Path of Kings

by James Dale

None of the other patrons gave them a second look in their mercenary garb as they picked out an unoccupied table at the back of the tavern. They dined on over-cooked roast beef and hard brown bread, but at least the wine was not watered beyond recognition, and they made good use of The Broken Arrow's stock. When a fight broke out two tables over and knives appeared, Jack decided it was way past time to call it a night. As they were making their way back upstairs, he noticed his friend the bouncer lean over to speak with a pair of toughs at the bar. The man gave him a strained smile and incline his head in their direction. Whatever information he passed along, Jack guessed his warning to the inn's employee served its purpose, for the night passed without incident.

  The next morning they arose early, with Cyran complaining of a stiff back. They had drawn straws for the two beds before retiring to see who would be the odd man out and he had come up with the shortest.

  "I will sleep in the stables before I spend another night on the floor," he muttered, rubbing the knots from his abused muscles. "I'll wager the Kirk and the others slept on silk and are right now having breakfast delivered to their rooms."

  "Yes, but think off what they're missing out on here," Erlwin countered.

  "And what might that be?"

  "We'll think of some lie to tell them," his friend shrugged.

  "Speaking of breakfast," Jack said. "Do you suppose there's any roast left over from last night?"

  "I hope not," Cyran moaned. "I don't think my stomach could handle it."

  "Why don't we get some sausages at the coliseum?" Erlwin suggested. "There will be vendors set up to service the arriving contestants and the crowds."

  "A splendid idea," Cyran quickly agreed. "Anything would be better than left over roast."

  "Sausages it is then," Jack nodded. "Are we ready gentlemen?" he asked, buckling on his sword.

  "Don't forget this my lord," Erlwin said, tossing him the black mask.

  "Should I put it on now?"

  "You never know who we might meet on the way, or who might be at the coliseum," Erlwin replied.

  "How do I look?" Jack asked, tying the mask securely in place.

  "Absolutely sinister my lord," Erlwin nodded approvingly. "One look at you and half the competitors will withdraw without baring steel."

  "Erlwin, I think you just moved to the top of the list," Jack smiled.

  "What list would that be?" Cyran inquired, strapping on his own blade as they headed for the door.

  "Hmmm...What?"

  "He said you'd moved to the top of the list?"

  "It's not important," Erlwin replied casually, flashing Jack a quick smile.

  A silver penny paid to The Broken Arrow's stable boy got their horses saddled and ready to ride. From the look of joy on the poor lad's face when Jack handed him the coin, you'd have thought he'd never imagined there was so much money in the entire world. They rode at a leisurely pace though almost complete deserted streets. Apparently, this section of the city was not populated by morning people. As they neared the coliseum however, the crowds grew quickly. The last two blocks were so thick with people it took the three men half an hour to reach their destination.

  "Does the registering of contestants always draw this kind of crowds?" Jack asked.

  "Always," Erlwin nodded. "Though in truth, they have grown larger over the last two tournaments. Mainly I'm afraid, because the people are curious to see what manner of swordsmen are foolish enough to challenge Kiathan."

  "Is he really that good?"

  "The best I've ever seen," Erlwin admitted reluctantly. "It will not an easy task to dethrone the Duke of Raashan."

  "You are not doing much for you lord's confidence," Jack muttered.

  "My lord does not need flattery boosting his confidence," Erlwin replied firmly. "What he needs...what he needs is a breakfast. There," he said, pointing at a noisy crowd gathered around a small, wooden booth set up outside the coliseum. "Sausages! Come my lord. I'm buying."

  "You keep this up Erlwin," Jack grinned, "and you'll soon be on the list all by yourself."

  "What flaming list?" Cyran cried maddeningly.

  "Wait here," Erlwin laughed, dismounting and handing his mount's reigns to his comrade. "I'll go get our breakfast."

  It took him several minutes to battle his way through the crowd surrounding the small booth, but when he came back with a large wooden plate of the steaming sausages and a stack of fluffy biscuits, both Jack and Cyran pronounced it well worth the wait.

  "Let's go inside and watch the proceedings while we eat," Erlwin suggested.

  "Keep an eye on the horses Eaudreuil," Braedan said, tying the Val'anna to a nearby hitching post.

  "Of course," the stallion beamed.

  "That's a good boy. I'll get you an apple as soon as we're finished inside."

  "For where I had to spend last night," the roan snorted, "I think basket would be more in order."

  "We all must make sacrifices," Jack sighed, patting his broad neck.

  Following Erlwin and the plate of sausages, they made their way through the crowds and into the coliseum. It was a truly magnificent structure, with a large, neatly groomed grass field over one hundred meters in circumference, surrounded by an oval shaped stadium of white stone capable of easily holding forty or fifty thousand spectators when filled to capacity.

  "This would be a hell of a place to watch a football game," Jack remarked appreciatively as they took seats about ten rows up from the field.

  "Football my lord?" Erlwin queried. "I do not believe I am familiar with the game."

  "You'd love it," Jack grinned. "Twenty-two large men wearing pads beating the crap out of each other. Remind me later to tell you about Tom Brady and the New England Patriots. What's going on over there?" he asked, pointing with a sausage toward the near end of the stadium where three tables had been set up. There were long lines formed before each and harried officials busily writing down information on tablets lying before them.

  "The registering of contestants," Erlwin explained. "Judging by the number of the people in line, I would guess the center table is most likely for the contestants of the Competition of the Sword."

  "Do you recognize anyone?" Jack asked, surveying the crowds. There were perhaps two hundred men, and even a few women scattered among the contestants waiting to add their names to the roster. He counted seven as well wearing masks similar to his own. At least he was not the only person present who wished to remain anonymous.

  "A few," Erlwin nodded. "That one. Third in line for the Competition of the Sword."

  "The tall one in black?"

  "He's Tark Macuna of Riverslanon. Finished second to Kiathan last Haelfest."

  "Was he not also the one who bested you Erlwin?" Cyran inquired.

  "He was indeed," the guardsman nodded. "A fine swordsman."

  "Anyone else?" Jack asked.

  "I see a few other of importance my lord," Erlwin replied, looking over the crowd. "But none who can match your skill."

  "Well," Jack said, popping the last sausage into his mouth. "The day isn't getting any younger. Might as well get this over with."

  "Shall I accompany you?" Erlwin asked.

  Jack considered the offer for a moment then shook his head. "No. If there is anyone down there from Brythond..."

  "Like one of Valarius' traitors?" Cyran said.

  "Exactly," Jack nodded. "They might recognize you two."

  "We will stay here," Cyran nodded, "and observe the crowds."

  "I'll meet you outside when I'm done," Jack said, wiping his fingers on his pant legs as he stood. "Wish me luck."

  "A handful of coins to the right official will serve you better than luck," Erlwin suggested.

  "Which one is the right official?" Jack asked.

  "They're all the right one if you pay them enough," the guardsman grinned.

  Laughing quietly, Jack made his way down to the field and fell in at the back of the line for the Competition of the Sword. The registering went slowly.
A quarter of an hour found him still only halfway through the line, with many contestants yet ahead of him. As he waited for his turn to arrive, he passed the time measuring the swordsmen around him. He was no mean judge of ability, and from what he could see of those nearest him, the competition would be spirited to say the least. One man in particular drew his attention more than all the rest. If anyone ever looked like he had been born with a sword in his hand, he did. An air of confident arrogance surrounded him like a shield.

  "His name is Jurden Salazar," the man behind him said quietly, noticing his interest.

  "Oh?" Jack asked, turning to look at the speaker. He was a lean, whip cord fellow, shorter than Braedan by about three or four inches, with dark hair and eyes so blue it was hard to look away. There was a puckered white scare snaking its way across his right cheek, ending at the corner of his mouth, pulling his upper lip into a perpetual grin. "Is he good?" he asked conversationally.

  "Salazar fought Kiathan almost to a draw in the semifinals last Haelfest," the man said admiringly. "He's a left hander. Gave the duke unholy fits. With a little luck he could have been the Swordmaster of Aralon."

  "South paw huh?" Jack muttered, moving forward as the line shortened. He hated left handed swordsmen. They were the bane of civilized swordplay. You had to change your entire approach to compensate for their unorthodox style.

  "Borg Cassaban," the man said, extending his hand in greeting. "Cassy to my friends. I guess I won't be knowing yours," he said, with a nod toward Jack's mask.

  "An unfortunate necessity...Cassy," Braedan grinned, returning the handshake.

  "Say no more," Cassaban replied. "I had to wear one of those things myself my first Haelfest because of…unfortunate necessity."

  “Your troubles have been…settled then?”

  “Bah, they become more minor as times goes on,” Cassaban shrugged. “Your…troubles must still be recent I take it?”

  "Somewhat. Did your mask itch?" Jack asked, running a finger along the mask's edge as they moved forward another place in line.

  "Like hell," Cassy laughed compassionately. "You should have a bought a silk one instead."

  "I believe it will be my first order of business after I'm done registering."

  "Was that by any chance, the Gray Tiger I saw you with earlier?" the man asked.

  "You know Erlwin val’Durn?"

  "Though I didn’t have to face him, I was privileged to see him fight last Haelfest," Borg nodded. "Quick feet. Needs to be a bit more aggressive on the attack."

  "I'll pass along your advice."

  "You must be a passable swordsman yourself if the Gray Tiger has chosen not to enter this year," Cassaban observed, looking Jack over with a critical eye.

  "We shall see," Jack shrugged.

  "You're up," Cassaban nodded.

  "Name please," the official said in a weary tone as Braedan stepped up to the table.

  "The Disinherited Knight," Jack replied slowly, expecting the man to laugh at the melodramatic moniker. The official merely nodded and wrote the name quickly in his ledger.

  "We will need you to sign your true name as well," he said, sliding a slip of paper across to Braedan. "It shall remain in the strictest confidence of course."

  "Go ahead," Cassaban assured him when he hesitated. "They'll not reveal it unless you win. It's the law."

  "I don't suppose you could tell me what bracket I'll be in?" Jack asked as he quickly wrote out his name, then folded the paper and slid it back to the official.

  “All pairings will be drawn randomly by lots and announced at the opening ceremony tomorrow night at the palace," the man replied wearily, as if repeating the phrase for the hundredth time of the morning.

  "Of course," Jack nodded, reaching into his money pouch and placing several coins on the table, "but I understand some are...shall we say, less random than others."

  "You have been misinformed," the man replied perfunctorily. "I am curious however," he continued, as the coins disappeared with practiced ease. "If you could choose your pairing, exactly which bracket would you prefer?"

  "Nothing complicated," Braedan smiled. "So long as I am bracketed to face Kiathan in the finals."

  "The Swordmaster will defend his title from the Gold Bracket." the official informed Braedan. "Blue or Bronze will be opposite Gold or Silver in the finals."

  "Then if it were possible to choose...if mind you," Jack said. "I think I would prefer blue."

  "A lovely color," the official nodded. "Also, the most difficult draw."

  "Then it would truly be unfortunate if I were to find myself in the Blue Bracket. Wouldn't it?"

  "Unfortunate indeed," the man replied, feigning total disinterest, then quickly wrote the Ailfar symbol for blue in his ledger. "Next!"

  "Good luck Cassy," said Jack, stepping to the side. "I'll see you at tonight's ceremony?"

  "I shall be looking forward to it," Borg Cassaban bowed. "Silk. It's the only way to go."

  "I'll remember," Jack nodded.

  "Tell me my good man," Cassaban said, stepping up to the table, "which bracket did Tarc Macuna hope to draw?"

  "Silver," the official said.

  "Would it not be unfortunate if I should also draw Silver?" he asked, sliding a few coins across the table.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Lionized

  With his registering completed, Jack made his way from the field. He met up with Cyran and Erlwin in front of the gate where they had entered the coliseum. "That was certainly interesting," he remarked as the trio exited the stadium. "Has the selection process always been subject to the whim of the highest bidder?"

  "Not always my lord," Erlwin laughed. "Once upon a time, back when the Haelfest was young, the pairings were actually decided by lots."

  "Where to now my lord?" Cyran asked, as the three rejoined their mounts. "Back to The Broken Arrow?"

  "Not just yet," Jack replied. "First we're going to go buy me a silk mask to replace this uncomfortable monstrosity. Erlwin, did you know this thing was going to itch me so bad?"

  "It itches?" the guardsman asked innocently.

  "Let me put it another way," Jack muttered, climbing onto Eaudreuil's saddle. "Cyran gets to sleep on the bed tonight and you're in danger of dropping down a notch on the list."

  "I see," Erlwin nodded. "That being the case, I believe I know where we can find you a suitable replacement."

  "I thought you might."

  True to his word, Erlwin found a silk merchant's shop nearby the coliseum, and for a small sum the shops tailor fashioned Braedan another mask. This one of the same color blue to match his armor. From there the three men visited a public spa, treating themselves to a sauna and a bath, also taking advantage of the establishment's talented masseuse. Thus refreshed, they spent the remainder of the morning taking in the sights of the High-King's city. Mid-day found them at King's Square once again, where they stopped to enjoy an excellent retelling of the battle between Ljmarn and Graith before returning to The Broken Arrow. There, much to their surprise, they discovered Prince Arrinor and Captain du Gail seated in the common room, sipping glasses of the Arrow's red wine.

  "What are you doing here Arri?" Jack smiled happily.

  "Fine place you've chosen kinsman," Arrinor remarked sarcastically as he stood to greet him.

  "There were unwanted visitors at the Two Fountains," he explained taking a seat at the table.

  "We heard," the Ailfar prince nodded, resuming his seat. "But why stay here? Surely there are more comfortable lodgings available in Immer? If you want I will..."

  "We'll be fine," Jack interrupted, much to the dismay of Cyran and Erlwin, "It's all part of the Disinherited Knight's disguise."

  "The Disinherited Knight?" du Gail asked. "Who is he your grace?"

  "It's a long story captain," Jack sighed, taking a set next to the prince. "You haven't answered my question Arri. What are you two doing here?"

  "I could not abide another second in Prince Kiathan's presenc
e." Arrinor muttered. "The arrogance of the man is beyond belief!"

  "You forget who you're talking to?" Jack asked.

  "Well...anyway, friend Marten suggested we might find more agreeable company at the Two Fountains," the prince continued, "Count Arthol informed us you had moved because of the unwanted attention and directed us here. However did you find this place?"

  "Erlwin recommended it," Jack replied with a smile. "It seems he hasn't always been a rich officer, hobnobbing with counts and dukes."

  "You disappoint me Lieutenant val'Durn." Captain du Gail said. "The famous Gray Tiger taking the Lord of Thonbor to such a place as this."

  "The Gray Tiger?" Arrinor asked.

  "Another long story I'm afraid," Jack grinned.

  "We have all afternoon," the prince shrugged, motioning for a nearby serving girl to bring three more glasses and another bottle. "A good story would be just the thing to take my mind off Kiathan."

  They passed the remainder of the day drinking deluded wine and listening to Erlwin recount his story of the Gray Tiger's exploits at the last Haelfest. His blow by blow account of the match which he lost to Tark Macuna proved to be immensely entertaining. Jack also informed them of his terrible...misfortune at being selected into the Blue Bracket and his encounter with Borg Cassaban.

  "Cassy Cassaban?" Captain du Gail said, almost choking on his wine.

  "You know him?"

  "Know him! Blood and Fire! We served together as lieutenants in the Eighth Cilidar Lancers! It has been nine, no ten, years ago now. Cassy was the best swordsman in the entire Eastern Forward Legion. Sadly, he also had a temper to match. It finally got him court martialed for striking a superior officer. Officer!" the captain snorted. "The man was a drunkard and a disgrace to the legion. Unfortunately, he was also Uthor Sybaris."

  "What happened to him?" Jack asked. "Cassaban I mean."

  "Relieved of his rank and sentenced to six months hard labor," du Gail sighed. "Before they could ship Cassy off to Cilidar Prison, he escaped. Blood and Fire! Borg Cassaban! Here!"

  "He'll be at the palace tomorrow night for the opening ceremonies," Jack informed the captain. "Why don't you look him up?"