He had never stabbed anyone before. He had never attacked anyone with anything, really. The warrior’s path had never been an option for him. He had always been scrawny. Weak. He spent his childhood swallowing his anger and using his anodyne demeanor to sidestep trouble. Sometimes it had the opposite effect. Sometimes it attracted trouble. To this day, Elestran couldn’t stand bullies and he abhorred violence against the weak.
And yet… he would be lying if he claimed he didn’t relish the idea of stabbing The Gift. It was hypocrisy, he knew. After all, the boy was only sixteen. But The Gift epitomized every snide, condescending, entitled talent Eles had ever encountered. He even recognized a bit of his own sixteen-year-old self in Gi, which probably fueled his revulsion.
Maybe it was the hypocrisy altering his strike, or maybe it was just his physical ineptitude. Regardless, as he stabbed the dagger at The Gift’s back, Gi twisted and slid away at the last minute so that the dagger struck only the top of his scapula. It cut a shallow gash, and probably hurt like hell, but it was hardly incapacitating.
Gi stepped back in horror and screeched, “AAAAAAAHHH!!” (The piercing, soprano pitch of the scream shocked Eles.) The young man looked down at his shoulder as he staggered back and fell over one of the oversized pillows, landing on his rump. “He cut me! The old fool cut me!”
Eles knew he had to act fast, and ‘old fool’ snapped him out of the momentary shock of having actually cut into someone’s flesh. He leapt on top of Gi, driving the dagger down with his right hand.
But The Gift was damned fast. He grabbed Eles’ wrist before the alchemist could plunge the dagger in, but not without the dagger slashing his forearm. Hot blood poured down Gi’s arm, triggering a mouse squeak of desperation.
This old fool is about to finish you, Eles thought, as he tried to use his left hand to cover Gi’s mouth.
Gi bit down hard. Where pinky meets hand.
Eles grunted in pain and tried to pull his hand free, but Gi wasn’t letting go.
It must have been quite a sight, and Eles briefly imagined Kelshar waking up and laughing at these two inept combatants struggling on the floor. Eles shifted his body to the right so that he could get more of his weight over his dagger hand.
Just enough weight…
The blade plunged into The Gift’s chest and jerked sideways as it slid through the ribcage, but still went in all the way to the quillons. Gi’s eyes went wide, betraying that he was incapable of processing this was the way he was going to die.
Eles didn’t have the luxury of watching him die, which suited him, because he had no desire to. He heard a girl’s screams, then the clamor of men in armor rushing down a stone hall. He scrambled over to Dargon, reached into his own pouch with his good hand, and withdrew the bronze vinaigrette that held the powder. He raised a pinch to Dargon’s nose.
It worked instantly. He still had some alchemical skills, by the gods! Dargon shot up.
“Get up! We’re in trouble. Hurry!” Eles pleaded.
“Is Kelshar dead?”
“No!”
“Wake her,” Dargon commanded as he lowered his alabaster mask.
Armored men poured in from one of the archways. The crossed sword and axe. Darkbridge soldiers. They had been waiting nearby, Eles realized. Too nearby.
“They’re awake!” one of the soldiers shouted. He skirted the edge of the room warily, sword in hand.
“Over there! They’ve killed the Gift!” another added, drawing blade.
Dargon knelt in the middle of the room. He touched his right ring finger with his left hand and chanted as if scolding a child,
Bonds were forged and pacts signed.
May ancient bloodlines hold. Emerge Aodh,
And fulfill your charge.
A blazing inferno burst before him. The flames whipped into the vague form of a woman wielding a spear. Her center seared white, but the rest whirled a frenzied windstorm of yellows, oranges, and reds, held fast by some unseen pull of the white-hot core. Her eyes blazed like tempering steel and her voice hissed like water hopping on a griddle.
“Aodh issss here.”
Eles froze in awe, summoning up the legend of the ring from his days with Qolor. That fascinating legend that had never left him.
The Ring of Binding.
It had to be. Handed down from Lodern to Lodern for a thousand years, for only a Lodern had the right to call in the debts infused in the artifact, it was declared.
Eles had to peel his eyes away from the blazing figure long enough to get another pinch of powder under Kelshar’s nose. The Rhoanin snapped up to sitting in time to hear the fire spirit’s query.
“How musssst Aodh remove her burden?”
The flames reflected off Dargon’s alabaster mask, now the face of a demon. “Attack.”
The fire spirit spun and skipped across the room as if carried by a blast of wind, her searing spear lashing out at one of the soldiers and engulfing him in flames. He howled in pain as his compatriots jumped away.
One of the soldiers screamed, “Demons and devils are upon us! Lord Volans, help!”
Dargon cursed under his breath and turned to the awakening Kelshar. “Get us out of here.”
Meanwhile, the fire spirit attacked another. This time the woman got her shield up just in time. She brought her long sword down in a great arc, but it passed right through the flaming figure and slashed one of the burning floor pillows.
Kelshar dashed for an archway on the other side of the room, but a fat toad of a soldier with a two-handed axe cut her off. The warty man raised the mighty axe, preparing for his glorious blow, but Kelshar dashed forward, quick as a mongoose, and stabbed deep into his unprotected underarm before the man had a chance to bring the axe down. The heavy weapon clanged off the floor, and the bleeding toad man lunged forward, but Kelshar proved too quick to be grabbed. The man barreled past.
Eles wasn’t nearly as quick, and before he knew it, the bleeding toad had dragged him down to the floor with a crash. Eles’ head bounced off the stone. A very high-pitched ringing in his ears displaced the sound of the conflagration. He could see the fight with the flaming spirit upside down now, as he sprawled out on his back with his arms thrown overhead. The spirit skipped across the pillows until it stopped between the Darkbridge forces and Eles and swept its smoking spear of fire in a great low circle. Not only did it blast one of the soldiers in the knee, but it also grazed Eles’ right arm. Eles screamed and yanked his arm back as he felt the searing pain shoot up it.
“Not him!” Dargon yelled at the spirit.
Lord Malus’ captain, the maul-wielding mountain man, entered the room, closely followed by Lord Malus Volans himself. Malus, sword drawn, surveyed the room.
Kelshar.
A dead Gift.
Eles wrestling the toad.
A firestorm assault.
So much to take in.
Kelshar reached down and wrenched the toad man’s fingers from Eles’ robes while Dargon pulled Eles up by his good arm and smothered the flames on the other.
“Go around!” Malus shouted to his maul-wielding captain, “Cut off their escape!” He moved forward to engage Aodh. “All of you, out of the room!”
Eles wondered how Malus could possibly deal with this fire spirit, but he wouldn’t get the chance to find out because they dashed under the archway and out of the room. Chaotic shouts echoed through the halls as they ran. Every time they considered a direction, voices turned them around. They retreated to stone stairs that spiraled up and climbed. Eles’ heart pounded with the effort, and it inflamed the burning in his arm. The crashing armor of a dozen men thundered behind them. The interior of the tower flashed by in a blur as Eles, Dargon, and Kelshar rushed on: out a stairwell and into a short hall… through a lacquered lavender door… into a spacious bedroom, all silk and marble… through the door on the other side… another barren hall… a painting of a mist shrouded mountain.
Footsteps approaching up a stairwell at the end of the hall in front of them forced a halt. Men approached on both sides. Sunlight poured into the hall through iron and glass doors on their left. Kelshar threw the doors open and unveiled an expansive garden terrace. Cherry blossoms and plum blossoms abounded, and butterflies flittered everywhere. They ran to the edge and looked down – thirty foot drop to a stone courtyard.
“Too high,” Dargon said as he looked at Kelshar, “right?”
“I’ll take my chances with a sword fight,” Kelshar answered as she looked over her shoulder. Figures piled into the hall now, cutting off any means of escape. At the lead stalked the massive, bearded captain with the maul, but he didn’t come out onto the terrace to confront Kelshar. He simply stared with malice. Waiting.
It’s going to be sacrilege to deface this floral sanctuary with my blood and bones, Eles thought, as he imagined which of the men in the hall would run him through.
Kelshar took position close to the doorway, almost within striking distance of The Maul. Eles figured Kelshar wanted any skirmish to occur in the doorway, not out on the balcony. Kelshar drew another blade with her left hand. The blade could be described either as an exceptionally large dagger, or as a short sword, Eles couldn’t tell. The blade curved at the tip, with one serrated edge.
Dargon skirted the balcony, looking up and down for some way out. “That sounded like a lot of men.”
“Maybe that flame devil killed most of them,” Kelshar called back over her shoulder, hopefully.
“Maybe…” Dargon wasn’t very convincing.
“Maybe it got Volans,” Kelshar said with a strained smile. “Maybe they’ll surrender.”
A voice boomed in the hall. “Let me through. Stand back!” The shoulders of Dargon and Kelshar slumped simultaneously.
Malus stepped into the doorway, becoming visible from the terrace. He tried to steady his breathing, and his normally reliable widow’s peak failed to restrain a renegade strand of hair that now dangled over his face. His long sword had a cruel opal anchoring its pommel and the ashen blade still smoked. He scanned Eles and the masked Dargon with a hint of curiosity, but when his gaze fell on Kelshar, he smiled for the briefest of moments before letting the smile transform into stone. His voice took a grievous tone, “The Butcher of Deeprun.”
“The Left Arm of Ghault,” Kelshar fired back.
“An arm withered by treason,” Malus announced, playing judge and jury. “You’ve killed my men with some foul devil summoned from hell and you’ve murdered an indispensable royal counselor. When I throw your head at your lord’s feet, I’m confident he’ll reward and praise me.”
Dargon moved forward and spoke in a low voice, muffled by the gauze of the mask, “You are mistaken. The Gift betrayed Kelshar. We are all superior counselors of the Loderns, and I call upon the tacit pactum of nobles to let us pass.”
Malus’ eyes narrowed as his back stiffened.
“If such a pactum existed, I would venture one would need be noble to invoke it. Kill the traitors.”
These men knew better than to engage Kelshar one on one with blades. Three men armed with spears, and in rank, moved together through the double gates. Thrusting forward, they drove Kelshar steadily back as she parried and hopped away. Once they accomplished that, The Maul and his remaining six men poured out and spread in an arc, moving around the planters full of blossoms, positioning for the rush.
“This is not good…” Kelshar called.
“Stop!” Dargon commanded, “You may arrest us and bring us to the Loderns to pay for our crimes.”
The men paused momentarily, looking to Malus. The Lord of Darkbridge stepped forward, now closest to Dargon.
“Oh no,” Malus answered, “this way is considerably better for morale. I said kill these traitors.”
“Kill them!” The Maul shouted with anticipation. Glory was indeed close.
Several men jumped Kelshar. Metal clashed as she whirled and dodged, parrying three weapons with her two.
Dargon’s hands came together again as he whispered in a rush.
“Bonds were forged…”
Malus reacted swiftly. He whipped his long sword in an upward motion, and although Dargon pulled his hands apart and out of the way, he wasn’t quick enough to avoid getting caught by the tip of the blade on his chin.
The alabaster mask shattered in a thousand pieces.
Shards sprayed everywhere as Dargon staggered back, a bloody gash in his grey-streaked beard.
Kelshar, with troubles of her own, circled a planter and drove The Maul back with a pair of vicious blows. Two other soldiers scurried around planters and urns to get behind her so that they could attack from all sides.
Malus Volans lifted his opal-adorned sword, ready to bring it down on his opponent’s head, when he finally got a good look. He paused, sword raised, as he took in Dargon’s face.
“HOLD!” he bellowed.
The Maul and the rest of the soldiers stopped, giving Kelshar a wide berth.
Dargon held a gloved hand up to his chin as he returned Malus’ gaze. The silence that followed seemed an eternity to Eles, although he knew it was only seconds. In those seconds Eles witnessed a fascinating transformation of expressions in Malus’ face.
Aggression.
Recognition.
Fear.
Confusion.
Then, triumph swept in, settling on a smug, contained anticipation.
“Lord Lodern,” he said softly as he stepped back and lowered his sword. “Everyone, stand down.” Malus knelt and several of the men turned to look.
The Maul grunted in disappointment and confusion.
“Lord Lodern, I had no idea of your identity,” Malus explained. “That is you, yes?”
“It is,” Dargon replied. Eles couldn’t see his face, being behind him, but he could see Dargon straighten his posture and lift his chin.
“Forgive me. I thought I had cornered three traitors.”
“And now you see you were mistaken,” Dargon answered with as much authority as he could muster. Blood trickled through his fingers and down his forearm.
Eles approached and shuffled through his belt pouches.
“Yes…” Malus considered carefully before continuing, “I see… it’s becoming clearer to me what exactly is happening here.”
“To me as well. I briefly questioned your loyalty,” Dargon responded.
“I will always be loyal to Ghault,” Malus proclaimed haughtily, “and to its laws and traditions.”
Eles clumsily applied a chalky unguent to the gash on Dargon’s chin, stemming the flow. It may have been Eles’ imagination, but he thought Malus Volans suddenly looked at him with a different level of interest. Part of Eles liked it.
“Much has happened here,” Malus continued. “There have been deaths, among… other things. Shall we go, together, and retrieve the ministers of Lady Alabaster?”
“No. Your men are your concern. Had you not interfered in our royal business, they would be alive today,” Dargon admonished. He used his harshest tone, and ironically, it made him appear weaker than Eles had ever seen him.
“As you say, Lord Lodern. You certainly need attending to. Perhaps I should collect my men, living and dead, and leave you?”
Dargon looked around at the ten men, considering. He shared a look with Kelshar that made Eles think that Dargon would wipe out all these men right now, if able. “Go.”
“With your permission, I will stay in Greyarch until the next council meeting. I look forward to seeing you there. There is much to discuss.”
Malus bowed deeply, triumphant.
At that moment Eles realized the reign of the Loderns was over.