Arkov stood and smiled and said, “We will see which of us dies at the other’s hand, boy.”
And Arkov drew his own blade while at the same time he reached up to remove the crown, which he threw at Reyer even as he leapt toward the youth.
Reyer ducked the throw, and but barely got his own blade up to fend Arkov’s strike.
Heavier and stronger than Reyer, Arkov battered the youth back and back, Reyer fighting a defensive battle, Arkov charging.
And as Arkov hammered against Reyer’s guard, Perry raised his bow, but Silverleaf pressed a hand down upon the buccan’s arm.
Both Regga and Riessa looked on in silence, but a darkness came upon Dalavar, and Shifter stood where he had been. And the ’Wolf snarled, its savage gaze locked upon the two in the duel, but Shifter did not advance. Even so, his intention was clear, should Reyer be defeated.
And Arkov continued to batter at Reyer, yet the Garian’s blade could not penetrate the lad’s defense, Reyer’s parries too quick, and so Arkov stepped back and, sneering, invited Reyer to engage. Stepping forward, Reyer took up the challenge, and steel skirled against steel as the two circled in a deadly dance, striking, lunging, parrying, deflecting, and youth was on Reyer’s side.
Of a sudden, Arkov leapt forward and grappled with Reyer. Using his bulk, Arkov drove Reyer hindward and hindward, across the wide floor hindward.
Gripping his spear, Alric took a step forward, but Valder laid a hand on his shoulder and Alric stopped.
And just ere Arkov smashed the youth against a wall, Reyer seemed to stiffen, to rally, and he slowed and then stopped Arkov’s charge. Gasping for air, the Usurper freed his right hand and hammered a hilt-gripping fist into the lad, aiming for his face, but Reyer deflected the blow, catching it on his left shoulder instead. Reyer countered with a knee to the groin, yet Arkov twisted, his thigh taking the strike.
Reyer shoved Arkov away and riposted a cut, Reyer’s blade stabbing into Arkov’s free arm, even as Arkov’s own blade sheared across Reyer’s chest, but it drew no blood, striking naught but Reyer’s leather and chain.
Arkov began to flag, and Reyer’s youth and quickness and Armsmaster Halon’s Dylvana training began to show, as Reyer fended and struck and riposted and drew blood with cut after cut as he dodged Arkov’s increasingly desperate and futile strikes. Now it was Arkov who was driven back and back, until he finally stumbled hindward against the steps to the throne.
And then with a flourish, Reyer engaged Arkov’s sword, Reyer’s blade sliding down Arkov’s own steel, and with a stab in the Usurper’s wrist, Arkov’s blade clanged to the floor.
Reyer stepped back and away and said, “Here is my judgment, Usurper: I shall not slay you out of hand, but instead in the city square you will be drawn, quartered, and hanged in chains.”
Panting, sweat running down his face, Arkov snarled, “Never!” And, screaming, he lunged for his weapon and snatched it up, and reversed it and fell upon his own sword, the blade stabbing through, cleaving his spine in twain, and he fell stone dead to the floor.
Crying, weeping, Perry and Digby rushed forward, as did they all, and even as Reyer turned away from the body, Conal embraced him and, tears running down his face, said, “Rígán,” even as Reyer wept and said, “Da.”
63
Aftermath
Stories might seem to end but in truth never do, for any given event simply leads to the next in an endless string. And the world turns and disasters occur and people come and go. This seems especially true in the World of Mithgar, where . . .
• • •
AMID GREAT CELEBRATIONS among the returned citizens of Caer Pendwyr, in pomp and circumstance, and with representatives from most of the nations in his realms, Reyer publicly ascended to the throne. And the representatives knelt before their newly crowned King and swore their nations’ fealty to him.
He was now officially recognized by all as the true and rightful heir who had finally taken lawful command.
And his justice was swift—deadly for some—especially for those who surrounded Arkov and urged his overthrow of Valen. One of these was Chief Counselor Baloff. Others were banished back to their own lands after swearing fealty to Reyer and to all rightful High Kings who were to come after.
And Reyer abrogated all agreements and levies and seizures made by Arkov, returning to those of High King Valen.
As rewards to those who supported him, Reyer bestowed much, notably he offered the abandoned land of Ellor to King Ulrik, but the Jordian asked that it be awarded to Valder instead. And Reyer deferred to Ulrik’s wishes.
When Silverleaf said to Valder that his new-given land had been known by two names—Ellor and Valon—Valder declared, “Henceforth it shall be Valon.”
Valder took Alric to be his heir.
And so it was that many of the Harlingar came with Valder and Alric to live in that green grassy land.
One of the people who for a while dwelt in Valon was Durgan, and Steel stood at stud during that time and sired many a champion. One of Steel’s foals was given to Reyer, and thereafter all the mounts of the High Kings down through the ages could trace their lineage back to Steel, Durgan’s Iron Horse.
Gretta returned to Kell with Conal, for she had come to cherish the farm as well as her husband.
Dalavar and Driu went to the Wolfwood together. That they were lovers was without question.
Reyer declared, with his ascension to the throne, the end of the Third Era and the beginning of the Fourth.
Some years passed—no more than six or seven—and across Valon fared a group of Dylvana on their way to see kindred in Darda Erynian. As they came to the new city of Vanar, Prince Alric received a most beautiful lady, one of unsurpassed grace. It was, of course, Caleen, who was traveling with the Dylvana to visit their kindred in Darda Erynian. And though it was a wonder to all who beheld this troop, for seldom were the Dylvana seen outside their shaggy forests, it was Caleen who captured the hearts of bards. They sang of her incredible grace and unsurpassed beauty and gentle manner, and they called her a princess of Elvenkind, though the Dylvana themselves simply named her Dara. Alric had loved her since childhood, and he asked her to be his bride. She confessed she had been in love with Alric from the first, and she consented. It was at this time Reyer discovered what she had whispered in Alric’s ear as he and Reyer left the village of Sjøen years past: “You are my prince, Alric,” she had said, “and will be my prince always.” She lived with Alric in Valon, yet on occasion she did return to Kell and bide awhile with her Dylvana parents, or they came to see her. It was during one of these visits upon Kell that Gretta, the Iron Duke’s daughter, weeping, apologized over the cruel things she had said about Caleen. They became fast friends.
Caleen lived a long and fruitful life, and at her death she was mourned by bards and remembered in Elven song.
As to Reyer, he married a daughter of Jord, Arika her name, her father a Duke, and like Alric and Caleen, Reyer and Arika’s palace was filled with the happy laughter of their offspring.
Reyer throughout the years made it a custom to visit each of the nations under his rule. On his rade to Garia and Alban, he was accompanied by a fierce warband consisting of Warrows, Elves, Dwarves, and, of course, Humans. The royalty in those two lands were completely cowed, and no attempts were made on his life. It is interesting to note that among that peerage of Garia, one of the personages absent was a certain Baron Viliev Stoke, one of whose descendants, Marko, would die in a boar hunt. Marko’s wife was then to give birth to a son, Béla, putatively Markov’s heir. Many thereafter would say that the new Baron Stoke, Béla, was a Zli—a Demon. . . .
. . . But that was yet to come.
As to others in Reyer’s time, they, too, were honored by the bards, and oft were songs sung and tales told of them and their fearlessness during the historical events known as the War of the Usurper. And bards sa
ng of the Alliance and of the valor of the Jordians and their incredible ride, and of the Lian Guardians who accompanied them. Dylvana were sung of as well as the Dwarves, known as Châkka in their own tongue.
Oh, yes, and they sang of the Boskydell Warrows, who, in the battles, mayhap were the deadliest warriors of all.
All of them were heroes, and together they restored the rightful heir to his throne, or so they deemed. But one evening abed Dalavar confided to Driu that he believed the child of Jordian King Haldor and his Queen Keth was born first among the three who might lay claim to the High King’s throne. Yet King Haldor and Queen Keth immediately renounced all rights to the title, and thus Riamon’s King Rand and Queen Lessa’s child became High King, much to the displeasure of Garia’s King Borik and Queen Trekka, which ultimately led to this tale. Whether or not Dalavar had the right of it, perhaps only Adon could say. One might claim, though, that Dalavar, when he put his mind to it, was perhaps the most powerful Seer since Othran.
Perhaps we’ll never understand why Nunde’s plan would have had the Chabbains murder all of Arkov’s men when victory was within his grasp. Perhaps he thought that if both Arkov and Reyer were dead, the Garians and their ilk as well as the men of the Alliance would lose heart, making it easier for the Southers to conquer all. Then again perhaps it was the Chabbain commander who decided to have it so. No matter the which of it—Black Mage or Chabbain—it seemed a tactical blunder. Yet as to Nunde himself, the day of his reckoning would come, but not yet, no, not yet.
But, as it is with all stories, the one concerning the War of the Usurper did not actually end, for down through the years and making their own marks were Reyer’s descendants . . . one of whom some two thousand years later was named Aurion, known as King Redeye, who begat Galen and Igon, and when the Dragonstar came sputtering through the skies and dreadful Modru made his return to his cold iron tower . . . well . . .
Glory you not in the slaughter of War,
for, in victory or defeat,
e’en should you survive,
Death and Blood and the screams of the dying
will surely follow you home.
—WAR’S TRUTH
Afterword
I had said that stories do not end, but most series do. I am considering whether or not to make this the last book I write in the Mithgar sagas.
But you know what? I said that before. But here we are with yet another Mithgar tale.
Perhaps this is the end.
Perhaps not.
I have been thinking about the beginning of another Mithgar story. It goes something like this:
A Dwarf and an Elf walk into a bar. . . .
Seriously.
I mean it.
It’s not a joke.
It’s based upon one of my “Red Slippers,” and if you don’t know what that means, as I said at the end of chapter sixty-three: well . . .
Regardless as to whether or not I write that story, I do hope you enjoyed this one.
Perhaps you’ll see another in the future.
Then again, perhaps not.
—Dennis L. McKiernan
Tucson, 2011
Stolen Crown Page 36
