by Tom Lloyd
‘I-‘ She sagged, conceding defeat, trying to ignore a vision of Vesna’s expression as she publicly handed her favour to the Sunbee, who for all his swagger, was a remarkably handsome young man. ‘If Lord Isak agrees, then I would be happy to help,’ she said, hoping Isak would leap to her rescue.
But Isak was still lost in his own thoughts: now he was staring at the figures opposite him. He could smell more than one mage out there. The woman seated beside Herolen Jex, Duchess Forell he assumed, was returning his scrutiny. Isak felt sure that she knew what he was looking for, that she could feel his presence questing softly out. She was a tall woman, and his extraordinary sight enabled him to make out her proud, imposing face; her hair and eyebrows were oddly dark against her skin. The typical inhabitants of Narkang had pale, sandy-brown colouring, but it looked to Isak as if the women of the White Circle were marking themselves out by dyeing their hair a dark reddish-brown.
Isak found his eyes drifting away from the duchess and up to the woman sitting behind her, who was draped similarly in a white shawl, although arranged so that it covered almost her entire head. As Isak stared curiously, the woman looked up and met his eyes; in the shadow of her shawl, Isak could hardly see her face at all. When she smiled at him, he felt it rather than saw it. A cold tremble slithered down his spine. Amidst the clamour of the crowd, he heard only her breathing. Through the radiance of sunshine and the glitter of a thousand reflections, he saw only the darkness of her pupils. Isak’s head began to throb as though it had been suddenly plunged into icy water.
‘My Lord?’ Tila’s voice cut through the fog, startling Isak enough for him to break from the hypnotising stare. Seeing his alarm, Tila reached out and laid a hand on his arm. The touch brought him back to reality.
‘I’m fine,’ he said to Tila reassuringly, then, turning to the king, ‘Emin, who is the woman sitting over there?’ The king made no sign that he had noticed Isak’s public informality. He followed Isak’s gaze.
That’s Duchess Forell,’ he said, a questioning look on his face.
‘No, I meant the woman behind her, the one with her head still covered.’
‘I’m not sure. I think I’ve spotted all the titled women of the White Circle, so she cannot be particularly-unless that is Ostia.’
‘Ostia?’
‘A name I’ve heard - nothing more, unfortunately. Maybe her name is some kind of pun, that she’s come from the east, but it’s so obviously bad that it must have a greater significance. Why?’
‘She keeps her face almost entirely covered, and she’s not moved since they arrived. Some of the women have been sent off to fetch or deliver messages, I’d guess, and they’re all dripping in jewels and thus I’d assumed titled - but she, who looks like a commoner, just sits without even speaking.’
‘A good observation,’ the king said. ‘Can you tell if she’s a mage?’
Isak shrugged. ‘There’s something strange about her, I know that much.’
The king sat back and whispered in Coran’s ear. The man nodded and moved off up the tiers as Isak returned his attention to the impending joust, which was just about to start.
The two knights cantered past each other, saluting each other with their lances. Sir Bohv’s visor was raised and he offered the count a smile too. Vesna gave a twitch of the helm in reply, but the roaring lion decoration made that appear less than friendly. As they reached opposite ends of the fence, Sir Bohv flicked his visor down and both men yanked their steeds about, kicking their spurs in hard. The crowd collectively drew in breath until the two men met and a massive cheer raced around the stands. Both men hit: Vesna’s lance glanced off Sir Bohv’s shield; the knight’s scarlet shaft shattered against the count’s shoulder-plate.
The second pass was more decisive. Sir Bohv, saluting with his new lance, was greeted with a roar of applause from the public stand. He trotted round to see Vesna standing high in his stirrups and ready to come again, and off they both charged. The Farlan hero kept himself high until Sir Bohv had almost reached him, then dropped down to present as small a target as possible.
Sir Bohv had expected the change in position, a standard ploy, and lowered his lance to match it, but at the very last instant, Vesna threw his body as far forward over his horse’s neck as he could, bracing his shield against his body. The lance slid over the surface and away - but Vesna’s, with a terrific crash, slammed into Sir Bohv’s gut and threw him straight out of the saddle. Commoners and nobles alike all leapt to their feet, bellowing, clapping, screaming and stamping.
Isak’s fist tightened at the dull thump of Sir Bohv hitting the ground. His nerves were on edge already and the jousting was just another reminder of the imminent combat. Though his friend’s victory paled when compared to that, he stirred his massive hands to join Emin’s applause.
‘Excellent strike,’ the king murmured.
Vesna reined to a halt and wheeled his beast in a tight circle, holding the lance aloft to acknowledge the crowd before urging his horse over to the knight’s prone form. A tirade of obscenities made it clear the injury was not mortal and the crowd cheered again as Sir Bohv was helped up, clutching his ribs, to congratulate the victor.
The count looked less than friendly a little later as he was forced to watch the Sunbee swagger over to the royal box and request Tila’s favour. She made no reply, but held out the white scarf for a page to tie around the man’s golden-shining arm. In the bright sunlight it was hardly noticeable against the fantastic armour, but as Vesna stroked the red scarf on his own wrist, he could see nothing else. Tila’s impassive face went unnoticed, as did Emin’s satisfied smile.
The Kingsguard champion had won his own first bout of the day easily. His opponent, a noble of similar age, picked himself out of the dirt and stiffly bowed to the golden knight. With the formality over he turned and departed without a second glance.
They were childhood friends,’ explained the king. They grew up as neighbours, but one took the gold, the other the scarlet. Now they cannot even shake hands. But we have more important matters to discuss than the sad realities of life. After the final joust, I will announce the duel is to take place. I expect Jex to find some dramatic moment then to signal the attack.
The Kingsguard are spread all around. We have a third of our men in the arena itself, dressed as watchmen, tradesmen and servants. The others are in small groups, running stalls or just milling about. The mercenaries are further away - close, but not sufficiently so that they will attract the attention of any alert watchman.’
‘So your men will intercept Jex’s mercenaries. Even if there are too many of them it will disrupt the attack and let us fight our way out.’
‘Exactly. But remember: our sole aim is to get to the palace and survive the night. They have enough mages that we must take any opportunities that might come up; we must not linger for anyone. I have a man with orders to break the hinges of the gate so that Count Vesna has a chance to fight his way out. As for you, Lord Isak, my mages will protect you as well as they can at the beginning, ready to counteract any magic used against the royal box, but it will not last long because I’m not staying to fight. I suggest you do the same. You are the best fighter on this field, so let Marshal Carelfolden and Mihn bring Lady Tila in your wake. If you reach the city gates and they are half-closed, do not worry. Even if the daemon is released, it will let you pass.’
Even now Isak’s curiosity overrode the urgency of the situation. ‘Why wouldn’t the daemon attack us?’ he asked.
The covenant that binds the daemon protects the gatekeepers by causing the daemon to actively fear them,’ he said. ‘Simply put, the principle of counteraction means the more it fears our people, the stronger it will be against anyone it doesn’t fear.’
‘But we’re not gatekeepers,’ Isak objected. The last thing he needed was to have to fight daemons as well as Jex’s mercenaries.
‘No, but you have been touched by your God, and the daemon can sense this. That’s what it fears. As
Chosen of Nartis, your contact with the divine has been stronger even than those ordained as priests.’
Isak looked up at Mihn. The small man opened his hands in a half-shrug. He had no objection against the king’s logic.
‘What about your reinforcements?’
‘On their way. I cannot risk their arrival until the White Circle mages are fully committed. Duchess Forell is a rich and powerful woman, but she’s not much of an opponent. There must be someone else behind this. The White Circle is a group that rewards success and this is their boldest venture. Their leaders will be here somewhere, to claim the prize when it’s won.’
‘That woman, Ostia?’ Isak asked.
‘Perhaps.’ Emin said no more. Instead he busied himself with a loose thread on his coat where one of the red-lacquered buttons on his oversized cuffs had snagged and torn off. As he picked off the broken thread and brushed it to the ground, there was a metallic sound that caught Isak’s attention. A lavish exterior, something sharp underneath: King Emin was beginning to be almost predictable.
They talked of inconsequential things as they picked at food, and drank watered wine for the sake of appearances. Isak tapped a finger on Eolis as he wondered how he himself would have organised the coming attack. Beside him, Mihn looked as though he had a slight humpback, where Isak’s shield was hidden beneath a long cloak. The king’s mages would be little use against a crossbow, and Isak couldn’t wear Siulents’ larger plates without being obviously ready for battle.
Isak let his eyes drift over the crowd. High in the far stand he saw the Devoted major, sitting alone and scrutinising the royal box. When Isak met his eye, the man nodded slowly and deliberately and though Isak made no gesture back, the major appeared satisfied, for he rose, wrapped his plain brown cloak about his body, and quietly departed.
******
A cheer broke from the crowd as the king’s herald stood. Vesna pushed himself to his feet and strode purposefully towards his horse. He ran a hand over the horse’s jousting armour, tugging at straps and the saddle until he was satisfied that all was in order.
Resting his arms on the worn saddle, he looked down the jousting fence to where the Sunbee was being helped to his feet. Once upright, the cocky youth took a turn before the public stand, waving to an adoring public with Tila’s scarf fluttering from his arm. Vesna looked down at his own favour, touching the red silk, then looked to the royal box, where he locked eyes with Tila. Her steady gaze told Vesna that she’d been given no choice, and he accepted that - but he still intended to teach the boy a lesson.
Once he was in the saddle, Vesna’s eyes didn’t leave the golden knight for an instant. The first pass decided nothing. Both lances glanced off their targets without troubling the riders. On the second, the Sunbee came close to unseating his opponent as his lance exploded in a shower of splinters on Vesna’s shield. The count was rocked back in his seat, but he had years of experience behind him and managed to keep his seat - although he was pretty sure that if they had not been using tourney lances, Vesna would have found himself lying in the mud with a shattered shoulder.
As the Kingsguard champion waited for a second lance, Vesna studied the ground carefully and carefully guided his horse a little further away from the rough fence separating the clashing riders. The Sunbee took a moment to collect a few last cheers from the gallery behind and then snatched his lance from the air as his page tossed it up.
Vesna smiled. The boy was undeniably good, but he was careless when it came to watching his opponent. In a contest of narrow margins, victory was in the details. His horse responded perfectly to his touch, sprinting forward to close the ground faster than normal, and the younger man wasn’t able to react in time. Vesna felt only a glancing impact on his shield as he watched the padded tip of his own lance slam squarely into the Sunbee’s midriff.
Screams and cheers erupted all around as the Kingsguard champion was catapulted over his horse’s rump. The pandemonium made Isak reach for his sword, even as he rose to cheer the victory. The foreigner might have triumphed, but still the people gave him thunderous applause. Raising his lance high above his head, Vesna turned and saluted each section of the crowd individually before trotting to the centre of the arena and formally saluting Isak and the king.
That done, Vesna dismounted and hurried over to where his opponent was lying flat on his back. The king’s doctor was kneeling at the man’s side, but as the count reached them he took the ashen-faced Sunbee by the elbow and gently helped him up. His wrist was broken and his pride bruised quite as much as his stomach, but he had the good grace to shakily offer the white scarf Tila had given him.
Vesna laughed and clapped the man on the shoulder, his black mood dispersed. ‘Don’t worry, boy, you’ll mend soon enough,’ he said cheerily. ‘It’ll remind you to pay more attention to your opponent next time.’ He turned his attention back to the adoring crowd, who seemed completely indifferent to the fact that their own champion had been humbled, and by a foreigner at that. Even the noblemen and the well-to-do townsfolk clapped and threw flowers at Vesna’s feet.
They only began to quieten when the king’s herald rose from his seat. Isak noticed the White Circle looked unmoved by the swell of sentiment. Sitting at their heart, Herolen Jex was eyeing the Parian hero intently.
‘Your Majesty, my Lords, Ladies, gentlefolk,’ cried the king’s herald, rising from his seat, but he was cut off by the king, who touched the man on the shoulder. He jerked around in surprise as the king gestured for him to sit.
King Emin moved forward and began, ‘My fellow citizens of Narkang,’ pausing as a fresh cheer came from the public gallery, for the king was well loved by the common folk; for the prosperity he’d brought to the city and the pride he’d given them in it and themselves. Narkang had been little more than a town when Emin Thonal took control - and now the Krann of the Farlan, the Chosen of Nartis, came begging for their friendship. It was easy to cheer the handsome king whose genius had been proven on the battlefield, a man who never shirked the danger of his own bold schemes.
The king looked around at his subjects, basking in their enthusiasm for a few more seconds before raising a hand to calm them. ‘Since this Parian rogue has badly inconvenienced my purse, I do not find myself much inclined to let him catch his breath. There is an extant matter of honour between Count Vesna and Herolen Jex - it will be decided here and now by knightly combat.’
All heads turned to the opposite stand, where Herolen Jex was lounging in his seat, sipping from a tall silver goblet. He made no reply, but watched Vesna as he collected his blade from a page and strapped it on. The count remounted and stood ready.
‘I thought the melee was still to come,’ Jex replied at last, pausing for long enough to make it insulting before adding, ‘your Majesty.’ His voice was deep; more measured than Isak had expected from a pirate. A sharp intake of breath ran around the pavilion.
‘It was, Master Jex, but I have changed my mind. I believe I have that right since I am king and this is my kingdom.’ His voice had become significantly sterner.
All about the arena people gripped their seats and looked anxiously at the Kingsguard below, but the soldiers didn’t move. Jex appeared to consider the king’s words, then shrugged and tossed his goblet away. Standing, he let his cape fall back to a flash of fantastic colours as the sun hit his armour. The cuirass, shoulder plates and mail had been etched into a pattern of scales that glittered blue and green in the sun; it looked like a reptilian second skin, as arresting and ornate in its own way as the Sunbee’s dazzling gold-plate. The pirate straightened his sword-belt and then raised his helm to place it on his head. ‘In that case, your Majesty, I think I will amend that small detail.’ Jex gave a dismissive flick of his hand and a woman screamed on his right.
Out of the corner of one eye Isak caught sight of a man levelling a crossbow. As the assassin fired, Mihn dived in front of his lord with his shield raised, while Coran, moving even faster, brought up a large rectangular
shield from behind the throne. His huge arm shuddered as a pair of loud thwacks echoed out.
Isak watched the moment of realisation on Coran’s face as he focused on the steel bolts in front of him; one was only a whisker from his eye, having almost passed clean through the steel plate. There was a moment of perfect silence, then chaos erupted everywhere.
Eolis leapt joyfully into the sunlight. As Isak pulled on his helm he felt a growl rumble up from his gut. Now was the time for bloody murder. He cast off his humanity and replaced it with a cold silver face. Magic ripped through the air from all sides as people scattered and ran or drew weapons. Bursts of light flared around the royal box as Emin’s mages defended them, giving them time to retreat - but already Isak was preparing to attack: his fingertips were prickling with rushing energies.
Through the thin eyeholes of his helm, Isak could see people moving like leaves in the wind. He sensed where the first attack would come from, even before the man rose from nowhere to swat aside the nearest Kingsguard with a mace. The bulky mercenary laughed as the soldier crashed down and, wiping the blood from his face, he raised his weapon high to call his men to him. Isak leaped over the rail separating them and on to the lower platform where the mercenary stood triumphant. He stabbed Eolis down into the man’s throat, then kicked the corpse away and waited for the next man to come at him.
‘Isak,’ bellowed Carel from behind him, ‘we’re leaving! Get back up here!’
The soldier beside Isak started to step up to the royal box, then his downed comrade gave a cry of pain and he stopped to help the man. Isak reached down and picked up the wounded man, passed out from the pain of his shattered shoulder, and passed him up to Carel. The other Kingsguard scrambled up beside him.
Carel breathed a sigh of relief as Isak reached up to return to the royal box, but as his fingers touched the rail, the white-eye felt a sudden weight hit his shoulders. Carel’s face changed to a picture of alarm as Isak sagged, then slammed forward into the frame of the stand. He remained pinned there, with his head and shoulders over the edge at Carel’s feet, but when Carel reached down to grip Isak by the shoulder, he burned his fingertips as he touched Siulents.
