Path of Kings

by James Dale

  "You've earned a drink yourself m'Lord," Cassy replied, his scowl softening. "You certainly put on a helluva show this afternoon. Only one mind you. You have another match tomorrow."

  "I do indeed. Tell me, did you learn anything from Kiathan?" Jack asked, guiding his friend from the coliseum.

  "I certainly did m'Lord..." Cassy began, and arm in arm the two made their way from the stadium, the cheers for Kiathan continuing unabated.

  Malik and his Razorback escort were waiting for them outside the coliseum. "Splendidly done," the stocky general announced as they approached. "That finishing move was brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! I've never seen anything like it in my life!"

  "Nor have I great prince," Captain Khalmiya added, handing Jack Eaudreuil's reigns. "What do you call it?"

  "I wish to God I knew," Jack whispered, climbing into the saddle. "I was sort of improvising there at the end. General, I have taken the liberty of inviting someone to dinner this evening. If it's all right with you that is? Baranir Samil. The Shadow Warrior."

  "So that was the Baron of Caer-Emn," the general nodded.

  "You know him?"

  "The baron and I were practically neighbors for nearly a decade. Though we never had occasion to meet. He fell into some...bad luck about two years ago."

  "So, I've heard," Jack nodded. "It's all right then?"

  "Certainly," Malik replied. "Any enemy of the Dog of Raashan is welcome at my table."

  "My thoughts exactly," Jack grinned.

  "This should be an interesting evening," the general mused. "We can have a contest between the three of us to determine who hates the bastard the most."

  Arriving back at the guild hall, Jack excused himself to his room to prepare his gear before supper. He cleaned and polished his armor and mail, gave Grimrorr a quick oiling, and for the first time since coming to Immer, unwrapped his shield to ensure it would be presentable when the time came tomorrow to unveil the House of Bra' Adan's coat of arms. When he'd polished the shield until it gleamed, he replaced the uprooted oak covering, then quickly bathed and changed into a fresh uniform of the Golden Lions, complete with his crossed saber rank of Second Commander of the Imperial Legion of Brydium.

  That done, Jack set off to the dining hall. There he found General Malik already in the process of serving wine to three guests. Captain Khalmiya was there, as was Borg Cassaban, dressed like Jack in the uniform of the Golden Lions. No doubt borrowed from Cyran or Erlwin for the occasion. The last man present was a stately gentleman of perhaps forty or so years, with smoke gray eyes and a square chiseled jaw. Baranir Samil, former Baron of Caer-Emn and Warden of Shadowood.

  "Ah, there you are," the general smiled. "We had just about decided to start without you."

  "Start what?" Jack asked. "The second bottle?"

  "The third actually," Cassy replied with a sheepish grin.

  "Jack Braedan, I presume?" Samil asked, stepping forward to offer his hand.

  "Let's do this properly gentlemen," their host interrupted. "Baranir Samil, may I present Sir John Braedan, his grace the Duke of Thonbor, Champion of Princess Thessa Th'nar of Brydium, Elf-friend and adopted Prince of the Royal House of Kadda'Jhen. You know him better as the Disinherited Knight. Jack, Baranir Samil, the Shadow Warrior, former Baron of Caer-Emn and Warden of Shadowood."

  "Your highness," Samil bowed formally, properly choosing the highest honorific.

  "Baron." Jack replied.

  "Since introductions are out of the way." General Malik smiled, handing Jack a tall goblet of dark red wine. "First names only tonight. We are among friends."

  "May I propose a toast Malik?" Samil asked, lifting his glass.

  "By all means," the general nodded.

  "To new friends."

  "To new friends," all agreed, drinking.

  "And if I may be so bold," Samil continued, "to the next Swordmaster of Aralon. John Braedan."

  "Here, here," General Malik nodded. "To the next Swordmaster of Aralon.

  All drank save Jack, the object of the toast.

  "I'll do my best," he replied, when they were done. "Now if I may be so bold. I would like to make this pledge to our new friend Baranir Samil. By this time tomorrow, I mean to see Caer-Emn and the Shadowood returned to its rightful lord and Kiathan Ellgaer, the Dog of Raashan, in chains or dead. Preferably both."

  "By God I'll drink to that!" Malik shouted. "And I'll add one last toast before we sup. To the swift return of the High King! May Ljmarn Bra'Adan's heir hasten to reclaim his rightful throne."

  "To the return of the High King!" all agreed. Even Maadim Khalmiya.

  "What say we have a bit of food?" the general said, after tossing back the last of his wine. "I'm famished."

  Dinner was simple fare, roast and potatoes and fresh bread, but well prepared and plentiful, and washed down with another bottle of delicious Surcca Valley. While they ate talk was centered almost entirely on tomorrow's finally day of the tournament. Would old Gustaf Mendelson reclaim is archery title? Was the young Doridanian Arrgenn Dunnahel a capable enough lancer to unhorse Julien Brin? Jack also received several helpful suggestions on how he should approach his match with Kiathan. It was not until all four men had pushed away their plates in contentment Baranir Samil sought to address the question foremost on his mind.

  "Jack," he said, "my thanks for allowing me the opportunity to finally meet the famous General Gamrin. Had I known when we were neighbors Malik was such a delightful host, I would have been a frequent visitor to Raashan."

  "I also find myself lamenting the lost time we could have shared," Malik nodded in agreement. "My only regret is...unfortunate circumstances have brought us together."

  "I guess two wrongs occasionally can make a right," Jack smiled. "Or should I say three?"

  "Mmmm...What?" the general asked.

  "Well..." Jack reasoned, "if not for the malicious scheming of a certain duke, neither of you would be sitting here tonight. Nor would I. I hate to say it, but if Baranir wishes to thank anyone for this evening, his thanks should rightfully go to Kiathan Ellgaer."

  "I think what m'Lord Jack is saying," Cassaban explained, "is but for Kiathan's greedy designs on Caer-Emn, his desire to be the only power in Raashan, and his wish to see a pirate hanging on a tree, three powerful men might otherwise never have met."

  "By God you're right Borg!" Malik laughed. "What say we all draw swords and go visit the dog so he can fully appreciate the irony his hand has wrought?"

  "A tempting proposition," Jack agreed, "but I think Kiathan's part in this matter should rightly be revealed before a larger audience. Like maybe forty or fifty thousand witnesses?"

  "Perhaps now is the time sir knight," Baranir suggested, "for you to explain exactly how you mean to restore my lands? Simply announcing Kiathan is a scoundrel, even should you defeat him tomorrow, will not likely change my lot."

  "You will think differently when you hear just what kind of scoundrel Kiathan has become," Malik grinned wickedly.

  "Please Malik," Jack petitioned. "Tonight, has been too pleasant an evening to discuss this matter. You will hear the sordid details of Kiathan's perfidy in ad nauseam tomorrow. I promise you Baranir. Tonight, simply rest assured all he has stolen from you will be returned. With sufficient recompense to ease any suffering he has caused."

  "What dark secret do you hold over Kiathan's head?" Baranir asked.

  "One vile enough, when revealed, to ensure he won't be troubling honest citizens of Doridan again," Jack replied confidently.

  "You have piqued my curiosity," the former Baron said. "You will speak no more on this matter?"

  "I will not."

  "Very well..." Baranir sighed, "but I would have you know you have destroyed all prospect of untroubled sleep for me this night."

  "For that I apologize," Jack smiled. "It was certainly not my intent."

  "Apology accepted," Samil bowed.

  "Excuse me my lord," Cassaban interrupted, "but the hour grows late and you do hav
e an appointment to keep in the morning. Some small matter of..."

  "Okay. Okay," Jack nodded. "I'm off to bed. But first. Malik, is there perhaps a...chapel here in your hall I might visit before retiring?"

  "Of sorts," Malik replied slowly. "I'm afraid it has fallen into some disrepair since my Razor-backs took up residence here. On a whole, they are not...spiritual men."

  "Nor am I. Usually," Jack admitted. "But well...It couldn't hurt considering what will happen tomorrow."

  "I don't suppose would at all," the stocky general laughed. "Maadim, would you mind?"

  "Of course," the Kadinar quickly replied.

  "Good night all," Jack bowed. "Baranir, it has truly been a pleasure."

  "John Braedan," Samil said, returning the honor, "if you... if you can do for me what you have promised to attempt, on my oath as a noble and fighting man of the Whesguard, you shall never again face an enemy without my sword at thy side."

  "Be careful what you say Baranir," Jack warned quietly. "I do not receive oaths lightly."

  "Nor do I make them lightly," Samil assured him.

  Jack smiled and extended his hand to the former baron once again. "I didn't think so. Good night to you sir."

  "And to you," Samil replied.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Swordmaster of Aralon

  "If you will follow me great prince," Khalmiya offered. "I will show you to the chapel."

  The chapel...a small room hidden at the back of the hall, had indeed fallen into disrepair. There were a few old, wooden benches, most overturned, and a raised dais at the rear where a rectangular shadow of thinner dust where an alter had once stood. If it had been entered more than once or twice since the Razorbacks had taken up residence in the hall, it was likely because one of the mercenaries, drunk from a night on the town, was too disoriented to find the way back to his own quarters.

  "Do you pray much Maadim?" Jack asked the Kadinar, surveying the small, gloomy chambers.

  "Not since leaving Kadin," Khalmiya answered.

  "And before that? Did you pray to..."

  "In the east, he is called He Who We Do Not Name," the warrior interrupted quietly. "It is not wise to call his attention by speaking as...familiarly as you westerners speak with Yh’Adan."

  "What did you ask him for?"

  "Strength in battle," Maadim shrugged. "The defeat of my enemies."

  "Not happiness? Or...love?"

  "Do you jest great prince?"

  "I'm serious Maadim," Jack assured the Kadinar.

  "Services conducted to He Who We Do Not Name are done out of out of fear," Khalmiya answered hesitantly. "He is not a god of love or happiness, but a god...hard and cruel. The sacrifices he demands..."

  "I have seen those filthy..."

  "Then you know whereof I speak," Maadim interrupted. "And why I do not pray to Him. But your god Yh’Adan? If I prayed to him...I think he is a god who would gladly hear petitions for such things."

  "What about strength in battle?" Jack asked. "Or the defeat of enemies?"

  "He certainly heard the prayers of Ljmarn Bra'Adan," Maadim pointed out.

  "That was a long time ago. Do you think he's still listening?"

  "Who can say? You won't know until you try."

  "I guess you’re right," Jack nodded. "Thanks, Maadim."

  "Great prince," the Kadinar said hesitantly, "if you find he is still listening...will you...would you mention Hamman and Fala to Him?"

  "I'd be happy to," Jack smiled.

  "Thank you," the Kadinar nodded, and bowing his way from the disheveled chapel, left Jack to his prayers.

  Braedan stood quietly for a long moment, unsure what to do. He had never been overly religious. He knew the Rosary, "Hail Mary full of grace..." and crossed himself out of habit, but it was the extent of his devotional practice. Despite a devout Catholic father who made him attend mass until he was eighteen, he had never really committed himself to worship. His mother had named him after a great Saint and one of the only named Arch-Angels, something he'd never quite understood, not with a family tree full of Seans’ and Patricks’. Early in army as a young Ranger, his nickname had been Preacher. Not because he was particularly devout but just more…spiritually inclined than his other platoon mates. Now...standing alone in this neglected chapel, he felt as if he'd wasted years neglecting the one true source of power in the universe. Maelcain had told Jack, Jha'ak, meant The Bridge. The Bhara'na'hir of the Jahrkirin had placed great hope in that translation. Maybe it wasn't too late to find his own bridge to the Creator. He had certainly helped Ljmarn in his time of need.

  There was only one way to find out.

  Jack walked slowly to the front of the chapel, thought briefly about kneeling, but instead righted one of the overturned benches and took a seat before the abandoned alter.

  "Jesus?" he began hesitantly. "Or should I call you Yh’Adan here?"

  Silence.

  "Or maybe just Lord?"

  Nothing.

  "Lord...I don't really know why I'm here. I've never been much for praying. Even before I started hating you. But I guess you know that, huh? I can't say I'm happy you picked me for this. It's not been easy, and I have a feeling things are going to get a lot worse before this is over with. But I want you to know...I want you to know I'm going to do my best. But you've got to promise me something. If it is your will...if I have to die for you to get rid of Graith and his Bloodstone, I want your promise you'll watch after Anna. I've never loved anyone before Lord. Not...not like this. I can’t explain it. I have a suspicion you’ve had a hand in it somehow. I don’t know why. Just to get the through? If that was the reason, I guess I thank you for that. If maybe it’s so I could have some sort of happiness with her someday, I’ll thank you for that too. Whatever your reason. I’m here. I'll do...I'll do whatever you want me to. Whatever it takes. I'll kill Kiathan...Graith...kill all the bloody demons ever spawned. I'll go to hell and face the damned Sa’tan himself if it's what you want. But you're going to have to do this one thing for me. Keep Anna safe. That's all I ask. Okay?"

  Jack sat patiently in the darkness, waiting for some sign, anything, to tell him Yh or God or whoever was shaping his fate was listening. An unexpected breeze...a soft, still voice whispering inside his head...anything at all would do. But the chapel was as gloomy and silent as when he first entered. If God...Yh... Whoever...was answering prayers today, he was doing it in a manner his heart was too unpracticed to hear.

  With a resigned sigh, Jack stood to leave. He crossed himself out of habit, but as he turned to make his way from the chapel he noticed something on the dusty floor, a small coin lying beneath the bench he'd righted to sit on. It was only a copper. Probably the reason none of the Razorbacks had bothered to loot it from the abandoned chapel. Jack picked it up curiously, rubbed the grime away with his thumb, and slowly smiled. On one side there was a cross, nothing more. But on the other was a flaming sword and words written along the edge in the Common Tongue of the Whesguard. "Yhswyndyr."

  "I'll do what I can," he whispered to the dark chapel.

  "Was he...was he listening?" Maadim asked as Braedan emerged into the hallway.

  "I think..." Jack mused, fingering the copper coin. "Yeah. I believe maybe he was."

  "Good," the Kadinar nodded. "Where to now great prince?"

  "To my room," Jack replied. "I've got a big day ahead of me tomorrow, and I'll need some rest if I am going to keep my promise and do my best."

  Early the following morning when Cassaban came to wake Braedan, he found him already dressed in his armor, kneeling at the foot of his bed, his head resting on the pommel of Grimrorr in prayer.

  "My lord?" Cassy said hesitantly.

  "Yes?" Jack asked without looking up.

  "There is ham and eggs in the dining hall if you want. Or can I have the cooks make something else?"

  "Just bring me some water if you please Borg."

  "As my lord wishes," Cassaban nodded. He returned quickly with a pit
cher, freshly drawn, and a single glass.

  "Has Eaudreuil been saddled?" Jack asked, standing to meet him.

  "Give me five minutes," Cassy replied, setting the water on the stand beside Jack's bed.

  "Borg."

  "Yes m'Lord?"

  "If things don't...go well today," Jack said slowly, "I may not...I may not get the chance to speak with you again. I just want you to know whatever happens...I appreciate everything you've done for me."

  "I was only doing my job your grace."

  "I mean before you became a Lion," Jack smiled. "I want to thank you for befriending an anonymous swordsman."

  "I should be thanking you...John," Cassy grinned. "If it hadn't been for you, I would still be an outlaw on the run, a man without a country, with nothing to look forward to in my old age but a pig farm and a head full of painful memories of what might have been."

  "Let's say we helped each other and call it even," Jack suggested.

  "As my lord wishes," Cassaban bowed. "I'll go make Eaudreuil ready."

  "Thank you, Borg."

  After a final look around the small room, for Jack thought however things turned out today he would not see it again, he collected up his shield and his pack and made his way to the Guild Hall's stable. There he found everyone waiting for him. Borg, Cyran, Erlwin, even young Falan, all dressed in the uniforms of the Golden Lions of Thonbor. The entire company of Raashan Razorbacks were there as well, dressed in black and gold surcoats, with black mail and carrying round shields bearing the fearsome likeness of their namesake.

  They were also armed. Heavily.

  "Expecting trouble sir?" Jack asked, taking Eaudreuil's reigns from the stocky general.

  “I expect trouble every time I step out the door," Malik shrugged. "It keeps me alive."

  "Better to look for trouble and not find it," Maadim Khalmiya nodded with agreement, "than have trouble find you unprepared."

  "I think one look at your Razorbacks," Jack observed, surveying the deadly mercenary company, he counted fifty-seven in all, "and trouble will decide to take the day off and go fishing."

  "Then we will have done our job," General Gamrin smiled. "Now my lord, shall we go see what's happening at the coliseum. Rumor has it there's supposed to be some kind of tournament this morning."