by James Dale
"As in Field Marshal Rhyn Dunnahel," Cassaban expounded. "Knight-Commander of the White Horse."
"Ahhh...," Jack nodded slowly. "I think I'm beginning to understand. You're saying he'd rather make his mark somewhere else than under the scrutiny of his father?"
"Exactly," Falan nodded. "And speaking from experience, employment in the Golden Lions of Thonbor is a tempting proposition. Especially if they are commanded by the Swordmaster of Aralon."
"Is that all I am to you guys?" Jack inquired playfully. "A recruiting tool?"
"Not simply a recruiting tool my lord," the young swordsman corrected, "but the best recruiting tool in military history. After your victory today, half the soldiers of the Whesguard will be clamoring to join our ranks."
"Bucking for a promotion already Falan?" Jack sighed theatrically. "You've been spending too much time with Erlwin."
Though their banter was seemingly out of place in view of his imminent duel with Kiathan, on which nothing less than the fate of the Whesguard rested, Jack was glad for it. It had gone a long way towards quieting his unsettled nerves. He was now ready to face fate with a smile on his lips and lightened heart.
It took but a few minutes for the grounds-keepers to complete the construction of the lists. Once finished, Julian Brin and Arrgenn Dunnahel accepted a lance from a waiting attendant, and after the customary salute to the royal box, settled back into their saddles to watch a tournament official make his way to the center of the lists. The official carried a green banner which he raised high above his head, then waved dramatically before dropping it to a thunderous roar.
Tufts of the stadium's grassy sod flew skyward as both horses surged forward at the command of their riders, propelling them to the center of the lists where they met with a resounding crash. Both Brin's lance and Dunnahel’s splintered with spectacular effect, raining shards of ash-wood across half the field. Though neither man was removed from his saddle, Arrgenn was rocked dangerously backwards by the force of the collision, but he was able to recover his balance and continue on to the end of the lists. Wheeling their mounts about, both men paused long enough to acquire another lance, then charged again.
The second pass produced similar results as the ash-wood lances shattered again. Again, both Brin and Dunnahel remained in the saddle, though Cassaban's trained eye noticed something that would soon see the downfall of the valiant Doridanian nobleman.
"Look at the position of Dunnahel's shield," he pointed out sadly. "See how it is lowered? His shoulder had been injured. Not badly, but I believe he's done for."
His observation proved correct on next pass down the lists. Brin carefully aimed his lance as they came to the center of the field, and when young Dunnahel could not raise his shield quickly enough to deflect the blow the padded point of the ash-wood shaft struck him squarely in his armored chest, lifting him from the saddle and depositing him on the grassy field with a clatter.
"Thus ends the Competition of the Lance," Cassy sighed.
"Ju-LEE-an!" the crowd erupted. "Ju-LEE-an!"
The victorious Lancemaster acknowledged the cheering throngs with a quick tip of his visor, then rode back to the center of the lists where several officials had rushed to attend to the fallen Dunnahel. The young Doridanian had already struggled to his feet, apparently uninjured except for his shoulder, which he gripped painfully. Despite obvious discomfort, he bowed respectfully to Brin as the Lancemaster dismounted, proving they did indeed teach manners in Dorshev as well as jousting. Not to be outdone by the young nobleman, Brin returned the bow courteously, then motioned for Dunnahel to proceed him to the foot of the grandstand where both men rendered honors to the royal box.
As Jack was watching the uncommon display of sportsmanship, he was joined by Daath Gullwain, the official who had already judged two of his matches. "You again Master Gullwain?" he inquired with a smile.
"No rest for the weary," Gullwain grinned. "As soon as the lists are taken down..."
"I'll be ready," Jack nodded.
"Good luck to you sir knight," he bowed. "As an official of the Haelfest, I am of course required to remain impartial but..." Gullwain glanced quickly in Kiathan's direction, ensuring the Duke of Raashan was not within hearing distance, before continuing, "Speaking as a spectator, I hope the current pattern of success by the reigning champions does not continue. Over the last few days I've come to the opinion it would best for all concerned if a certain duke was...how shall I put this... taken down a notch or two?"
"I'll see what I can do," Jack assured the official.
Gullwain bowed, excusing himself.
"There is no end to your admirers it seems," Cassaban observed as official walked away. "It's a shame his only duty today is to announce when you or Kiathan yields."
"A shame indeed," Jack replied. "Because it's going to be a cold day in hell before that happens."
"It is time my lord," Falan said, inclining his head towards the center of the field where Daenel d'Lachaeland had just finished inspecting the re-sodding of the grass and nodded his approval to the grounds-keepers.
"Looks like it," he agreed, then took a deep breath. "Wish me luck guys."
"Yh be with you, Jack" Cassy said, laying a hand on Braedan's arm.
"Make us proud my lord," Falan added.
"Watch this for me will you," Jack said, handing his shield to Falan. "If I don't win you can keep it as a souvenir." Though the last vision of the Elohara had shown him holding the shield, it hadn't actually shown him fighting with it. He'd never fought with one before and wasn't about to start now. Kiathan was waiting at the foot of the royal box, and when Jack joined him adrenalin started to pump through his veins like a raging river. He could sense fate rushing towards him like an avalanche. Like a drowning man, scenes of his life flashed through his mind. Every decision he'd ever made, each cross-road where he'd chosen one path over another, the times he'd said yes instead of no, had all combined to bring him to this one specific moment in time. Few men are ever granted the certain knowledge of their place in the fabric of the universe, the ultimate purpose of their existence, but now Jack Braedan knew his. He would win this day, and would live to see the next. One day in the not too distant future, on Lordsisle, in the Temple of the Sword, he would draw the Highsword Yhswyndyr, Lifebringer and Deathbane. Sunheart would awaken in its hilt with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns, and he would go forth to face the Bloodstone, to rid the world of its evil for all time.
If Kiathan Ellgaer could discern the calm that had settled over Jack because of his enlighten-ment, he gave no outward sign.
"So, you have decided to join me?" he asked haughtily. "Good. I am eager to finish this. I have...plans to start in motion today. Things I have been looking forward to with delicious anticipation."
The words were of course meant to taunt Jack into a rage but the serenity enveloping him was stronger than the purest Ithlemere tempered by the hottest forge. He could no more be touched by anger at this moment than a man could reach up and touch the sky. Jack simply turned away from the traitor duke and searched the royal box for the other purpose of his existence. When his eyes found Annawyn, he bowed to the beautiful, auburn haired Horsemaiden who had given him the strength to continue along his fated path against the very forces of hell itself.
"Your plans end today Kiathan," Jack said, turning back to the Duke of Raashan.
"Then if you will select a covering Prince Kiathan. Sir Knight," Gullwain instructed the pair. "We will..."
"Not today Daath," Jack said quietly.
"Excuse me sir knight?" the official asked.
"Is it not permitted," Jack continued, "for the challenger to request the use of naked steel in the fight for Swordmaster?" He had in fact, uncovered this obscure ruling in Brythond, during his reading as he convalesced from his leg injury. Though it had been used only twice in the history of the Haelfest.
"The reigning Swordmaster may of course refuse the request," Jack smiled, turning to the duke, "With
out loss of honor." He had little fear Kiathan would object to the use of bare blades. From the satisfied gleam in his eyes, the duke had probably anticipated this moment. "You may ask the steward if you wish Master Gullwain, but I believe you will find I am within my rights. Am I not Kiathan?"
"I am pleased you are so eager to die Braedan," Ellgaer grinned wickedly.
"I am not afraid to meet the Creator," Jack answered softly. "Can you say the same?"
"We shall see who meets the Creator," Kiathan replied, drawing his blade, he turned on his heel and strode to the center of the field.
"We shall indeed," Jack nodded, drawing Grimrorr from its silver sheath. "After you Master Gullwain."
"You...you are certain you wish to do this?" the bewildered official asked.
"The Swordmaster is waiting," was Jack's reply
"Then follow me," Daath whispered. "And may Yh’Adan preserve thee, for I cannot."
Slowly, it began to dawn on the crowd the two contestants were taking the field without drawing a covering for their swords. They were going to fight with bared steel! Something which hadn't been done in nearly three hundred years. Surely this could not actually be happening? The Disinherited Knight was courting death to face Kiathan Ellgaer in this manner. No! It could not be true! But even as they watched in shocked dismay, the Blue Knight, the swordsman who had appeared from nowhere to capture their hearts, stopped in the center of the field with an un-covered blade.
"Take a good, long look Braedan," Kiathan said quietly as Jack halted a few paces from him. "Burn their faces into your memory. The young. The old. The innocent. Before another year has passed, they will all be in chains awaiting their turn on my Master's alter. Those not already dead."
Jack did as was asked, but he did not see a people in chains awaiting death. What he saw was a people who would one day live without fear, in a land scoured by righteous flames of all evil things.
"I see them," he replied just as softly. "And if they could see you as I have, there would be no need for me to face you.”
"That day in Agash Thugar," Kiathan said thoughtfully, "I felt...someone...you were there, weren't you? Above? On the balcony? You saw my Sealing?"
"I saw," Jack snarled, his calm momentarily leaving him at the memory of the horrible ceremony.
"Then you know what I have planned for your lovely Anna?” the duke grinned wildly, madly. "Perhaps, the Master will let me keep her chained at my feet, to use as I wish when I am bored. As for your fate...but you know that as well. Don't you Dreamwalker?
"I know you are an insane murderer," Jack replied. “Who has sold his soul to a chained demon and a disgraced and fallen lord. It will be my single greatest pleasure to put an end to your miserable life." He raise Grimrorr to high guard. The first time in the tournament he had started in this stance.
"Soon those chains will be broken," Kiathan growled, raising his own blade. "Then we will see which of us has chosen the stronger Master, you or I."
To the accompaniment of a near silent audience, they began to circle.
Jack was the first to strike. Wind Beneath the Branches. It was a tentative maneuver, only meant to test Kiathan's reflexes and little else. He followed quickly with Moon Rises Above the Water, a more ambitious form but still only testing.
"Is that the extent of your skill?" Kiathan laughed derisively. "To think, I had begun to believe you might actually be a worthy opponent. Here, let me show you what a true Swordmaster can do."
The Duke of Raashan launched into a furious attack, using forms Braedan had not seen him use in any of his other matches. It was nimble feet and pure instinct more than skill which kept him alive until Kiathan had completed his chosen pattern. When the Swordmaster finally broke off his attack, Jack was breathing heavily. There was blood trickling from a nick on his chin. A small hurt considering the thrust's intention had been to pierce his throat.
"Even your lap dog was better than that," Kiathan snorted.
"Then why am I not dead?" Jack asked, assuming The Lions Waits.
"You will be in time," the duke promised. "But not before your flesh hangs in ribbons and the people see you groveling at my feet, pleading for mercy."
He came again and blade met blade with a shower of blue sparks that sent a shock-wave through Jack's arm, numbing it to the elbow. Sensing victory, Kiathan redoubled his attack, aiming a killing blow Jack barely deflected with a tardily lifted parry. The point of the duke's sword was headed for his right eye until redirected at the last instant, its momentum still managing to open another cut above below is eye.
"Now I will have your head!" the Duke of Raashan cried triumphantly.
Kiathan advanced, determined to finish his opponent once and for all. Jack was done testing. He had the duke's measure now. He had weighed Kiathan's skills in the balance and found them wanting. With Fang of the Cobra, he leapt to the attack, following quickly with Raging Bull. Kiathan grunted in surprise. Surprise became concentration with Hornet's Sting. Concentration became shock with The Serpent Uncoils, finally giving way to dismay with Storm Tossed Water.
Now it was Jack who sensed victory, and he committed himself with a fury which would no longer be held in check, every blow seeking Kiathan's blood.
"This is for my crewmen you murdered!" he roared. Grimrorr opened a gash on Kiathan's forearm as it cut through chain-mail as if it were rotten silk.
"For Errand!"
A cut on the duke's chin below his cheek guards.
"For the girl in Agash Thugar!"
Locus Swarming snapped Kiathan's sword six inches above the hilt.
"For The Broken Arrow!"
The Hammer Falls descended with such force it dented gilded armor and shattered his collar bone. The duke's broken sword slipped from his lifeless fingers as he dropped to his knees in agony.
"For Aralon!" Jack bellowed, raising the elven blade high above his head in preparation for the coup de grace. Muscles tensed, blood boiling, he was a split second from striking off the traitor duke's head when he heard a voice from the stunned audience shout, "Jack. No!"
His arm froze. Looking up into the surrounding crowds, he searched for the source of the cry, though he knew from where it had come. Then he found her. Annawyn's sea green eyes were full of hope and love, but fear also. The woman of his dreams shook her head slowly and mouthed a single word.
"Please."
"Go ahead," Kiathan rasped, teeth clinched in pain. "Strike! Kill me you bastard!"
Jack slowly lowered his sword, shaking with rage.
"Kill me!"
"No," he replied softly, finally managing to push aside his rage. "There will be no quick death for you. For those you've killed...and for all the slaughter and death you were planning, I will see you exposed. Tried for your crimes and hanged for the murderer you are."
With a last look of utter contempt, the new Swordmaster of Aralon turned his back on Kiathan and went to claim his destiny.
Daath Gullwain rushed to his side as the chant slowly began. "Blue Knight! Blue KNIGHT! BLUE KNIGHT!" It quickly rose in volume until those two words seemed to fill the world. As Jack stopped at the foot the grandstand, he was met by a smiling Daenel d'Lachaeland. The Steward of Immer raised his arms for quiet, but it was several minutes before the cheering crowds finally obeyed.
"Master Gullwain?" Daenel asked. "The people await your ruling."
"Kiathan Ellgaer can no longer defend himself!" the official announced in a voice that carried to the far ends of the stadium. "The match belongs to the Disinherited Knight. The new Swordmaster of Aralon!" he cried, lifting Jack's arm in victory.
The crowd erupted once more, chanting his name in delirious ecstasy. Red roses began to rain down on the field. Though no doubt the color had been chosen to honor Kiathan, Jack could not help but see in them a different symbol. Red was the color of blood. The color of war.
When the jubilant celebration had run its course, d'Lachaeland raised his arms once more for quiet.
"Sir Kn
ight!" he cried. "Wilt thou now remove your mask and reveal your name so we may properly honor you as Swordmaster of Ljmarn Haelfest?"
Jack had heard the request voiced before, in the last vision of his Elohara, and his response came from the same memory. He stuck Grimrorr point first in the ground before him, then slowly removed his silk mask. The crowd once again erupted in cheers. In the royal box, those who knew what was to come broke into smiles; Theros, Thonicil, Cilidon, the twins, and Arrinor and Ailicia. Thessa applauded with delight at her champion revealed, while Duke Morgan half rose in surprise, seeing the pirate whom he'd helped to escape the cross. Annawyn, smiled and whispered, "Thank you." The remainder of the monarchs of the Whesguard brightened with relief, not recognizing him as anyone under royal sentence of death, and therefore not requiring a pardon.
Then Jack motioned for Falan to bring him his shield. When he withdrew the covering and held it high, revealing the flaming sword and the three-pointed crown, all but a few of those faces suddenly held looks of disbelief, as they realized the import of the device. The words he spoke next had been hidden from him during the Elohara, but they flowed smoothly from his lips now as if he'd rehearsed them a thousand times.
"I am John Braedan of the House Bra'Adan," he announced in a voice that carried throughout the coliseum. "Son of Patrick, descendant of Jon, son of Ljmarn Bra'Adan and Ailanna An'Mera! Exiled in fear, raised in secret, hidden for eight hundred years! I stand before you hidden no longer. By birth and blood, I claim my right to drawn the Highsword Yhswyndyr!"
The arena erupted in confusion, and several of the women in attendance swooned, overcome with shock. Above the shouts of the crowd, in a far corner of his mind, Jack clearly the reply of the dark-King Graith as he awoke long last from his sleep in the bowels of Gorthiel.
"So it begins!”
Here ends Path of Kings
The second book of Heir of Sword and Stone
The tale concludes in Burden of Stones