The Lure of Fools

by Jason James King

  “I am sorry to say this, Argentus, but you’ve disappointed me. And I wasn’t expecting all that much.”

  A memory forced itself into Ezra’s mind. It was a blurred panorama of that day of his shame. The day when he’d slaughtered not only his opponent, but dozens of spectators after losing his will to the sword. It was never a welcomed memory, but this time it seemed particularly repugnant. As if his past was reaching forward to mock him and make certain he didn’t miss the irony of his death like this. It made him angry.

  Without thinking, Ezra whipped his blade up to knock aside the point of Trous’ rapier. He felt a sharp sting at his throat followed by warmth and he knew that he’d cut his neck, but it was a shallow thing. Trous cried out as Ezra launched himself at the man, crashing into him and forcing Trous to stumble backward.

  Ezra locked eyes with him just before he slammed his forehead into Trous’ nose. He heard a sickening crunch and then blood poured down the Tolean man’s face. Trous roared as he shoved Ezra away and retreated back a pace, free hand cupping his gushing nose. Ezra regained his balance and smirked as insolently as he knew how.

  “So you have some fight left in you after all,” Trous said in a nasal tone. Then he smiled and removed his hand.

  Ezra’s own smile faded as he caught sight of Trous’ nose. It was bloody, but no longer gushing blood. Neither was it swollen as it should’ve been. It was as if Ezra hadn’t even struck the man. He’s somehow still connected to his restoration ring! He’s cheating! As if beating Trous in a fair duel wasn’t unlikely enough, now it would be impossible. Ezra wasn’t sure why that surprised him. The man was a backstabbing thief.

  Trous came at him with increased aggression, and Ezra suffered three painful, but superficial slashes to his forearm, shoulder, and cheek respectively. Trous was continually moving to the sides, intentionally keeping Ezra away from the edge of the dais. He was looking to end this.

  The roaring crowd caught his attention reminding him again of the day he’d slaughtered dozens of people in a dueling arena not unlike this. The echo of the sword’s mind beckoned to him again, promising him something if he would delve into the memory of his shame, but he couldn’t. What’d he’d done had been too hideous. To this day, the horror of it could still wake him in the night shaking and sweating.

  Hot pain in Ezra’s thigh made his eyes tear up, and the crowd’s roar drowned out his own scream as he fell onto his side, his sword clattering to the wood a few feet away. He looked down to the locus point of the pain and found blood already seeping through his trousers. A shadow loomed above, and he looked up to find Trous smiling down at him. He saluted Ezra with his bloody rapier and whipped the blade to his side in preparation for the killing stroke.

  “Ez!” a familiar voice bellowed.

  Ezra saw Mulladin climb up on the dais and launch himself at Trous. The man was so stunned he was taken down without even trying to move. Ezra watched as Mulladin and Trous rolled across the dais, Trous losing his rapier, and the bigger Mulladin coming to rest on top of him. Ezra quickly found his sword, sat up, and tried to stand. The pain knocked him down the first two times, but the third attempt succeeded, and he rose, pressing all of his weight on his uninjured side.

  Mulladin was holding Trous down using a wrestling move Ezra had seen Jekaran teach him, and Trous’ nose was gushing blood from a blow the boy-man hand landed while they’d rolled. The crowd jeered as Mulladin held fast. By this time, Trous had overcome his surprise and was straining against the hold. No, he was straining to reach something. He followed Trous’ outstretched hand to where the fingers were touching a small brown pouch–his talises.

  Ezra took a step toward the bag but nearly fell from the pain in his thigh. He pushed through the agony to take another step, but it was too late. Trous’s fingers were inside the bag. A flash of lightning followed by a thunderclap rocked the room, and Mulladin was abruptly thrown off of Trous and into the watching crowd.

  The memory Ezra had been repressing pushed its way back into his mind, and this time he didn’t have the focus to push it out. In an instant, he found himself in another time and place. People screamed as he whirled through wooden bleachers, slashing throats or lopping off heads. A child of no more than six stared up at him, frozen in place with fear. His accusing brown eyes seemed not to blink as Ezra cut him down. Who would’ve brought their child to a blood match? Goddess damn that little boy’s parents! He’d cried out inside his mind.

  The killing continued until the ground was covered in blood and the arena entirely devoid of living creatures. That’s when the sword let go. Ezra remembered falling to his knees and vomiting in between sobs. He remembered the sword wondering what was wrong with him, and he mentally screaming at the talis to leave his mind. Of course, it couldn’t. He remembered staying like that for an indeterminable amount of time until Irvis hesitantly touched him on the shoulder. Even his best friend was frightened of him. That sword had made him into a monster.

  Ezra blinked away tears, though from the pain in his thigh or in his heart he couldn’t say. Trous was on his feet again, brushing himself off and casually walking over to retrieve his rapier. A calm came over Ezra, and he finally understood. He’d used the memory of that awful day to compartmentalize what the sword left inside his mind so long ago. He’d wanted nothing further to do with the weapon, and having a piece of it still inside his brain threatened to break him. So, on that day when he’d broken the bond, he’d hidden the fragment of the sword’s mind in a corner behind those terrible memories, because he knew he’d never let his mind go there.

  Truly he was no longer linked to it. That curse had passed to Jekaran. But the sword had left something else behind aside from a piece of its consciousness–power! It had left a portion of its power inside him. As Ezra watched Trous approach, he knew there was only one way he was going to be able to win this duel. And he had to win it. Jekaran needed him, and Mulladin had sacrificed for him. He couldn’t lose. So Ezra allowed the memories of that terrible day so long ago, when he’d killed so many innocent people to return in full. Then he tapped that piece of itself the sword had left in his mind.

  Trous whipped his rapier up and thrust. The crowd sucked in a collective gasp as Ezra casually knocked aside the attack. Trous himself looked confused, but quickly stepped back, to the side, and sliced at Ezra’s neck.

  Clang!

  This time he caught Trous’s blade mid swing and knocked it down, all without even having to move. He turned his head to the side to see Trous’ face pale. Ezra smiled and then launched a flurry of swings at the Tolean man. The pain in his thigh throbbed, but no longer hindered his movement, and he struck at his enemy with the lithe grace of an expert swordsman. It was all Trous could do to stave Ezra off, his entire effort now devoted to parrying Ezra’s blows.

  The crowd remained utterly silent as the two men dueled. Trous was fully invested now, and landing superficial wounds every now and again–the man really was quite skilled. After a particularly intense exchange of swordplay, the two broke apart.

  Sweat poured down Trous’s brown face and he panted, “You are using a talis!”

  Ezra shook his head. “Not this time.” Well, it was technically true.

  Trous narrowed his eyes. “You lie! You have broken the rules!”

  Ezra almost laughed aloud at that. Hadn’t the man broken them first? Yes, in fact, he was still breaking them. Ezra had seen several of his landed cuts heal instantaneously meaning Trous was still using his restoration ring. He needed to part the man from his healing talis, or else he would succumb to blood loss long before Trous would tire. But where? Where was the man keeping the ring? It had to be somewhere it could touch his skin.

  Trous had retrieved his talises after attacking Mulladin, but they were again in the bag hanging from his neck. Ezra looked at the man’s free hand and found only a white depressions on his skin where he usually wore the rings. He hadn’t been able to heal when Mulladin was beating him, a voice seemed to whisp
er. Ezra’s eyes fell to Trous’s closed hand guard. The ring had to be there, somehow fixed to the inside of the guard. When had the man done that? Ezra hadn’t been paying attention when he brought him to the duel. It must’ve been then.

  Trous attacked, and Ezra’s enhanced reflexes forced his arm up in time to knock away the thrust. Without thinking, Ezra whirled, slammed an elbow in the side of Trous head, spun to the man’s other side and lopped off his sword arm with a long downward slice. Blood sprayed and Trous screamed as he grabbed the stump terminating just below his elbow. Ezra didn’t wait to see if Trous could heal himself, but rammed his sword through the man’s heart. They locked eyes for a moment, and then Trous’ exhaled his last breath.

  Ezra collapsed backward to the ground, letting go of his sword so as to not bring Trous’ corpse down onto him. Without a connection to the actual sword, the power it left behind was finite, and Ezra had used it up. Through his blurred vision, he could see the crowd of Rikujo lords and their enforcers rushing to leave the room. They were afraid of him again. They must think he somehow still had access to the power of the sword. That was good. But it wouldn’t help him if he died right now.

  Ezra reached for Trous’ rapier and slid it over to the wooden floor. He looked underneath the hand guard and found the restoration ring threaded through the very handle so that it held fast. Ezra touched the ring, and immediately its healing power flow into him. He didn’t have much experience using healing talises, and Irvis had told him that they actually required medical knowledge and skill to use to their full effect. But the receding pain told Ezra that he was doing something right, so he continued to focus his attention on the wound in his thigh until it was gone.

  “Argentus!” Irvis called.

  Ezra sat up and found the chubby monk kneeling with Graelle over a body on the floor. Mulladin! Ezra leapt up and rushed down from the dais. He brought Trous’ rapier with him as he had not had time to remove the ring from the handle. When he reached the three, he found Mulladin lying on his back, the front of his tunic blackened and burned.

  “No,” Ezra exhaled.

  “He’s alive,” Irvis said. “But he took a bolt of lightning to the chest.”

  Ezra shoved the rapier handle first at Irvis. There was a moment of confusion on his chubby face that quickly resolved to understanding when he saw the restoration ring under the hand guard. He reached for the rapier with one hand and placed his other on the boy-man’s burnt chest.

  “This is bad, Argentus. I’m not sure I can save him.”

  Ezra nodded his understanding, and Irvis immediately went to work. He watched in tense silence as the monk shut his eyes in concentration and whispered a prayer. Graelle held Mulladin’s head in her lap, gently caressing the boy-man’s cheek and whispering what sounded like comforting words. Mulladin’s eyes fluttered, and he groaned and cried. The time stretched on, and Ezra fervently prayed to the goddess that they could save Mulladin. He saved my life, and possibly Jekaran’s. Spare and heal him, please Divine Mother of Creation!

  Finally Irvis sighed and removed his hand from Mulladin’s chest. Ezra could see through the tear in his tunic that the burn was gone, but he knew that a lightning strike could do serious internal damage. He met Irvis’ eyes.

  “I mended what I could. This ring is powerful, and I don’t have the discipline to control the healing flows as well as I should. So a great deal went everywhere, while only about half went to the places I was trying to heal. It’s in Rasheera’s hands now.”

  Ezra nodded.

  “How did you fight like that, Argentus?” Irvis asked.

  Ezra sighed. He really didn’t want to talk about it, not now, but he owed his friend at least a brief explanation. “Remember how I told you that the sword left something behind in my mind?”

  Irvis’ eyes widened.

  Ezra shook his head and waved dismissively at him. “No, it’s gone now.”

  Irvis slowly nodded, and opened his mouth to ask something but was cut off by Graelle.

  “He’s waking!”

  Ezra turned to look down at Mulladin. The boy-man’s eyes fluttered opened and then darted up at Graelle, then to Irvis, before settling on Ezra. He smiled down at Mulladin. “You saved my life, son.”

  Mulladin closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. “That was sort of the idea.”

  Ezra froze. Something was wrong. “What did you say?”

  Mulladin opened his eyes and sat up. “I said, that was the idea. You were getting your sorry ass beaten so badly that I had to do something.”

  The voice belonged to Mulladin, but Ezra had never heard the simpleton speak like this. He shot a glance at Irvis and found the man’s eyes wide with shock. He looked down at the restoration talis. “It healed him–completely.”

  “What?” Mulladin said as he glanced between Ezra and Irvis. “Of course it healed me. How else would I survive a lightning bolt to the chest? I want that talis by the way–the lightning one.”

  “Listen to yourself, son,” Ezra said.

  “Ez, what are… ” Mulladin’s eyes widened and for a long moment he stared silently at Ezra. “I’m different,” he finally said in a tone of wonder. “I’ve changed.”

  Ezra grinned. “You have the mind of a man, now.”

  “Praise Rasheera twice over and a third time for luck,” Irvis gushed.

  “So all he needed to be normal was a healing talis?” Ezra asked Irvis.

  Mulladin’s expression darkened. “Normal?”

  Ezra ignored that. “If I had known, I would’ve taken him to the Rasha monks years ago.”

  “No, Argentus,” Irvis said. “I think this is more than a regular restoration ring.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “We need to be moving,” Graelle said urgently. She was no longer kneeling on the floor but standing and nervously watching the chamber doors. “When their shock wears off, we’re going to be in danger again.”

  Ezra shook his head. “No.” He stood and stepped back up on the dais where he leaned over Trous’ lifeless corpse and snatched the cloth bag that was hanging at the Tolean man’s chest. It was soaked with blood, but Ezra paid that no heed as he opened the pouch and removed Kaul’s dread medal.

  He looked down at his three companions. “No more running.”

  The hour was late, and Raelen was tired, but there was no way he could relax enough to sleep, despite Gryyth’s insistence, not while he awaited Pariel’s return from the treasury. It’d been over two hours since he’d sent the man to retrieve the oath collar, at great peril to his life. Pariel had volunteered, of course, but Raelen still felt as though he’d sent the loyal soldier to his death.

  A knock on the door startled Raelen out of his brooding. He shot Gryyth an anxious glance before striding to the door and throwing it open. It wasn’t Pariel, but Raelen’s pagegirl, Hausen. Apparently, his answering the knock so suddenly and in person had surprised the young woman, and she gaped up at him stupidly.

  “What?” Raelen asked tersely. He knew he’d feel guilty later for being rude to the girl, but right now his anxiety was making him cross.

  The girl appeared to remember herself and hastily curtsied. “A message from the king, my prince.”

  Why was his father still awake? Had Pariel gotten caught trying to steal the vault key? Raelen forced down his rising panic. “Speak.”

  Hausen kept her eyes on the floor and began in a rush, “Be it known to all lords and ladies of his majesty’s royal court,” she slowed as she regained possession of herself, “that Aiested hath declared war on Haeshala, and as we speak our noble warriors are marching to engage the forces of Prince Isara in glorious battle.”

  “What?” Raelen choked out. Hausen began to repeat the memorized message but he cut her off. “Who gave you this message and when?”

  “The chamberlain,” she answered in a confused tone. “Not but an hour ago.”

  Raelen shot Gryyth a glance. The Ursaj made no response, but Raelen could
guess that his thoughts mirrored his own. They had to act now!

  Raelen looked back down at Hausen. “Did my father give you this message personally?”

  The page girl shook her head. “No, my prince. I was summoned with other pages to receive instruction from the chamberlain. I haven’t been in the presence of the king for days.”

  That alarmed, Raelen. Had Loeadon killed his father and replaced him? Or had he sent word in his father’s name? He turned to Gryyth, “We have to find my father!”

  The Ursaj bear-man grunted his agreement and went to the wall to fetch Raelen’s armor.

  “I heard the chamberlain issuing messages to the other pages, ordering them to rouse the generals for a war council. I am uncertain why I wasn’t instructed to invite you, my prince. I assumed that you’d be receiving that word separately or– ”

  “War room!” A sudden warm appreciation for Hausen’s loyalty to him made Raelen quickly kiss her on the head. The girl turned red as he stepped around her and rushed out of the room.

  Gryyth was at his side as he ran down the hall. “Your armor, cub?”

  Raelen smirked. “You’re all the armor, I need.

  “Not very comforting,” Gryyth rumbled.

  Raelen patted his bicep where he wore his transference band. “I meant this.”

  “Physical prowess may not be enough against a foe that can wield Apeiron.”

  “Then let’s hope Seiro makes up the difference.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gryyth nod approvingly.

  They ran down the hall, startling a group of chatting maidservants as they turned a corner. One actually screamed, but Raelen paid them little heed as they kept running for the war room. He considered taking a detour to the treasury to find Pariel and get the oath collar, but the urgency of what was happening made him discard that plan. If Loeadon was controlling or impersonating his father, it would come to battle no matter what he did. So trying to force the polymath to put on the collar and confess wasn’t likely to work. He did pray to Rasheera that Pariel hadn’t been caught, or killed. That would certainly not be Seiro, and he’d be forced to bear that guilt for the remainder of his days.