by Angus Wells
The chamber beyond was wide and empty, stairs rising to a balcony. I could hear feet pounding, and men shouting. I motioned the two women forward and began to climb the stairs.
Two men in shining armor embossed with the images of snarling lions appeared at the stairs’ head. Both carried bared swords, and both glowered at us through the eye slits of their helmets.
“What do you here? Where are you going?”
I had almost forgotten that we wore Danant’s livery. “We’re hurt,” I mumbled, still climbing.
“Then find the main hall. These are our king’s chambers.”
I grunted and shook my head as if I were befuddled.
“The gods curse you, go back!”
One took a downward step, brandishing his sword as if he’d drive off obstinate swine. I raised my blade and stuck it into his belly, between the jointure of his breastplate and tasset. Behind his helm, his eyes widened in surprise, and he gasped. I turned the blade and saw his fall from nerveless fingers, clattering down the stairs. As I pushed him away, Ellyn ran past me, her blade swinging at the second guardsman. He took her blow on his vambrace and brought his sword around in a sweeping arc that would have severed her head had she not ducked and I continued upward to drive my buckler against his casque and send him staggering back. I swung my sword against his head, and Ellyn moved again, stabbing at his midriff. He deflected her thrust, turning it down between his legs. Ellyn spun, using her blade as a pivot to bring him off-balance, his legs going out from under him so that as he fell I was able to stab him through the back of the neck and kill him before he could cry out.
Ellyn smiled at me. “You taught me well, Guardian.”
I nodded and held out a hand to Shara.
She shook her head and found the upper stairs unaided. “There’s enough killing,” she said softly. “Do we find ray brother and Talan, and end this slaughter?”
I felt a little guilty. I cannot deny that I felt the battle madness on me, and should have cheerfully faced all Talan might send at me, laughing as my sword was blooded. But she was right; too many died in this venture, and we must still find and slay our real enemies. I bowed my head and wiped my blade clean and we went on our way.
I began to recognize it now. A door granted us egress into a gallery that looked down onto the rose garden. Beyond lay those chambers where Ryadne had spoken to me—so long ago, it seemed—and past them, the inner sanctums that had once belonged to Andur and his queen.
We crossed the gallery at a run and halted at a door inlaid with ivory and metalwork in bas-relief.
“Is he here,” Ellyn said, “hell be past this door. And I’ll not face him in his filthy colors.”
She tugged off the Danant livery. After a moment, I did the same, baring my Devyn plaid.
Shara said, “Why not?” And tossed the bloodied cloth away.
Then Ellyn took the the door latch and flung the portal open as I charged through.
Talan and Nestor stared in surprise as I entered.
The walls were cleansed of Danant soldiers now, and the gate open. Highlanders and citizens and Haldur’s men came flooding through as the Hel’s Town pirates and the clansmen swept down to catch the defenders between two terrible forces.
The Danant men fell back and were caught like metal betwixt hammer and anvil. They were beaten back across the yards of the citadel, and those who did not die under the suicidal assault threw down their swords and begged for mercy.
There was little to be found. The Highlanders were battle-crazed, and did a man hold a sword, he was fair game. Haldur’s men had old scores to settle, and were they robbed of their right hands, still they could wield a blade in the other. And the men and women of Chorym, who fought with kitchen knives and pots and pans, had the years of Talan’s oppression to avenge, and the deaths of their king and queen. The only ones who held back were the Hel’s Town pirates. They were accustomed to taking boats and accepting surrender, and Kerid—who had learned much since Andur died—stood back in horror as the slaughter went on.
“I was lucky,” he said to Mother Hel.
“How so?” She placed a lace handkerchief scented with flowers against her nose. Her own guard stood watchful around them: a wall of spears and fish-mail armor. “Do you not approve?”
“Of this?” Kerid gestured at the killing and shook his head. “No.”
“But you’d see Ellyn given her throne.”
“Yes,” he said, tensing as the fighting came closer and the guard leveled their spears. Wincing as a Danant man was skewered and tossed aside; as a clansman staggered past with both hands pressed to where his face had been before a sword carved it away. A woman ran by holding her left ear and shouting for a healer. “But this is … slaughter. It’s different on the river—that’s honest fighting.”
“They’ve debts to pay,” the Mother said. “Talan imposed his rule on Chaldor unfairly. He employed the Vachyn sorcerer. He used might that Andur—Chaldor—would not, and now he reaps the harvest of his seeding.”
“Even so.” Kerid shrugged as a Danant soldier staggered past pursued by three women and an old man who beat his armor with brooms and a sickle. “This is … unpleasant. It’s not …” He stopped speaking as the soldier fell down and screamed as the sickle was drawn across his throat. The sickle was blunt and the soldier took a long time dying.
“It’s warfare,” the Mother said. “It’s win or lose. What other way is there?”
Talan wore wondrous armor. I had not seen such fanciful work, all gold and shining—not plated like that of the guardsmen I’d slain, but solid gold, worked with jewels, and etched with snarling lions’ heads on the breastplate and the greaves and the pauldrons. He was helmed, and that casque was a roaring lion, its jaws embracing his face, paws cupping his gaping jaw. It shone in the dawn sun, which now rose and spread its light over Chorym, shining in through the windows so that the gold glittered and the embossed jewels sparkled like rainbows. I thought it armor better fitted for the parade ground than real battle.
He stared at us, a hand on the bejeweled hilt of his long sword.
Beside him stood a man with long, oily hair and nails to match. His face was aquiline and sallow, as if he spent too long a time in communication with darkness. He wore a black robe, and even before I heard Shara say his name, I knew him for the Vachyn sorcerer—Nestor.
I felt no choice. I knew that Nestor’s magic could slay me on a heartbeat, so I charged.
I felt that strange difference in the air as I attacked. I knew that magic was summoned up, and that I might well be slain before I took another step. But I had no choice. I was, in my blood and bones, in the last breaths of my dying, a Highlander. Our way in battle was the Highland charge, and I was sworn to deliver Ellyn her throne and pledged by my own desire to save Shara.
I swung my blade at Nestor.
Had he been any ordinary man, I’d have taken his head off with that sweep. But he was not, and so I felt my sword bounce as if from a buckler of impermeable steel.
I saw him smile and begin to mouth words and shape figures in the lightening air.
Then Shara spoke, and his hands faltered, and he said, “So, sister, you’d think to defeat me?”
Shara said, “I’d rid the world of you. Who is the stronger, brother? You with your Vachyn magicks, or I?”
Nestor said, “Me!”
Ellyn screamed, “You slew my father! You slew my mother!”
And Nestor laughed and pointed a finger that sent her stumbling back. I watched her tumble away and heard Nestor laugh again.
“An apprentice, sister? A little, weak apprentice to follow your sad betrayal? What talent does she own? Enough to defeat me?”
I was stretched on the floor. My bones felt as if horses had ridden over them. Every wound I’d ever taken hurt. My knee ached. I felt as if blood burst afresh from every cut, and I was weak.
I turned my head and saw Ellyn slumped against the far wall. I saw Shara, unsteady on her feet but st
ill defiant, facing Nestor.
“You’re beaten, brother. Your puppet king is beaten! Chorym and all Chaldor is ours now, and you’ve lost.”
Nestor said, “No!” And pointed a dirty-nailed hand at Shara.
I felt that magical power stir again, and forced myself up on hands and knees.
Talan stood staring at Nestor and Shara as I drove my blade into his groin, beneath the tasset. He wore mail under the gold, but I found the strength to thrust through the metal, and he was too fascinated with the magical duet to deflect my blow. He shrieked as my point went in, and again as I turned the steel to carve out his manhood and deliver his entrails to the floor. I withdrew my blade as he fell down. He was all bloody, and screaming, and I stabbed again, into his throat so that his wailing ended and he could not decide which wound to hold. He rolled in agony as his blood spilled out over his golden armor, and he died.
And Nestor cursed and flung his magic against Shara, who flung her own magic back, so that the air crackled as if two storms confronted one another, lightning against lightning. The chamber filled with thunder and I was deafened. I felt apart, as if the battle I witnessed was a dream. Save it was the woman I loved who fought, and so I struggled to wake, but could not, for all my last energies had been consumed.
Save …
I saw Ellyn slumped supine as Shara and Nestor faced one another, the air crackling, sparking, as they matched their magicks. I saw all we’d fought for lost did Shara lose this battle. I tasted blood in my mouth as I fought the power of the Vachyn’s foul spell and summoned the waning remnants of my strength to lift my sword and cut at his heel.
It was a sorry stab. A Highlander would have laughed and taken off my hand and slain me. It did little more than prick him, but he shrieked as if it were some great wound, and danced away.
And as he did, Shara smiled and shaped more movements in the air that sent him lurching farther back. I dropped my blade. It felt too heavy, and so I drew my knife and crawled after the Vachyn.
Who scowled and pointed a finger that sent me tumbling across the floor as if a wind caught me up and swept me away even as lightning pierced my chest and should have slain me.
But I had died before, so I lifted my head, for all it ached as if drums beat inside my skull and threatened to burst out my eyes, and laughed at Nestor and said—not believing it—“You cannot kill me. Or her.”
And Nestor said, “No! This cannot be!”
And as he was distracted, Shara summoned up her magicks and sent a bolt of light into him that sent him staggering, his robe burning, flames curling around his face.
He flung back power that she deflected, returning her own so that the chamber flickered and shone with alternating brilliance, and Nestor retreated.
I could no longer move. I felt as if all the blood were drained from my body, as if fire ran through the hollow parts of my bones and filled my lungs with flame. My muscles were jelly and I gasped for want of cooling breath and struggled helplessly to rise, to go to Shara’s aid. I saw tapestries burning, and a window explode in glittering shards as magic was flung against magic. Chairs took flame and filled the room with choking smoke. I saw Nestor glance toward a door that was instantly ablaze as Shara sent a spell against the wood to block his escape. Metal fitments melted and ran; a carpet burned. I dragged my head around to find El-lyn, and saw her rubbing at her eyes, a thin spilling of blood painting her cheek where she’d struck the wall. I concentrated all my will as I crawled toward her.
Then Shara cried out and I gasped as I saw her wreathed in fire. Then gasped again, in relief, as the flames died and she stood, albeit unsteady, as she pointed a finger at Nestor and sent him staggering.
He landed against a wall where a tapestry depicting a hunting scene burned, and yelped like a struck dog as sparks fell on him and his weight brought the hanging down in flaming ruin about his body.
He began to scream, flailing beneath the burning cloth, and Shara sagged back as if all her strength, all her power, were gone. Her face was drained and flushed, feverish, her eyes wide as her jaw tensed over gritted teeth. I reached Ellyn—the gods alone knew how, for I was weaker than a newborn babe—and touched her hand.
“Help her!” Was that my voice, that faint and grating plea? “Help her for the gods’ sake. For Chaldor!”
Ellyn groaned and spat blood onto the scorched floor. She braced her legs and pushed upright, leaning against the wall, ignoring the sparks that fell on her. Then she tottered on unsteady legs to Shara’s side and put an arm around the older woman. Shara clutched at her, the one leaning against the other. I was not sure who supported whom, but together they stood upright and faced Nestor.
Who flung off the burning tapestry and snarled like a rabid dog cornered by the catchers.
“You’ve not won yet, sister!”
He raised hands that were blistered and blackened as overroasted meat and thrust them out as he began to voice a spell.
Shara said, “Do as I do. Remember what I’ve taught you,” and Ellyn nodded and they spoke together, and thrust out the hands they did not use to support one another toward Nestor.
It was as if two storms met, all the power of the lightning and the thunder contained within the chamber. What windows were still left intact exploded in flashes of splintering, melted glass and fragments of wood and stone. There was a terrible heat. I felt my hair singed, and saw sections of wall fall free, plaster and stone tumbling in a blazing rain. Fire licked across the ceiling and burning dust fell over me in lung-searing clouds. Chairs and tables were consumed in an instant, falling in thick waves of ashes as I choked and believed that I must surely die again. And this time not rise.
My eyes were clogged, thick with ashes, but through the tears and the pain I saw Nestor falter. I was deafened by the thunder and dazzled by the light, but I saw Shara and Ellyn speak again, and again extend their hands. And then Nestor was wreathed in flame, and stumbled screaming about the chamber.
I believe I heard his last words: “This shall not end it, sister! You’ll answer to our kin for this! The Vachyn shall have their revenge!”
Then I could hear no more, for the thunder filled up my ears and spun my head, and the light dazzled me. But I think I saw Nestor burn, and I was surely grateful for that as I watched a blaze of pure brilliance envelop him and sheathe him in white light, and fade to leave only drifting ashes.
I remember thinking that we’d got our victory. That Ellyn should gain her rightful throne, and Shara lived. But that was all dim and distant as I gave way to pain and the Vachyn’s magicks and closed my eyes as I sank back into oblivion.
EPILOGUE
Egor Dival said, “So they’re both dead?”
I nodded. “I put my blade into Talan and slew him. Shara and Ellyn destroyed Nestor.”
“He had no children,” Dival said. “He was the last of the Kedassian line.” Then: “I never liked the Vachyn. I argued with Talan against employing him. I’d sooner fight honestly.”
I shrugged—which pained my aching shoulders—and asked, “So? What shall you do now?”
“What choice have I?” Dival shrugged in turn, but with less hurt. “You took me prisoner—I’m your captive.” He chuckled. “You Highlanders fight well. Far better than Talan or Nestor believed. So, now shall you take off my head?”
I shook mine. “I think it were better we leave you live. Danant shall need a ruler, no?”
He stared at me and asked with mouth agape. “Me?”
“As you say, Talan was the last of the Kedassians. He was not wed—he has no children—so: Who better?”
He stared at me with disbelieving eyes. “You’d not come against Danant? Revenge Andur’s death, our invasion? There’s no blood feud?”
“Shara advises against it,” I said, “and Ellyn agrees. She’d have you swear treaties, and do you agree, you can go home.”
“With all my men who survive?” Dival shaped a sad smile.
“All of them,” I said. “Swear feal
ty to Ellyn—that Danant and Chaldor shall not fight again—and we’ve peace.”
“Why?” he asked. “Talan would have slain you. He’d have taken your head as he did Andur’s. He’d have made Ellyn his bride—or slain her. So why?”
“Because you’re not Talan,” I said. “Because you don’t listen to Vachyn whisperings. Because you’re a warrior, and I can trust that. Trust your word.”
“And Ellyn?”
“Do you swear to her,” I said, “she’ll believe you. Should she not?”
“No.” Egor Dival shook his head. “Do I give my word, I keep it.”
“And shall you?”
He said, “Yes!”
Nassim spat liquid tobacco over flagstones already stained with blood. Smoke still drifted from the palace, where shattered windows gaped like the eyes of watchful skulls. Bodies littered the yard, joined by those dragged from the halls. Outside the city, funeral pyres spread smoke across the autumn sky. Crows and ravens gathered along the walls, waiting eagerly for the feasting. He wiped his sword clean and looked to Kerid and the Mother.
“Was it worth it? We’ve given Ellyn back her throne and slain a Vachyn sorcerer. But what shall the Vachyn do now?”
“We had no other choice,” Kerid said. “I gave Gailard my word.”
Mother Hel said, “The Vachyn would have looked to conquer Hel’s Town in time. Perhaps now they’ve learned a lesson.”
Nassim cut a fresh plug and set it in his mouth. Then through his chewing asked, “Think you so? Or have we only annoyed them? So that they’ll come harder against Hel’s Town?”
“We won a great victory,” Kerid said. “The gods know, Danant retreats, and Chaldor’s safe. Talan’s dead, and his Vachyn with him. What more could you ask?”
Nassim shrugged and spat out more tobacco, eliciting a frown from the Mother.
She said, “There’s talk of peace now. Gailard persuades Egor Dival to swear loyalty to Chaldor, and I believe the old man will agree.”
