Path of Kings

by James Dale

  "It's about bloody time," Jack muttered, settling his helmet on his head and struggling to his feet. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me."

  "Next Haelfest don't spend all your coin choosing your bracket," the official advised him with a weary grin.

  "Thanks," Jack nodded. "I'll remember next time." Walking over to the rack of practice sheaths, he drew Grimrorr and sized its length against the available coverings. As he slid the appropriate sheath over his blade and locked it in place, Cassy returned to his side.

  "His name is Falan dar'Baen, and he's already entertaining another offer," Cassaban announced.

  "Let me guess. Captain du Gail?"

  "None other," Cassy nodded. "Apparently his uncle served with Marten in the Eighth after I umm...left Cilidar."

  "Small world," Jack observed.

  "Isn't it though?" Cassaban grinned. "I did manage to convince the lad to hold off committing himself until after your bout. If you want to steal him away from the Dragon Guards you'll have to put on a good show."

  "Steal him away from Marten you mean?" Jack asked.

  "For the good of the Lions of course," Cassaban replied with a mischievous grin. "Though it would help even our score a bit."

  "I'll do my best captain," Jack promised. "For the good of the Lions."

  "I'd appreciate it your grace," Cassaban said. "Turn around now and let me check your armor." He tightened a buckle or two, then slapped Braedan soundly on his metal shoulder. "How's it feel?"

  "Better I guess," Jack replied, running through some forms to test his freedom of movement. "Though I still wish I could just wear mail."

  "You'll do fine."

  "Tamaran Skuar and the Disinherited Knight!" an official cried. "Let's go. You're next!"

  "Press him early your grace," Cassaban repeated again. "Strike hard and fast. Don't let up."

  "Okay coach."

  "Good luck friend John."

  "Luck," Jack said coolly, saluting crisply with his sword, "is not a factor."

  Jack and Tamaran Skuar followed the official to the center of the grandstand, and after their swords had been inspected, both men bowed to the royal box. King Theros nodded briefly to Braedan when their eyes met, and Prince Thonicil smiled encouragingly as he edged forward in his seat. Jack looked longingly at Annawyn, who was engaged in animated conversation with Ailicia and Thessa, but the three princesses were unaware the man announced as the Disinherited Knight was anything more than another anonymous swordsman. Short of removing his helmet and mask and ruining his disguise, Jack could think of no way to draw the attention of the three most important women in his life. Thankfully Thonicil somehow sensed his distress, and tapped his wife lightly on the knee, interrupting their conversation. He spoke a few words and all three turned to look curiously at the man in blue lacquered armor.

  Thonicil turned back to Jack and gave him a wink.

  "Ready gentlemen?" the official asked.

  "So, you are the Disinherited Knight?" Tamaran asked, looking him over. "That's some fancy armor you're wearing. You're going to need it."

  "Exactly what kind of name is Skoo-har?" Jack countered. "Sounds almost grim'Hiru. Doesn't Donian border the Garhon Mountains? You might want to ask your mommy about it after I send you limping home."

  "I'll take that as a yes," the official grinned. "My name is Daath Gullwain. I will be judging your match. Follow me please gentlemen."

  As fate would have it, the other two matches in progress ended at precisely the same moment.

  "You've the field to yourselves gentlemen," Gullwain remarked. "A rare honor so early in the competition. Try and give the people a good show. Bow to the royals."

  Jack and Tamaran did as instructed.

  "Bow to each other."

  "Ready Skoo-har?" Jack asked, bowing to the Donian swordsman.

  "I'm gonna take your pretty helmet and use it for a shit bucket," Tamaran growled.

  "Fighters guard!" Gullwain shouted to make himself heard over the roaring of the crowd. "Begin when ready!"

  Jack assumed low guard, choosing A Panther Waits, and before Tamaran could do more than raise his blade, struck with Reap the Whirlwind. Surprised by the swiftness of the attack, Skuar back-peddled in defense, managing to parry Braedan's blade at the last instant. He followed immediately with The Hammer Falls, then Parting the Mist. The blinding combination, though not executed as smoothly as Jack would have liked due to the unfamiliar weight of his armor, brought the crowded stadium to its feet as his shielded blade raked across Tamaran's ring studded chest.

  "Point!" Gullwain cried, then added somewhat unprofessionally. "Well done!"

  Skuar also grudgingly acknowledged Jack's skill with a brief nod, then quickly resumed his guard, determined to not be so easily bested again. His renewed resolve however, would be for naught. Tamaran had no way of knowing it, but he fought not only against a superior swordsman, but against the culmination of a destiny eight hundred years in the making. A destiny Braedan could suddenly feel coursing through his veins like liquid fire. If Tamaran could have recognized the rapturous glow Jack now wore on his face, he would have quit the field without shame.

  Jack was no longer conscious of the unfamiliar armor. Grimrorr seemed weightless in his hand, not some weapon of forged steel, but a living extension of his arm. Saluting his opponent with a flourish, he assumed high guard and waited for Tamaran to attack. The Donian swordsman came at him with everything he had, reigning blow after blow, but it was like the man was moving in slow motion, wading through air suddenly become as thick as molasses.

  Skuar was an unskilled fighter. Quite the opposite. In truth he was actually remarkably good. But Jack had been lifted to a higher plane, to a level so far above his opponent Tamaran might as well have been a freckle faced boy, playing soldier with a wooden stick in the back yard of a country farm. The Donian knew this as well, as surely as he knew the sun rose in the east and set in the west, as surely as he knew night follows day and the snows of winter give way to the first green blush of spring. He knew...and was thankful this discovery had come on a tournament field and not in actual combat.

  This fact was soon clear to all who watched. The cheering crowd grew strangely quiet, until the harsh rasp of Tamaran's labored breathing and the striking of steel on steel was the only sound in the stadium. Then slowly, from a single throat a chant began, "Blue Knight! Blue Knight! Blue Knight!"

  It was soon taken up by another voice, then two, then four, until the coliseum seemed to shake from their cries. "Blue Knight! Blue KNIGHT! BLUE KNIGHT!"

  Tamaran's vain attempt to pierce the guard of his opponent slowed, then to the amazement of all, he stopped altogether and lowered his sword. A hush fell over the coliseum, the spectators watching in wonder as the swordsman from Donian saluted Braedan, and with resigned grace, stepped deliberately on the white boundary with the heel of his boot.

  "The day is yours," he said, bowing with as much dignity as he could muster after being so resoundingly over-matched.

  "Point and match to the Disinherited Knight!" Gullwain cried, stepping between the two fighters. The crowd erupted into frenzied cheers once more and then cry of 'Blue Knight!' resumed.

  "Sorry about that grim'Hiru dig," Jack shouted, offering the man his hand.

  "It's not the first time I've heard such a taunt," he shrugged.

  "I apologize just the same. I'm sure the house of Skuar is a credit to Donian."

  "Accepted." Tamaran replied, then flashed a toothy grin. "I wouldn't really have taken a crap in your helmet either. It's much too pretty."

  "This way gentlemen," Daath Gullwain said, motioning them forward. "Bow to the royals and we'll bring this fine day to an end."

  Side by side, the two swordsmen made their way to the foot of the grandstand and offered their homage to the gathered monarchs, thus completing the first round of competition of Ljmarn Haelfest.

  "I’ve never seen such…unique swordplay," Cassaban remarked in wonder, greeting
Jack as he made his way from the field. “It was like some Kossian fan dance, only in armor. If those women were were trained killers I mean. Where in flaming hell did you learn those forms?”

  "Here and there," Jack shrugged, removing his helmet and accepting congratulations from the other swordsmen crowded around them. At the same time, he searched for Annawyn's face in the crowds. The Doridanian princess had already turned and was making her way from the coliseum with Thessa and Ailicia. Prince Thonicil paused long enough to give him an approving nod before following after the three women. Kiathan, now in the royal box as well, stopped to consider him, a hard, envious, scowl darkening his features. He was not at all pleased someone had managed to elicit such adulation from the crowds. Adulation he alone deserved. Jack flashed him a taunting smile and the Duke of Raashan's eyes narrowed in speculation.

  "Well it convinced young Falan to cast his lot with the Golden Lions."

  "Hmmm?" Jack asked, tearing his gaze from the traitor. "What did you say Cassy?"

  "I said Falan has decided to join us," Cassaban repeated. "Thanks to your...day's work."

  "That's great."

  "Would you like to meet him?"

  "Sure," Jack nodded. "But let's do it somewhere besides here. Kiathan looks like he's thinking too much for my own good."

  "You should have saved a few of those moves." Cassaban said critically. "You have given the Swordmaster much to consider."

  "What's done is done," Jack sighed, then slowly grinned. "But I wager he won't be sleeping as peacefully tonight. Eh?"

  "No. I don't imagine he will," Cassaban laughed. "Nor will many of the other contestants, myself included. In fact, I have half a mind to follow Tamaran's example and gracefully withdraw from competition."

  "You're not serious, are you?" Jack asked, taken aback.

  "Well...no. What would be the fun in that? Besides, Kiathan certainly won't. Nor will Jurden Salazar or Tarc Macuna. But I’ll wager they spend the evening working on ways to defend themselves against you. "

  "Then I guess we'll have to come back tomorrow and do this all over again."

  "I guess so," Cassy nodded. "But tonight, I think a little celebrating is in order. Just a little mind you."

  "What I'd rather do," Jack replied, "is get out of this armor and soak for an hour or two in a steaming bath."

  "You can do that your grace," Cassy replied. "But who's to say you cannot enjoy a bottle of chilled Surcca Valley while you're at it?"

  "Who indeed."

  On their way out of the stadium, Jack and Cassy stopped by the tournament scorer's booth for a look at their respective bracket to see who would be their opponents in tomorrow's round of competition. Cassaban would be pitted against Tome Sarakoll of Caladin and Braedan had drawn Oranir Baal'tir of West Caerloth. Both were veteran competitors whom Cassaban had seen fight in previous Haelfests, but Cassy assured him neither would pose a serious threat to their advance to the next round.

  As they were about to leave the booth to search for Cyran and Erlwin, Jurden Salazar arrived for his own look at the bracket board. He gave it a cursory glance, then turned to Jack, regarding him silently for several seconds.

  "You have two days to revel in your newfound glory Sir Blue Knight." he said quietly. "Then you will discover what it means to face a real swordsman."

  "He could say the same to you Jurden," Cassaban replied, widening his perpetual grin.

  "Are you not growing long of tooth for this tournament Borg?" Salazar inquired haughtily. "I would have guessed you retired to some pig farm by now."

  "I tried that," Cassaban shrugged, "but they reminded me so much of you Jurden, I just had to return for one last look at your ugly mug."

  "More likely the poor beasts could not abide your stench and cast you out of the sty," Salazar snorted. "Two days," he repeated turning to Braedan, then bowed perfunctorily and departed.

  "Left handed freak," Cassaban muttered, watching Salazar make his way from the field.

  "Why Captain Cassaban," Jack grinned. "I do believe Master Salazar has gotten under your skin."

  "Come your grace," he sniffed. "Let's go find that bottle of Surcca Valley."

  Chapter Thirty

  Raashan Razorbacks

  Erlwin and Cyran were waiting for them outside the coliseum, along with the young swords-man Falan dar'Baen. He was nineteen years old, maybe twenty tops, and the look he gave Jack as he approached was nothing short of awe.

  "Your grace..." he began, bowing deeply, but Cassaban stopped him with a raised hand.

  "Not here lad, our lord wears his mask for good reason."

  "Forgive me," he said quickly.

  "Come on guys," Jack said, taking Eaudreuil's reigns from Cyran. "We can make proper introductions at the Arrow."

  "How did you fare Horse-brother?" the stallion asked as Jack mounted.

  "What do you think?"

  "I think...I will be glad when you no longer have to wear that extra skin," the roan snorted.

  "Better get used to it," Jack sighed. "I fear I shall be wearing it from now on.”

  Sitting atop on the tall stallion, Jack's gleaming blue armor was quickly noticed by the crowds still lingering outside the coliseum.

  "Look!" someone shouted. "It's the Blue Knight!"

  "The Blue Knight!" another cried. "It's the Blue Knight!"

  "Come my lord," Cyran said, guiding his bay next to Braedan. "It's time to be going."

  "Take off the mask!" one of the spectators shouted. "Let's get a look at your face.”

  Instead of expressing shock at the unexpected breech of decorum, several others in the crowd added their voices to the cry for Braedan to reveal his identity.

  “It is definitely time to go,” Cassaban agreed. “Cyran!”

  “Stand aside!” the guardsman shouted, edging his bay into the boisterous crowd. “Stand aside for the Blue Knight!”

  With Erlwin’s help, the pair succeeded in forcing a path open through the throng, but as quickly as they parted to let Braedan and his retinue pass, the crowd reformed behind them again, apparently determined to follow their newly anointed hero. Their enthusiastic cries soon attracted others as well, two of which were soldiers dressed in Kiathan’s scarlet and gold.

  “Your grace?”

  “I see them Cassy,” Jack nodded.

  “Shall I take Cyran and…dissuade them from following us?” Borg asked. “I’ll be polite about it.”

  “No,” Braedan replied quickly. “There are too many people around. Besides, at the moment, I am still just another anonymous competitor. If those two were assigned to keep tabs on the Dis-inherited Knight and they suddenly turned up missing, it might arouse Kiathan’s suspicion. Let’s just ignore them. Maybe if we seem to care less they are watching us, it will convince them they are following the wrong man.”

  “As you wish,” Cassaban sighed, with obvious disappointment.

  Doing their best to appear unconcerned with their tail, the five horsemen made their way from the coliseum and headed for the Broken Arrow. The shouting soon died down after a few blocks, but a goodly number of the crowd remained with them the entire way back to the Arrow. Arriving at the inn soon after dark, at least a score of revelers stopped outside the Broken Arrow and watched the Blue Knight dismount outside. This included Kiathan’s two men. Braedan glanced at the pair as he pretended to adjust Eaudreuil’s saddle. They conferred briefly, then one took up position across the street where he could observe the inn and the other headed off in the direction of the palace.

  “Now are you ready to do something about our shadow?” Cassaban asked.

  “Not yet,” Jack replied. “Not while he’s still just watching.”

  “When word reaches Kiathan, and he decides to do more than just watch?” Borg muttered. “It will be too late.”

  “Do you have some disagreement with the Swordmaster?” young Falan asked.

  “You could say that,” Cyran scowled, “Our lord…”

  “Not out here!”
Cassaban snapped. “Let’s get inside. Please? Will you at least consider shortening your stay here, Jack?”

  “Perhaps it is indeed time we leave,” Braedan sighed. “Can we make our exit without being seen?”

  “I will take care of it,” Cassy replied confidently. “Just be ready to move when I return. Falan, come with me.”

  “Yes sir,” the young swordsman nodded, eager to prove his worth to his new companions.

  “What’s going on?” Cyran asked, as Cassaban and the newest Lion took the reins of their mounts and headed for the stables.

  “I’ll tell you when we are upstairs,” Jack replied.

  Apparently, news of the Blue Knight’s exploits on the field of Ljmarn Haelfest had proceeded them. Braedan’s appearance in the common room of the inn produced a rousing reception from the establishment’s patrons. Even the surly bouncer’s attitude toward them had undergone a drastic change.

  “Drinks for you and your men are on the house, when ye come back down sir knight!” he shouted, pounding Jack on his armored shoulder.

  “Maybe later,” Braedan replied. “Right now, I think we will just take supper in our room. It has been a long day.”

  “Of course, of course,” he nodded. “Anything ye wants just send for Hedar! That’s me. Hedar!”

  “Thanks Hedar,” Jack sighed. “Now about supper?”

  “Right away,” Hedar bowed. “Ho Jukar!” he called, heading toward the kitchen. “Fix up four plates for the Blue Knight and his men! Get the chicken you bought today. Not the scrawny one but the plump hen!”

  When they were safely behind the closed door of their room, Cyran asked again what was going on.

  “We are leaving as soon as Cassy returns,” Jack informed him. “Our stay at the Broken Arrow has come to an end.”

  “Praise Yh’Adan,” Erlwin sighed. “I don’t think I could stand one more night in this place. Sleeping out in the Greenrun under the stars would be better than this.”