Scorpion

by Aleksandr Voinov

  Adrastes pulled back after that first hit, or appeared to, then lashed out. The sword, on the way out, flicked back, aiming at the red warrior’s other side. The opponent jerked his weapon around and very nearly stumbled trying to block the sudden attack.

  Kendras wasn’t sure where to keep his attention; he expected some kind of nasty surprise from either of those two men.

  Adrastes kept testing the defenses—and that was what those attacks were. Tests. Probes. The first attack might have killed, the second wounded. Now, however, he was only teasing, attacking the sword rather than the man wielding it. If Kendras had been in the enemy’s position, that toying would have goaded him into a berserk rage.

  “Do something!” the warrior in red shouted. Kendras recognized the petulant voice.

  It did ruin the surprise. Suddenly, the witness had the reserve sword in hand and lunged. Kendras stepped to the side, reacting before any thought could crystallize in his mind. He half-turned and took the wrist with the sword, jerking it upward, then barreled into the man with his armored shoulder.

  A breathless huff sounded from under the helmet, and Kendras turned again, twisting the wrist he still held and bringing it down in a low arch, using his shoulder as leverage. The man stumbled forward, circled around him, and once at Kendras’s front, kicked him in the chest, making him fall back.

  Immediately, Adrastes was on him, and the next thing Kendras saw was Adrastes’s sword poking through the witness’s chest at him. Adrastes took the sword with both hands and ripped it upward with cartilage-busting violence.

  There was no scream, just some kind of sound, halfway between a surprised grunt and a chilling death rattle.

  “Give the gods of the underworld my regards,” Adrastes said in a low, cold voice. “Gray Eyes.”

  He jerked the sword up a little more, which made Steel drop his sword. He was frozen in the vicious embrace, both men as intimate as lovers now, Adrastes holding him with his sword and a hand on his shoulder.

  Choking, almost clicking sounds came from under the helmet. Kendras stepped closer and opened the helmet straps, then tossed it onto the ground.

  Steel. He was drenched in sweat, pale as impending death, blood running from the corner of his mouth. His features were frozen in a mix of pain, shock, and horror. His colorless eyes were glassy, but became clear again for a moment, turning toward Kendras.

  “… knew,” Steel said. The word made no sense, but Kendras saw that Steel was running rapidly out of strength and will to speak. “… love.” More blood, bright red, coloring Steel’s chin and running into his armor. He lifted a gauntleted hand and touched his chest, then turned it, but lost strength before he could touch Kendras’s chest.

  He closed his eyes, but Kendras thought Steel was on the verge of tears. With pain, or fear, or something else. He couldn’t tell. Didn’t want to.

  “Finish him. He’s done.”

  Adrastes pulled the sword free, causing another terrible, breathless, choking sound from Steel, who dropped onto his knees.

  A clean, precise sweep took off his head.

  An anguished shriek sounded from the young king, and Adrastes turned toward him, sword dripping.

  “If you run, I will kill you,” Adrastes said.

  “Don’t… don’t….” Vistar dropped his sword, took off his helmet and let it fall on the ground. “Please. Mercy.”

  “Kneel.”

  Vistar was shaking like Kendras had never seen anybody shake with fear, but he managed to fall to his knees and looked on the verge of scrunching his eyes shut and wishing himself far, far away from here.

  “Who made me the offer of single combat, king?”

  “I… I did.” Vistar looked up like a puppy that felt its master’s cold hand on its neck. “I… wanted the dying to stop.”

  “What about him?”

  “He promised… he promised he’d help me… against the…”—Vistar’s voice became a whisper—“the high priest. I don’t… I don’t want to be that. I’m of the An Grekaran blood… I’m not….”

  Adrastes’s sword dropped lower, but Vistar shuddered. From his point of view, he was looking at a lot of exposed, dirty blade. Kendras had seen men lose control of their bowels in that same situation.

  “I can’t fight. I’ve never been taught to fight. He said he’d protect me,” Vistar said, and Kendras had to admire that now that his life was seemingly over, the boy found his balls. He visibly collected himself, still pale and tense, but not grabbing Adrastes’s legs and begging for mercy.

  “I wanted it to stop,” Vistar said.

  “The killing or…?”

  “Both. Either… way. One would have stopped the killing, the other… would have sent me to my family. And… I’d be gone. There’d be only one anointed left. You can have Dalman. I don’t want it. I just want it to stop.”

  Adrastes pushed his sword back into its sheath. “Rise. And follow me.” He glanced toward the enemy camp. “Before they realize what’s going on.”

  “Why? You’re not….”

  “I hate doing what the enemy expects.” Adrastes grabbed the boy’s arm and pulled him up, then pushed him toward Fetin. “Run, Vistar An Grekaran.”

  Chapter 25

  THE army opened before them and closed behind them, swallowing them whole. “Take him to the citadel,” Adrastes ordered, then turned.

  Kendras glanced back and saw the enemy cavalry charge. His hands itched for his glaive at the sight, and the last thing he wanted was to leave now that Adrastes needed him to fight. He spotted Riktan and Dev behind the lines. “Follow him,” Kendras said and guided the king into the city and toward the citadel.

  He had no idea where to take Vistar, or to whom, just wanted to return to the battle that had broken out. He headed for the Round Chamber, but the place was deserted, then decided to order a slave to get comfortable living quarters for a “diplomatic guest.”

  The slave glanced at him as if he thought Kendras was stupid but followed the order and led them into a comfortable room.

  Vistar stood there, still tense and pale, but looking more exhausted than afraid. Kendras faced him.

  “You’ll be safe now,” Kendras said for want of anything better to say. He didn’t think that Vistar looked much like a king at all, just a forlorn, well-bred young man with a lot of promise but none of that kept yet.

  “Do you know what he”—Vistar gulped—“wants?”

  “Not the same as the high priest.” Kendras shrugged.

  Vistar shuddered, then turned toward the window, but this window pointed to the eastern wall and toward the mountain.

  The sun glared down, making the air around the mountain hazy. Eagles soared, circling against the cloudless sky, gathering prey to feed the nestlings. Kendras was at loss for what to say. He assumed that Adrastes wanted him to stay with the boy to ensure he’d be safe. He’d be valuable as a hostage in any case. Anointed. Sacred blood. It was spilled at a terrible price. How much power had that belief over the king’s own troops. Or Adrastes. Adrastes didn’t seem to believe in anything.

  The young man struggled with his armor. Clearly he’d never put it on—or taken it off—all by himself. Kendras didn’t feel like helping him. The sooner the boy learned the better.

  Eventually, Vistar shed the last piece of metal and stood there in his padded gambeson. He put the sword belt around his hips again, the long belt went around twice, and adjusted the sheath. At least he knew how to look like he knew what he was doing.

  “You used to be with Steel.”

  “Yes.” Kendras sat down on one of the chairs, aware of his own weight in the armor when the wood gave a tired creak.

  “I thought you were one of his mercenaries.”

  “I’m surprised you remember my face,” Kendras said, mostly to lure the king onto a different path. He didn’t want to talk about Steel. Didn’t want to remember those last few words. If he didn’t dwell on them, maybe he’d forget them faster.

  I knew lov
e.

  Not something a soulless man would say in death. His lips tightened. Worst of all, he doubted he could have killed Steel. Maybe in defense. To protect Adrastes or his own life. But Steel hadn’t really threatened him. Maybe Steel hadn’t been able to do it, either. Maybe he’d just spotted the rival. Maybe he’d been following the high priest’s orders to kill the one anointed the high priest had no use for.

  “It’s hard to forget a face like yours,” Vistar said, more tired than affronted.

  “Oh, really?”

  “You’re a purebred Jaishani. You look like one of their gods.”

  Kendras laughed. “I’ve had enough talk of gods for today.” The thought amused him grimly. He knew almost nothing about the faith of his parents. Where they’d come from, and why on earth they’d left him behind. At his age, he didn’t care. They were as unknown to him as if he’d never had any parents, as if he’d just come into being on his own. And the Jaishani lived too far away to simply go and ask them.

  “How do you know what their gods look like, anyway?”

  Vistar rolled his eyes. “You don’t? What kind of fool are you?”

  “Try Dalmanye street-rat orphan.”

  “They killed your parents?” Vistar stared at him, suddenly a lot less petulant. Of course, the death of his own family had to still smart.

  “They might just have died of a fever.” Kendras hoped for any kind of disturbance now. Widow was good at this. Or Adrastes. Or any of the Scorpions.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Vistar said. “Forgive me.”

  Kendras waved it off, then realized something. “Sorry to hear about yours.” Gods below, he felt like an idiot. People died all the time. Nothing anybody said or did changed that one whit.

  “Thanks.” Vistar’s voice was thick.

  Kendras wanted to shrink back, leave the boy to his grief. He didn’t even particularly like him, though he had to admit that the young noble hadn’t lost his nerves too badly when faced with a superior foe. It took courage to do that. He gave a helpless nod and half-turned at the approach of heavy footfalls toward the door. He willed the steps to stop and the person to enter and saw his wish fulfilled.

  The Lady Protector came in, glanced at them both, then walked closer.

  “King Vistar. I understand you are requesting aid and protection.”

  Vistar straightened himself. “I would be much obliged, lady. I’ve found rather unforeseen sanctuary here.”

  “I believe it,” she said dryly, but not without kindness. “My brother should return shortly. He’s merely seeing off the attack from one of your overeager generals. I would request your presence on the walls to show you’re alive and well.”

  Vistar hesitated. Of course, they’d show off a hostage. It did sound like that. But there was precious little that Vistar could do. He certainly couldn’t fight it if she decided to take him outside at sword’s point. Her politeness hid the same hard edge that her brother possessed.

  “I will gladly reassure my soldiers,” Vistar said with a fair amount of dignity and followed her.

  The battle was dying down when they reached the wall. A horn sounded, and several arms went up to point at the king, who lifted his hands and leaned a little forward.

  Below, the fighting was almost over, but the last opponents now separated. This last attack had cost at least fifty dead, and Kendras didn’t count the wounded.

  Adrastes reached for the saddle of a horse that another soldier brought him and rode back into the city. Kendras turned on the wall and watched Adrastes ride past the soldiers. Some men reached out to touch his horse, his boots, his thighs, and Adrastes brushed hands where he passed, before he dismounted in front of the tower.

  A little later, he appeared on the wall to the same reverence from the soldiers. Men backed away and bowed, others drew closer, like shy suitors. Kendras felt his heart beat hard in his chest. He’d been like that.

  “Vistar.” Adrastes gave a friendly salute that suggested no subservience whatsoever. “I have an offer to make.”

  “You can have it. I don’t want Dalman. I don’t care for it. It has cost me too much.”

  Adrastes stopped. “But it’s also the only thing you have left.”

  “I’m not dying for it. I’m not… doing that again for it.”

  “You’ll never have to do that again,” Adrastes said. “There’s a way to end the war. Forever. And none of us has to die. Not even you.”

  Vistar lifted his chin. “Don’t mock me.”

  “I’m not.” Adrastes’s smile paled and then left. “I can adopt you as my son. This would make me king of Dalman. And you will be my successor. It will give you time to become the man I know you could be, if given time and training, and we’ll end this.”

  Vistar stared.

  “It’s also the one thing the high priest will not expect us to do. The one thing he’ll hate seeing even more than seeing Gray Eyes die without having achieved what he sent him to do.”

  “But why should you… do that?”

  “Because I won’t have children with my sister. Besides, it can be safely assumed I will not have children at all.” Adrastes shrugged. “And it is highly unlikely that my sister will have children, either, with her choice of bedmate.” He kept a straight face, mostly, apart from a twitch in the corner of his mouth. “We will return Fetin to the fold of Dalman. You will rule both cities when you take the crown.”

  “What about the high priest? The temple? They’ll not accept this.”

  “Well. There will be one more war,” Adrastes said grimly. “But to win it, I’ll need your soldiers. And you might have to finish the task.”

  Vistar looked thoughtful. “You’ll destroy the high priest?”

  “I promised him. I’d hate to break my word.” Adrastes smiled and offered his hand to Vistar. The youth took it and clasped it hard, torn between righteous indignation and hope. It suited him.

  “Come. I need you to write a message for your generals.”

  Kendras watched Vistar write a missive for his generals, with Adrastes only present, but leaving the boy to find the right words, and the fire in Vistar’s eyes meant that he found them. Nobles were good at that.

  “Kendras, you’ll guard the messenger. With the others.”

  Kendras paused, but yes, maybe, the messenger might be attacked on the way. “I can take the letter.”

  “No.” Adrastes shook his head. “Just listen. Listen to what they are saying. Get the message safely back to us.”

  Kendras gave a quick salute and waited for one of the messengers to pick it up, then followed when the messenger left and summoned the other Scorpions. The tanesh, Kiran, was with them. Five now. Another ten or fifteen to find. Kendras acknowledged Kiran with a nod. “What about your position in the Flames?”

  “There is no shortage of applicants. I can give it up anytime.”

  “It’s different with us. I’ll have to release you to life—or death. Which one doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, officer.”

  Kendras mounted the horse and waited for the others, then nodded to the messenger. “Lead.”

  On the way, Kendras studied the remains of the battle. Dark patches of blood on the grass, trampled earth, bodies. Medics had taken in those who’d live and gravediggers took care of the rest.

  They were challenged at half the distance between city and army camp. Armed riders appeared, lances held high, shields lowered. The messenger pulled the letter from her side pocket. “We have word from King Vistar for his generals.”

  The riders were wary, but clearly, four armed men were nothing to be overly concerned about. They were guided to the generals’ tent, where the three leaders of the Dalmanye army were gathered.

  The high priest was present too. Kendras moved between the high priest and the messenger, who, according to custom, took the letter with both hands and, bowing deeply like it was an object of worship, slowly placed it on the table and then stepped away, mute and reverent.

/>   Kendras knew the two men and one woman by office, if not by name. The commanders of the infantry, cavalry, and supply train. It was hard to decide who had more power. The general of the infantry was widely seen as the more cautious, while the cavalry commander tended to think there was no tactical problem that a full charge couldn’t solve. With the quality of Dalmanye cavalry, he wasn’t too far off.

  The cavalry officer took the letter first and read it, flushing with what might be embarrassment or anger. “This is preposterous!” he shouted.

  The high priest drew closer. Or slithered. “Have they taken him hostage?”

  The infantry general plucked the letter from her colleague’s hand, and swiftly read it. “As it stands, these are orders,” she said, levelly.

  “Then why did we go to war with Fetin at all?” the cavalry general demanded.

  “Good question,” said the infantry general and glanced at the high priest with a meaningful pause.

  “Clearly, Adrastes of Fetin is forcing Vistar of Dalman to accede to his wishes. We need to attack the city to save him from a fate worse than death,” the high priest wheedled.

  Kendras’s fingers itched for a dagger.

  “If we combine forces now, we can bring them down,” the high priest added.

  “It’s not our men who aren’t fighting,” snapped the cavalry officer.

  “I first have to consult the gods on this. Spilling the blood of an anointed is a serious transgression. The one man who could do it safely is dead. But I’m sure the gods will send me a sign how to avoid doom and destruction for all of us when Adrastes of Fetin dies.”

  “Simple. Use a weapon without a sharp edge,” the cavalry officer snapped “A club, or strangle him with a rope.”

  The high priest’s eyes lit up. “Of course,” he muttered. “I will… consider this.” He rushed off, doubtless to soon present a solution from the gods.

  Kendras gritted his teeth.