by Marian Gray
“There is one of him and six of us,” Lars continued. “If we united, Arus would be finished. The three of them would be finished.”
When his little speech ended, the hall was silent and cold. The six men were rigid and hiding their gazes, except Ristof. He looked to his son with pleading eyes.
“Are you done yet?” I asked Lars. I had been flexible when it came to him towing the line of disrespect, but I couldn’t ignore this. He was challenging my rule and attempting to incite a revolt. If I let this roll off my back, what kind of precedent would I set as a leader here?
“Yes, pack your things and leave,” Lars told me, as though he were the Thane of Lungdal now.
Ristof buried his face in his hands. “I will punish him, Ark Iver. Please —”
“I think we’re passed that, Ristof. If he wants to stand up, puff out his chest, and parade around like he’s some rebel leader, then I will treat him as I would a rebel leader.”
Irska placed her hand on my forearm. The touch was gentle. An attempt to cool my anger. But I wasn’t upset. I was insulted, and that was worse.
“I challenge you. Back your words with your sword or retract them now and beg forgiveness,” I told Lars, keeping my voice calm and collected.
Lars shrugged. “That’s an easy choice. I choose the sword.”
“No!” Ristof roared. He rose from his seat and slapped his son. The sound of his palm meeting his son’s cheek echoed in the hall. “What are you doing?”
Ristof turned to me. Desperation marked his eyes. “Please, show some mercy. If not for his sake, then for mine. He is my only son. He is the only child I will ever have in this lifetime. From the day he was born until as I stand now, he has, is, and will always be the most important thing in my life.”
I swallowed hard. This made things a bit more difficult. Long-term, it would be bad to kill the most powerful and diplomatic thane’s only child that he now pleaded for. But I couldn’t let Lars’s words go unpunished.
“Out of respect to you, Ristof, I will allow Lars to choose a champion. But if he loses, you all meet my demands, and he recants his statements and comes into my service until Lungdal needs him.”
Ristof’s eyes were wet with tears upon hearing these terms, but he dried them on his sleeve. “Thank you, Iver.” His breath stifled at the end.
“I agree to send a champion,” Lars said. “Those terms are favorable.”
XVII
The Road South
The mist was thick in the dirt streets outside the city’s center. It wrapped its hazy arms around the land and hugged tight, shrouding the landscape in a heavy blanket. The world was hidden. Only the faint outline of the golden domes could be seen from where I stood. The early morning’s soft periwinkle blue scattered through the fog, creating an otherworldly atmosphere.
“Where did you find him?” I asked as I tucked my pant leg into my boots.
The horse’s hooves clopped against the compacted dirt trail behind Svotheim. “Does it matter? You need a horse.”
“You didn’t steal it, did you?”
“Now,” Svotheim began, ignoring my question. His long hand came to rest on the horse’s neck, stroking the short pale hair in soothing pats. “Have you ever ridden before?”
I shook my head. “No. Is it difficult?”
He grinned at me. “Long distance can be a bit painful, but just remember to ride with the horse’s trot. You need to match his rhythm.”
His explanation escaped me. Other than shoveling poop, I had had little interaction with the four-legged animal. “What if I were to ride no faster than a walk?” Surely that would save me from whatever discomfort he was referencing.
Svotheim sighed. “Well, you could do that if you wanted to. But instead of a full day’s ride to Essony, you’d have two or more on your hands. I don’t know how safe the woods are, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there were thieves on the roads. Do you think you could handle that?”
I took a deep breath. He was chipping away at my determination. “I want a weapon. I’m not going down there empty-handed.”
He chuckled at me. He was enjoying this. “Saddle your packs, and I’ll fetch the pole arm.”
I nodded. My fingers snatched a leather strap and raveled the belt through the bands of my satchel. The horse remained still and calm, despite having a stranger handle him. Whoever he was, he was well-trained. Someone had obviously cared for him, and now I was riding him out of the country to a foreign land without knowing whether either of us would come back.
I took a deep breath. What was I doing? I wasn’t an assassin or even a killer. I had taken lives before, but it was always out of self-defense. Now, I would be the aggressor, the one with malicious intentions toward another.
The idea sat on my shoulders like a hefty mass. The Esson King was an enemy of Rekkesov. He wanted to sweep up and conquer. He wasn’t infallible.
I needed to stop dwelling on the task and simply do it as Torram had advised.
With a tiny metal clink, my bag was strapped across the horse’s haunches. I had to be fearless and take hold of my destiny. I had to ride down to Essony and seize the life of a faceless king. I needed to hold myself to the Varundian frame of mind if I were going to complete this task and be more than just a slave in their eyes.
My hair floated on the light breeze, blowing away from my face. My eyes shut as I sank into the air’s grasp. The wind was refreshing. It slipped through my clothes and wrapped around my figure. A collective cool settled on me. For the first time in hours, sweat ceased to trickle down my skin. The day had been unbearably hot. Fortunately, the sun had already begun its descent, painting the sky a radical scarlet in its dying wake.
There wasn’t any way to tell, but I hoped I had entered Esson lands by now. I had followed the road south until I hit the fork. From there, I took the east-veering path, per Svotheim’s instructions. But darkness rose on the horizon, and I had yet to find a keep, town, village, or even a hut.
I shifted in my seat, glancing around me. Was I lost?
Worry crept in. I tapped the horse with my heel and sent him into a trot. I had to find the Esson king’s seat before dark set in.
We pressed forward and the land transformed in tandem to the setting sun. Mud clotted to my horse’s hooves and caked his fur. With each of his steps, we sank into the earth. I had never seen dirt so mushy alongside a dry, downtrodden path. It reminded me of the storms that overtook Sairasee days before I was taken.
A row of trees emerged on one side. Their trunks were padded with brush, but it was what lay beyond them that caught my attention. The trickle of running water filled my ears. There was a river, which explained the mud. When I found a clearing, I drove my steed through the gap, breaking from the road. He led us to the water’s edge without any direction from me.
The stream was wide, and the current soft. The edge was lined with rocks and tall grasses that stood only just as high as my ankle.
I swung my leg over the side of my horse and landed upon trembling legs. My calves were asleep and tingled with an unyielding sting. But it was my thighs that truly struck with agony. The flesh felt hot and raw. I hooked a finger onto the lip of my trousers, pulling outward for me to peek inside. The skin looked red and flushed.
With a sigh, I tightened the strings of my pants and waddled to the shoreline. I didn’t know how to treat this, nor did I recognize any of the foliage in the southern wood. But cool water could possibly numb or silence the area.
The horse drank its fill while I splashed the running river over my body. Each drop took away the day’s dirt and grime. It brought a bit of relief in this foreign place.
I had never traveled alone, especially in a land not of my own. As I watched the sinking sun skip across the smooth stream, I couldn’t help but wonder how far away Sairasee was or even my Varundian home across the sea. How far south had I plummeted? What odd people was I destined to meet in this place?
It was something I had yet to consider. Di
d the Essons speak a language similar to the Rekke and Varundians or was their language of another tongue? If it was, how did Svotheim expect me to communicate with them? I had been so concentrated on just making it to Essony alive, I hadn’t planned out a good story to connect me to this Esson king.
I released a throaty groan. I didn’t even know the king’s name.
My fingers dipped into the running creek once again, letting the liquid fold and swirl around each digit. My mind drifted, carried out by the river. It floated away, out to sea, leaping over waves and ocean tides. With a force, it smacked into the coast and crawled up from the shore line of a wooden town. I saw his face and was met with that mesmerizing indigo stare.
Was he happy? Did he ever think of me?
I missed his smile. That knowing smirk that cooled my blood and made energy swirl around my flesh. Iver dripped with raw power that saturated my every inch. His presence made my heart skip and my breath stutter.
A white flash caught my gaze.
It was the glint of metal bouncing within the rippling stream. I leaned forward, straining my eyes to see what was under the water’s surface.
The glimmer jumped, resting a few feet down from its origin, and a white spark sprang to life.
How odd? I stood, hoping the new angle would better help me to see what lingered in the river’s shallow depths.
The crisp crack of grass breaking sounded behind me. Something was there.
My heart jolted, and I whipped around to face whatever approached me. My eyes narrowed down to the sharp tip of a sword. It was held just inches from my nose.
Four men surrounded me. The shiny reflections of their swords and buckles shimmered along the water. They were all dressed in matching tunic and trouser uniforms with sky-blue shield emblems sewn onto their leather armor. Upon the blue stood a white steed with his two front hooves raised in defiance.
The man holding the sword glared at down at me. His mouth opened and unintelligible words came out from under a bushy brown mustache.
“I don’t understand,” I blurted out in the hard Varundian tongue, raising my arms as a show of surrender. “I am a slave. I escaped. I seek refuge.”
“Oy.” One of the men’s eyes opened wide in surprise. He took a step toward me, but the others swung out their arms to stop him with some urgency.
He spoke to them, pointing to my wrist. Around the slender bones sat a bright bracelet. It was the mark of my servitude. Did they want it? Were they robbing me? I would have sooner suspected them of nabbing my horse, but the amber-colored animal stood nearby, grazing with little worry.
After hearing the man out, the others nodded and spoke. The sword before my face was lowered, and they approached me with a rope.
I took a step back. I wasn’t going to be captured.
My pole arm lingered just a few feet away, holstered to my horse’s flank. If I could just get a grip on its neck, I could rip it free from its latch. Did I have the ability to fight four men at once? Doubtful, but that probability wasn’t going to stop me.
I slid my foot to the side, pushing down into the riverbed’s sludge. The sound of the trickling current filled my ears as my pounding heart pulsed through my entire body. I couldn’t let these men take me. I couldn’t fail Svotheim, Torram, Varund, and Rekkesov.
One of the men waved his hand at me, beckoning me to come out of the water.
“No.” I shook my head. “I’m not going with you.”
The leader barked out an order and all four of them began to march toward me. Two had their swords drawn, ready to skewer me.
I didn’t have a moment to spare. Fighting the water, I wheeled around and lunged for my horse. But instead of soft river bed, my boot hit slick rock. My leg swung out from under me, and I fell forward into the river’s grasp. My arms fought against the water. I struggled to regain my footing and kicked off from the bottom instead.
But just as I was propelled forward, a hand wrapped around my ankle. My blood ran cold. I was yanked backward, and my body slid across the river’s surface at a brisk speed.
“No!” I cried, kicking against my attacker. I flopped in the current like a beached fish.
His grip didn’t loosen. I heard their muffled shouts through the splashing waters. Their hands clawed at me, desperate to get ahold of another one of my limbs.
I tucked my arms against my chest and barrel-rolled. My body spun in the water with ease, but the motion made me nauseous. I didn’t know which way was up or down. Air escaped me. Every time I opened my mouth for a gasp, water rushed in.
But I didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was that the grip on my ankle had been broken.
My feet kicked, fighting to get away. I slipped through the water, and an intense burn swelled in my chest. I needed air now.
My head bobbed up for a gasp, and I was immediately shoved back down. Two hands pressed against my back. Their grip tightened, locking two fistfuls of my tunic.
My chest was on fire. Panic spurred through me.
I reached for my assailant’s arms as my head grew heavy. My mind clouded over and the only thing holding me to reality was the creeping tingle in my arms. My hands wrapped around his forearm and I struggled to break his grip. My muscles were weak, and my powers flickered on and off.
My mouth opened, desperate for air, but only water flooded in. My sight dimmed as the sweltering heat in my lungs turned into an unshakable agony.
Another pair of hands grabbed my hair and held my head steady, forcing me to meet my death.
My arms went limp, the static heat in my limbs numbed, and my world dimmed.
XVIII
Odd Angles
Lars placed his hands on either side of Mathias’s face and pulled him in for a long kiss, intimate and close. When they separated, they peered into each other’s eyes, lost in the haze of young love. I expected guilt to pierce my gut and make me apprehensive to tear their union apart, but I felt nothing. I hoped Lars would enjoy the life in Mathias’s eyes one last time, because I was about to rip it all away when I lobbed his head from his shoulders.
“Oh, I didn’t see that coming,” Brungen said, watching the pair with interest. “Usually I can sense these kinds of things.”
“You can?” I asked as I strapped my leathers to my chest.
He nodded.
“Then why do you keep trying to get me in bed with a man?”
He shrugged. “I just want you to try it out. That way you can rule out that it truly isn’t for you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Brungen, I can tell you now, just by watching the two of them. It truly isn’t for me.” Ever since I was a young teen, he had pushed me to experiment with other men. Dicks just didn’t arouse me.
Irska thrust my shield toward me. “You shouldn’t be doing this.” Her words sliced through the playful atmosphere. “You’re not a soldier anymore.”
I grabbed the shield, fidgeting with my grip on the wooden bar. “Then what do you recommend I had done? Ignore it all?” Her gaze was so severe, I focused my eyes on anything but her.
“No, you should’ve chosen a champion, too. That was the appropriate and respectable option for someone of your title.”
“Why do you care?” I lowered the shield. “After the conversation we had earlier, I would think that you would be happy to see me dead.”
Her eyes shrank to slits. “Just because I dislike you right now doesn’t mean I want to see you dead. I should, but I don’t.”
I smirked. “Well, that’s not the Irska I know and love.”
“Quit playing games and focus.” Her head turned toward Mathias, observing him. “Do you think you can beat him?”
It was a good question. Mathias was a formidable opponent—tall, muscular, and given his warm up earlier, unnaturally flexible. I’d like to think that I was all these things as well, save the flexibility part, but I was also proven and experienced. This wasn’t my first duel, nor was it my first taste of heavy pressure. What we were fighting for woul
d be enough to play with a green mind.
“Wait, what?” Brungen butted in. “What are you two squabbling about now?”
“None of your business,” Irska said as she folded her arms across her chest, taking a defensive stance. “And we need Iver to focus on—”
“You’ll tell me after?” Brungen asked me.
I nodded, giving him whatever answer would make him quit digging. I didn’t want to unearth the whole situation here in front of the entire village of Lungdal and the six thanes.
“No, he will not,” Irska snapped. “This is between me and him and nobody else, especially not you, Brungen. You have a nasty way of mucking up drama.”
“I do not! And I’m insulted you would even insinuate such a thing.”
“To the center, please, men,” Athulf said. Ristof had passed on his duty to the inbred thane, feeling that he would’ve been a biased judge.
“Iver,” Irska whispered in a rush as her hand latched onto my arm. Her lips trembled, and her eyes widened with worry. “I just want you to know—”
“Irska,” I said, halting the scene mid-theatrics. “I’m going to be fine.”
I pulled my arm from her grip, and my boots lifted, carrying me across the soft, damp ground. The grass was sparse, growing in thickness as it trailed farther from the center of the ring. In the major cities, duels had been outlawed—only allowed in the fields and areas far from the trading hubs. But this circle looked worn, almost manicured in a way, from constant use over the centuries.
“The rules are very simple,” Athulf began once Mathias and I stood but three feet from each other. “You both are allowed exactly one shield and one sword. Last one standing wins.”
I sucked down a slow, deep breath, not releasing until my mind blanked. The shouting and jeering crowd faded into silhouettes, shadow people trapped within the fringe of my mind. The memory of Irska’s visible fear melted into obscurity. All I could see was Mathias, our weapons, and the space between us.