by James Dale
"You don't say?" Jack nodded as he climbed onto Eaudreuil's broad back. "Certainly sounds interesting. Think maybe we should go check it out?"
"I believe we should," the stocky mercenary grinned.
"Good morning Horse-brother," the Val'anna beamed happily as Jack settled into the saddle. "Where are we going today?"
"To collect an overdue debt my friend," he replied, becoming serious once more.
“It is about time," the Val'anna snorted.
As Jack and his mercenary escort emerged from the Guild hall, he was surprised to find a large crowd waiting for him. It was a mixed gathering of merchants and farmers, tourists and beggars, a scattering of finely dressed gentry, with even a goodly number of blue and silver clad Immer guardsmen scattered in among them. In all they probably numbered close to a maybe four hundred souls.
"Looks like the Razorbacks will not be your only escort this morning," General Gamrin remarked.
"What are they doing here?" Jack asked, raising a mail-gloved hand and waving to the crowd, producing a tremendous cheer.
"Come to get a look at the next Swordmaster of Aralon I expect," Malik shouted above the roar. "The coliseum was probably full an hour after first light. I would guess these are latecomers who couldn't get a seat and figured this would be their best chance to see the Disinherited Knight."
As if on cue, the crowd began to chant, "Blue Knight! Blue Knight! Blue Knight!"
"What should I do?" Jack asked wonderingly. "I've never had a fan club before."
"Give them a nice salute and let's be off," Malik suggested. "You can bask in their adoration after you've beaten Kiathan."
Responding to the unexpected display, Jack drew Grimrorr and raised the elven blade above his head at the same time pulling back on Eaudreuil's reigns. The Val'anna reared with a challenging neigh, pawing the air with a picturesque majesty sending the crowd into a delighted frenzy.
"Like that?" he asked, grinning mischievously as the huge stallion settled back to earth.
"A trifle showy," Malik snorted.
"On the contrary great prince!" Captain Khalmiya laughed. "It was perfect! The House of ad'Jhen would be proud."
"Very gallant," Cassy muttered. "Now if we're through playing to the crowds, perhaps we could be going? You've a match this morning. Or have your forgotten?"
"Thank you, Borg," Malik sighed. "Razorbacks! Form column of twos! At a walk! Forward!"
The Razorbacks quickly assembled with Khalmiya at their head and began to move into the cheering crowd, which parted to let the grim mercenaries through, though their chant of "Blue Knight" in no way diminished. Jack took his place in their midst, with his four Lions gathered around him, and the column proceeded down the crowded lane toward the coliseum and his appointment with destiny.
It was slow going, the streets being more crowded the nearer they came to the coliseum. Arriving nearly half an hour later, they found the place surrounded by a multitude of boisterous spectators, perhaps ten thousand strong.
"If this many are outside," Erlwin remarked with astonishment, "the stadium must be packed to the point of bursting!"
"Sir knight!" a voice cried over the noise of the crowds. "Over here!"
Jack spotted the speaker quickly, which wasn't hard due to the frantic way he was waving his arms to attract attention. It took a few seconds to attach a name to him. Darius? That was it. d'Lachaeland's assistant.
"Let him though Maadim," he instructed the Kadinar captain. "What can I do for you Master Darius?"
"I was afraid I had missed you, sir knight," Darius exclaimed breathlessly as he was escorted through the ranks of the mercenary guard.
"Why are you looking for me?" Jack asked curiously.
"To deliver this," the man replied, handing Braedan a sealed envelope bearing the royal seal of Doridan. "She said the Disinherited Knight absolutely must read it before he entered the coliseum."
That was all Jack needed to hear. He ripped open the letter and read quickly.
Heart of my Heart, the note began.
Kiathan plans your murder! I do not know how, or from which direction the attack will come, but come it will. Beware!
Anna
That was all. Beware.
"Damn," Jack swore quietly, then methodically shredded the note into small pieces.
"Bad news sir knight?" the steward's assistant asked. "If I can be of service..."
"No," Jack sighed. "Thank you, Darius, but there's nothing you can do."
"Then I shall wish you good luck sir knight," he bowed.
"Well...what did it say?" Malik demanded once the Immerman had departed. "From the look on your face it certainly wasn't a love letter."
"It appears trouble isn't going fishing after all," Jack replied. "Kiathan means to kill me today."
"I thought we knew that already m'Lord," Cassaban said.
"Yes," Jack nodded, dropping the pieces of the note to the ground. "I'd thought he was at least going to have the decency to do it himself. Now...now Annawyn says he plans my murder. Not he's going to murder me, but he plans it. She doesn't know how. Just that he is."
What was he to do? Jack had prepared himself to face the traitor of Raashan sword to sword, man to man. Now he was being warned he might be in danger of what...an arrow fired from anywhere within the stadium by one of fifty thousand spectators? An assassin pricking him with a poison needle while he sat waiting for his match with the duke?
"What are we going to do?" Cyran asked, echoing his thoughts. "We can't possibly watch fifty thousand people."
"I will be on the field to take part in the closing ceremonies," Cassaban said. "Near enough to react if someone tries to get at you before your match."
"The Razorbacks can circulate through the crowds," Maadim suggested.
"No," General Malik vetoed. "That would spread us too thin. Better to keep our force intact, ready to react in strength."
"One platoon at the north entrance? One at the south?" the Kadinar captain asked.
"It's better than nothing," Jack nodded. Where were the Galekindar when he needed them? It had been two days since they were reported outside the city and John Priar, the scout Malik had sent out, had found no trace of the Amarians.
"I'll go warn the twins," Cyran volunteered.
"I'll come with you," Erlwin nodded.
"Falan will be with me," Cassaban added. "That makes two swords close enough to protect you."
"Well general?" Jack asked. "Can you think of anything else?"
"Nothing better on such short notice," the stocky, mercenary commander muttered. "All right Razorbacks. Time to earn your pay. Suspect everyone. Don't be shy about drawing steel. If you kill someone by mistake, let the watch take you and we'll bust you out of prison tomorrow."
"You will not send me to the stables today Horse-brother!" Eaudreuil beamed excitedly. "I smell battle on the wind!"
"I wouldn't think of it," answered Jack, then turned to General Gamrin. "I seem to be saying this a lot this morning, but if something...happens to me well...I want to thank you for everything you've done."
"Nothing is going to happen to you," Malik assured him. "The Raashan Razorbacks will not allow it."
"But if something should, I...I want your oath Kiathan won't live to see the sun set."
"The dog is as good as dead," Gamrin vowed grimly. "You have my word."
"Then I guess that's everything," Jack sighed, extending his hand to the mercenary general.
"I'll see you after the tournament," Malik bowed. "Or I'll see you in paradise."
"Come my lord," said Cassaban as the general took one platoon of Razorbacks toward the south end of the stadium, Cyran and Erlwin in tow. "It is passed time for you to be inside."
Jack nodded, checking his shield and armor one last time. "How do I look?"
"Like a knight set on reclaiming his inheritance," Falan answered. "I've...I've been wishing to ask my lord. Why the Disinherited Knight?"
"If I win today, you'll fi
nd out with everyone else," Jack replied. "If I don't...and Kiathan...well, if I don't, it won't really matter." Not to me it won’t.
Jack and his two Lions and Khalmiya and the other half of the Razorbacks made their way to the north end of the stadium. There was a platoon of Immer guardsmen positioned at the tunnel entrance to control the overflowing crowd. Their lieutenant, a tall, lanky fellow with a wisp of a beard and thin blonde hair, stepped forward to meet them, halting the three with a raised hand.
"This is the Disinherited Knight," Captain Khalmiya announced.
"I know who he is," the lieutenant growled testily. "I'm not blind. But he canna be taking his mount inside. Only the champions..."
"Eaudreuil comes with me today," Jack interrupted in a tone that brooked no argument. "If that's a problem you can go fetch the steward."
The officer hesitated, weighing what such a delay would cause against letting the Disinherited Knight ride the Val'anna into the coliseum. "What the hell?" he finally shrugged. "Let them through."
"All of them?" a sergeant asked dubiously.
"No not all of them Duras," the lieutenant sighed wearily. "Just the Blue Knight and the other two contestants. I'm afraid I must insist you..."
"We of course, shall remain here lieutenant," Khalmiya assured the officer, motioning for his platoon to form up around the entrance. "As agreed, great prince."
"Thank you Maadim," Jack nodded, "Okay Eaudreuil," he beamed, urging the roan into the tunnel. "Remind the people why Val'anna are the finest mounts in the world."
"I will make you proud Horse-brother," the stallion assured him.
As soon as Jack emerged from the tunnel into the stadium Eaudreuil broke into an arrogant canter befitting the mount of a king and the crowd erupted with the force of summer thunder storm. He acknowledged the wildly cheering throngs with a nod of his helmeted head, but his gaze searched the far side of the coliseum. He spotted Kiathan, resplendent in his gold and crimson armor, and smiled with satisfaction seeing him stiffen in anger on his black charger.
A blue and silver clad guardsman, the sergeant who was formerly a captain in the Caer-Emn Light Cavalry, rushed forward as Jack brought Eaudreuil to a halt. "I have spoken to Baron Samil this morning," he said, taking the stallion's reigns. "My sword is yours."
"Do you keep it sharp sergeant?" Jack asked, dismounting under the bristling glare of the Duke of Raashan. "I may have need of it today."
"Always sir knight," the guardsman nodded hesitantly. "Why? Are you expecting trouble?"
"Better to look for trouble and not find it," Jack quoted, "than to let trouble find you unprepared. Stay close sergeant and if your sword is as sharp as you claim, tomorrow I will see Baranir makes you a major."
The guardsman was grinning happily as he led Eaudreuil away, his free hand rested dangerously on his sword-hilt.
"What was that about?" Cassaban asked, having heard the end of their exchange.
"Now I have three people watching my back."
"Can you trust him?"
"As much as I can trust anyone this day," Jack shrugged. "When is this show going to get started?"
"Soon my lord," Cassy replied. "When the royals are seated, d'Lachaeland will introduce the finalist in the three competitions. After the crowd has cheered itself hoarse, Mendelson and a'Maeridon will feather their targets until a victor is declared. Then Brin and Dunnahel will have a go at each other. Then..."
"I get the picture," Jack nodded as a trumpet sounded to announce the arrival of the royals.
He watched the procession of monarchs file into their seats; Cilidon, the twins, then Arrinor and Ailicia, Thessa and Thonicil, Theros, who was accompanied this morning by queen Elaynor, then finally Duke Morgan and Annawyn. The Doridanian princess was more beautiful than he'd ever seen her, and the confident smile she gave him as she took her seat was like a bracing drink from a cold mountain stream. How could he lose when she depended on him? He could not. He would not!
Once they were all seated, Daenel d'Lachaeland strode to the center of the stadium and waited for the crowd to grow quiet. When he had their undivided attention, the Steward of Immer thanked everyone for their attendance, praised the valor and skill of all the contestants who'd competed over the last four days, then introduced the six men still remaining. "When the day is done," he concluded, his voice rising to a crescendo, "three will stand before you as champions of the Haelfest!"
"This will take a while," Cassaban shouted to Jack above the roar brought on the Steward's pronouncement. "Why don't you go have a seat?"
"I'm too nervous to sit," Jack admitted.
"But you'll make a smaller...ummm..."
"Target?"
"Yes."
"I'll stand just the same," Jack said. "If Ithlemere can't protect me, it won't matter much whether I'm standing in the open or cringing in a corner."
"As my lord wishes," Cassaban nodded, unsheathing his sword. Falan did the same moving to his side, which drew curious looks from those nearby, and a scowl from the Duke of Raashan.
What are you planning Kiathan? Jack had time to wonder, then Gustaf Mendelson and Lukas a'Maeridon took the field.
As the challenger, old Gustaf was first to draw his bow, and scored a perfect ten for ten in the black! Undaunted by his opponent's skill or the roaring of the crowd, Lukas duplicated the feat, and the struggle for the title of Bowmaster of Aralon was under way. At fifty yards, everyone expected the hand of one or the other to falter, to waver the slightest bit, but amazingly, both bowmen again rewarded the crowds with a perfect score, sending the spectators into a frenzy.
"Surely they are the greatest two bowmen ever to put fletching to cheek!" Falan cried, forgetting for the moment Jack's life might depend on his alertness. Braedan could only agree, unmindful of any potential danger as he also marveled at their skill.
At seventy-five yards, Mendelson's first shot missed scoring in the black by a hair's breadth and the crowd moaned in dismay. But the old bowman was an experienced veteran and recovered to score his next nine shots in the black! Surely good enough to win? a'Maeridon's best score ever had been the twenty-seven he'd shot yesterday. There was absolutely no way he could shoot a perfect thirty. It was inconceivable.
You would never have guessed it by the confident look on Lukas's face however. The Ailfar bowman was the picture of calm as he took his stance. Drawing his first arrow, he sighted down the length of the shaft and let fly. Black! Also the second, third and forth! When his ninth shot scored black the cheers of the crowd rocked the stadium.
"Lu-Kass! Lu-Kass!” they cried.
As the young Ailfar drew his last arrow, a hush fell over the fifty-thousand spectators. Hand on his cheek, he waited for an errant breeze to pass, then released. Breathlessly, the crowd followed the arrow's arching flight as it rainbowed toward the distant target. Black! Beyond belief he had done what no man or Ailfar had ever accomplished!
For the first time Lukas revealed he was not made of stone, sinking to one knee in relief as thunderous cheers washed over him. He stayed there for perhaps a minute, eyes closed in thankful prayer, until Gustaf Mendelson walked over and placed a withered hand on the young Ailfar's shoulder. Looking up, he saw the old man smile. With a boyish grin of his own, the Bowmaster of Aralon stood and embraced his opponent.
The applause was deafening.
"Can we possibly hope to equal such a display?" someone shouted at Jack's side.
Braedan turned to find Julian Brin standing at his elbow. The Lancemaster appeared to be weaponless save for the helmet resting in the crook of his arm, and completely unaware Cassaban and Falan were eyeing him like two lions regarding a wounded jackal. But there was no hint of threat about him, no dagger concealed behind his back. He was simply remarking upon the amazing feat of bowman ship he'd just witnessed to the nearest ear.
"We can only do our best," Jack shrugged.
"That we shall sir knight," Brin agreed. "Though I pray I shant have to face thirty passes down the list
s against young Dunnahel.”
"It will take but one," the youthful Doridanian replied, appearing at his side.
"Did your noble father not teach you manners in the Tower as well as jousting?" Brin countered, but he was smiling when he said it. "It appears the wearisome task has fallen on me. Come young master. I hope you remembered to pad your backside this morning."
"I'll be along in a minute," the youth bowed. "I but stopped to compliment this knight on his fine Val'anna stallion."
"Do not tarry overlong," the Lancemaster laughed. "Or tomorrow I shall be forced to teach you the virtue of promptness as well."
"A fine steed," Dunnahel remarked to Braedan as Julian Brin moved away. "He reminds me somewhat of a proud stallion who once graced the Royal stables at Dorshev. He was rumored stolen unfortunately. Almost a year ago now."
"Eaudreuil was a gift," Jack assured the young nobleman.
"A which rumor I have also heard," Dunnahel replied slowly, as if measuring Braedan. "It would ease my heart to learn which rumor is true. Over a drink preferably. At the point of my lance if necessary."
"I would much prefer the drink," Jack smiled. "Are you old enough young knight?"
"Only just," the smooth cheeked nobleman grinned in return. "Shall we discuss it tonight? At the reception at the palace?"
"I would be honored," Jack nodded. "If I am still alive."
"Tonight, then sir knight," Dunnahel bowed, then began to make his way to the south end of the stadium where his mount was tethered to await the construction of the lists.
"What would you say to a Doridanian in the Golden Lions?" Cassaban asked thoughtfully.
"Wouldn't he be more inclined to seek service in the Knights of the White Horse?" Jack asked. "Even if he loses today, surely he has earned a right to ride in their ranks by his performance here?"
"Do you know who Arrgenn Dunnahel is my lord?" Falan asked.
"Well...no."
"His father is Rhyn Dunnahel."
"Go on Falan," Jack prompted. He seemed to recall having heard the name before, but couldn't place the time or circumstance.