by R A Oakes
Surrounding the “iron circle” was an entourage comprised of 200 warrior women, 120 members of the king’s personal guard and 140 tigers. Almost 500 warriors, human and feline, were ready to defend the two kings with their lives.
After having made it all the way up the mountain trail, taking Dominion Castle’s front entrance, capturing the outer walls and destroying a gargoyle-infested tower, nobody wanted any surprises. King Tarlen was determined to confront Swarenth, no one could talk him out of that, but at least they were going to get him to the throne room alive.
Decades ago, after Swarenth had murdered King Ulray and the entire royal family, except for a then six-year-old Tarlen, the last living Kardimont had spent his life running from gargoyle search parties bent on one thing, the destruction of a young monarch who was the sole remaining hope for the kingdom.
Therefore, the warriors accompanying the two kings understood how much Tarlen wanted and needed closure. They could only imagine how badly they, too, would want to confront an enemy responsible for the deaths of their own father, mother, brothers and sisters. That Aerylln had somehow managed to bring King Ulray here from the past and seemingly back from the dead, though much older now at the age of 74, did little to ease King Tarlen’s pain. Everyone knew King Ulray, like the White Angels going back to the future, would eventually have to return to the past, leaving Tarlen without a father once more.
Genevieve, walking proudly at Tarlen’s side, was pregnant with the next heir, but everyone also knew it would be decades before their daughter could ascend to the throne. Should King Tarlen be killed by some unexpected attack prior to the entire castle being secured for certain, the emotional loss would be devastating to the kingdom. They could not lose their king now, not when they were so close to achieving total victory. Even so, King Tarlen could not be dissuaded from confronting Swarenth.
“Remind me why we’re doing this,” Gwendylln, always the pragmatist, said to Andrina.
“Doing what?” Andrina asked pretending not to know what Chen’s second-in-command was talking about.
“Why are we risking King Tarlen’s life when a dozen archers could walk into the throne room, dispatch Swarenth and be done with it?”
“What if someone had killed your entire family?”
“I grew up on the streets as an orphan. Don’t you remember?”
“Yes, excuse me, I’m sorry. Well, think about how badly you wanted to kill Chen’s uncle, Lord Daegal.”
“I wanted to strangle that man with my bare hands.”
“But Chen eventually killed Lord Daegal herself, which was better, don’t you think?”
“Yes, and he certainly deserved it. At that point, on top of everything else, he was trying to take Crystal Castle away from her.”
“Which Chen inherited upon killing Lord Daegal’s sister, Glenitant.”
“Who was plotting to kill Chen,” Gwendylln reminded Andrina.
“Well, every family has its troubles.”
“How encouraging, but I get your point. You’re saying King Tarlen wants to kill Swarenth as much as I wanted to kill Lord Daegal.”
“Yes, and maybe even more.”
“I would have done anything to be the one to kill Chen’s uncle. Anything.”
“Except deny Chen her right to avenge herself.”
“Yes, except for that.”
“Well, that’s why we need to let King Tarlen settle his score with Swarenth himself.”
“I still don’t like the idea. It’s an unnecessary risk.”
“You take unnecessary risks.”
“But I’m not the king.”
“Please give Tarlen a chance to handle it. Seriously, I’d like you to promise me that you won’t intervene.”
“Are you suggesting I have a temper? That I might lack the patience to let King Tarlen work out his need for closure?”
“Something like that.”
“Me lack patience?”
“I can’t imagine why I would think that.”
“Okay, I won’t jump in, as long as it’s a fair fight.”
“And a fair fight is?”
“One the king is going to win.”
“And if it looks like he’ll lose?”
“I’ll kill Swarenth myself.”
“Sounds reasonable, but I think King Tarlen can handle Swarenth. I’ve seen the king fight. We both have.”
“We haven’t seen Swarenth fight. He must be good. He’s been at the top of a pack of bloodthirsty, treacherous gargoyles for decades, and he didn’t accomplish that without knowing how to use a sword.”
“True,” Andrina said with a hint of apprehension in her voice.
But very soon, she’d be feeling a whole lot worse, for unbeknownst to her and everyone else in the entourage, King Tarlen was planning on entering the throne room alone.
Chapter 35
Dominion Castle’s throne room.
“Balzekior where are you?” Swarenth shouted pounding his fist on the window ledge while looking below at King Tarlen’s warriors patrolling the walkway atop the outer walls.
The cavernous throne room with its vaulted ceilings, inlaid marble floor, stained-glass windows, elaborate wall hangings and glorious frescos was as elegant and breathtaking as it had been 30 years ago, but back then it had been full of life and joy. Now, except for one lone gargoyle warlord, it was empty and felt more like a tomb.
“The College of Wizards has taken her captive,” King Tarlen said walking through the doorway marveling at the artistic masterpiece his ancestors had created, not having seen it since he was a boy.
“You look just like your father,” Swarenth said, the identity of the warrior entering the throne room being unmistakable.
“What happened to your wing?” King Tarlen asked seeing that one was badly damaged and useless. But the king knew that Prophet had once mauled Swarenth, shredding the wing with a powerful swipe of a paw, his long claws ripping through flesh and bone.
Swarenth glared at King Tarlen. The warlord, thin by gargoyle standards and having wings twice the size of ordinary gargoyles, had at one time possessed the ability to fly. But Prophet had put an end to that. Swarenth realized that in asking the question, King Tarlen was reminding the warlord of a very important fact. Even though the winged ape was standing by an open window, there would be no escape.
“I won’t beg for my life,” Swarenth said firmly.
“Good,” King Tarlen said almost ignoring the warlord while looking around the throne room at the exquisite craftsmanship.
“Your father begged me to spare him,” Swarenth laughed. “King Ulray on his knees weeping uncontrollably, it was something to see.”
“My father tells a different story. He says he fought bravely and died with honor.”
“Your father’s been dead a long time. You couldn’t possibly have spoken to him,” Swarenth said in a cynical, mocking tone of voice.
“No? Well, look over there. He’s standing in the doorway.”
Swarenth started laughing again but quickly stopped upon seeing the 74-year-old king. Gawking at the elderly monarch, Swarenth couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Kardimonts have a way of popping up when you least expect us,” King Tarlen said with grim satisfaction.
“Ulray was dead.”
“If anything, White Angel has taught me that things can change dramatically.”
“Having a girl fighting your battles for you, how embarrassing,” Swarenth said laughing scornfully.
Aerylln, stepping into the doorway with King Ulray, stroked Baelfire’s scabbard as a subtle threat saying, “Be glad the prophecy was about leading the king’s army to victory and not about my killing you.”
“Who else is out in the hallway?” Swarenth demanded, his eyes widening at the sight of his young nemesis.
“No one you need to worry about,” King Tarlen promised.
“It’s just you and me, eh?” Swarenth asked, his mood brightening.
“Yes, just
the two of us.”
“You’ll die by my hand then, as your father did,” Swarenth said looking over at King Ulray and thinking, He can’t be alive. I hacked his body to pieces personally.
“This once belonged to my father,” King Tarlen said, slowly unsheathing his sword. “I swore that one day I’d stand in this throne room and face you with it.”
“And now you have, so take your army and leave.”
“Sorry, but it won’t be that easy,” King Tarlen said motioning for the warlord to join him as he began walking along the outside perimeter of a circle of inlaid white marble located in the middle of the throne-room floor.
“I’m going to enjoy this immensely,” Swarenth said giving a cunning wolfish grin and swaggering towards the circle.
King Tarlen said nothing contenting himself with watching Swarenth and studying the way his opponent moved.
Following King Tarlen, walking along the outside edge of the large marble circle, Swarenth took a long hard look at his opponent. After a little while, the gargoyle warlord began slowing his pace until he and the Kardimont king were on opposite sides of the circle. At that point, the two combatants stopped and faced one another.
Raising their swords, each silently took the other’s measure, patiently waiting for his opponent to lose focus for even an instant. When it became clear to the two adversaries that neither was going to flinch, they leapt into the center of the circle, their swords clashing, and the echo of metal hitting metal reverberating throughout the giant hall.
“You’re weak,” Swarenth smirked as he and Tarlen stood facing each other, the base of their blades pressed together, neither moving, looking deeply into each other’s eyes.
“I didn’t come here for you to talk me to death,” King Tarlen said shoving the warlord back forcefully.
After circling warily, they lunged at each other once more, Swarenth taking a vicious swing at Tarlen’s head, who then ducked, leaned back and gave the warlord a solid kick in the ribs sending him sprawling.
Falling face downward, Swarenth’s forehead struck the floor so hard it seemed to knock him unconscious, his sword sliding several feet away from his inert form. But as King Tarlen bent to pick up the warlord’s sword, his opponent came to life slipping his fingernails into an almost invisible slit in the floor, lifting out a razor-sharp knife made of marble and throwing it at the king.
While sidestepping the knife and knocking it away with his own sword, King Tarlen momentarily took his eyes off his opponent. Quickly taking advantage of this opportunity, Swarenth reached for a sheath strapped to his leg, pulled out another knife and hurled it at the king.
Catching sight of a glint of metal out of the corner of his eye, Tarlen tried to dodge the weapon but was not quick enough, the knife slashing him on his left shoulder. Blood flowed down his arm, dripping from his fingers onto the floor.
Standing out in the hallway, looking over King Ulray’s shoulder, Captain Polaris reached for his sword and would have leapt into the room had King Ulray not calmly and quietly said, “No, captain, stay here.”
Back in the room, Swarenth was up and running for the throne itself. After reaching the stairs leading to it, and leaping up them two at a time, the warlord grabbed a spare sword hidden behind the backrest. Taking a deep breath, he steadied his nerves, sat down and waited for Tarlen to approach him.
Realizing the warlord had the high ground, King Tarlen, still dripping blood, stopped a few feet away from the stairs. Mocking him, Swarenth asked, “What’s the matter, scared?”
“No, just being prudent.”
Quietly, the king and the warlord sized each other up once again, with Tarlen breaking the silence saying, “You’re sitting in my chair.”
“I won’t let you have the satisfaction of killing me,” Swarenth said.
“Why not fall on your sword?”
“Nothing’s ever gone right for me,” Swarenth moaned swamped with a sudden bout of depression.
“Do you really expect my sympathy?” King Tarlen asked marveling at the warlord’s capacity for self-pity.
“I wanted to be on top, to rule, is that so wrong?”
“Wanting to place yourself above others, to lord yourself over them, is the quickest way to lose trust. Most people prefer a leader who actively seeks their advice and counsel, as well as their support.”
“It’s easy for you to talk. You were born king.”
“That’s not true, and you know it. Being the youngest child, I never would have been king. But since you killed my entire family, except for me, I had no choice. It was forced onto me. I didn’t seek it.”
“But you’re still the king,” Swarenth said enviously.
“I have the support of others, to some degree, because I don’t want to be.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“What does?” King Tarlen said shrugging his shoulders.
“Few thought of me as being their king,” Swarenth lamented.
“How can you blame them? All you ever did was ruin life for everyone else.”
“Which can be an awful lot of fun,” Swarenth smiled, his mood brightening considerably at the thought.
“Get off the throne,” King Tarlen said in disgust.
The gargoyle warlord heaved a sigh and warily walked down the steps edging to one side and heading over to the windows. Looking down at the courtyard far below, he said, “You killed me as soon as you came into this room. As soon as I saw you, I knew I could never be like you.”
“You had your chance but didn’t take it. Long before you attacked Dominion Castle, my father was talking about allowing gargoyles to settle in the arid region far to the south and making you governor. The Kardimonts were going to build aqueducts to irrigate the entire area.”
“Governor of a dead zone. How nice.”
“You could have brought it to life.”
“I’m used to gaining power by killing not by bringing anything to life. If something comes to life, I can never be sure what it’s going to do. It’s always unpredictable. In the end, life must be contained, otherwise it’s potentially disruptive.”
“Life requires freedom and causes change but is that so bad?”
“Freedom is insane.”
“It seems so at times, but it beats any alternative.”
“I can’t live in a world ruled by that kind of insanity.”
“No one’s asking you to, at least not now.”
Swarenth climbed out onto the window ledge and made like he was getting ready to jump. But right before throwing himself onto the stone courtyard floor below, he glanced slyly back at King Tarlen and threw his sword at him. Tarlen quickly sidestepped the weapon, never having taken his eyes off Swarenth, and it went spinning across the smooth marble floor.
Seeing that his ruse hadn’t fooled Tarlen, Swarenth climbed down off the ledge and grabbed another sword from a weapons display on the wall next to the window.
Racing at the king, he began hacking and thrusting frantically trying to beat Tarlen back with the ferocity of his attack. Spinning around, with his sword arm fully outstretched, he whipped his blade at King Tarlen missing the king’s throat by a thin margin. As the violent momentum of his maneuver carried his arm much farther to the right in an arcing motion, the gargoyle warlord left his chest totally unprotected. Looking into King Tarlen’s eyes, Swarenth knew he would not be able to recover in time to block the king’s next move.
Reversing his grip and holding his sword in his left hand with the blade pointing down, King Tarlen raised the weapon till the blade was horizontal, its tip directed at Swarenth’s heart. Then, putting the palm of his right hand against the end of the hilt of the sword, he shoved the blade forward with all his might ramming it through his enemy.
Swarenth stood there for a moment, a dazed bewildered look on his face and tried to speak, but no words came out, only a thin trickle of blood running down his chin. Dropping hard to his knees, the gargoyle warlord fell onto his left side, groaned
once more and lay silent on the cold marble floor.
King Tarlen looked at Swarenth’s inert body for a moment and then turned away. Walking back to the middle of the throne room, he stood in the center of the circle once more. A solitary figure.
Looking up at the ceiling, the weight of the responsibilities he was about to take upon himself seemed to crush him, and he thought, I feel so alone.
But looking over at the doorway, he saw his wife patting her belly, and he smiled thinking, I’m not alone after all. Now, with his spirit brightening even more, Tarlen spread his arms wide, and Genevieve ran to him throwing her arms around his neck. Holding her tightly, he gave her a long, ardent, passionate kiss.
When King Ulray, Chen, Lord Pensgraft, Eldwyn, Marcheto, Aerylln, Baelfire, Zorya, Lord Grenitar, Chaktar, Prophet, Jewel, Flame, Greystone and almost 500 human warriors and tigers rushed forward, neither king nor queen looked up, but they basked in the welcome applause filling the throne room and echoing off the walls.
After 30 long, dark years, the Kardimont kingdom was whole once more.
When King Tarlen and Genevieve finally looked around them, they smiled. However, happiness quickly turned to alarm as King Tarlen noticed his father was starting to fade away. Then, glancing at Lord Grenitar and his giant tigers, King Tarlen saw that they, too, were beginning to disappear.
“Aerylln, is this like what happened to the White Angels?” King Tarlen asked. “To survive, must you send them back to their own time frame, and quickly?”
Turning to King Ulray, Tarlen tried to touch his father, but his hand passed right through him. “Father, I’m sorry our time together was so brief. I don’t want you to go.”
“We may have no other choice.”
“Possibly I can be of some assistance, sire, now that Balzekior’s been captured and her lake of fire destroyed,” Eldwyn said.
“What do you mean?”
“On the way here from the tower, I did have a chance to speak to Dean Tenaray. I’m happy to inform you that the College of Wizards would like to present you and your son with a gift to commemorate this occasion.”
