Breaking the Gloaming (29 page)

His arms were spread wide, tied around the thick trunk. His legs were tied together at his ankles. His head fell lifeless to the side. The dried blood on his skin was as dark as the scarred letters on the tree behind him.
 

Yates would have said he was just a man, but in death, he had the look of a saint.

Chapter 30

THE DUEL

“Hasten and come,
 

all you surrounding nations,

 
and gather yourselves there.
 

Bring down your warriors, O Lord.”

Jon swung his arms, trying to get loose, to work out the morning stiffness. They would leave the gate any moment now for the duel.
 

His thoughts ran through the prior night, the day before, and the night before that. That little stretch of time held enough for a lifetime.

First there was his love, Mailyn, giving birth to Tryst’s son. He figured it had been Father Yates’ plan from the beginning. She would move into his quarters. He would protect her and provide for her. They would marry. He would raise the child, and no one would know that the true father was Tryst. At least, that’s how it would have ended if the next part of the night had not complicated things.

A knight had come to him as he rested with Mailyn and the baby boy. The knight had said Andor needed him immediately. Jon had armed himself and rushed to the prince. Ravien had been there, but not Wren. She had somehow escaped and knew nothing of whether his brother lived. Andor had shared the news of the coming explosion, and of the need to attack the Sunans. He had given Jon the singular duty of finding Tryst and bringing him back alive.

And so Jon had. He had organized his best knights and charged with them into the Sunans. His men had killed scores as they made their way to save Tryst, Ulysses, and the others. Then they had returned to the city. Once inside the walls, Jon had discovered Wren among the survivors. They had barely talked, both because Wren had needed medical help and because Jon had been called again to the fight.

He had helped defend against wave after wave of Sunan attacks through the bitter cold day. He had never seen men fight like the Sunans. Their shields were impenetrable when held tight together. They had advanced in ranks, protecting their battering rams. When they shattered the gate, Jon had been there. He and his men had held the Sunans from breaking into the city just long enough for nightfall. The darkness had saved them.

After a quick meal and a rinse, he had been summoned again. Jon had joined the meeting in the throne room. He had listened to Andor’s plan and the debate. Then he had helped Sebastian drop over the walls so he could deliver the prince’s proposal, and a short while later he had pulled Sebastian back over the walls with a signed and sealed agreement for the prince. Jon had notified the men to meet Andor by the gate.
 

By then it was deep into the night, and he went to Mailyn. She had been feeding the newborn. She watched the baby’s innocent face as Jon told her that Tryst was alive, and that they would fight in a duel to settle the war. She laid the baby to sleep and then, for the first time, she came to Jon’s bed. As they held each other in quiet, Jon felt more peace than he had in months. In so many ways, all he loved and his very life hung in the balance, yet sleep overcame him. He woke well before dawn, slipped out of his quarters, and reported to Andor at the gate.

Now dawn had come. His body was waking to the reality. Excitement tingled in his limbs, overcoming his fatigue. The air felt warmer. The snow had melted, and the sky was clear. It was a perfect winter day.

Andor waved for the selected men to come. They walked out from the walls as the sun rose. Tryst and Jon flanked Andor. To the right were Ulysses and Jacodin. Sebastian was on the far left. 

Andor’s selections had drawn little debate, except for Sebastian. Others had protested his inclusion, but Andor had been resolute. Sebastian had proven his loyalty, Andor insisted, and no one questioned his strength or his familiarity with Sunan fighting. Jon still did not fully trust the man. No matter what, Jon thought, he would not let Sebastian or anyone else get a clean attack at the prince without going through him first.

The Sunan men were approaching from the south. There were seven, as agreed. The young king was in the middle. He was bigger than Jon had expected. The man to his right did not have the look of a warrior. He was older and stocky, with long hair. But the other five looked deadly. Their torsos were bare, and even from this distance, Jon could see their scars and the lines of hard, battle-proven muscles. They each carried the same shield and spear that all the Sunans did. 

The Sunan man furthest to the right began to chant and to run. The others joined him, and suddenly the Valemidans faced a charging line. It seemed there would be no talk first.

“Hold! Hold!” Andor shouted. He held his arms out. “Spread!” They began to put a few more feet between them.

One of the Sunans threw his spear.
 

Jon reacted without thought, raising his shield. The spear slammed into it and splintered the wood. His arm felt the blow as he dropped the broken shield. The spear would have hit him in the head.

“Now!” Andor commanded and they charged as planned.
 

The lines met at full speed.

Without his shield, Jon pulled out a dagger for his other hand. The man who had thrown his spear had drawn a short blade. He stabbed at Jon. Jon spun around the attack, but the Sunan man moved like lightning and slammed his shield into Jon, knocking him to the ground. No one in Valemidas could have done that.

Jon rolled to a crouch. The man stabbed down at him. Jon parried it and surged to his feet. The Sunan’s shield blocked Jon’s sword, but not his dagger. It plunged into the man’s neck. Jon threw him down and looked to the fight.

Jacodin was face down, motionless, and so was one Sunan warrior. Four Valemidans were enganged with a tight line of four Sunans. The Sunan king was behind their line, lunging in with spear thrusts whenever a Valemidan looked vulnerable.
 

Jon raced to the prince.

As the distance closed between them, Andor led a charge into the Sunan line. Ulysses struck at their left, Tryst and Sebastian at their center, and Andor at their right. Andor bashed hard into a shield and managed to isolate one of Sunans. The Sunan shields were less effective when separated from others. Still, the Sunan man’s spear outreached Andor’s blade, keeping him at bay.
 

Jon circled behind the isolated Sunan. No man could hold both Andor and Jon back. Andor swung high at his front, while Jon swung low from behind. Jon’s blade slashed into the Sunan’s legs and the man fell. Andor stabbed his sword down into the man.
 

But as that man died, the Sunan king hurled a spear from behind Andor. Jon shouted a warning, but it came too late. The spear slammed into Andor’s leg, hitting a seam in his armor. The prince stumbled to one knee.
 

Jon picked up the fallen Sunan’s shield and blocked for the prince as he helped him rise to his feet again.

“I’ll be fine,” Andor grimaced.

Tryst danced into view, graceful as he wielded Zarathus. The sword dripped with blood.
 

“I killed another,” Tryst said.
 

“We have to reach their king,” Andor said. “There.” He pointed to the young man.

The three of them moved together toward him.
 

Sebastian was fighting against a Sunan in their path. Their arms were locked together. Sebastian suddenly slammed his head into the other man’s face. The Sunan fell, and Sebastian mercilessly plunged a dagger into his chest. Jon forgot his doubts about the spy.

Sebastian joined them as they closed on the king and the older Sunan man. It was four on two here. Twenty feet away, Ulysses was clanging his blade against the third Sunan still standing.

Andor dashed at the young king and swung down hard at him. The king blocked the attack and staggered back.

Tryst slammed into the other man’s shield and knocked him to the ground.
 

“
Ilithir Sebanith!
” the man shouted as he fell. He looked up at Sebastian.
 

Some change flicked in Sebastian’s face, like a dark mask dropping over it. He turned on Andor and swung his blade.

Jon tackled Sebastian, just in time. Sebastian’s attack had come within an inch of Andor’s unprotected throat.
 

Jon and Sebastian rolled along the muddy ground. Jon lost grip on his sword. Sebastian gained the upperhand and slammed a fist into Jon’s cheek.
 

Jon hardly felt it. All he felt was the dagger in his hand as it sank deep into Sebastian’s gut. He twisted it, left it there, and shoved Sebastian over. The traitor was dead.

Rising to his feet, Jon saw Andor and Tryst fighting the Sunan king and two others. Ulysses must have gone down, and his opponent had rejoined this fight.

Tryst was everywhere, circling the tight knot of Sunans. Andor was in a defensive stance. Blood ran down his leg.

Jon came to Andor’s side. He crouched and picked up a spear from the ground.

“Jon, strike low!” Tryst shouted from the other side of the Sunans.

Jon did, swiping the spear at their legs. They jumped back just as Tryst leapt into their group.
 

The king had his sword raised. Zarathus was a bright blur slashing through the air.

Tryst’s body came down on the king’s blade. It plunged into Tryst’s side. As Tryst began to fall, the king’s head rolled off his shoulders, and his body collapsed. There was nothing divine about it.

Jon charged at the older Sunan, who was flatfooted as he stared at the dead king. Jon’s spear pierced through the man, and he toppled to the ground.
 

Andor limped to Jon’s side and they turned on the last Sunan standing. Tryst was not moving. It was two versus one.
 

The Sunan man smiled wildly through a thick beard and a scarred face. He wore more scars than any of them.

“
Dassa!
” The man banged his spear against his shield.
“
Ilithir Sunan, Sunan Ilir!
”
 

Jon and Andor circled him, looking for the right moment. Andor lunged first. His sword clanked against the man’s shield. Andor narrowly dodged the counterattack.

Jon swung at the man’s head. He ducked under Jon’s attack and spun his spear toward Andor.

Andor parried it. Then, as the man turned again, Jon saw a dagger sink into his back.
 

Tryst looked up at Jon with a faint smile, and then his head fell limply into the mud, never to rise again.

The man toppled over at Andor’s feet. Andor stabbed through him with his blade.

Victory for Valemidas.

*
*
*

Ilias waited until he was sure it was over. None of the bodies on the ground stirred. Only two Valemidan men were left standing, and one of them was Andor. May god bless His Enduring Excellency, Ilias prayed, the king who fought serving Sunan until his death, and the king who would take his place.

Unrolling the parchment in his hand, Ilias turned to the stunned soldiers behind him. Malam was at his side, in shock.
 

“Today the battle has ended,” Ilias proclaimed in the Sunan tongue, projecting his voice over the sandy shore. “His Excellency is dead, his sun has set. He has passed to the heavens. The son of our former king, a man with Sunan and Valemidan blood, will assume the throne. His Excellency, Andor Vale!”
 

It was quiet. Ilias held his breath in the precarious moment. It was not a time for explanation. If these soldiers were to accept this new ruler and this end, it would be out of duty and faith, not out of reason.
 

“His Excellency, Andor Vale,” a man answered nearby. It was Ball’s voice.

“His Excellency, Andor Vale.” Others began to respond. “His Excellency, Andor Vale!” The chorus grew. It spread through the men like a gust of wind.

Chapter 31

THE POWER OF LAST WORDS

“
Give, and it will be given to you.
 

Good measure, pressed down,
 

shaken together, running over,
 

will be put into your lap.
 

For with the measure you use
 

it will be measured back to you.
”

The sun shone on our faces as Jon and I walked through the gate of Valemidas. Our shadows were long behind us.

Men and women, soldiers and citizens, greeted us with cheers. At the front of the crowd were the familiar faces of knights and nobles. Ulysses and Jacodin should have been among them.

Sebastian was dead, too, but that was as it should be. He had done what everyone had said he would. I mourned his betrayal more than his death. I had believed my promises to him and our shared roots would be enough to bind his loyalty to me. I had been wrong.
 

And Tryst. It seemed impossible, all of it. His return had been a miracle, more miraculous than even my escape from the Gloaming. He had entered the place under Ramzi’s spell, and he had left detached and dutiful, as if he was no longer aware of himself. He had stormed out of the fallen city like a dragon from its lair. He had poured out the last of his fire at my side, winning this war for Valemidas. He had passed from friend to betrayer, from betrayer to nemesis, from nemesis to vanquished, from vanquished to champion. The world could handle only so many souls like his, and it felt emptier without him.

Justus approached me from the crowd.

“You have won the war.” He was beaming, as happy as the day I first took the throne. “A father could not be more proud.” He took me in his arms and held me tight. The crowd cheered on around us.

“Thank you,” I said as he stepped back. “We would not have won without all of you.” I spoke to the crowd. “Valemidas has new heroes: Ulysses, Jacodin, and above all, Prince Tryst. Thanks to these men and others, our city lives on in freedom!”