by Sara Bell
"Courage? I think not.” Denmar pressed the knuckles of his gloved right hand against Gareth's, still smiling as he went. “So confident am I of winning the day, I brought my sons with me to witness my victory.” With his head, Denmar motioned to the stands where sat two young, dark-haired boys in the company of an ancient nurse. “Which one, I wonder, will sit the throne of the High King after I'm gone?"
Gareth ignored the treasonous barbs. Withdrawing his hand, he took a step back as the herald issued a call to arms. Pulling free his father's sword, Gareth moved into position, holding fast until the herald yelled, “Begin."
Denmar was on him at once, but Gareth was ready. With his boots firmly rooted to the unyielding sod, Gareth met the man thrust for thrust before advancing with a driving blow of his own. Denmar anticipated the maneuver and countered with a jarring double-handed cut that glanced off Gareth's shield. Gareth recovered quickly and used the move to his advantage by throwing all his weight against the shield to push Denmar back.
With Denmar thus unbalanced, the tide was turned in Gareth's favor, but just as Gareth made to deliver a felling stroke, Denmar jumped back with an ugly grin that chilled Gareth to the bone.
"Much as I'm enjoying our play, Gareth, I believe ‘tis time to end this farce.” Denmar let loose with a shrill whistle.
A feminine scream sounded from the stands.
Keeping his sword at the ready, Gareth dared a glance into the stands, his heart freezing at what he saw.
A black-clad soldier had Glenna by the throat, holding fast despite her struggles. Rowan and Tristam were trying to aid her, but Denmar's henchmen were keeping them at bay with their swords. Despite his promise, Wycaster appeared to be nowhere in sight.
As Gareth watched, Alric stretched out his hand to help Glenna, but a call from behind the High King stopped him. Gareth's eyes traveled upward, to where Lord Vramon was holding a sword crossways against Elwin's throat.
Grinning down at Alric, Vramon said, “I wouldn't do that if I were you. Lord Denmar has told me all about your powers, but they'll not help you now. I'll lop off Elwin's head ere you have the chance to stop me."
With no choice, Alric dropped his hands. One of Denmar's men hurried to bind them behind Alric's back. Elwin's own guards were nowhere to be found, and Gareth had the sinking feeling he knew what had happened to them.
That feeling was confirmed when Lord Trandower stepped from the crowd and called up to his lover, “Elwin's men have been taken care of. We've only to finish it now and victory will be ours."
Despite the distance separating them, Gareth heard the words loud and clear. Keeping one eye on the stands, Gareth turned back to Denmar as fear and anger at having been so easily duped warred within him. “Didn't take you long to convince Vramon and Trandower to fall in league with you, did it?"
"What can I say? Loyalty is easy enough to buy and sell these days if you know a man's price. Once Winthrop broke faith and the councilmen backing me were exposed, I had to do something.” Denmar shrugged. “Not that it was difficult to persuade Vramon and Trandower to aid my cause, mind you. Elwin made it all too easy by dismissing the Council. At that point, Vramon and Trandower would have sold their souls for the chance to get even with him."
"And sell their souls they did.” Gareth took a step toward him. “The lot of you will roast in the Under Realms for this."
"Perhaps, but not today.” Keeping his sword trained on Gareth, Denmar called up to Elwin, “I want to thank you for being so accommodating, Majesty. Had you not granted Gareth permission to wage war against me in the first place, none of this would have been possible.” A nasty smirk split his lips. “I'm going to enjoy ruling Orielle in your place. Pity you won't be around to see it."
Elwin struggled against his captors, but even with only one eye trained on the stands, Gareth could tell it was a futile effort on the High King's part. Within moments, another wave of Denmar's men flooded the High King's box, and soon Tristam and Rowan were captured and disarmed, as well.
To Gareth's horror, Trandower climbed up to where the guards were holding Alric, unsheathed his sword, and pressed the tip of the blade against Alric's chest, even with his heart.
Swallowing down the fear as best he could, Gareth cast his full attention back on Denmar. “Let him go."
"Making demands, are you?” Denmar laughed, the sound a coarse assault to Gareth's ears. “You can rest assured I have no intention of harming Alric so long as you cooperate.” With the tip of his weapon, Denmar motioned to the ground. “Drop your sword."
"No, Gareth. Don't listen to him.” Alric's voice rang through the lists, causing Gareth to hesitate.
"Silence.” Denmar's eyes never left Gareth. “Lord Trandower, it seems yon Gareth has not yet grasped the seriousness of this situation. Perhaps you'd do well to remind him."
From where he was standing Gareth could just see the movement of Trandower's free arm as he cuffed the side of Alric's head with force enough to make Alric stumble. The guard holding him pushed Alric to his feet, and Trandower reared back for another blow.
"Wait.” Unable to bear the sight of Alric taking another hit, Gareth dropped his father's sword onto the ground.
"I thought you'd see it my way.” Denmar took a step closer. “Kneel before me."
Knowing that Denmar would harm Alric further if he didn't, Gareth had no choice but to comply with the obscene order.
Alric yelled out a loud protest—as did someone else, probably Tristam—but Gareth couldn't afford to listen. Casting a last fleeting glance at Alric's face, Gareth went to his knees.
"Excellent.” Denmar took two more steps so that he was standing directly in front of Gareth. “Remove your helmet."
Gareth untied the strap and cast the helmet onto the ground beside the sword. Once he was finished, Denmar said, “Now you will look at me."
Gareth lifted his head just in time to catch Denmar's victorious smile.
"Over the years, I've lost count of the number of men I've slain, but there is one thing I'm sure of: never will I have enjoyed a kill more than I'm going to enjoy this one.” Denmar grasped the hilt of his sword with both hands and lifted the blade high above his head. “Good morrow, Gareth. Give my regards to Kiel."
An anguished protest sounded from the stands, and Gareth closed his eyes as he prepared himself to receive Denmar's death blow. He was still waiting for the fatal strike when a new sound intruded: the sound of metal clashing with metal.
Gareth opened his eyes to find that Denmar's attention had also been diverted by a commotion coming from the stands. Fearing for Alric's life, Gareth looked up to see that Wycaster was engaged in a sword fight with Vramon. A group of soldiers wearing Vale's colors were fighting Denmar's men.
Thanking The Creator for the miracle he'd been granted, Gareth lunged for his sword.
Unfortunately, Denmar chose that moment to recover his wits. He struck out just as Gareth reached for the sword's hilt.
Gareth rolled to the side as Denmar's blade lanced off the sleeve of his mail. Denmar was on him before he could recover, the blade poised at the base of Gareth's throat.
"I was hoping to take your head off, but this will have to do.” Denmar drew back his arm, ready to drive the sword through Gareth's windpipe.
What made him do it, Gareth couldn't say, but at that moment he stretched out his right arm as if to ward off the blow. He expected to feel the weight of Denmar's sword as it crashed through his flesh and bone, but nothing prepared Gareth for the searing heat that raced from his elbow through his wrist and into the palm of his hand.
The stench of smoke stung his nostrils and as Gareth blinked to clear his eyes, five thick, amber tongues of glittering flame burst from his fingertips.
Denmar jumped back with a hoarse scream, but it was too late. The flame was already licking its way up his legs.
Stunned, Gareth jerked back his hand, and in so doing the flames died away from his fingers. Before Gareth had time to reason the truth o
f what had just happened, he looked over to see that Denmar was trying to extinguish himself.
Forcing himself to concentrate, Gareth took ruthless advantage of Denmar's plight. With a rolling dive, he grabbed Jarric's sword and swung himself onto his feet.
Denmar was still battling the flames, but he had the presence of mind to swing his sword outward in a wide arc meant to cut Gareth's legs from underneath him.
But Gareth was prepared. He dodged the swing with a dancing sidle before hefting his father's sword high above his head. Without thinking twice, he slammed it deep into his enemy's chest, ending Denmar's reign of terror for all time.
As Gareth drove the blade home, he had the fleeting thought that the fight in the stands must have ended, for Denmar's gurgling death rattle was the only sound Gareth heard. It wasn't until he pulled the sword free of the bastard's corpse, that Gareth recognized a new sound: that of racing feet.
He looked up to see Alric coming toward him at a full run. Letting Jarric's sword slide from his fingers, Gareth opened his arms and took Alric in.
Nothing was said as he pulled Alric's trembling body against his own shaking form, but Gareth thought it was just as well. There would be time enough for explanations later. At that moment, Gareth wanted nothing more than to hold Alric tight and thank The Creator they were both alive.
Chapter Seventeen
Elwin handed Gareth a silver cup full of something dark and stout before going back to a cabinet built into the far wall and filling another one. They were in the High King's private solar, and Gareth could think of nothing he needed more than a stiff drink.
Cup in hand, Elwin came back to the table where Gareth and Alric were sitting. He passed the draught to Alric before taking a seat across from the bench Gareth and Alric were using.
Gareth took a long, grateful drink. Seeing that Elwin was empty handed, he placed his cup on the table and said, “Aren't you having any?"
"No.” Elwin pushed unsteady fingers through his short, dark hair. “I need my wits about me if I'm to come to terms with what just happened.” He placed his elbows on the table and propped his head in his hands. “I still can't believe Vramon and Trandower allied themselves with scum like Denmar. No matter their feelings toward me ... to execute my personal guards...” He lifted his eyes and Gareth could see his pain. “Saints, what a mess."
Gareth couldn't have summed it up any better, and was about to say so when a haggard Tristam came in, followed by a bloody Rowan.
Alric took one look at the crimson stains marring Rowan's tunic and turned a ghastly shade of white. “My sister..."
"Is just fine, thanks to Finn and Wycaster's quick thinking.” Rowan looked down at his ruined shirt. “This is Trandower's blood, may he and Vramon rot in everlasting damnation.” He came to place a brotherly arm on Alric's shoulder. “Glenna is unharmed. She's in our chamber, lying down."
Alric closed his eyes. “Thank The Creator for that."
Gareth was as relieved as Alric to hear that Glenna was well, but something Rowan said gave him pause. “What do you mean, ‘Thanks to Finn and Wycaster?'” He took a quick glance around the room. “Perhaps ‘tis time I was told the full tale."
Tristam took the bench next to Gareth's. “Finneas had one of his visions just as you and Denmar were preparing to begin. He slipped up to warn Wycaster, and while the Kray commander was moving into place, Finn leapt from the back of the stands and went in search of reinforcements. Since Vramon and Trandower had taken care of Elwin's personal guard—"
"Young Finn had the good sense to seek me out. Caught me just as my men and I were heading back to the castle, and ‘tis a good thing he did.” This came from Nadar, who stepped into the room without waiting for an invitation.
When Elwin looked up at him with raised brows, Nadar gave a sheepish grin. “Sorry. Didn't mean to intrude, but I had to see to my brother's welfare.” He came to stand beside Gareth. “Are you well?"
"Yes, thanks to you, apparently,” Gareth said. “What I don't understand is, why weren't you in the stands with the others when the challenge began?"
Nadar hesitated for a moment, and Gareth could sense his discomfort. Finally, Nadar said, “Think you I wanted to watch such a spectacle? What if you'd gotten injured, or worse?"
Gareth couldn't stop the grin that spread over his face. “In other words, you were overridden with concern for my well-being."
Nadar snorted. “Concerned your empty head would be cleaved in two, more like.” He made a face. “'Twas bad enough when I rushed to the rescue at Finneas's bequest and saw you kneeling in front of Denmar like a willing sacrifice."
Alric shuddered. “Please, don't remind me."
From under the table, Gareth took Alric's hand. “Rest easy, Alric. I'm fine now."
"Are you really?” Alric's eyes seemed to be asking him something else entirely, and it was then that Gareth knew Alric had seen everything. He was just wondering how much the others had seen when Tristam chimed in with a question of his own.
"What I want to know is, how did you bring Denmar down in the first place? One moment you were just a breath away from feeling the bite of his blade, and the next you were standing over him victorious."
"I've been wondering the same thing,” Rowan said. “We were all so busy running those treasonous bastards to ground, we missed your winning moment."
Relief coursed through him as Gareth realized his secret was safe. “You missed nothing more spectacular than my taking advantage of the diversion you created,” he lied. “'Twas easy enough to knock Denmar's feet from underneath him once his attention was on the riot in the stands.” Gareth shrugged. “I knocked him down, then grabbed father's sword and finished him off."
Tristam eyed him closely. “Just like that?"
"Yes.” Gareth kept his tone even. “Why?"
"It doesn't seem fitting, is all.” It was Tristam's turn to shrug. “As much havoc as Denmar caused, to die such a mundane end...” He sighed. “I suppose I was hoping for a more spectacular finish."
"Well I, for one, am simply glad ‘tis over.” Rowan clapped Alric on the shoulder once more before turning toward the door. “I'd best go check on Finn and then return to Glenna."
Alric stayed Rowan with a hand to his arm. “Is Finn all right?"
Rowan nodded. “He received only minor injuries during the fight with Denmar's men, as did the Kray commander."
"Wycaster was hurt?” This was the first Gareth had heard of it.
"Peace, Gareth,” said Elwin. “I checked on both your commander and Finneas ere I came up here, and I can tell you they're in good health. Your own physician, young Balthazar, assures me their injuries are naught but piddling flesh wounds."
"See? ‘Twas just as I told you.” Rowan flashed Gareth a smile before heading toward the door. “I'll see you both later, after you've had a chance to rest."
"I should be going as well.” Nadar stretched as if he'd been standing in one place for too long. “Sonya and Ellyce won't rest easy until I assure them all is well with you and besides, I've still to retrieve Father's sword from the lists."
Gareth caught his brother's hand before Nadar could leave. “Again, I would thank you for everything you've done this day."
Nadar gave Gareth's fingers a rough squeeze before pulling his hand away. “Yes, well ... no need to go all maudlin on me, is there?” The gruff response was ruined by the slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I expect you to come and greet the girls as soon as you're able."
Gareth nodded and watched his brother go, so caught up in the wonder of seeing this new side of Nadar that it took him a moment to realize Tristam was speaking to him.
"I'm sorry. What?"
Tristam rolled his eyes. “I asked you what your father's sword was doing down on the lists, but I can see you're in no shape to answer any more questions for now.” He stood. “There will be time enough for explanations later.” Swinging first once leg and then the other over the bench, Tristam looke
d to the High King. “If you'll excuse me, Sire, I'm off to find myself a tall, stiff drink."
Elwin folded his hands on top of the table. “I'd offer you some of what Gareth and Alric are having, but in truth there are a few things I must discuss with them in private, King Tristam."
"I'll leave you to it, then.” Tristam brushed past Gareth on his way to the door. “Don't ever scare me like that again. I fear my heart cannot take it."
"Believe me when I tell you I'll do my best.” Gareth bumped Tristam's middle with his elbow. “Thank you, brother, for always looking after my best interests."
"You'd do the same for me.” And in a rare display of affection, Tristam hugged Gareth to him before turning and walking out.
It wasn't until Tristam was gone that Gareth realized Elwin was watching him.
Growing more uncomfortable by the second under Elwin's unwavering gaze, Gareth said, “Is there something you wanted from me, Sire?"
"I was just admiring the skill you showed in spinning that tale for the others.” Elwin didn't so much as blink. “I do so admire a well-crafted fairy's tale."
Gareth swallowed. “I don't know what you mean, Sire."
"Oh, I think you do.” Elwin drummed his fingers against the tabletop. “You see, Gareth, unlike the others, I saw everything that happened down on that field."
Gareth's mouth went dry, and he was unable to answer.
Alric came to his rescue. “Your Majesty, Gareth and I had no idea—"
"You owe me no explanations.” Elwin looked back and forth between them both. “As far as I'm concerned, what happened down there today is no one's business but your own, and the truth will not leave the boundaries of this room.” He straightened in his seat. “Some of the vendors and spectators no doubt saw what happened, but my men are swearing them to silence even as we speak. For now we've a more pressing concern to deal with, namely the matter of Denmar's estate."
Gareth shook his head. “Denmar has no estate. Tristam and I laid waste to his holdings and ruined his properties."
"So he wanted you to believe, but according to the those in league with him, Denmar had hidden assets no one knew of."
