Please, Elenn prayed, let Aedin live.
As he pulled the scabbard from his falcata and tossed it aside, Corvus blocked out the noise of the crowd and focused on the familiar crunch of sand under his booted feet. Having fought in this circle countless times, he knew every square inch of this pit, including the origins of many of the bloodstains on its stone walls. Today, though, he felt something new and strange: doubt.
It was not his opponent that troubled him. True, the man was younger. And he wielded a Ghellish great sword (although its longer reach would be of limited benefit in the confines of the pit). Balanced against those dubious advantages were three distinct handicaps. First, he wore only a bullhide targe and a leather plait-jack, far inferior to Corvus’s own scale armor. Second, he carried himself like a man recovering from a recent wound.
Third, and most importantly, the ruffian kept glancing up at Elenn—love written plainly on his face as well as hers. His feelings were understandable. She was a remarkable creature; Corvus himself found her fascinating. But he never let his emotions dictate his actions, no matter what Strabus said. A man who let love control him was easily mastered by others.
“Champions!” called Strabus, standing above them. “Are you ready?”
Elenn’s man, Aedin, gave Strabus and the Procurator a cursory salute with his sword before saluting Elenn as smartly as if she were the Emperor himself. A gallant gesture, but it meant taking his eyes off his opponent.
Wasting no time, Corvus rushed in to attack. Thrusting expertly at his opponent’s unprotected right side, he was disappointed at the younger man’s slow and clumsy riposte. If this was the best he could do, defeating him would be child’s play.
Maneuvering so that he could see Elenn over his opponent’s shoulder, Corvus saw her going pale. Her champion was completely outclassed, which meant her own death as well. Most people in her position would be thinking of nothing but their own impending demise, but Corvus wagered that she was thinking of this poor fool instead. Truly, an exceptional woman.
Unfortunately, as soon as the duel was over, she would be executed. Such a waste! The girl could be an invaluable resource to the Empire. Was Strabus truly unable to see it? Corvus lashed out with a series of serpentine strikes at his hapless opponent, irritated that he couldn’t deal with his true adversary so easily.
The ruffian now fought half-sword style, with one hand below the hilt and one above it on the ricasso, the unsharpened base of the blade. Gripping the great sword like a spear, he advanced, trying to pin Corvus against the wall.
It was a valiant attempt, but, after a few parries, Corvus slipped away. He could have finished the fight there and then, but why not stretch it out and annoy Strabus? Petty, perhaps, but at this point there was little else he could do to disturb the Imperator’s plans.
Using his own small shield to protect him, Corvus slid along the length of the great sword to deliver a quick jab at his opponent’s left shoulder, the heavy tip of the falcata slicing through the leather of the plait-jack. The younger man winced as he brought his sword around to swat ineffectively at Corvus, already dancing away.
“First blood,” murmured Corvus, circling.
“Last you’ll get from me,” said Aedin, shifting his feet.
Magister Corvus smiled at his pluck. He was certainly putting on a brave show—not that it would do him much good in the end.
Corvus feinted high and to the left, and when his foe took the bait, he slipped around his guard to the right, slashing at Aedin’s exposed right leg. He jumped back, but Corvus pressed the attack, relentlessly stabbing and slashing with his heavy, sickle-curved blade. The legionaries all jeered at the ruffian’s ineptitude, but Elenn called out encouragement to her champion.
“It’s just a scratch,” she said. “Nothing to slow down a demon-slayer!”
Aedin smiled and stood a little taller, a little straighter. He renewed his attack with greater vigor and determination.
No one else took note of the girl’s words, but they gave Corvus pause. Had this ruffian slain a Naihman? One of them had been lost while hunting Elenn, and this Aedin named himself her protector. It was possible.
He suffered a second surprise as he watched the blood stop flowing from the cut in his opponent’s shoulder. There was only one explanation. Either by instinct or by accident, the girl had performed a charm. Corvus had seen conjurors struggle for decades without being able to sway men’s minds, much less alter the physical world as she just had.
It was a sickening shame that she had to die. A tragedy. A sin. All his life, he had labored to dig up the mysteries and secrets lost to other men, to become one with the unseen forces that transcended this shabby mortal world. And now the Paladin stood before him—power unimaginable, in the flesh. It had been his destiny to find her, to unlock her full potential. Could he now allow her to be destroyed, even to preserve his own life?
And there it was—the thought he had been trying to push down since the instant that Strabus had ordered him to be the Empire’s champion. The Imperator’s schemes were built on the assumption that Corvus would fight to survive, as any rational man would. But what if he didn’t?
Death was not the end of all things. It was a belief so common that many learned men dismissed it. Corvus, on the other hand, had looked for proof—and found it in the teachings of Yaltese shamans and the writings of Volusus, the Vitalion Legate and scholar who had summoned the dragon twenty years ago on Drumney beach. With years of careful study, he had prepared diligently to enter the world of spirits, knowing that that day would surely come.
Was that day today? Was the life of the Paladin worth more than his own? How sure was he of his own ability to escape the endless cold silence of the grave?
As he danced through practiced sword forms, fending off his enemy’s ham-fisted attacks, he contemplated the unthinkable choice. Death for himself, or the destruction of the most precious artifact he had ever encountered. Neither option was acceptable.
Corvus cursed, and circled around his opponent, searching in vain for a way out of his conundrum.
***
Chapter Thirty-Four
Her heart pounding, Elenn watched Aedin and Corvus clash in the dueling pit, their swords ringing out a deadly song. She didn’t know if Aedin could hear her whispered charms, but they seemed to be helping, so Elenn kept her fingers twisted into the Leodrine gesture of blessing and protection.
To her left were the two Vitalion officials, Imperator Strabus and the Procurator from Anondea, Puponius. They chatted idly, neither one seeming very interested in the outcome of the fight. What could so interest them that they would ignore this life and death struggle? Were they just that jaded?
Elenn tried to listen in, but they spoke in Vitalae and she could only catch about half of the words. She wished she had her aunt Ethelind’s gift for languages, so that she could follow their conversation.
The clash of swords brought her attention back to the fight. Aedin was staying near the wall of the pit, clearly on the defensive.
“Keep running, boy,” said Corvus, stalking after him, “but there’s nowhere for you to hide here.”
“That’s what your mother said to your father on their wedding night,” Aedin threw back.
Corvus merely laughed and ran at Aedin again, throwing kicks in with his sword thrusts. Somehow he slipped past Aedin’s great sword again and punched his small buckler shield into Aedin’s side, eliciting a cry of pain from Aedin’s gritted teeth.
“I didn’t expect such fervor from Corvus,” said Strabus. “He seemed quite taken with the girl.”
Surprised to have understood, Elenn glanced at the two Vitalion officials. Strabus had his back to her, but in his hands was a small case made of darkly polished Renonian oak which he was toying with. Although it was closed, Elenn knew somehow that the Falarica lay safely inside.
“She’s quite pretty,” said Puponius, who faced her. Elenn returned his smile and then turned away, trying to conceal
her comprehension.
“Still,” Puponius continued, “Survival is the stronger instinct. Without it, none of us would be here.”
“True,” said Strabus, “which makes the occasional deviations all the more fascinating.”
Puponius laughed. “Indeed. So, who is she?”
“Some Deiran witch,” said Strabus. “She had an old horn that Corvus was truly obsessed with. The Falarica, I believe he called it.” He opened the case and removed the lower half of the Falarica, holding it up and waving it for Puponius to see. Elenn’s stomach turned to see this sacred relic treated so casually. The Gods surely frowned on such sacrilege.
“Positively garish,” said Puponius, curling his lip in a sneer. “Still, it has a certain barbaric splendor. What is its purpose?”
“If I’m not mistaken,” said Strabus, “it has some significance to the Deiran kings.”
“When I was last in the Central Provinces,” Puponius mused, “I heard that the Emperor had been expressing an interest in royal artifacts of all sorts—even from quite backward cultures. I would think that the man who presents him with that horn would be well rewarded.”
Strabus tapped his chin with the Falarica absently before returning it to its case. “I am obliged to you for this information. I am now doubly glad for your presence here today.”
“I serve the Empire,” said Puponius, nodding humbly.
“As do we all,” said Strabus. “One way or another.” He smiled cruelly, gazing down on Corvus. Elenn wondered what he meant, but the two men fell silent as the duel reached its climax.
Sweat ran down Aedin’s forehead, blood dripped down his arm, and he limped. He had thought himself a fine swordsman and had dispatched his share of foes. But Corvus had an almost supernatural gift for being in the right place at the right time. And unlike Leif, who had just hacked like he was cutting wood, Corvus wielded the heavy, curved Vitalion blade as nimbly as any tailor’s needle.
Still, the long, punishing minutes of the duel had not left Corvus unscathed. His left arm hung useless at his side, and his small buckler shield lay in fragments on the sandy floor of the pit, shattered by a blow from the Ghellish great sword from Lilith’s cache.
“You call yourself a champion?” Corvus taunted. “You’re pathetic. Five minutes from now, your woman will be weeping fat, useless tears, promising noble Puponius anything he desires if he will only let her live.” One of the Vitalion officials standing at the lip of the pit laughed and clapped.
“Five days from now,” said Aedin grimly, “they’ll still be scrubbing you off these walls.” He rushed forward with a furious assault, this time managing to smash his elbow into Corvus’s face, breaking his nose.
Incredibly, Corvus smiled. “Not bad for a sheep thief,” he said. Then he kicked Aedin in the side and lashed out with even greater speed and ferocity.
The Scales above them all howled for blood, screaming for Corvus to finish him off. The two officials cried out for “Vitalion justice.” Aedin was beginning to wonder why he wasn’t dead yet. He knew now that Corvus was the better fighter. And although Lilith’s great sword was a fine weapon, in this small space it was more a hindrance than an advantage.
Corvus could have ended the duel more than once, but instead tormented him with painful flesh wounds, missing vital organs. Vocally, he continued to goad and antagonize Aedin, and then made small mistakes that left him vulnerable—which was how Aedin had broken his arm and his shield.
For all that, though, Corvus smiled. The longer the fight had gone on, the more exuberant he seemed. Aedin could not understand why. Unless, perhaps, Corvus wished to die.
“Time for this to be over, mud farmer,” said Corvus.
Holding his left arm close to his body, he ran at Aedin and unleashed a whirlwind attack with his one good arm and both legs. Every instinct told Aedin to pull away, but instead he stood fast and watched for his opportunity. Sure enough, with his shield arm broken, Corvus left himself open for attack—just for a moment.
In that moment, Aedin stepped into Corvus’s swing and smacked the Magister hard in the head with the pommel of his great sword. Corvus flew backward, dropping his weapon. Aedin advanced slowly, wondering if this was all some clever stratagem. But Corvus made no move for his sword.
The crowd above fell silent. Corvus struggled to his knees, smiling a bloody smile. “Go ahead, boy,” he whispered. “Death and birth are one.”
“Why?” Aedin said, stepping back.
“Not for you,” said Corvus quietly. “Not for some reprobate bandit from the North. For her.” His eyes darted toward Elenn. “For what she is. For what she can be.” He took a deep breath. “We cannot escape our destinies.” He closed his eyes.
Holding the great sword like a spear, Aedin ran Corvus through. His opponent gasped in pain, and then slid backward down the blade to rest on the ground.
The angry mutters of the soldiers were loud in Aedin’s ears, but he could not take his eyes off of Corvus. The Magister’s eyes fluttered open and he reached out with his right hand, beckoning for Aedin to come closer.
Aedin knelt on the sandy floor of the pit. Corvus stared up at him, his features twisted in pain, his right hand seizing Aedin’s own in a vicelike grip.
“It… must die,” Corvus croaked, “where it… was born.”
“It must die where it was born,” Aedin repeated, not understanding.
Corvus smiled. His eyes closed and he let go of Aedin’s hand.
Aedin stood. He looked up. The Scales all stared down at him murderously, but the two Vitalion officials looked pleased. With a conspiratorial exchange of glances, their smiles grew even broader.
“Well,” said the bigger of the two officials, the one who had identified himself as the Imperator, “I suppose the victor is to be congratulated.” He stroked his moustache and smiled. “Legionaries, congratulate this man. Perhaps a flogging or a fustuarium would be an appropriate way to celebrate. Then throw him to the dogs.”
“What? No!” Elenn cried out, shocked. “How can you do that? He won the trial by combat!”
“He won, yes,” said the big man with the moustache, nodding to Aedin. “And by the strength of arms, he has proved that you are not guilty of treason and sedition. But he himself is guilty of numerous crimes.”
“That’s a lie!” Aedin shouted. But of course it was true.
“It’s not fair!” cried Elenn. “He wouldn’t even be here except to defend me.”
“Deliciously tragic, isn’t it?” the second Vitalion official said.
“You named yourself Aedin Jeoris, did you not?” the Imperator asked. Aedin nodded dumbly, and the big man continued. “Approximately two weeks ago, you were captured in the act of banditry by one of our legions near Tay Barrows. You and three others bore two brands for previous acts of banditry and as such were subject to immediate execution.”
“Your attempt to hide these brands by wearing armor,” said the second Vitalion, “is another offense worthy of execution.”
“Quite right,” said the Imperator. “Now, after your capture, the legion commander sent you to Anondea for interrogation, but you escaped during the transfer, killing two cavalry auxiliaries and one innocent bystander. These also are capital crimes.”
“It was an accident!” Elenn cried.
“Hush,” said Aedin.
“Procurator Puponius has furnished a sworn statement from the legion commander. And I myself am in possession of another sworn statement from one of your accomplices, a man named Leif Maulduin. He also names you guilty of various other crimes, but this is irrelevant.”
“Blackguard!” cried Elenn. Aedin didn’t tell her to hush this time.
“Aedin Jeoris,” said the Imperator, “you have been tried in absentia and sentenced to death. May your gods have mercy on your soul. Guards, take this man into custody while I consider the most fitting method for his execution.”
As the Scales surrounding the pit all drew their swords, Aedin briefly cons
idered resisting, but it was futile. There were far too many soldiers, and he was too badly wounded.
There was no way out of this; there never had been. But if he could buy Elenn’s life with his own, it was a worthy purchase. Feeling a strange sense of comradeship with Corvus, Aedin shook his head and smiled.
“And for me?” demanded Elenn. “How will I be killed?”
“You, my dear,” said the Imperator, “are now a ward of the Empire, since you have no legal guardian. You will accordingly be placed in protective custody until you reach the age of inheritance—or until a man can prove himself able to assume the burden of your care by providing a worthy dowry.”
“On that note, friend Strabus,” said the Procurator, “you and I have much to discuss. Shall we continue this conversation somewhere more private?”
“Indeed,” said Imperator Strabus, stroking his moustache. “Sergeant, escort this minor to her chamber and ensure that she comes to no harm. She is now a ward of the Vitalion Empire.”
The two officials turned and walked away. Aedin knelt down in the bloody sand, cradling his injured arm, as the legionaries poured down the stone steps into the pit. He could not help but think of the little green flame-person Lilith had held in her hand, and the pitiful squeak that it had made when it was extinguished.
***
Chapter Thirty-Five
As the soldiers escorted her back to her dungeon cell, Elenn felt strangely calm. No—more than that, she had a song in her heart. She said a grateful prayer, thanking the Gods for sending Aedin to be her champion. It was only a matter of time now before she walked out of this castle. The thought made her so light and happy that she almost skipped.
She stifled a giggle, glancing at her escort to see if they had noticed. None of them were really looking at her. Perhaps something else was on their minds. Perhaps it just never occurred to them that a twenty year old girl could give six Vitalion soldiers any trouble.
After all, Elenn wasn’t physically strong enough to defeat them with violence. And that was the only kind of strength, the only kind of battle they understood. Other possibilities didn’t exist for them. She smiled, remembering what her Aunt Ethelind had said. Valor had its place; what she needed now was wisdom.
The Crown and the Dragon Page 26
