Won't Back Down: Won't Back Down

by Unknown

  When Ozwyn charged forward and saw what he was actually doing, his fury increased tenfold. "Renulf!" he shouted, so loudly Renulf feared the ceiling would cave in on them. "Stop at once! I forbid you to keep working on that scroll!"

  "You are in no position to forbid him anything!" Bazel said, raising his sword. Ozwyn looked down as the point drew level with his chest. He did not seem in the least frightened, nor did he raise his walking stick in his own defense. Renulf marveled at such misplaced courage—or perhaps pure foolhardiness was a better description.

  "You think I am a weak old man with no way to fight against you," Ozwyn said. His narrow lips quivered in an angry smile. "I look forward to showing you just how wrong you are."

  "I have no wish to harm you," Bazel replied in an even, patient tone. "Such would not be an act of honor, and I consider myself an honorable man. However, my need for Renulf's skill is more pressing than yours. The survival of my fiefdom and my king's dynasty depend upon it."

  "Do not complete that translation, Renulf! I order you!"

  "I already have," Renulf said, standing with the new scroll in his hand. Bazel reached out and opened his fingers.

  "Do you realize what you've done?" Ozwyn cried. This time, his anger seemed mixed with genuine distress. "What kind of power you have put in this man's unworthy hands?"

  "But Master, what do you mean? I caused no harm to anyone. All I did was translate a book!"

  "Not just any book! Didn't you understand what that book said?"

  "It seemed a collection of poetry. Most of it didn't make sense. I don't think I was translating it properly."

  Ozwyn covered his face with his left palm and moaned. His right hand, still holding the stick, sagged at his side. "You have no idea what you have done."

  "Tell me, then, Master. You're quite right—I do not understand!"

  "That is because you do not understand the nature of Xir."

  "He is everything—all around us. So you have always told me."

  "I must confess I tempered the truth so that it would be easier for you and the other acolytes to understand. They did not even try, obviously. But you I had hopes for. The fact is, Renulf, Xir is not around us. He is under us." He stomped his feet. "He is in the ground."

  "The earth," Bazel said, glancing down at the new translations and then up at Ozwyn again. "Beneath the mud and rock."

  "Give that to me!" Starting forward, Ozwyn leaped across the room and grabbed for the manuscript in Bazel's hand. Bazel lifted it easily out of Ozwyn's reach and raised his sword again in a defensive stance.

  "What is going on?" Renulf asked.

  "I suspect you are about to experience the power—and perhaps the protection—of Xir firsthand," Bazel said. "Ozwyn has misled you all these years. Xir is not a spirit, or a breeze, or a way of life. He is a powerful beast—one we can use to our own advantage thanks to the information in that scroll. The aelfyn understood him. He was the last of his kind, and he protected them as best he could. When the world changed and they were no longer willing to care for him, he left their society to collapse under its own corruption."

  "The scrolls told us of such corruption, yes," Renulf said, nodding. The poetry he had spent so long puzzling over began to make sense. It had not been metaphorical at all—merely described in the ornate language of another era. The powerful beast was no flying machine built by aelfyn, but simply that—a beast. "Are you saying a beast called Xir is hiding here, beneath the sanctuary?"

  "Yes. He sought refuge here, in what became a sanctuary dedicated not to his memory but to keeping him alive and safe, ready to use when the right time arrived. I believe Ozwyn knows that very well."

  "One day, the aelfyn will rebuild their kingdom," Ozwyn shouted. "That is when Xir will return! Not before! His protection is intended for the aelfyn only—not for pretenders like Lord Bazel's people. Let the Garwig finish them off, I say; then it will be but a matter of time before the Garwigs do themselves in, with their bloodthirsty ways and lack of respect for knowledge and beauty. Only then can the aelfyn rise again … and Xir with them." His lips parted in a wide, toothsome smile that made Renulf shiver. "And there are aelfyn left, milord … never doubt that. They are all around us, hidden in places your kind will never discover them … waiting."

  His gnarled fingers tightened on his walking stick. Was he really prepared to swing that pathetic implement against Bazel's powerful steel sword? Renulf could hardly believe he would be so reckless. But then, desperation caused unexpected actions in some men. The stories he had read in the scriptorium had taught him that much.

  "I do not doubt it, in fact," Bazel answered. "Renulf is one of them. He did not come to you as a lost beggar—he was brought here, to you, by other aelfyn for the purpose of maintaining this sanctuary and keeping Xir safe. Over the years you made sure he remembered only what you wanted him to."

  "He knew the aelfyn tongue when he came to me," Ozwyn said. "That is all he needed to know. The rest I could teach him—or unteach him, as the case may be. He was young and very impressionable, as he still is. You know that better than anyone."

  "You also taught him to play the pipe, did you not? But not just any music. I believe that a special spell was needed to keep Xir slumbering. The same song every evening." He turned to Renulf. "We will wake him—by playing the tune upside down, just as the scroll instructs us. Backward, in other words."

  "That is enough! I will never allow it!" Ozwyn snarled. "The time of the aelfyn—and of Xir—is not upon us yet. It cannot come until your kind and the Gariwgs alike pose no further threat to us. Alas, you would not go when I asked you to. Now I must dispatch you myself, Lord Bazel."

  Slowly, with an air of ceremony Renulf could tell he was enjoying, Ozwyn eased back his hood. For the first time, the coarse folds of cloth fell back and exposed his entire face. As Renulf and Bazel watched, speechless, Ozwyn's his wizened old features transformed into those of a young, strong-jawed and steely-gazed man. The blazing silver of his eyes, far more startling than the color of Renulf's, showed that he, too, was aelfyn.

  At the same time, his floor-length robe shimmered and hardened into a full suit of gleaming white armor, and his walking stick transformed into a glowing metal sword. Its edges flashed deadly sharp as he swung it through the air a few times to test its weight. Then he struck out at Bazel.

  Howling out a battle cry, Bazel raised his own weapon and charged full-force into the path of Ozwyn's slice. Their swords met with a loud, metallic clang, and from there the duel progressed quickly and ferociously. While they fought, Renulf gathered up the parchments Bazel had dropped and clutched them protectively against his chest. He sought refuge at the back of the room as the battle destroyed nearly every piece of furniture in it and left deep hack-marks in the walls.

  "Your pipe," Bazel shouted while their swords continued to clash. "Fetch it and go to the courtyard! We can wake Xir if you play the tune backward!"

  Taking the scroll and parchments with him, Renulf ran. Plunging through the broken door to his room, he deposited the parchments on the bed and grabbed his pipe from a small table in the corner. Next, he ran to the courtyard. He reached it just as Ozwyn and Bazel burst from the sanctuary, still slashing furiously at each other. His heart froze when he saw blood dripping down Bazel's right arm. Any moment he might weaken, and Ozwyn would gain the advantage.

  In the center of the courtyard, Renulf raised his pipe to his lips and collected himself. At first, his mind seemed to be racing too quickly to allow him to play anything, much less backward. Yet after he had taken a few deep breaths and closed his eyes, the way became perfectly clear to him. He knew the tune so well. Playing it backward—or upside down, as the scroll had playfully called the technique—would surely present no difficulty.

  Pursing his lips, he began to play. The clash of Bazel and Ozwyn's swords just behind him created an odd sort of percussion to accompany the tune. After only a few notes, the ground beneath his feet started to shake.

&nb
sp; SIX

  As Renulf watched, thunderstruck, the smooth rock tiles around him slanted upward from the ground and crumbled into gravel. What looked like plant shoots burst through the soil next, but soon he realized that they were really the dorsal spines of some enormous creature. Its vast, leather-like wings popped free next. Soon a gigantic head thrust itself upward, spraying sand and rocks everywhere.

  Through it all, Renulf kept playing.

  On the steps of the sanctuary, Bazel pushed Ozwyn back with the flat of his sword. "You may stop fighting me now. It's too late for you to prevent me from accomplishing what I came to do."

  With a devastated expression, Ozwyn held up his hands in surrender. While Bazel and Renulf watched, his youth and armor blurred and faded, once again leaving him an old man in a coarse brown cowl. With an abrupt gesture, he raised his hood to cover the upper part of his face.

  The three of them turned to stare at the creature Renulf's music had stirred to life. Its otherworldly beauty was no less than spellbinding. Its long, undulating back rippled with shimmering white scales while its broad wings stretched silver and graceful into the morning air. Huge green-flecked eyes glistened as it opened its mouth and gave a long ululation. When Renulf at last stopped playing, it lay on the ground, blinking at them.

  "This, I take it, is Xir himself," Bazel said, lowering his sword as he stepped cautiously into the courtyard. "You should be happy, Ozwyn—after spending a lifetime in his service, you at last get to gaze upon him directly. That is an honor few of his followers have ever enjoyed."

  Ozwyn bared his teeth in a grimace. "You are making a mistake you will always regret, Lord Bazel. Xir protects aelfyn—not your kind."

  "I doubt that. Xir will help us fight off the Garwigs. It was selfish of you to keep him to yourself. The civilized world needs him." Gingerly, Bazel extended his hand, palm upward, toward Xir's flared nostrils. Renulf held his breath. Each of those nostrils was as big as a knight's shield, and his mouth was large enough to devour Bazel in a single bite. Yet Xir lay quietly and accepted the gentle strokes of Bazel's palms. "Ozwyn, hear me out. I have no desire to rob you of your life's purpose. Come back to my castle with me—both of you. You can tend to Xir there."

  "No. This is my home. I will find others to stay here with me. You will have Renulf to assist you with Xir's care. That will have to suffice."

  "Ozwyn, please," Renulf said. How many times had he longed to be free of Ozwyn's authority? Yet now that the moment was upon him, he was filled with sorrow and even regret.

  "Do not ask me again." Ozwyn waved one hand in the air. "Go with your new master. You have chosen."

  Xir snorted, apparently perturbed that Bazel had paused in his attentions. Grinning, Bazel motioned to Renulf, who also approached Xir and rubbed his forehead gently. Bazel took Renulf's free hand in his.

  "Xir will protect us well," Bazel said. "I knew the scroll would show us the way to defeat the Garwigs." He glanced back at Ozwyn, who suddenly seemed very old and bent as he leaned against his walking stick. Either the use of magic had exhausted him, or his grief at losing his old way of life had grown too much for him. Renulf sensed that Bazel shared his pity. "When I have reached my own kingdom, I will send some youths here to help rebuild both your sanctuary and your order. You will go on copying books, growing produce, and living a life of scholarship if that is your wish. You can still do much good in this world. You simply need a few assistants."

  "I prefer Renulf alone to any parcel of young miscreants you would send me."

  "Yet I think Renulf prefers to come with me. Would you not, Renulf? This time, the choice is yours."

  "Yes," Renulf whispered. He swallowed back his guilt. "I feel my place is with you now—and with Xir. Did you not always tell me that I was born to serve Xir, Master? This is my chance to do so."

  "Go, then," Ozwyn groused. "I will get along well enough."

  "I promise you he will," said Bazel. He gave Renulf's hand a squeeze. "I will send the young men to him as soon as we can find suitable recruits. Let us prepare to return to my kingdom now. It's still foggy after the rain and cloudy enough that no one will see or disturb us on our journey."

  Renulf blinked at him. "We are to go on foot?"

  "Of course not; Xir will take us. Speak to him in aelfyn—he understands."

  Though he felt a bit silly, Renulf tried it, politely asking if it were true that one could travel through the air with Xir's assistance. In response, Xir seemed to nod, his huge tongue rolling out to lick the front of Renulf's tunic. He pulled back, startled at first, and then laughed in wonder.

  "Go and gather our things together," Bazel told him. "Be sure to take the scroll and your translation. I will remain here and make sure your former master does not forget either his manners or his place."

  "I shall do so directly." Renulf nodded and dashed inside the sanctuary.

  Renulf hastily gathered his own meager possessions and then Bazel's, including the rest of his armor and the contents of his traveling satchel. It took him three trips to the courtyard to bring it all out. Ozwyn glared at them but said nothing as they attached the bags to their own backs and then climbed onto Xir, carefully avoiding the spines that bristled on either side of his enormous wings.

  "Tell him we must travel north, over the trees and past the river, until we come to a fine castle on a green hill," Bazel said. "There the three of us will spend a long, happy life once we defeat the Garwigs."

  Leaning down, Renulf did so. Xir listened, nodded again, and began to flap his wings. Renulf gasped as the powerful movements gradually lifted them into the cool morning air. Half-frightened and half-amazed, he clung to Bazel's waist as Xir soared over the sanctuary and the thicket of lush green trees beyond. Renulf could see now how hidden communities of aelfyn might very well thrive deep in those large forests. Were his own parents still alive down there somewhere? It saddened him that he would never know, but he did not intend to worry about what could have been. His life had a different and much greater purpose now.

  When they passed over the village, he marveled at the people bustling around far beneath them. They looked no larger than the dolls and toy soldiers he had seen children playing with when he'd gone there for supplies. How different everything looked from this perspective!

  "They cannot see us?" he asked Bazel nervously. They were not so high up that arrows shot by a master archer could not reach them, he feared.

  Bazel shook his head. "We were lucky to have rain last night. The thick mist will shield us from their eyes, especially since Xir is almost the same color. It will be different when we reach my kingdom, though. We want them to see and admire us. Their looks of wonder shall be a sight to behold."

  "I shall look forward to that." Renulf paused as a sudden thought struck him. "Milord … have you a scriptorium? I expect much of my time will be taken up with caring for Xir … but over the years I have developed a certain fondness for books."

  "My castle contains a fine library, and that of my king is even finer. You shall be free to visit either one any time you like. In addition, I hope you will agree to act as my private scribe. The current one is competent enough, but he is old and will welcome retirement. By day, you will keep records of our triumphs against the Garwigs. My hope is that you will soon record how I saved the kingdom and its treasures. By night …"

  "Yes?"

  "By night you shall be my consort. Share my bed, my life … and our duty toward Xir." He patted the beast's sturdy, muscle-corded back as it flexed beneath them. "I hope that sounds appealing to you. What do you say?"

  Renulf nearly wept with happiness. "I hardly know what to say, my lord … except yes!"

  Tightening his legs around Xir, Bazel turned just enough to draw Renulf close. His strong arms pulled him close as his lips came down to kiss him fervently. Either not noticing or caring what his passengers were up to, Xir swept on, skimming the clouds with happy abandon.

  Just ahead of them, far above the endless expanse of
green forest, the sun began to push through the clouds, pointing the way to the future.

  ROUND SIX

  FIGHT TO THE FINISH

  DIANA SHERIDAN

  For Jade Astor,

  Good writer, good friend

  Maltroos was polishing his foil-like sword till it sparkled. Not because it was any more lethal in that condition, but because he knew the glint of its metal in the sunshine of the arena made for a better show for King Fregou and the assembled members of the populace. He was proud to be one of the king's pledgers, so called because they pledged their lives to fighting to amuse the king.

  He was scheduled to fight against Vandrume at four o'clock that afternoon. Maltroos hoped Prince Saxtry would be in the arena watching the battle. He loved showing off for his beloved—although none but Maltroos, Saxtry, and Maltroos's best friend and confidant, Cartimmar, knew that Saxtry and Maltroos were enamored of each other. It would be a scandal throughout the kingdom of Forstwick if it were known that the prince was involved with a lowly pledger. Such matches were definitely not countenanced. Romantic liaisons were expected to be, if not between equals, then at least between near-equals. There was no equality between a prince and a pledger.

  Cartimmar came into the Maltroos's quarters as he sat polishing his thin but deadly sword. "Have you heard the rumors, my friend?" he asked without preamble. Cartimmar was a pledger himself and bore a jagged scar across his cheek that he wore proudly.

  Maltroos looked up and put down the soft cloth he had been using. "No. What rumors?"

  "There is to be some kind of announcement this afternoon in the arena before the start of your fight with Vandrume. Something about a big competition with a big prize. I hope it is gold and silver and diamonds and emeralds and rubies, and I hope I win it all. But if not, then I hope you do."

  "Is it to be a competition for us pledgers, then?" Maltroos asked.

  "That is what I have been led to believe," Cartimmar answered.