by Chogan Swan
“If you wish, I will stop... from now on that is,” Seth said.
“No, no,” snapped Arturo. “It doesn't bother me, but it goes with so many other things about you that don't make sense. For example,” he waved his finger at Seth. “You are a courtier or nobility, or superb at acting like one. Yet you don't claim to be. Therefore, you are a noble—acting as a spy—or an assassin who's too stupid to hide court eating etiquette. You might be a common spy using court manners to confuse things, but I can't see anything to gain by that. Perhaps you have lost your memory and are someone important, but in that case I should know you.”
Arturo waved his hand at a stack of paper by his side. “I have here good drawings of every person of import in the West. Over two hundred assorted kings, princes, dukes, lords, counts, barons, baronets and almost everyone connected with their courts. Therefore..., I don't know what to think.” Arturo rubbed his temples and slumped back against his pillows with a groan.
“It's frustrating for me too.”
Arturo looked at him in surprise then gave a short laugh. “I imagine it is. At any rate, I realize—now that I've considered it—if you were my enemy then you could have killed me during the fight.”
Seth shook his head, “I'm not your enemy, but my not killing you is no proof. Anyone should realize that killing you in the fight would mean certain death from your guard. Even if I was in league with Nimshi and killed you in the fight, only a fool would believe Nimshi would not kill me to cover his tracks.”
“Yes, I can see you have raised the art of suspicious thinking to a high level as well,” said Arturo with a dry smirk. “You would fit in well around here, and that's further proof you are a noble.”
Seth shrugged. He had been unaware of his eating habits until now, but Arturo's conclusion seemed reasonable. Right now, though, his current predicament was more important than his past. “If I could bother you with a question, Lord Arturo...,”
Arturo nodded.
“What was the outcome of your duel with the weaponsmaster?”
Arturo scowled, “In my opinion, I lost. The official verdict was that it was a draw. I was unconscious when the judges reached that verdict, so I don't recall, nor did my guards see me inflict a wound that would have incapacitated Nimshi. But I'm told that he was quite unable to summon the strength to finish me. Therefore, it was, in the records, a draw.”
“He still needs you then,” Seth said. “He wants to appear as though he were loyal.”
“Go on,” said Arturo. “I would like to hear what you think this all means.”
Seth continued, sure of his ground, “Nimshi has what I would call a misplaced sense of destiny.”
“What do you mean?”
“He has the idea he must use you to accomplish what he sees as Ibucahn's destiny.”
“Yes, that's true,” said Arturo “That is why my father engaged him to train me.”
“Nimshii is not training you, but trying to corrupt you. Since he will not inherit power, his political ambitions are hampered. So, he tries to wield it by influencing you, and he cannot turn things the way he wants until you are warped.”
“What you are saying is interesting,” said Arturo in a cool voice. “But who is to say he is evil and someone else is not? He is a hard man, true. However, what has he done that is evil? Before the fight, I suspected he was using you to assassinate me. That would leave the city without an heir. It would be chaos, an open struggle for the throne, when my father dies. When he did not kill me, though, he justified himself. I am forced to conclude he is loyal, and I was in error.”
Seth paused in thought a moment, “The first time I came to eat breakfast with you, why were you upset? Was that the first time Nimshi had brought someone to eat with you who you would fight later?”
“Well… yes it was.”
“And why were you upset that I was injured?”
“It was an unfair advantage. How could you fight when you were still recovering from an injury?”
“And that bothered you.”
“Of course.”
“Does your practice bother you against uninjured opponents, unconvicted ones?”
Arturo frowned, clearly not enjoying this line of questioning. “It is an unpleasant necessity to practice with death as a consequence of losing, but facing true risk is vital to mastering the art of combat. My opponents run the same risk I do. I could die too.”
Seth's face remained neutral, “Tell me Lord Arturo. How did you feel the first time you killed someone in the circle? Did it seem necessary?”
Arturo's closed his eyes and shivered. He did not answer.
“Forgive me for pointing out a few things you've ignored, but think about this. I was told three days ago that since the beginning of last year you have won against one hundred eighty opponents. That would mean the chance of you losing each time you stepped into the circle were less than one in one hundred eighty. Nimshi has picked your opponents for you. You have already concluded Nimshi does not want you dead. Does it not make sense to say that none of those times were you ever pitted in equal battle? That you were, in fact, not in great mortal danger?”
Arturo gave a reluctant nod.
“It's clear he's not making you a master of the sword through these sessions, but turning you into a killer, familiar with death and unmoved by it.”
Seth paused, letting this sink in. “One thing I am sure of, even though my memories have not returned; I’ve killed no one for practice, yet my skill was sufficient against Nimshi's training.”
Arturo sat rigid on his bed. His eyes stared ahead.
Seth said lowered his voice. “It is the easiest thing in the world to lie to ourselves. That is where the evil gains its first hold.”
Arturo took a rasping breath. “I never let myself think about them dying. My father insisted. I had no choice but to do as he told me.”
Seth shook his head, “There was a choice, I expect you remember the moment well. No doubt you even refused at first, but they made the choice harder and harder until you gave in.”
Seth felt something, a strange rush of power to his words as he spoke his next words. Something beyond him was working now. “The evil they did is worse, but you were responsible for your own decisions. He has not yet succeeded. You are not evil—as he is—though he has convinced you to do evil. And each time you do it, it becomes easier.”
Arturo was paler. He shook, a slight tremor. Then—lifting his face—he screamed: rage, violation and guilt. His guards looked at one another, amazed.
“Ah!” sobbed Arturo, “How it burns. All this time, I never let myself see it.” Then he collapsed back on his pillows, silent, but tears ran down his face.
One guard darted towards the door, but it burst open as he neared it. Niall's blocky form filled the exit. The guard tried to brush past him, but Niall raised his arm and snagged him as he tried to pass.
“Not without your lord's orders,” Niall growled.
The guard rounded on him, reaching for his dagger.
“Hold!” shouted Arturo rearing up from his bed, catching the bedpost. “Stand apart. Where were you going, Finn?”
“Why... for the doctor, my lord,” he answered.
“That won't be necessary. You may all wait outside. I will talk further with this man here.”
Seth interrupted, “Pardon, my lord.”
Arturo turned to him.
Seth stepped in front of Finn and looked him in the eye. “I think it would be a mistake to let this man out of your sight without precautions.”
“What do you mean?” snarled Finn.
“I mean you are not loyal to Lord Arturo. My guess is that you are Nimshi's spy.”
Seth leaped back as the guard's knife swept around in a vicious arc.
“Gerd, Helmen, stop him,” ordered Arturo. But Niall already had Finn pinned to the wall. With an easy wrench, he had the guard's arm barred behind him. Finn tried to toss the knife to his left hand, but Niall anticipated the pa
ss and slammed him against the wall, deflecting the knife and knocking it to the floor.
Gerd and Helmen grabbed the struggling Finn from Niall's hold, dragged him to the bed and forced him to kneel.
Arturo glared down at him. “Even if it were not true, Finn, you have broken discipline three times. When you tried to abandon your post, I could forgive that, but attacking a man, before my eyes, without orders and then resisting arrest. You are at least disloyal if not a betrayer.” Arturo sighed, “Lock him in the holding room. No visitors whatsoever. If anyone disputes that, refer them to me, and let me know who asks about him. None of you are to leave this duty. Is that clear?”
He looked at them until they each met his gaze and answered. Then, with a nod he said, “You may go.”
They left, dragging a grim, silent Finn between them.
“I'll be just outside if you need me, your lordship,” Nial said, pulling the door closed behind him again.
“Sergeant!”
Nial stopped and looked up. “Yes, my lord?”
“I have an opening in my guards. If you are interested, see me tomorrow morning at breakfast.”
“Yes, my lord. I will be there.”
“Very good. I'll call if you are needed.”
Niall bowed then shut the door.
Arturo leaned back in his bed again, looking at Seth. His eyes were tired and dull.
“I thought Nimshi was a hard man,” he said. “But you..., you have cut deeper into me than I could ever have imagined.”
“You were bound,” Seth said in a quiet voice. “Your ignoring the guilt was doing damage.”
“Well, I'm not ignoring it anymore,” said Arturo, but to Seth his voice sounded far away.
A peculiar feeling came over him. Instead, he heard—much louder—his own words repeated back to him.
Your ignoring the guilt was doing the damage.
He felt dizzy and shut his eyes. In the dark behind his eyelids, he fell.
Chapter 13 (Seth—Moonglow)
A dragon sprawled in the sparse shade of a rock. “You'd better deal with it, or we're both in trouble,” said the dragon.
Seth turned to face the drake. He was just outside a cave in a dry and rocky desert near mountains. The dragon lay by the cave entrance.
It rustled his wings and hissed, as though at something behind Seth.
As though I would fall for that old trick.
The dragon kept his gaze directed past Seth's shoulder.
With one suspicious eye on the dragon, Seth glanced back. When he jumped, it was more because he imagined a threatening move from the dragon than because the figure behind him was so hideous.
“Who is... that? I thought I recognized him,” Seth gasped.
“Guilt, yours to be exact,” said the dragon matter-of-factly. “I found it in the cave with your memories. It explains why it was so easy for Darkfire to keep you from getting them back.”
“Guilt?” Seth said.
“Yes,” said the dragon, “not to be confused with guilty feelings. This is the real thing.”
“Where did it go? I could have sworn it was behind me.”
“Behind you still,” said the dragon.
Seth whirled. Once again he caught sight of the hideous vision before it slipped away.
“Why does it keep disappearing?”
The dragon looked thoughtful for a moment, his nostrils opening and closing. “Because you do not remember, it disappears. Until now, you ignored it or made excuses. From what I saw in the cave, you lied with your actions to almost everyone you met since you were twelve years old. That is just one of the monsters from the cave. Now you must go in and deal with this, or the harvest of the seeds you have sown will destroy us both.”
“And what will I do?” asked Seth, a constricting sensation in his stomach.
“That, I do not know,” replied the dragon, “but it will be according to the covenant of your own people, but I can tell you this…. Humble yourself.”
Seth turned and walked into the cave, the dread rising to his chest.
Seth looked inside; it was shadowy, but a man was there.
“What do you want?” asked the man.
Seth stared. He looked familiar, but it was dark in the cave, and without his memories, he wouldn't recall. “Do I know you?”
“I know you,” the man said.
“Is my memory here?”
“Yes.”
“How do I get it back?”
“You don't get it back unless I give it to you,” the man replied with quiet confidence.
“Will you give it to me?”
“Come. Take it by force.”
Though he didn’t understand the logic of the two statements, Seth stepped forward, and found his hand in a powerful grip. He jumped back. The hand loosed him.
“Why did you let go?” Seth said in surprise. At the first touch, he knew the hand could have crushed him.
“No, you let go,” said the man. “I never let go.”
“I can't contend with you,” gasped Seth. “You are too strong.”
“I will give you strength.”
“That ... makes no sense,” cried Seth.
“You will have to trust me that it does,” the man said in a quiet voice.
“I can't even see you. It’s too dark.”
“It is for your sake. Come. Take my hand. We will struggle together, you and I.”
Seth reached out again.
Again, the hand enveloped his.
This time Seth hung on with everything he had in him, struggling to move the hand.
As he fought, the voice said, “I moved my hand for you, but you will never move my hand by your own efforts.”
Seth stopped struggling. “You have mastered me,” he said, defeated.
As he spoke the words, he found himself supported as he held on.
“GOOD!” shouted the man. “Now the fight will start. Don't let go.”
But, the man had disappeared. Seth couldn’t feel the hand anymore.
Did I let go?
Then, though he still could not feel the hand, he sensed its presence.
“Your struggle is upon you,” the man’s voice spoke inside him.
Seth whipped around.
Memories began to flood over him: a figure stood next to a moon-white horse sprawled on the sand. The figure’s face—dark with the shadow of rage—was the one in the shield’s mirrored boss.
The voice spoke again. “Your home’s foundation rested on the magic of a simple creature, bound by slumber for millennia for the sake of the cold magic woven into her flesh. She was one of the last of her kind. You woke her, and her hunger drove her to hunt. Trapped as you were, responsible for your party and the people of your land—killing her was no crime. But, in dark rage, you used the power given you to do it, not an anger that sought justice, but revenge. The same hand that made you created her. Was it right—even in your ignorance—to dishonor her and the one who created you both?”
“No,” Seth said, “that was wrong.”
A frail form lay crumpled by glowing embers. Arrows sprouted from the body.
“A child tortured from her earliest years and forced to learn dark arts or face punishment escaped her captors. She hid in the woods for a year and fifty days by driving travelers away from their campfires with the only power she had to survive. You killed her, not with sorrow, but with condemnation. The same hand that made you created her. Was it right—even in your ignorance—to dishonor her and the one who created you both?”
“No,” Seth cried, weeping. “It was wrong.”
“To whom much is given, much is required.”
The man led him by the hand. When he opened his eyes and wiped them, he was outside the cave.
The drake shook out his wings. “Do you have them all back?”
Seth wiped his eyes again. The tears still ran down his face in a steady flow. “I do, but the man only showed me two of my many failures. I have so many more.”
/> “Yes, well that’s the important thing,” said Moonglow, climbing to his feet. “You don't need me anymore. You'll just have to get along with my memories through the dragon covenant now.”
With a clap like thunder, the golden dragon rose into the air, trumpeting in triumph, disappearing into the sky.
Seth sat down under the shadow of a nearby boulder. There was a pool beneath it and a flat stone for a headrest.
He washed his face, drank deep and lay down... restored.
Chapter 14 (Memories)
He was soaking in memories, luxuriating in them….
Even the ones he regretted seemed worth having.
The hearth crackling in his bedroom.
Riding Chanra through the hills.
Wyatt laughing at a prank.
Jyrmak frowning over the top of a book.
Marshall exhorting him as they wove a dance of swords.
And—in the dream—Moonglow.
The man in the cave and the promise he would never let go.
The world intruded.
“No, doctor, I told you, he just stopped talking. No one hit him.” Arturo sounded out of patience.
“Perhaps a cold bath will bring him out of it,” someone muttered.
“No,” Seth said. “No ... I’ll be fine now.” He forced his eyes open, finding himself in Arturo's bed, a sea of silky blue.
Arturo, a look of relief on his face, sat propped on a padded bench against the wall. Outside, the fog rolled in from the bay and rubbed against the shutters. One of Arturo's guards had stoked the tiny stove in the corner and was poking at it and blowing on the coals.
The frail medic pushed a stray lock of white hair back under his skullcap and began to repack the medicines and herbs he’d arranged on the bedside table. Seth pushed himself upright,
“Sorry to have put you out of your bed, my lord prince.”
“No matter,” said Arturo waving his hand. “Are you well enough to continue?”
“Groggy.” Seth rubbed his face. “Like I've slept a week.”
“Just four hours, in fact.”
“Good,” Seth said. He had a feeling time would be in short supply.
Arturo turned to his guard. “Fitzroy, take the doctor to a comfortable room nearby. We may need him. Bring him whatever he might need, but make certain he is disturbed by no one, until I tell you otherwise. Understood?”
