Vergun sneered. Seeing him again made Bershad want to kill him even more, but he also needed a way into Balaria. He took out the emerald egg.
“I want those seals.”
Vergun smiled. Licked his upper lip once.
“Ah, so that wasn’t lost. Good. But I’m not sure you understand the situation that you’re in. I don’t have a seal for you.”
“What do you mean?” Bershad asked.
“Seals come with physical descriptions,” Vergun explained. “Balarians are a thorough people—they love bureaucracy far more than they love their machine god. That’s the real reason the emperor has managed to keep his border sealed so tightly for so long. Anyway, I have one seal for the dead lord, Yonmar. One for a short woman with black hair. One for a native with very small teeth. Fake names all around, of course. There’s no mention of a tall Almiran with blue bars on his cheeks. Or an old man and a donkey, for that matter.”
Bershad chewed on that. It had never made sense that the Grealors were so eager to help lift his exile. Bershad was the rightful lord of the Dainwood—if he was alive and free, he was a threat. But if the Grealors got rid of Bershad while also helping the Malgraves, they won favor and solidified their position at the same time.
“The egg wasn’t the only way that Yonmar was paying you,” Bershad said. “He also agreed to deliver me.”
“I’m impressed,” Vergun said. “Subtle tactics were never your strong suit in the past. I’m curious, you must have found out I was the one selling the seals, but you came to me anyway. Why?”
“Same reason you wanted me here in the first place,” Bershad said. “You and I have unfinished business.”
“Yes.”
A weak breeze moved the rusty, putrid smell of blood and bodies through the tent.
“I think you’ll make a lovely addition to my tent decorations. I have a special place picked out to display those tattoos of yours.” Vergun motioned to the impaled man in the corner. “You’ve proven yourself to be a difficult man to kill—I’ve been looking forward to seeing how long you’ll survive with a pole through your asshole.”
“And I suppose you’re planning to call your henchmen back in here after our talk to hold me down while you do the pole ramming?”
Vergun smiled. “Something like that.”
“Give it a try.”
Vergun made a tsking sound. Shook one finger.
“No, no. Killing you here would be a waste. And far too quick, I think. We’ll do this my way. On my terms.”
Bershad drew his dagger. “We’ll do it right now.”
“Take one more step, and I will impale all of your friends while you watch,” Vergun said, holding up a hand.
Bershad stopped. Frowned.
“You thought they got away? Silas, please. Not only did I know what they looked like already, but you morons wandered onto my ships. I own the eyes of every person you passed. Your friends barely got halfway across town before my men stopped them.” He jerked his chin up. “They’re just outside.”
Bershad tightened his grip on the dagger. “You’re bluffing.”
“Was I bluffing when I said I’d hang those Almirans from the cottonwoods?” Vergun asked. “Sheathe that thing, or your friends die.”
Bershad cursed himself. He’d walked right into Vergun’s trap.
He shoved his dagger back into its sheath. Vergun smiled and stood up.
“After you,” he said, beckoning back outside the tent.
Vera, Rowan, and Felgor were on the deck. Their wrists were bound. Mouths gagged. Rowan was bleeding from a gash in the side of the head and Vera’s left eye was swelling from a blow to the face. There were twenty men with drawn weapons standing on the deck now, too.
“Excellent work,” Vergun said, following Bershad out of the tent. “Any trouble?”
“They didn’t come along easy, but they came,” said one of the men. “We stowed the donkey down below, in the hold. Oh, and the widow killed Pollar and Roy.”
“Nothing like an angry widow to help cull the herd a bit.” Vergun shrugged. “Pollar and Roy were weak.”
“Not that weak,” the man muttered, mostly to himself. Then he eyed Vera. “But you said to keep ’em alive.”
“Indeed I did. Do you know why?”
The man shrugged.
“I could kill the lot of you right now,” Vergun said, pacing up and down the deck. “But that would be such a wasted opportunity with nobody here to watch. Tragic, really. Some might not even believe I truly killed the Flawless Bershad. I can’t have that.”
Vergun pressed his lips together.
“You see, I’ve had a good run these last few months. Everything that once belonged to Alto Yakun now belongs to me. But Yakun was a weakling. His heart was full of fat and pus. Killing him was too easy to earn the deference I require. On the other hand, if I kill the Flawless Bershad in a duel while half of Taggarstan watches, that’s something Malakar and Sicone will remember. And respect. In Taggarstan, respect is the only currency that matters.”
Bershad gritted his teeth. “Get to the fucking point.”
“Very well. You and I go into a chalk circle. I always liked that Almiran custom. If you beat me, my men will give you the seals and let you go free. A deal is a deal, after all. But if you lose…”
Vergun trailed off. Motioned back inside his pavilion, and the impaled men.
Bershad looked at Rowan, Vera, and Felgor. Tried not to linger on their eyes.
“They have nothing to do with this. Give me your word you’ll let them go, either way.”
Vergun smiled. Red eyes beaming with sadistic joy.
“There are no agreements between men and demons. But despite appearances, contracts are honored in Taggarstan. My deal with Yonmar Grealor stands, even if he has fallen. So long as you do what I ask—and your friends don’t try to cheat—they will not be harmed.”
Bershad nodded. “When do we do this?”
“Midnight.”
* * *
“There has to be another way,” Vera said.
She was leaning against the railing on the deck while Bershad got ready. They’d taken her daggers and Rowan’s sword, but removed their bonds. They were surrounded and outnumbered, no need for restraints. It was almost midnight. Vergun’s men were the only people on his ship, but word of the duel had clearly spread across the city. A dozen boats were floating nearby, all of them sagging under the weight of spectators.
“There isn’t,” Bershad said.
He’d donned all his armor except for the jaguar mask, which hung on his hip. He was fooling with a ring of steel on his left glove that had gotten bent somehow. It would screw with his grip.
Rowan was sitting cross-legged on the deck with a grim look on his face, making a mud statue and decorating it with bark from a Dainwood tree. Bershad hadn’t seen Rowan build a totem in fourteen years, right before Bershad went to kill his first dragon. He threw Bershad a worried look, but didn’t say anything. Rowan knew there was no point.
“I’ve heard he’s the best sword on this side of the Soul Sea,” Felgor said. “I mean, people tend to exaggerate, but still.”
“I know how to use a sword, too.” Bershad winced as he tried to bend the ring back into shape by pressing it against his palm. “And this is the only option.”
“We can jump,” Vera suggested, looking out over the railing. “They’ll lose us in the dark. Everyone can swim, right?”
“So, we abandon Alfonso, who’s somewhere belowdecks scared out of his mind, and then what?” Bershad asked. “We steal some fisherman’s boat and sail for Balaria? Figure we can cross the border with a smile and a wave? Or maybe we just head farther east and forget this whole fucking thing?”
Nobody said anything. Bershad went back to the metal ring.
“It will be midsummer soon. Our time is running thin.” He kept his eyes on the glove. “My job was to get all of you over the mountain and into Balaria. That’s what I intend to do.”
Vera put a hand on his arm. “They didn’t take my slings. And I have one lead shot behind my breastplate. If he gets the upper hand, I can take him down,” she said softly.
“No. That’ll just get you killed, too. If I die, keep Rowan safe—he’ll take care of the donkey.” He hesitated. “And when you get to Burz-al-dun, give some serious thought to killing the emperor of Balaria for me, will you?”
“What are you talking about?”
Before Bershad could respond, Vallen Vergun came out of his tent wearing black from head to toe. His coat, gloves, and boots were reinforced with steel strips and studs, but otherwise he was unprotected. Vergun had always preferred to be light on his feet.
There wasn’t time to explain more to Vera. Bershad gave her one final nod, then walked toward Vergun. He spat, unhooked the jaguar mask from his hip, and cinched it around his face. Felt the familiar pressure against his cheekbones and nose.
The moon was full, so there was plenty of light to see a large chalk circle etched into the middle of the boat’s deck. Vallen Vergun drew his steel—a Balarian-made falchion with a single edge and a bat on the pommel. There was a red silk scarf wrapped around the cross guard that shimmered in the breeze. It was the same weapon Vergun had carried in Glenlock Canyon. Bershad drew his sword and stepped into the chalk circle.
“Tonight, the Flawless Bershad and I will engage in single combat,” Vergun said, speaking loudly so the spectators on the closest ships could hear him. “If the exile wins, he and his friends get their seals and go free. If the exile falls, I’ll turn him into the most famous tent decoration in the realm of Terra!”
That got a roar of excited cheers from the ships. They didn’t seem to care who won, so long as they got to see some blood.
“Ready, Silas?” Vergun asked.
“Let’s just get on with it.”
Vergun smiled, then dashed forward on graceful feet. Three attacks came in rapid succession. High. Low. High. Bershad parried each one and went for a counterriposte, but Vergun skipped backward and dodged the blade.
Bershad always figured the best kind of duels were the short ones. When it came to long, drawn-out affairs, the man who practiced the most usually won. Bershad had barely touched a sword in fourteen years. Vergun had probably trained hard with one every day for decades.
So Bershad bulled forward, sword cocked back near his hip so it was ready for a quick jab. Vergun slipped to the left, which was exactly what Bershad wanted. Instead of stabbing at a moving target, Bershad rushed inside of Vergun’s sword-reach. Vergun managed a weak attack that glanced off Bershad’s shoulder, but caused no real harm.
Bershad grabbed Vergun’s wrist with one hand, then bashed his face with the pommel of his sword. Yanked him forward by the wrist, kneed him in the stomach, and then shoved Vergun backward. That was almost the end of it. A fifteen-second fight. All he needed to do was stab Vergun through the heart.
But all Bershad stabbed was air. Vergun spun around and crunched the falchion into his rib cage. Bershad grunted. Felt his lamellar breastplate crack and the bones beneath break. He went down on one knee.
Vergun slammed the bat-shaped pommel into Bershad’s forehead. His vision went white, then hazy and full of spots. He tried to push himself up and regain some balance, but Vergun swept his legs out from under him with a scything strike that tore a big chunk of meat out of Bershad’s calf. Vergun kicked him twice, then pinned him to the ground with a boot pressed to his chest. Blade pointed at his throat.
“Well, that wasn’t very satisfying,” Vergun said. “Care to yield? If you beg, I’ll finish it clean. No more pain.”
Bershad drew his dragontooth dagger from the small of his back and tried to ram it through Vergun’s knee. He wasn’t done yet.
Vergun skipped back again, laughing a little while Bershad pushed himself up. Sword in his right hand, the dagger in his left, held in a reverse grip. His left leg was useless now. The crowds on the boats were snarling and cheering for more violence.
“You’ve lost,” Vergun said, panning to the left. “Continuing will just make it worse.”
“You talk too much, Vergun. Anyone ever told you that?”
“Not lately.”
Vergun darted behind Bershad and stabbed him in the back, then shoved him onto his knees again.
“Let me ask you something, Silas. Seeing you again has made me ruminate on Glenlock Canyon a bit today.” Vergun circled him. “Why’d you decide to charge me after I’d strung all those Almirans up at the mouth of the canyon? I was ready to negotiate terms.”
Bershad didn’t answer.
“Now that you’re a legendary lizard killer, I doubt people ask you. Manners and all.” Vergun’s voice moved closer, then farther away. The bastard was pacing again. “Out here in Taggarstan, where Hertzog Malgrave’s name doesn’t carry weight, people justify it for you. Bad information. Threatening mercenaries. Like that. Some people even say I killed the hostages first, then you charged. It’s funny how that works, isn’t it? Heroes and villains morphing out of the same people based on rumors and reputations and the simple passage of time. But you and I both know the truth.”
He kicked Bershad in the stomach, then the face. Bershad felt the pain and anger welling up in his chest like a storm.
“Answer me!” Vergun snarled, voice filling with fury.
“Because I’m an evil bastard!” Bershad hissed from the ground. He struggled to his feet, head pounding. Leg bleeding. “But at least I stayed until the job was done. You’re the one who ran. Abandoned your soldiers in that canyon.” Bershad winced as he stepped forward. “I might be a demon with a shit-coated heart, but you’re a fucking coward.”
After the last word left Bershad’s lips, Vergun snarled, then bolted forward, feinted low, and came in for a high attack. Bershad got his dagger up, but wasn’t strong enough to hold a parry. Both blades wound up hitting Bershad’s mask, cracking it more and twisting the eyeholes around so that he couldn’t see.
Vergun kept hitting him. He was using the blunt edge of his sword—not trying to kill Bershad, even though it would have been easy. He started breaking bones.
His right arm first, at the elbow and the wrist and shoulder. Bershad dropped his sword and grunted.
“Beg for mercy,” Vergun said.
“Fuck yourself,” Bershad snarled from behind his mask.
Vergun crushed his left kneecap, then his ankle.
“You will beg before the end!” Vergun said. Louder.
Bershad dropped the dagger. Ripped his mask off. The cold night felt good on his skin—like a breath of air feels to a drowning man. “Not happening.”
“I will break every bone in your body,” Vergun said.
Bershad glanced at Vera, who stood outside the circle. She was shaking her head slowly. One hand clamped down on the ship’s railing. She looked like she was going to be sick. Bershad turned back to Vergun.
“I got plenty of ’em left.” Bershad coughed up some blood.
Vergun growled. Attacked. Broke Bershad’s left hand, then his collarbone. Bershad hit the deck with his forehead.
“Beg, you piece of shit!” Vergun shouted, spit glowing in the moonlight. “Beg!”
“No.”
Bershad grabbed his sword and tried to use it as a brace to stand up, but fell over. As he was trying again, Vergun sheathed his falchion, walked over, and snatched the sword from underneath him, sending him back on the ground. He tested the blade’s balance.
“Papyrian trash,” he said, tossing it out of the chalk circle. Then Vergun stepped on Bershad’s other hand and took the dragontooth dagger.
“This is a little more interesting.” Vergun tossed it from one hand to the other a few times. “If you won’t beg for your own life, perhaps you’ll beg for another? I’m a man of my word, so I won’t harm your friends. But…”
Vergun trailed off. Flipped the dagger a
few more times, then turned to Liofa.
“Bring out that donkey.”
Bershad’s stomach filled with acid panic. Liofa disappeared. Vera tried to come into the circle, but Devan stopped her with a huge hand on her shoulder. Rowan just stood where he was, grinding his teeth together. A few moments later, Alfonso clopped out onto the deck, lured to the center of the circle by an apple in Liofa’s hand. Vergun inspected the donkey as if he was going to buy it.
“The last mount you’ll ever ride. That’s how it goes, right?” he asked Bershad.
“Touch the donkey and—”
“And you’ll do what?” Vergun cut in, moving toward Alfonso and flipping the dragontooth dagger into a reverse grip. “Grow new legs and hands, stand up, and kill me? Doubt that.” Vergun looked down at Bershad. “Now. Beg for mercy, Silas.”
If Bershad could get to the vial of moss in his hair, there was a chance. But when he slumped onto his left side and tried to reach behind his head, he could barely lift his right arm.
The crowds on the ships had gone silent. Bershad felt the bile and panic rising in his chest.
“I will not ask again.”
Bershad tried to reach the vial one more time, but there was no point. Both his arms were ruined.
“Mercy,” Bershad muttered.
“A little louder, please. I’m not sure everyone heard you.”
“Please,” Bershad said, raising his voice. “Kill me if you want. But don’t hurt my donkey. Please.”
Vergun grinned, red eyes wide with glee. “Thank you, Silas. I needed that, I really did.” He licked his lips. Considered the dagger for a moment. “Remember what this feels like.”
Blood of an Exile Page 32
