Path of Kings

by James Dale

  “Let me guess,” Jack sighed. “Both were competing anonymously?”

  “Exactly,” the general nodded. “White Hand was one. The Flame of Praetor was the other. Both won their matches yesterday. It looks like Kiathan, not knowing which anonymous swordsman might be your grace, has conspired to take them all from the field.”

  “I suppose there is no need to ask what you are discussing, general,” asked a tall, dark mercenary joining them. He took a seat uninvited. He had dark hair and eyes, and a hawk nose. Braedan recognized the man instantly as a Kadinar. He looked so familiar he could have been in Hamman Khan’s camp for all Jack knew.

  “Gentlemen,” Malik said, “allow me to introduce Captain Maadim Khalmiya, my Chief of Staff. Captain Khalmiya, everyone.”

  “Honor on the House of Khalmiya,” Braedan replied, standing to offer him his hand. The mercenary accepted it graciously, pleased at the customary greeting of his people. His eyes widened in shock when he recognized the gold signet ring on the third finger of Jack’s right hand. He fell to a knee to the surprise of all.

  “Forgive me great Prince,” he said, head bowed.

  “Please captain,” Jack said, helping him to his feet. “I am only adopted into the House of Khadda’Jhen.”

  “You wear the great ring,” Maadim replied. “I am yours to command.”

  “Then I command you to resume your seat and join us for breakfast,” Jack smiled.

  “Well, well,” Malik remarked. “Yet another title, Jack Braedan? And a Kadinar prince, no less?”

  “I was simply at the right place at the wrong time,” Braedan shrugged, resuming his seat.

  “My Lord Thonbor is humble to a fault,” Cyran informed them. “He saved the life of the youngest son of Mullah Khan.”

  “Ahh,” Malik nodded. “I had heard a rumors a foreigner had recently been granted Ahala Bid for saving a member of the royal family. So that was you as well? Extraordinary. Duke of Thonbor. Disinherited Knight. A Prince of Kadin? It is growing more crowded by the second. Should we move to a bigger table to make room for all your titles?” he smiled.

  “Shall I call you Great Prince?” Maadim asked, more impressed now than ever. “Or Braedan Khan…or…”

  “You can call me Jack, like all the rest,” Braedan informed him. “Especially if you have more information about the murders last night.”

  “Indeed, I do…Jack,” Maadim replied. “That is why I joined you. General Gamrin, more details have emerged on the deaths last night. They are still somewhat…sketchy, but the Flame of Praetor was waylaid by three unidentified swordsmen outside the Red Sun Tavern. The watch is calling it a robbery for lack of a better explanation, though the only thing missing was his mask.”

  “And the other,” Malik asked.

  “The White Hand was discovered only hours ago,” the Kadinar informed them. “In his room. Not a mark on his body except for curious hemorrhaging in both eyes. They are calling it a poisoning because of an empty wine bottle lying beside his bed and the fact healthy young swordsmen do not usually die in their sleep. The Dog of Raashan, speaking as the Swordmaster of Aralon, has urged Daenal d’Lachaeland to mount a full investigation into all three murders.”

  “All three?” Braedan asked. “I thought you said there were two?”

  “For some reason,” Maadim said curiously, “he is under the impression the one calling himself the Disinherited Knight, perished in the blaze which is even now consuming the Broken Arrow. I am sure he will be relieved when he learns you were here, sleeping safely under the protection of the Raashan Razorbacks.”

  “I’m sure he will,” Malik laughed. “I will say it again, Jack Braedan. Fate brought you here. Well now, based on last night’s tragedies, you will have a full platoon openly follow you to the coliseum instead of a squad or two. Captain Khalmiya will commanded them. Kiathan will think twice before trying to arrange any more…accidents…for the Disinherited Knight.” Apparently with his relish at the thought of the Duke realizing how horribly his plan for Braedan had failed, he’d forgotten his own ban on speaking Kiathan’s name.

  “Will it also not convince him my Lord is the man behind the Blue Knight’s mask?” asked Cassy.

  “Perhaps not,” Maadim remarked. “I have already heard word on the street other anonymous contestants, those who can afford it, are seeking out protection. The one calling himself the Shadow Warrior has procured the services of Gael Tokay’s company.”

  “The Iron Fists?” Cassy whistled. “That must have cost him a dearly. They are almost as famous, and therefor almost as expensive, as your Razorbacks.”

  “Oh, it will cost him all right,” Malik nodded. “The going rate is three silver per day, per man, with bonuses.”

  “They were paid in Th’rakkens, so I’ve heard,” added Maadim.

  “That will have the Dog of Raashan wondering who is who I’ll wager,” Cassaban grinned.

  “General Gamrin,” Jack said, “I understand you are helping me because we share a common enemy, but I insist, if the Iron Fists are getting paid for their services, the Razorbacks should as well.”

  “Nonsense,” Malik replied. “I said I would help you, and we will. Free of charge.”

  “But your men have to eat,” Jack argued.

  “They were eating yesterday before you walked through our door,” the general shrugged. “They will have full bellies tomorrow as well.”

  “I am afraid you don’t understand, general,” Braedan replied. “I insist. Four silver Th’rakken per day, per man. Five apiece for the officers. Ten for you. Or perhaps I should pay you in some other coin? Because we are going to “let slip” you’ve been hired by the Blue Knight. Dorkarrs maybe? Or Caladini Jaats?”

  “Choose Kadinar Shekki, Prince Jack,” Maadim Khalmyia urged. “The Dog of Raashan will be more confused than a Red tailed Shar’cat in a Breek warren.”

  “A what in a what?” Braedan laughed.

  “Trust me,” Khalmyia grinned. “It will confuse the Dog of Raashan and throw him off your trail.”

  “Shekki it is then,” Braedan nodded. “I’ll send word for Count Arthol to have two thousand silver Th’rakken converted and sent over as soon as possible. General,” he said, stopping Malik before he could protest again. “It will be delivered here by the end of the day. There is nothing you can do about it. It is small compensation for the difficulties you have suffered at the hands of a traitor. Consider it a…. job interview if you must. One day…I may actually make it to Thonbor and claim my lands. I will need a company of men for a yearlong contract to supplement my Lions securing the borders.”

  “I wield,” Malik sighed, then a slow smile brightened his face. It was not often he was bested in a test of wills. “The Razorbacks accept your contract of employment. Two thousand Th’rakken, converted to Shekki at the standard rate. But as it’s a conditional employment, it will be all we accept in payment until you are finished in Immer. Deal?” he asked, spitting in his hand, he stood and offered it to Braedan.

  “Deal,” Braedan nodded, doing the same.

  “Duely witnessed,” Cassaban added. “Now Jack, we have matches today in case you’ve forgotten. Breakfast first, then meet in the stables in an hour?”

  “Stay seated,” Captain Khalmyia insisted. “I will see your breakfast delivered, then I will show you to the stables when we are ready to depart.”

  “I will go roust the men and tell them their days of lying about are over,” General Malik smiled broadly. “The Razorbacks have a contract.”

  Maadim waited for the general to depart, then signaled one of the few men up and about in the dining hall to attend him. “Thank you for this Great Prince,” Malik said, after instructing the mercenary to bring over a plate of sausages and some sweetened oatmeal, nothing too heavy for the competitors. “The general has been…irritable of late without employment.”

  “You’re welcome,” Braedan nodded. “And please…stop calling me Great Prince.”

  “You may as well g
et used to it,” Cassy informed him. “He may be sworn to the Raashan Razorbacks, but like any Kadinar warrior, is first allegiance is to the Khan. I should know, I chased enough of them back across the Whesguard with the Cilidar Lancers. Loyal fighters.”

  “Why did you leave Kadin, Maadim?” Braedan asked. “If you don’t mind my asking. I knew a couple of Kadinar in the Brotherhood, but they were general scoundrels running from justice. You don’t strike me as the type.”

  “My best friend and I fell in love with the same woman,” Maadim answered sadly. “It was either fight him for her or leave Kadin. I loved them both too much to cause either any pain. I rode away twelve years ago and have never been back.”

  “What was her name?” asked Jack sympathetically.

  “Fala,” the mercenary sighed sadly.

  “Is Fala a…common name?” asked Jack hesitantly. Surely this was a coincidence? Fala probably meant “Brown Eyes” in Kadinar and was given to every third or fourth doe eyed, female child. It couldn’t be the same Fala, could it? Then again, coincidence had become a constant traveling companion with him of late.

  “Not really,” Maadim replied. “Why?”

  “And your friend’s name?”

  “He is the Khan of Khazin-Achbor,” the Kadinar said. “His name is…”

  “Hamman ad’Jhen,” Braedan finished for him. “I stayed in his tents, drank his wine, and shared his food on the banks of the Whesguard.”

  “Small world,” Maadim said quietly.

  If there were a more stoic people on earthe than the Kadinar, Braedan had yet to meet them. “Isn’t it though?” he replied.

  “Do you know if he…if they…”

  “Married? Yes,” Jack replied.

  “Children?”

  “He didn’t mention any. But I only stayed with Hamman a single night,” Braedan said. “We didn’t get to talk much about such things.”

  “There should be children by now,” Maadim said thoughtfully. “I hope nothing is wrong.”

  Braedan was surprised by Khalmyia’s obvious concern for his former friend and the woman he had lost and said as much.

  “Who said he was my former friend?” the Kadinar asked. “Hamman is the brother I never had. And Fala is…well, Fala. How could I wish for anything but happiness for the two people I love most in all the world? If our positions were reversed, I am sure Hamman would express the same sentiment.”

  “You know,” Braedan said, looking at the hardened mercenary. “I think you are right. Are all Kadinar such hopeless romantics?”

  “It’s the desert,” Maadim smiled. “The heat damages our brains.”

  Their breakfast arrived and they made small talk as they ate, discussing nothing of great import, wanting to just savor the company of other warriors. Falan, the youngest of the group, hung on every word. When breakfast was finished, he rose and cleared the dishes, searching for his niche in among such seasoned fighters.

  “Go fetch your things,” Maadim said to Braedan and Cassaban, “meet us in the courtyard in say…thirty minutes? I will take the Lions and go ready your horses.”

  “Aside from those scoundrels in the Brotherhood,” Jack remarked as he and Cassy were walking to their rooms, “I have met three Kadinar I would consider friends my friends if given half a chance. There must be some day in the future where we can lay aside our differences and stop this endless fighting between the west and the east.”

  “There are good and bad people on both sides of the River Whesguard,” Cassy nodded. “Maybe someday a leader will rise who can bridge the gulf separating us.”

  “Maybe,” Jack nodded.

  All it needed was a Jha’ak, a bridge.

  Jack was becoming practiced at putting on his armor. Today the weight seemed less than the day before. The under clothes and padding were becoming a little…ripe…with sweat. If there was no calamity tonight, he decided he’d half to find a place to wash a few of his things. He quickly had everything strapped and buckled in place. Picking up his helmet, he looked at the thing for a moment, then placed it on his head with a sigh. He had always hated wearing the Army’s Kevlar as well. He would prefer unhindered vision to a thick covering for his skull, but he had worn it during his vision in the Elohara. He belted on Grimrorr and headed for the courtyard.

  Precisely half an hour after he’d left the dining hall, he found himself to be the last arrival. Along with his four Lions, a platoon of about two dozen Razorbacks waited for him. Without a doubt they were the hardest, toughest looking collection of killers he’d ever seen gathered in one place. He never felt such a dangerous sense of caged violence. Not from the Seawolf’s crew. Not even from his Lions. Not among the quite professionals of his own Special Forces operators, Rangers, Green Berets or even Delta. It was like a black thunder cloud of death hovered over them, eager to rain destruction and mayhem upon anyone unfortunate enough to stumble across their path. With men like these around him, watching his back, nothing less than a battalion would dare to so much as glance in his direction.

  “Great Prince,” Captain Khalmyia bowed. “Allow me to present the Raashan Razorbacks. Sadly, this platoon is only about half our remaining number. Less than a tenth of the strength we could field only two years ago. Nevertheless, I am confident they will be sufficient to deter any further attempts by the Dog of Raashan to prevent you from participation in the Haelfest.”

  “How did Kiathan ever kick you guys out of Raashan?” he asked, looking over the group with a soldier’s respect.

  “Ten to one disadvantage was something even the Razorbacks could not easily overcome,” Maadim admitted. “Kiathan sent five thousand of his finest troops against our citadel. Although they were there were considerably less in number when Princess Annawyn brought an end to the siege,” the Kadinar smiled grimly. “I’ve heard they were a week burying their dead after the battle. Kiathan may have…kicked us out of Raashan…as you put it, but the Razorbacks left behind many a grieving widow to remind him of the cost.”

  Off to the side of the assembled mercenaries stood Eaudreuil, saddled and ready to ride. “Greetings Horse-brother. Do we ride to battle today? These two-legs smell as if ready for a fight.”

  “Just another day of playing war, I’m afraid,” he said mounting the roan. “Soon, I promise, we will fight together again.”

  The two dozen mercenaries mounted their horses at a wordless nod from Captain Khalmyia and moved to surround Jack and his Golden Lions. He’d asked they follow behind him and insure none of Kiathan’s troops hindered him, but this…display of raw violence was much more impressive he decided. When everyone was ready, another pair of mercenaries removed the bar from guild hall door and pushed it open.

  Surrounded by Razorbacks and his Golden Lions, Jack Braedan headed to the coliseum.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Field of Honor

  The people filling the streets on the way to the coliseum were in a considerably less festive mood than the previous day. A dark cloud seemed to hang over Immer, the people in shock over the suspicious and untimely deaths of three contestants. As they moved aside for the dangerous looking Razorbacks however, they soon spotted Braedan’s distinctive blue armor and their sorrow erupted into shouts of joy at the realization the Blue Knight still lived. And not only lived, but was on his way to Ljmarn Haelfest to continue the competition. Word he’d survived the conflagration which had engulfed the Broken Arrow spread quickly. By the time Braedan and his company of Razorbacks arrived at the coliseum, a wildly cheering throng awaited him at the northern entrance.

  “What I wouldn’t give to see Kiathan’s face when you walk into the stadium,” Cassaban grinned, surveying the crowd.

  “Will you settle for his expression when I name him a murder for everyone who burned at the Broken Arrow?” Braedan asked.

  “Aye,” his captain nodded grimly. “That I will.”

  Though the jubilant crowds showered Braedan with cheers as he dismounted, none were foolish enough to try to approach h
im through the wall of stone face mercenaries surrounding him. None except a single tournament official, and he came warily.

  “Good morning, Master Gullwain,” Jack nodded, recognizing the man who had officiated his match with Tamaran Skuar.

  “Well met, sir knight,” Gullwain replied happily. “It seems the report of your death was some-what premature.”

  “So, it would seem,” Jack smiled.

  “On behalf of the Steward and everyone else involved with the Haelfest, let me say how relieved we all are you escaped the tragedy which befell the Broken Arrow. I have heard the fire is finally out. Rest assured, we are taking all necessary precautions to insure there are no further, shall we say…accidents. I see you have also taken steps to guards against unforeseen calamity.” He said, inclining his head at Braedan’s scowling escorts.

  “I have.”

  “I am afraid they cannot accompany you onto the field however,” Gullwain apologized. “They of course, may find seats with the other spectators. If they surrender their weapons, I cannot deny them entrance.”

  “I, and a select few, will accompany you inside, Great Prince,” Maadim informed Braedan. “The rest will remain outside watching the horses. Should you need us however…” he finished, looking down at the tournament official menacingly.

  Though the stadium was only three quarters filled, it still being almost an hour before the competition resumed, when Braedan emerged from the tunnel at the north end and walked onto the field, the cheer greeting him shook the coliseum. He acknowledged the crowd with an informal salute and the shouts grew even louder. For a brief moment as Braedan made his way to the contestant area, the cheers became so deafening Gabriel could have blown his horn announcing the end of the age, and the spectators would have been none the wiser.

  Daenel d’Lachaeland, Steward of Immer, stepped forward to meet him, offering him his hand in greeting. "Sir knight!" he shouted, leaning close to be heard over the crowd. "In all my years, I have never heard such a cheer."