right. “You are alone. I see it in your countenance, and your eyes tell a sad story. For you are not of this world. You . . . do not belong here.”

  Suddenly, he lashed out—two strokes, swift and heavy. Antoinette blocked them, barely, and a numbing shiver crawled over her hands. She had the feeling that he was measuring her, testing her strength and, possibly, her resolve.

  “You have some skill with a sword,” Kearn said, and he smiled. “I am glad. For I would feel cheated if I missed the ferry for only a quick kill.” Antoinette looked over his shoulder, and indeed the ferryboat full of knights was already far from shore.

  He came at her again, horizontal strokes this time. One at her ankles; the other near her shoulder. Antoinette darted backward, parried the strikes. She had never defended against such strength before. His blade carried the weight of a hammer. Again, only two strokes, and then he backed away.

  “I wonder,” Kearn said, “why it is that you have come this way, so far from safety, and legions of my master’s army so near.”

  “I came for you,” Antoinette said. For a split second, Kearn’s sneer vanished. His sword dropped an inch. But then he mastered himself.

  “Then you came for death,” he said, but he nodded knowingly. “Ah, I understand now. They do not know that you are here, do they? Or, better, you defied them to come to me? Hmmm, is that it?” Antoinette looked down for a moment, away from his eyes. He seemed to look right through her. “That was a bold venture,” Kearn said. “I see now! That is why you defended me from that coward who meant to strike me in the back! You heard that I am the master’s left hand, and you sought to gain my favor. Very well, then. You shall have it. My Prince would welcome such bravery, especially with my blessing.”

  Antoinette shook her head. How had things gotten so backward? She had come there to turn him to Alleble! And here Kearn was recruiting her! Something had to be done. What was it Lady Merewen had said? Even if it means cutting off one of his arms, make him respect you. Okay.

  Antoinette feigned a thrust at Kearn’s stomach and swept her blade up at his face. He dodged only just in time. Antoinette held her blade above her head, the tip pointed at Kearn. She crouched low, like a tiger ready to pounce. “You misunderstand me,” she said, “if you think for one moment that I could join you. You are on the wrong side.”

  “Hasty words spoken by one who has already come half the way,” Kearn replied. Thunder rumbled, and the rain came harder. “You have already betrayed those you once served, have you not? It is merely the next step you seek. And why not? There is much to be gained. I have legions at my command, vaults of precious things. So could you, m’lady.”

  “Antoinette,” she said. “My name is Antoinette.” As soon as the words were out, she regretted them. Why had she told him her name? She was about to say something, but that wasn’t it. It just came out.

  “Antoinette?” Kearn echoed, grinning. “There, you see? I have power, magnificent power—given to me by the Prince. What has your so-called King given you? Come, the next ferry nears. Let it bear us both hence to power and glory. Will you not consider what I offer you?”

  Antoinette felt a strange feathery sensation all around her. It was not peaceful, but more like gentle coaxing from unseen hands. There was something attractive about being powerful. Lightning flashed overhead. Thunder cracked and rolled ominously. She felt for a moment that if she joined Paragor, she would never have to be afraid again. She would never have to fear what could happen to her or the ones she loved. With that kind of power, she could put down all threats. She would have control. . . .

  NO!! The thought crashed into her mind. Antoinette convulsed as if startled from sleep. Kearn was so close to her that she could feel his breath on her face. She recklessly slashed her sword at him and backed quickly away. “No! I will never join you!” she said.

  “Pity,” was his only reply. He leaped into the air and brought his sword crashing down on top of her. Antoinette’s block was not firm enough. He knocked her backward, and she stumbled. Her arms throbbed with fresh pain. He pressed the attack with sharp measured strikes, hacking at both sides. Antoinette backed away. Suddenly, she felt a stair behind her. She turned and leaped up onto the porch of the blockhouse. But Kearn followed. He swung for her neck, but Antoinette blocked it. His blade came back too fast. She ducked and his sword crashed through a wooden beam. The roof caved about a foot and scraps of rotting wood fell from above.

  “So much could have been yours, Antoinette,” he said, stalking her along the porch. “It might still be. Put down your sword. Come with me.”

  “No!” Antoinette screamed. “What you call power is only cruelty! You control through fear, but you do not have love!”

  Then she realized what he had done to her. He had made her doubt. Made her uncertain about herself—uncertain even of King Eliam. She had not been focused. She had forgotten her own skill in awe of Kearn’s. Antoinette heard again the echo of Lady Merewen’s words: Make him respect you. And Antoinette remembered her skills. The years of practicing kendo forms and sparring—it all came back.

  She raised her sword, the tip straight up at the sky. She bent at the knees, one foot slightly forward. Her upper body was straight and very still. She felt coiled and ready to spring. Antoinette waited, and Kearn did exactly what she expected him to do.

  He lunged at her, bent on running her through. Antoinette swerved to the side more quickly than Kearn ever dreamed she could. She loosed a back kick into his side as he passed. Kearn crashed down the stairs. He landed in a heap. His sword stabbed into the mu
d a couple of yards from where he fell. He was up quickly, though. He yanked his sword out of the muck and turned. Antoinette was already there. The Daughter of Light slashed at him again and again. And then his broad, heavy blade, for the moment, was no longer an advantage. It was slow. Kearn backpedaled.

  Antoinette had to be careful. If she killed him, she failed. Robby would be lost. No, she had come to reach him, to turn him from evil. Antoinette chased him out into the road. “I came after you, Kearn,” she said. “Not to join you, but to rescue you!”

  “Rescue me?” he spat. “From what, pray? I have thousands of knights at my call. The mighty Prince of Paragory himself defends me. There is nothing in The Realm that can harm me!” He lunged at her. The great blade knocked her off balance, and she was forced to retreat. He pursued, striking with renewed fury. Antoinette defended and struck back. Their struggle ranged all over the road. Lightning flashes reflected in their swords, and the rain became a deluge. Still they fought. And it seemed that their skills were nearly equal, for neither could gain an advantage for long. They dueled at last up onto the dock. And, more than once, they came perilously close to driving each other into the river.

  Then Kearn took his sword in his left hand and thrust it at Antoinette’s right shoulder. Antoinette swept it away with a two-handed slash, but Kearn struck her in the face with the full fist of his free hand. The blow was mighty. The steel of his gauntlet drove into Antoinette’s jaw and she staggered backward. Her ears rang, and she swayed for a moment. King Eliam, help me! she cried out in her mind.

  Kearn came at Antoinette again, seeking to finish her, but she shook her head and stood. He rained down blows—but her sword answered, and she parried each attack. Kearn became enraged, for she simply would not relent and perish.

  Suddenly, a shadow appeared in Antoinette’s peripheral vision. Someone was behind her and held up a dark blade, ready to strike. Antoinette whipped her sword around and thrust it backward, under her arm. She heard a hoarse groan and turned in time to see Paddock’s eyes. He groped at his wounded stomach and fell away into the river.

  When she turned back, it was too late. Kearn wheeled his sword around and hacked into Antoinette’s side. The armor she wore was good armor, and it absorbed most of the force of the blow. But the sword was also sharp. It cleaved the breastplate right along her ribs and opened a gash there. Antoinette fell to the dock and clutched at her side. Lightning flashed, and Antoinette heard deep, throaty cheers. She looked out on the river. Not far from shore, a ferryboat drifted among the whitecaps and the spray. Within the boat were at least twenty of Paragor’s soldiers. They had come back to retrieve their commander.

  “You see!” shouted Kearn triumphantly. “You are utterly alone, and you will die utterly alone! Your King is powerless to stop me, for this is the fate that is ordained for all who oppose my master. You will fall. Alleble will fall. It has been foretold!”

  Foretold? Antoinette winced. Pain throbbed and blood ran warm down her side. What did he mean? She looked up at Kearn and to the river. The enemy knights were almost there. Finally, she jabbed her sword into the dock and dragged herself to her feet. And suddenly, she was not there anymore. She was in the dark chamber below the Castle of Alleble. There were two white pedestals before her. On one, a scroll. On the other, a sword. And she heard the mortiwraith scratching to get in. And she remembered . . . the sword did not save her then.

  And the sword would not save her now. I trust you, King Eliam.

  And there she was again, back on the dock. She looked Kearn in the eye and sheathed her sword. His eyes flashed and he rushed her. Antoinette swayed, lowered her head a little as if resigned to her fate. Kearn had the pommel of his sword tucked into his side and directed the tip of the blade at her chest. He charged at her as if jousting with a lance. The knights in the boat exulted, awaiting the kill.

  Kearn thrust his blade into Antoinette up to the hilt. But Antoinette had twisted slightly to the side. Kearn’s sword did not penetrate, but instead raked across the left side of her breastplate under her arm. Antoinette clutched her arm to her side and at the same time turned inward, pinning Kearn’s sword to her side for a moment. Then, she drove the sharpest part of her right elbow as hard as she could under Kearn’s chin.

  Kearn reeled backward, blood streaking down the sides of his mouth. He still held his sword, but weakly. Antoinette loosed the Daughter of Light and hacked away at the wide blade of her enemy. He blocked, but his guard went lower and lower.

  Finally, Antoinette hammered high at his right shoulder, and he was not fast enough to block it. The armor split. Kearn screamed. His blade tumbled out of his hand. Antoinette planted a sidekick into the center of his chest. He crashed to the ground and lay still on his back. Antoinette pounced. She pressed her sword to the neck of her fallen enemy. But she did not kill him.

  “I do not understand,” Kearn said, his eyes staring beyond Antoinette for a moment. “He promised me.”

  And then he focused and stared at Antoinette. “Do it then,” he said. His eyes flashed defiantly, but there was fear there also. “Get it over with.”

  Antoinette lifted her sword away from Kearn’s neck and sheathed it. She said, “The reason I defended you back in Yewland is the same as the reason I spare you now. I will not slay one who would go into forever not knowing his true peril.”

  Kearn opened his mouth but found no words. He lifted a hand and pointed to Antoinette. She looked down at her right side and saw dark red blood. She felt lightheaded and her vision began to gray at the fringes. Suddenly, an arrow whooshed by her ear. Another struck her shoulder but sprang back.

  She looked up and saw the Paragor Knights scrambling up onto the dock from the ferryboat. She tried to run but felt dizzy. It was no good. They would catch her or put her down with a shaft. She knew they would. So Antoinette did the only thing her clouded mind could think of. She dove into the river.

  As she slipped beneath the surface into the cold embrace of the current, she thought she heard voices. They were faint as if in a dream.

  “You three, get downriver,” one voice said. “Finish her off.”

  “No,” answered a commanding voice. “She is gone already.”

  And Antoinette knew no more.

  33

  ONE GOOD TURN

  Antoinette awoke and found herself staring into gigantic golden-yellow eyes. Something coarse and wet lapped at her cheek, and she heard a purring growl, followed by, Honk!

  She turned her head, and there was the snow-white dragon that had borne her from Yewland. “Honk!” Antoinette cried, and she tried to sit up. Pain streaked up her side.

  “Easy there, lass,” came a deep, folksy voice. “Now, you lay yer-self back down thar and give that wound time to seal.” Antoinette turned her head the other way and saw a tall Glimpse with a wide brown beard and kind blue eyes. And standing beside him were three children. Two boys and one small girl.

  “I thought you was dead,” said the little girl, and she stepped to Antoinette’s side and grabbed her hand. “Da, she’s the one who gave us the cheese this morning!”

  “Is she now?” said the father, patting the girl on the head. “Well, Alyth, one good turn calls another, or so it is said.” He turned to Antoinette. “Your dragon brought you ’ere just before sundown. You were sopping with a mortal wound on yer side.”

  “The river,” Antoinette mumbled.

  “I thought as much,” he replied, and he lifted a cloth that lay across Antoinette’s side. “You can thank the stars that the water is cold this time of the season. The only thing that kept you from bleeding away to nought.”

  Antoinette smiled. She did not thank the stars, but voiced a silent thank you to the one true King.

  “Smart dragon, that!” said the Glimpse. “Bringin’ you here, that is.”

  Antoinette turned and smiled weakly at Honk. “I’m glad you didn’t stay in your hiding spot,” she whispered. The white dragon ducked its head shyly.

  �
�Y’know there are folk in Baen who would just as soon cook you in a stew . . . or leave you fer dead. Myself, I was not sure what to make of you, dressed in fine armor like you are. The littlins here said you are a kindheart, so I took you in.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Antoinette said weakly, but she tried again to get up. “My name is Antoinette.”

  “Now, then, Lady Antoinette, you just lay back down! I told you, yer wound must seal. I put a fair amount of ruddy wet clay on the gash. The bleedin’s stopped, and it’ll mend fine—if you let it be for a bit.” He went to another room and brought back a waterskin. “’Ere now, drink a bit of this,” he said, putting it to her lips. “It’ll be a wee bit tart, but that’s the dormer herb. Then you’ll rest a bit.”

  “But Kearn,” Antoinette mumbled. “And the other knights . . . they’ll get away.”

  “Rest now, Lady Antoinette.”

  “Maybe just a little while,” she replied, but soon she was fast asleep.

  “’Ello!” said the tall boy. He smiled broadly at Antoinette. “Da! She’s awake!”

  The bearded man came back into the room. “So she is! There now, that was a good nap. I’ll wager you feel a bit better!”

  Antoinette found that she could sit up. There was dull pain in her side, and her jaw still ached, but it was nothing like before. “That’s amazing,” she said. “The pain is almost gone. Thank you again.”

  “Yer color’s changed,” he replied. “You were looking a lot like us for a while there.”

  “Yer a right regular healer, Da!” said the boy.

  “Thank ye, boy,” he replied. “I can’t take much of the credit. The sleep was what she needed. Now, you git out with Alyth and Gregg. Fetch the wood, hear?”

  “Yes, Da!” the boy called over his shoulder and was gone.