Path of Kings

by James Dale

  "You are a man after my own heart," Jack bowed.

  "No," the general replied, "I am after Kiathan's heart. In fact, I have a nice spot reserved for it on my mantel."

  "Would you consider settling for his head?" Jack asked casually. "I've already made plans to burn his heart and press the ashes into a chamber pot."

  "My," the general grinned wickedly, "aren't we in a blood-thirsty mood this morning? To the coliseum Maadim! And quickly! Jurden Salazar doesn't stand a chance!"

  "When are you going to be done with this foolishness Horse-brother?" Eaudreuil asked when they were on their way to the stadium.

  "It may be foolishness," Jack sighed, patting the roan's broad neck, "but it's necessary foolishness. Why?"

  "I had a dream about Snow Dancer last night," the Val'anna replied. "He was in trouble."

  "Do you...dream often?" Jack asked curiously. The stallion had never mentioned this to him before.

  "Sometimes," Eaudreuil beamed.

  "It was probably nothing," Jack assured him. Unless...he thought to himself, careful to shield out the stallion, unless the cub was also walking in the Land of Dreams last night? Surely Long Tooth sent his son scurrying with his tail between his as well.

  Surely.

  The Disinherited Knight and his mercenary escort where met on the street by crowds once again this morning, which followed them all the way to the coliseum. A smiling official was there to greet them at the north entrance and at Jack's request, he readily agreed to show General Malik to a good seat just below the royal pavilion.

  "Another bur under Kiathan's saddle," Jack winked.

  "Think he will mind if I take a few measurements of his head?" Malik laughed. "Just to make sure I know how big a space to clear on my mantel?"

  "It won't hurt to ask," Jack shrugged. "Enjoy the show sir. And by the way, if you're a betting man I hear Salazar's been given four to one odds."

  "Actually," Malik grinned, "the odds are five to one as of this morning. If things go as I think they will, by tonight I am going to be an extraordinarily rich man."

  "How much have you bet on me?"

  "Now...now, I wouldn't want to put any added pressure on you lad," the general laughed as he was escorted away by a helpful usher. "Suffice it to say should you win, I shall seriously consider retiring and redecorating the Guild Hall in blue."

  Jack and Cassaban made their way into the coliseum and across the field to the contestant holding area, which was considerably less crowded this morning. The remaining swordsmen were so few in number in fact, Jack was now able to put a name to each face. Besides himself and Borg, there was Tarc Macuna, the Shadow Warrior all dressed in black chain-mail, Hunne Illich, Borg's opponent this morning, Malik Skoda, Belem Troi, Damask Adeoms, who would face Kiathan this day, Paul Rurik, The Blood Wolf, and Kyl Caracal, Kan Aedoms, Torel Issyk, and Grory Samara. Oddly, the only two absent from the group were Jurden Salazar and Kiathan. Why this was so, Jack could only speculate. It could not be coincidence however, of that he was certain.

  As the day before, a fanfare announced the arrival of the royals, and Jack was comforted by the line of familiar faces as they made their way to their seats. Arrinor smiled broadly and gave him a wink. Cilidon acknowledged him with a brief nod, as did Theros. Thonicil was busy helping Thessa, who was having some difficulty negotiating the narrow isle, no doubt because of her condition. She thanked her husband as he seated her, but her smile was clearly strained. If she did not deliver soon, Jack thought the poor girl would surely burst. Princess Ailicia looked tired as she entered, one of her a twin brothers on each arm. Obviously, her encounter with Long Tooth last night had not been a pleasant experience.

  At least she appeared unharmed. Finally, Annawyn appeared on the arm of her Uncle Morgan. This morning, praise God, she noticed Jack's gaze and graced him with a warm smile which sent his spirit's soaring. Even though he was confident she was simply acknowledging the Disinherited Knight's glance and had no way of knowing it was truly him beneath his silk mask, Jack reveled in even such a small measure of her attention.

  Another fanfare sounded once the royals were seated, Daenel d'Lachaeland announced the resumption of the tournament, and an official began to call out the names of the first contestants. Jack's name was not called in the first three pairings, nor was Borg's, so they both took a seat to wait for their upcoming match.

  Now that they were in the round of sixteen, with three points being required for victory, the day did not proceed as quickly as had the two previous. Also slowing progress was an added rule allowing the loser of each point to request a brief respite, up to five minutes, before the match was resumed. This added delay, coupled with the fact the competitors’ skills were now more evenly matched, succeeded in prolonging each match considerably. Although it was better entertainment for the crowds, it was painfully frustrating for the fighters waiting anxiously for their turn in the white circle. They were forced to maintain a delicate balance between staying loose by practicing forms and growing stiff and lethargic sitting in the sun.

  Jack waited for his turn by alternately stretching and meditating. While at the back of his mind, the thought kept running through his head, "Where are Kiathan and Salazar?"

  It did not help his preparations when Borg and Hunne Illich were called as the second match ended, and they proceeded to engage each other in a vicious, protracted duel consuming the better part an hour. When Cassaban finally scored the third point, winning the match three points to two, the man from Brydium was dead on his feet, and actually staggered when he bowed to the royal box.

  "Jurden was right," he whispered hoarsely as Braedan helped him to a seat on the thick grass. "I may actually be getting too old for this."

  "Nonsense," Jack snorted. "Looked to me like you were just getting warmed up."

  "I nearly fell on my face in front of the entire Whesguard Alliance."

  "Really? I thought maybe you were genuflecting."

  "Hardly!" Cassy laughed wearily. "I am not so enamored with royalty."

  "Peul Rurik and Malik Skoda!" an official cried, interrupting their banter. "You're next! Quickly please! We are falling behind schedule! Gentlemen," he continued, "this will be the last match before the field is cleared for the joust!"

  "Where's the flaming water boy?" Cassaban asked weakly, as the two swordsmen moved to take the field. "I'm so thirsty I could drink Lake Issa."

  "I'll go find one," Jack smiled, patting him on the shoulder. "You stay right there."

  "My lord," Cassy sighed, "I couldn't move an inch if Yh himself came down from Heaven to tempt me with twenty vestal virgins."

  "Hold that thought," Jack said, standing to go in search of a water bearer. Fortunately, one was already on his way over, sloshing water over himself in his haste.

  "Here's water sir and freshly drawn," the lad said, offering an overflowing ladle to Cassaban, which he gladly accepted.

  "Here, let me have it," Jack said, taking the bucket. He waited until Cassaban had finished drinking, then unceremoniously dumped its entire contents over his head. Cassaban went straight as a board, too shocked to curse.

  "Now go refill it," Jack commanded, thrusting the empty container back into the startled boy's hands. "Quickly boy! He's dying of thirst."

  "W-w-what the hells did you do that for!" Cassaban shuddered, finding his voice.

  "I'll bet you could move for twenty virgins now," Jack grinned mischievously.

  When the young water bearer returned a few minutes later, Cassaban quickly snatched the bucket from him, flashing his lord a warning glare.

  "I was only trying to help," Braedan sighed, feigning hurt.

  "Help what?" Cassy said with exasperation, "Give me a flaming heart attack?"

  "Ingrate. Next time old man, you can ask Jurden Salazar to fetch your water."

  "Speaking of Salazar," Cassaban said, dipping himself another drink. "Have you seen him yet?"

  "Not yet."

  "Strange," Cassy muttered. "He'
s usually the first one here."

  "Maybe he's decided to withdrawn?"

  "Right," his lieutenant snorted. "And I'm a pimple faced altar boy."

  The lists were soon completed and the Competition of the Lance got under way, but Salazar had still not appeared. An hour passed, seeing the incomparable Julian Brin unhorse another opponent, with no sign of the left-handed swordsman. It was not until the entire field of remaining lancers had taken their turn in the lists and the grounds-keepers had begun preparing for the resumption of sword and bow when an observant Cassaban finally spotted him.

  "Look m’Lord," he said, pointing to the southern entrance of the stadium. "He has decided to show after all. Ho! Salazar!" he shouted as the man slowly approached. "I was afraid you had lost your nerve and were going deny me the satisfaction of seeing you humiliated."

  Salazar stopped before his seated taunter, and looked down at Cassaban curiously, as if seeing him for the first time.

  "What? No witty reply?" Cassy asked derisively.

  Salazar continued to stare at Cassaban with a strange look of incomprehension.

  "Well, well," Cassy grinned, "I do believe I have finally rendered him speechless."

  Something wasn't right about Salazar. It was not just his sudden loss for words. The hairs on the back of Jack's neck were tingling with animalistic warning and his nose itched with the faint, sickly sweet stench of death. Then he noticed Salazar's eyes, usually so full of haughty superiority, now completely devoid of emotion. No...not emotion. Humanity. They were the eyes of someone without a soul. "Cassy..." he said quietly, warningly.

  At the sound of his voice, something finally stirred within Salazar, a spark of hatred welled up deep from within the emptiness once occupied by his human spirit. His head whipped around toward Jack and his lip curled in a bestial snarl.

  Jack instinctively reached for Grimrorr, but Daath Gullwain was suddenly standing between them.

  "Here!" the official cried. "Save it for the field! You are gentlemen, not brawling gladiators! Stand down I say! Or I shall have you both disqualified!"

  Salazar's feral gaze turned to Gullwain and the official was taken aback by the ferocity raging within his eyes. But he did not retreat.

  "Stand down this instant!" he repeated firmly. "Or I will have you escorted from the coliseum!"

  Salazar took a step toward the official, his face a mask of unadulterated malevolence, but stopped when he saw Grimrorr in Jack's hand. Until that moment, he hadn't realized he'd drawn the elven blade. It was warm in his hand and the razor edges seemed to pulse with a soft, white glow. Jack brought it to low guard, not menacing, but ready. With a snarl of rage, Salazar wheeled and stalked away, heading for the rack of practice sheaths.

  "What the hell did you say to him?" Gullwain asked shakily, turning to the Blue Knight.

  "Nothing," Cassy replied for him. "Nothing I haven't a hundred times before."

  "You must have said something," Gullwain pressed. "I've never seen a look of such...hatred before."

  "I have," Jack whispered. The demon Morgamaal had such a look.

  "Humm...where?" Gullwain asked.

  "How long before the competition resumes?" Jack asked, ignoring the official.

  "About five minutes," Gullwain replied. "Maybe less. I must speak with the Steward. Sir knight," he said hesitantly, "Jurden Salazar plans you murder. Tread carefully today," he advised, then hurried off in search of Daenel d'Lachaeland.

  "Where's the water boy?" Jack asked, his mind racing. "Hey! Boy! Yes you!" he shouted, motioning for the young bearer. “Come here! Quickly son!"

  "Sir?” the youngster asked fearfully. He had witnessed the confrontation between the Blue Knight and Salazar and it had left him shaken.

  "Lad," Jack said, laying a comforting hand on his slim shoulder, "I need you to go fetch Prince Arrinor for me."

  "P-p-prince Arrinor?"

  "That's right." he nodded, pointing to the royal pavilion. "He's sitting right up there. See? Don't be afraid, he won't bite. I need you to tell him the Blue Knight must speak with him right away. Quickly now."

  "Y-yes sir," the boy nodded, dropping his bucket with a splash.

  "Jack?" Cassaban said hesitantly, coming to his side as the boy sprinted up the isle-way to the royal box. "What...what is wrong with Salazar? Do you know?"

  "I...think so," Jack whispered. God help me if I'm right.

  As they waited for the young water bearer to deliver his message, Kiathan Ellgaer finally made his entrance into the coliseum to tremendous cheers. He was riding his black stallion as usual and waving to the crowds with such arrogant superiority, you would have thought he already wore the crown he was plotting to steal from King Ellgenn's head. He dismounted as he came to contestant holding area, removed his helmet and bowed to the royal box with a flourish. When he saw the Blue Knight standing nearby and Arrinor hurrying down the aisle towards him, a knowing smile slowly formed on his thin lips. He inclined his head with a smug gleam in his dark eyes "So there you are." The look plainly said.

  Arrinor saw the look as well. "This was not wise cousin,” he whispered sharply. "Kiathan has marked you."

  "It doesn't matter," Jack replied quickly. "Jurden Salazar is possessed."

  "What?" the Ailfar prince hissed. "Are you sure?"

  "Either possessed or a shape-shifter," Jack replied. "Can Grimrorr kill a demon?"

  "I...I do not know," the prince answered hesitantly. "If a demon has taken control of Jurden Salazar, Grimrorr can kill the host, yes. If it is a shape-shifter? Perhaps. It was made to battle fell creatures. If is a true demon, a minor one of the fallen and not One of the Seven? I...I do not know," he repeated.

  “I killed Urioch with a rifle,” Jack informed him. “Grimrorr will be enough. I hope.”

  "My God!" Cassaban blanched. "If what you say is true, you must withdraw!"

  "It's too late," Jack replied, as a tournament official began calling for the last three pairs of swordsmen. "I'll just have to take my chances and hope Grimrorr is up to the task."

  "I will get help," Arrinor said, turning to sprint back up the aisle. "Be careful!" he shot back over his shoulder.

  "Right," Jack muttered, and began to make his way to the rack of practice sheaths.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Left Hand of Darkness

  Salazar, or the being inhabiting Salazar, was pacing back and forth before the royal box like a caged beast. When Daath Gullwain instructed them to bow to the royals, he...it, snarled with disgust and gave a perfunctory nod in their direction, then stalked off to claim the left-most white circle. Daath glanced worriedly at Braedan, obviously concerned by the dangerous turn of events, then the judge and Blue Knight followed after him.

  "You know the rules gentlemen," Daath said, inspecting Salazar's sword to ensure the practice sheath was indeed locked firmly in place, then doing the same to Jack's for appearance sake. "Three points are required for victory. Scored by any touch on your opponent's body. You will go when I say, and stop..." he emphasized, "when I say. Do you understand?"

  "Yes," Jack nodded softly, his eyes locked on Salazar's, searching for some flicker of humanity.

  "I grow impatient," Salazar growled in reply. His voice was slurred and guttural as if his tongue was unused to human speech. "Is the Disinherited Knight ready to meet his fate?" he spat contemptuously.

  Jack replied by assuming The Lion Waiting.

  "Very well," Daath said, raising his hand high. "Fighters! Begin!"

  As Gullwain dropped his hand and leapt from the circle, Salazar attacked with the swiftness of a striking cobra. Jack avoided the lightning charge by sliding nimbly to the right, beating the left-handed blow down and away. Off balance and out of position, Salazar still managed to deflect Jack's return parry aimed at his chest, then countered with a flurry of strokes sending him retreating in desperate defense.

  "Stand and fight!" Salazar roared.

  Jack straightened himself mere inches from the white bound
ary which marked the limit of his retreat, then silently began to circle to the right, away from Salazar's sword arm.

  "Come!" the demon challenged. "Face the Left Hand of Darkness Son of Man!" and leaped again to the attack.

  Expecting another over hand blow, Jack almost failed to evade the straight-arm thrust, parrying the tip of Salazar's sword a hair's breadth from touching his throat. Jurden stepped forward and their blades slid until they locked at the hilt.

  "Do you see your death in my eyes?" Salazar whispered, they gaze locking as well.

  What Jack saw was confirmation. If the eyes are the window of the soul, Salazar's were a looking glass into the deepest pit of hell. A wild, tormented light burned behind the darkness of his gaze. Insanity raged like wildfire, consuming the last shred of humanity in his soul. Whether he had given himself freely to the night, or he had been waylaid by some force he could not resist was of little consequence. Salazar was indeed possessed.

  "Who are you?" Jack asked calmly, their swords still locked at the hilt. "Morgamaal? Urioch? No matter. When I send your miserable spirit back to hell, Left Hand of Darkness. Tell your master I am waiting for him. Yharies Sinalda! enne' Eoyolas Daeon Cythora!" he shouted, shoving the possessed swordsman away with strength fueled by loathing.

  Salazar stumbled under the force of the Ailfar words of power, howling with rage as Jack advanced, reigning blow after blow upon his upraised sword, driving him back until his foot touched the white boundary tape.

  "Point!" Daath Gullwain cried, stepping between them.

  But Salazar was completely under the control of the demon now. Whatever spark of humanity he may have retained after coming under the command of the spirit of perdition was crushed forever by the challenge of those five ancient words. 'Yharies Sinalda! enne'Eoyolas Daeon Cythora!' Yh is Supreme! With His hand I strike at Death!' Salazar brushed Gullwain aside as easily if swatting a fly and ripped the practice sheath from his sword, uncovering the blade's deadly edge, then slowly advanced toward Jack.