by AC Cobble
“Cinda won’t work with Heindaw.”
“She won’t have a choice.”
“You have a choice,” growled Rew.
Jacquiss raised an eyebrow.
“Your father was not fooled by your deception. He knew you lived. He said he loved you. He said he forgave you.”
“Some things cannot be forgiven, but we carry those sins with us. There’s nothing else to do.”
“In the end, your father prayed for the Blessed Mother to watch over you,” claimed Rew, scrambling to get a reaction from the woman, to find some crack he could drive a wedge into. “Your father thought with the Mother’s Grace that there would still be salvation.”
“I betrayed him. I betrayed you. I betrayed Cinda, Anne, the rest. There is no grace for me.”
“There could be. Your father forgave you. I forgive you. The Mother will forgive you if you repent.”
Heindaw looked back and forth between Rew and Jacquiss, his armor rustling loudly as he turned the massive bronze helm. The enchanter was waiting to see if Alsayer would appear or maybe waiting for his men to recover Cinda and the others, and evidently, he was amused enough by the conversation to let it continue.
“Appealing to the Blessed Mother?” chided Heindaw with a laugh. “You’re getting desperate, Rew. You’ve no more faith than I. We’ve seen and done too much.”
Let him laugh. Rew needed time.
And one more thing.
“There is a way to earn your father’s forgiveness, Jacquiss.”
She snorted. “My father has no idea of the depths I’ve gone.”
“He does.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“He wasn’t fooled by your lies. He accepted them. Your father has been keeping track of you, and he still loved you. He knows what you’ve done. I know as well. We forgive you, Jacquiss. You can have grace in the Mother’s embrace.”
“You’re not my father, Ranger. You’re not my friend, not my lover. You don’t know what I’ve done. That’s a mercy, but you cannot forgive me those things.”
“You missed your opportunity there, Brother,” said Heindaw, his eyes sparkling within his helmet. “She’s right. I don’t think her father would appreciate hearing about the things she’s done. Maybe you would, though, while we’re waiting?” Heindaw laughed, his cackle sounding evil coming from within that helmet.
“You’ve planned for every eventuality, haven’t you?” asked Rew, raising his voice to be heard over his brother’s cruel mirth. “All except one. That armor you gave her, the way you’ve tracked her every move, what other properties did you imbue into that bronze plate and chain? It’s akin to your own set, isn’t it? You respect low magic, but you never understood how it worked. You aren’t good making connections with people, or even things. It was only high magic and the power it could bring that you cared for, but here in the wood, this is my place, and here, connection matters. You granted her the means to kill you.”
“What?”
“Her scimitar is fashioned just the same as your armor. It can cut through your protections.”
Heindaw raised his own massive blade and took a step closer toward the ranger.
“Jacquiss,” said Rew. “Your father loved you. He forgave you. There is grace, if you earn it. We can stop the king, stop all tyrants, but I need your help.”
Then, Rew whistled, and the foliage around them burst into life.
Men, clad in the forest green and brown clothing of the King’s Rangers, leapt from hiding and fell upon the rangers in Heindaw’s personal company. Blades flashed, and men screamed. The king’s ranger contingent was led by Ang and Vurcell, and the twins whirled in a frenzy of gleaming steel and blood.
The twins, Ang wielding his swordstaff and Vurcell the paired falchions of Vyar Grund, were terrors amongst the prince’s men. They had the advantage of surprise, and while Heindaw might have believed he’d recruited a talented group of swordsmen, they had never faced the full might of the king’s rangers. No one had.
The rangers were battle-tested by narjags, ayres, valaan, and the natural monsters of the world. They faced those horrors alone, unsupported except by another ranger or two. If they survived more than a season, they knew their weapons and their use better than some men knew their arms and their legs. Few trained as hard as the rangers, and there wasn’t another group in the kingdom that had their experience. Heindaw’s group of rangers melted beneath the onslaught of Ang and Vurcell.
Heindaw, seeing the same thing Rew was seeing, elected to charge. His armor throbbed with pulsating runes, and he held his sword to the side, ready to strike at Rew. His open, gauntleted hand flexed, and Rew knew there was bone-crushing strength in those fingers.
Rew attacked his brother, not waiting for the heavily armored man to fall upon him. He feinted then ducked below Heindaw’s sweeping slash. He hammered the edge of his enchanted blade against Heindaw’s giant, armored thigh, but the steel of Rew’s longsword bounced off, and the ranger was by his brother without doing any damage.
Heindaw twisted, and the knuckles of the gauntlet on his free hand clipped Rew’s back. The ranger was sent tumbling across the grass. The blow had caught him on the muscle, and nothing was broken, but he could feel pain radiating from the injury. In hours, the bruise would be so deep and he would be so sore his arm would be useless, but he wasn’t yet.
Rew rolled over just in time to see Heindaw closing on him. The prince jumped as if he intended to land on Rew, crushing him into the dirt. Rew rolled clear and sprang to his feet, whipping his longsword across Heindaw’s back, but other than a loud ring, there was nothing to show for the blow.
Ang whirled into the fight, the butt on his swordstaff smacking into Heindaw’s head, the bladed-end spinning, scraping across the prince’s midsection, carving a path just beneath the prince’s breastplate where there would be a gap in any normal armor. The ranger backed away, mouth open, as his swordstaff had no effect on the prince.
Heindaw swung at Ang, and Rew launched himself into a tackle, knocking Ang clear of Heindaw’s blade a moment before it cleaved the startled man in two.
Rew scrambled away, avoiding a stomp from Heindaw’s boot then jumping, the enchanter’s huge blade swinging low as Heindaw tried to catch Rew where he couldn’t duck under. The ranger landed and delivered another strike to Heindaw’s shoulder, which bounced off uselessly like all of his other attacks.
Cackling, Heindaw boomed, “Why don’t you activate the blade, Rew? See if the soul of our ancestor gains power over your own. You think I didn’t know the properties of that sword? It’s why I let you keep it, Brother. I’ve known for years and always wondered whether you’d foolishly seek the power in that steel and sacrifice yourself like they all do. It would have made things easier for me, but I’ll give you respect for not succumbing. You meant it, didn’t you, that you wanted nothing to do with our family and the throne? Why are you here, then? If you can resist the call of the blade, you can resist the Investiture as well.”
“M’lord!” shouted a man.
Heindaw and Rew turned and saw a group of soldiers and spellcasters escorting Anne and the children. Cinda wore glowing cerulean manacles, the same sort that had dampened her father’s ability to cast. She limped and wore a scowl. Raif was unconscious. His hair hung over his face and swung as he was dragged along, but Rew had seen the lad in worse shape. Anne and Zaine had no visible injuries, and they met Rew’s gaze with apologetic looks. They all lived, and that was what mattered.
“Take them to the palace,” ordered Heindaw loudly. “I’ll come for them when I’m done here.”
More of his soldiers were pouring into the clearing, drawn from their positions around the walls around the park. They were forming up into a defensive square, keeping the rangers back. They began to move toward the palace. If they got there, Rew suspected Heindaw had laid defenses not even the rangers could slip through.
Nearby, Ang crouched, poised to leap at Heindaw’s back.
“I’ll handle him,” growled Rew. “Free the children. Quick. You can’t let them reach the palace.”
Still laughing to himself, Heindaw waited and then bellowed. “I thought you’d use the blade, but it’d be no good to you. Nothing is going to work. I’ve planned for everything. I thought it a sweet touch that I’ll kill you with a sword. You, the best swordsman of us all, killed by the blade. Makes your life feel pointless, doesn’t it?”
“I’m not dead yet.”
Heindaw, stalking toward Rew, shook his armored head. “You can’t touch me, Rew. This place is surrounded, so you can’t escape. I have your friends. You’re going to die for nothing.”
Rew shifted his grip, preparing to activate his sword, to open himself to Erasmus Morden, to play his last card even if it wasn’t a winning one, but then he saw Cinda’s scarlet back being escorted away. He faced Heindaw and said, “Not for nothing. Cinda will play the role you planned. She’ll stop our father, and his immortal reign will end. You’ll take the throne, but then your reign will end as well. We all die, Heindaw. If I die now, but my mission is accomplished and Father is deposed, then so be it. I never wanted the throne. I just want Father off of it.”
Heindaw threw back his head, roaring with laughter, clutching his breastplate with his gauntlet. “You think I wanted the Fedgleys to overthrow Father? You’re a fool, Rew! I’ve known for years how to sever Father’s connection to the bodies he inhabits. That man Jacob played right into it earlier tonight. Kick the legs from beneath the stool, and it’s going to collapse. Father can’t make the transfer without enormous power. Destroy the crypts, and you destroy the man. His spirit will perish when his body does.”
Rew blinked at his brother, intent on what he was saying but trying not to be distracted from the fight. Destroy the crypts…
“I shouldn’t tell you this, but I can’t resist the look on your face, realizing how thoroughly you’ve failed. I didn’t need the Fedgleys to confront Father, I needed them to become immortal myself. I need the talent in their blood. It’s taken years, but I’ve finally finished my preparations. Tonight, Rew, I’ll convince the girl she’s fulfilling her destiny to stop the king, and she’ll use her power to pull my soul into her body. The opposite of Father’s own spell. Her young flesh, her power, will be mine! With the talent in her blood and my knowledge, I’ll be an equal to Father. I’ve never cared to depose the man and inherit the headaches of rule. I just want to live forever. If he challenges me, though… I need that sword back, Rew. It’s the one thing Father fears. With Erasmus’ strength in my fist, the king will wilt before me.”
Rew stumbled away as if struck. Heindaw hadn’t been trying to destroy Vaisius Morden? He didn’t even care for the throne?
The prince stepped closer and reached out to grasp Rew with his armored fingers. He held the ranger tight, not to hurt him but tight enough Rew couldn’t wriggle away.
“This is going to be painful, Rew, but I have to take your soul. It’d be easier if I had the mechanisms I designed in the Arcanum, but you managed to get those destroyed, so this is your fault. I understand the theory now, and I can perform the spell on my own. You know too much about what I’m planning, about how to stop me. I can’t let Father find you in death. Everyone who knows must stay within my thrall forever. I’m not sorry, but you have my sympathy. This is going to be horrific for you.”
Rew began to struggle, but it was no use. He lashed his longsword against Heindaw’s bronze covered arm, but like before, nothing happened. He reached up and tried to free himself from the implacable fingers, but they didn’t budge. Then, he began to feel something leaking from him, as if his life was draining away. His eyes darted, looking for help, but the rangers were engaged in fighting Heindaw’s men. The nameless woman, Jacquiss was standing, watching, her face blank.
“Your father forgave you,” croaked Rew.
“What?” muttered Heindaw.
“Everyone who knows… Heindaw said everyone who knows,” rasped Rew, struggling against the flow exiting his body. “Your father… knows. Jacob forgave you, but could you forgive yourself if he cannot rest?”
“What are you talking about, Rew?” growled Heindaw.
“You’ll trap the soul of her father,” accused Rew. “You’ll hold it for eternity.”
Heindaw shrugged, his heavy bronze shoulders screeching with the motion. “Yes, I suppose I must.”
“He loved you. He forgave you. Could you forgive yourself?”
Slowly, Heindaw turned his head, realizing it wasn’t him that Rew was talking to but to Jacquiss.
The edge of a bronze blade clanged against the side of Prince Heindaw’s head, and his helmet was snapped to the side. The glowing red runes maintained their light, not flaring to meet the attack from the scimitar. Sword and armor, forged of bronze, enchanted by the same hand. There was a connection in all things, and the metal pieces recognized each other, and the magic of the armor was not deflecting Jacquiss’ blows.
She struck again and again. Brilliant gleaming scars shone where she’d landed her strikes, but Heindaw shrugged them off. His enchanted suit made him the height and a half of a normal man, and the attacks barely moved him. Jacquiss struck again, landing several vicious blows before retreating.
Heindaw raised his own blade.
“This bronze is as thick as your wrist.” He chuckled. “What do you think you’re going to do? You could batter me for days, and all you’ll do is wear yourself out. Allow me to finish, and we will talk.”
“It doesn’t have to be a lie,” whispered Rew, his voice barely leaking past his lips. “You told me it was all to save his soul. It can be.”
Heindaw flung Rew aside and struck at Jacquiss. She leapt out of the way, and the two of them danced across the open grass, bronze blades flashing in the night.
Rew sat slumped. He felt like… like he’d never felt before. Heindaw, whatever he’d done, had taken something out of Rew. A part of his soul.
He watched the prince and the woman fight. She was unable to do more than scar Heindaw’s armor, and he was unable to catch her, so far, but she was tiring, and the prince was not. She had years of training, but he had his magic. It would be over soon.
Supposing he ought to care, Rew looked down at his longsword. Erasmus was in there. He could call to the old man, his ancestor, but why? Heindaw’s armor was still impervious to Rew’s attacks. The longsword, even powered by the soul of a centuries-old ghost, would be useless.
Sighing, Rew let go of the weapon and leaned back, putting his hands down on the soil to prop himself up while he watched the fight. His fingers found the cold dirt, and he dug them into it. He felt the grass brushing against his hands stirred by the night breeze. The trees rustled about the wood, and he breathed in, letting the clean air and the sound of those bare branches spill into him, drowning out the clash of the two bronze-armored warriors.
The woman was faster and more talented. She landed blows with impunity, but they barely seemed to slow Heindaw. The damage she did marred the prince’s gleaming plate, but did nothing to injure him. It didn’t matter how much more skill she had. No mortal strength could smash through the heap of metal the enchanter was encased within.
Yawning, tired eyes watching the fight, Rew thought it was too bad her scimitar was such a poor weapon for stabbing. The prince’s narrow visor was his only weak point. Even the wide blade of the scimitar ought to fit through the gap, but the weapon was designed to slash. It was an awful option against a man in full plate.
Jacquiss leapt at the prince, aiming for his head again, and Heindaw caught her a glancing blow on the leg. She spun, cartwheeling away, a bright piece of her armor and a stringer of blood flying free before she landed with a thud.
The prince tried to reach her, but she scrambled back. She had dropped her scimitar, but she leapt closer and snatched it. That cost her another raking blow on the back. She fell again. She crawled, sword in hand, the backplate on her armor hanging loosely, only the delicate chai
n covering her soft skin. Rew thought that if her armor hadn’t been crafted by Heindaw himself, she would be dead already. Her gear was as good as any armor Rew had ever seen and had held up shockingly well, but it wouldn’t for long. Heindaw’s massive blade was the size of her. A direct blow, and no protection was going to save her.
Rew flexed his fingers in the soil, thinking it felt just like it did back home in the wilderness. The trees were different, though they sounded much the same as the wind blew through them. The creak of branches, the rustle of dry leaves, the random, wild music of the forest. He smiled. It sounded like home. Like him. It fulfilled him, being there, smelling it, hearing it.
He blinked.
Drawing another deep breath, he freed his fingers from the soil. He was a part of the wilderness, and the wilderness was a part of him. Heindaw had taken something from Rew, but he hadn’t taken that. He hadn’t taken who Rew was. It was rooted too deeply, Rew was a part of the world.
Rew grasped his longsword and rose to his feet.
Screaming in pain and rage, Jacquiss stumbled away from Heindaw. Her shoulders were hunched and she limped. Her leg bled freely, and Rew suspected there were broken bones in her shoulder or arm.
The ranger took a step toward the combatants but paused. The forest was filling him, healing him, but he still couldn’t do a damned thing about Heindaw. He had no weapons to pierce Heindaw’s enchantments, no way to injure the man. He could run, but he wouldn’t. He would try to fight. Bellowing a cry, Rew ran at Heindaw’s back. He couldn’t harm the man, but maybe given an opening, Jacquiss could.
Her sword. That was the way through Heindaw’s defense. They had to use the sword, but the woman and the blade were on the other side of the prince.
Heindaw kept stalking Jacquiss, ignoring Rew until the ranger leapt onto his back and smashed the hilt of his longsword down on top of the prince’s head. Repeatedly, he rained blows down on his brother. It might not injure the prince, but the clank of metal on metal sure seemed to annoy him. Heindaw spun, and Rew went flying off, landing in a hard roll that knocked the wind from his lungs.
