The Last Talisman (21 page)

22

Duels

The two armies met in a violent clash, and the battle proved bloody from the outset. As planned, Ido kept busy with the fire-breathing birds while simultaneously shouting out orders. At first, his young troops advanced warily across the battlefield, hesitant before the swarm of approaching Fammin, and the dwarf was forced to stay back and protect them during the enemy's initial strike.

“I can't play babysitter for ever! Come on, now!” he roared.

A stream of fire burst forth from Vesa's mouth, clearing a path for the soldiers, and Ido reared back up into the clouds.

He hated fighting in the rain. It cost Vesa more energy to stay afloat and the water impaired visibility. But such petty considerations fled quickly from the dwarf's mind as he concentrated on the battle at hand. His attention was now fully focused, and he could feel the reassuring weight of his sword's handle beneath his fingers, his palm pressing into its coarse surface where his oath to the Tyrant had long ago been scratched away.

He fought with his usual ferocity, wreaking havoc among the fire-breathing birds. Beside him, Mavern was equally ruthless. Below, the battle raged on. Nevertheless, the dwarf couldn't refrain from looking beyond the enemy lines now and then, in search of a flash of red metal. At long last, he caught sight of Deinforo, distant and distinct. The red knight had yet to enter the fray. Stationed at the rear, he watched over the scene, dispensing orders.

Ido would have liked to take a stab at him right away, but he suppressed the impulse. He wasn't about to leave his men in the lurch just to satisfy a personal grudge. For a long while, he supported the air raid, until he decided it was time to descend and allow Vesa to do some damage of his own. With a powerful leap, he was on the ground. He took a rapid survey of the area, located his troops, and immediately led them in a ruthless charge, his sword stretched out before him. In a fury, the dwarf launched himself at the mass of advancing ghosts, pale gray in the misty rain.

The soldiers fought head-to-head for hours while the knights above fended off the fire-breathing birds and the infantrymen below gained ground one inch at a time. The sun was setting fast.

Things were going better than expected and Ido was ecstatic. As far as he could tell, his regiment had suffered only minor losses. Deinforo, meanwhile, had crept closer to the action, hovering above on his black dragon. At regular intervals, a torrent of bright red flames spewed from the beast's flaring nostrils, but the knight himself remained immobile, staring coldly into the distance.

Don't feel like coming down? Then I guess I'll just have to come up.
Hardly had he finished the thought when a stream of flames flashed by, missing him by a hairsbreadth. He glanced up. One of the enemy Dragon Knights was giving the young trainees from the Academy a lesson in aerial combat.

“Vesa!” he cried. As his dragon swept by, Ido hopped on and rushed to support Mavern against the enemy knight.

Perhaps everyone was too busy defending his own skin, or perhaps, in the midst of such clamorous fighting, keeping constant watch over a frail king driven mad by grief was just too much to ask, but Galla was left to his own devices—and was fighting expertly. In the beginning, the generals tried to protect him, but the man was a raging whirlwind.

He'd never had any real military training, and he certainly couldn't be called an experienced soldier, but what he did have behind him was the force of despair. He'd assaulted the enemy without a moment's hesitation and quickly proven himself worthy, downing one Fammin after another. He'd pushed himself as far forward as it was possible to go and even then, charging on his copper horse, he'd emerged victorious. So invincible did he seem that soon the generals stopped shadowing him. After all, he'd chosen his own destiny the very moment he set foot on the battlefield. It was only right that he be allowed to meet his fate.

But no one knew what Galla was looking for, what he was truly after. It wasn't hard to imagine, and yet no one had thought of it—except the enemy.

Galla's eyes were fixed on Deinforo. When the knight came near enough, he galloped forward to meet him.

“I challenge you and you alone, you filthy worm!” he shouted, hurling at him a spear he'd seized on his forward gallop. The weapon missed wide and Galla slowed his horse.

“As you wish,” the knight answered, with an air of grace and formality. He leaped to the ground, leaving his dragon to aid the airborne troops. “This is about your wife,” he sneered, unsheathing his scarlet sword.

Galla said nothing. He was seething with anger and the burning need to avenge Astrea.

“You're doing the right thing,” Deinforo continued. “After all, isn't it revenge that moves us all to fight?”

He raised his sword in salute and Galla returned the gesture.

They exchanged the first few jabs. Galla must have thought himself well matched against his opponent, but in reality Deinforo was merely flicking his sword back and forth, playing cat and mouse with the king. Moving gracefully, he fended Galla off, parrying one strike after another, never once expending his energy on an attack. Galla, meanwhile, lunged forward ceaselessly, tears of rage streaming down his fair cheeks. Astrea's face; the day of her death; the thousand joyous moments they'd passed together; the Land of Water, still rich with vegetation—images of delight and suffering stirred in Galla's mind, spurring him on to fight to the bitter end. Perhaps then he could lie down in peace and join the woman he loved.

Yet another of his strikes missed the mark. The duel halted momentarily. Galla was gasping for air, Deinforo before him, utterly at ease.

“Alright then. I've let you have your fun. But it's my turn now. Enough toying around,” said the knight.

The rest happened in an instant. Deinforo's sword swirled, sending flashes of blood-red light through the dusk, and Galla put up a hopeless defense. The knight's final jab tore through the king's stomach. He had no time even to cry out in pain. He collapsed to his knees at his enemy's feet.

“You deserve to be honored, for you've fallen at the hand of the strongest warrior on the battlefield,” Deinforo announced before walking off, leaving Galla in a pool of his own blood.

The black dragon landed at Deinforo's side. The red knight mounted the immense creature and flew toward Nelgar. “The sun will set any minute now; I see no reason to keep this up,” he said, his sword tucked away in its sheath.

Nelgar hovered in place, unable to utter a word.

“Your king is breathing his last, and night is approaching. I give you leave to remove his body. We'll continue this battle tomorrow.”

Then, as quickly as he'd come, he disappeared, his troops retreating silently behind him, back to the very line they'd held that morning. A deathly silence fell over the camp, as the last rays of sunlight slid from view.

They transported Galla to his tent. His heart was still beating when they picked him up off the battlefield. They summoned a pair of high-ranking sorcerers, along with Soana, to treat him, but anyone who laid eyes on the open wound in Galla's stomach responded with a look of dread.

Through the night, the king tossed and turned in delirium, howling with pain.

“Kill him! Somebody must kill him and avenge Astrea!” he shouted during brief moments of lucidity.

Then came immobility and the final stages of agony. His breathing thinned and coarsened to a death rattle until, at last, there was only cold and silence.

Ido waited outside the tent. The rain had ceased and the field was covered in mud.

“The Land of Water is without a king,” Nelgar muttered as he exited Galla's tent.

Ido put his face in his hands. First Astrea, now Galla.

There was no one left to govern their shrinking kingdom, pushed back by now into the shade of the Sun Mountains. They'd given the king their word, they'd promised to protect him, and instead they'd left him to fend for himself, at the mercy of his own madness.

There's no stopping a desperate man.

Maybe it was true, after all, but they hadn't even made an attempt. Ido never suspected that he and Galla shared the same objective, that they were both after the same man. And yet now it seemed so obvious.

The dwarf clenched his fists, repeating Galla's last words in his mind.

I'll kill him for you, tomorrow, and you and your wife can finally rest in peace.

Before he turned in for the night, Ido took stock of his troops. No more than twenty soldiers had been lost, most of them boys from the Academy.

There wasn't much to say to his men. He praised them for their efforts, but he was exhausted, and even less inclined than usual to idle chatter. When he reached his tent he lay down. The battle would begin first thing in the morning, and he needed his rest.

But sleep wouldn't come. He thought of Deinforo, of his ridiculous code of honor. The man had gone to Nelgar with his sword sheathed and requested a truce on behalf of an enemy soldier. An unexpected display of mercy. The king's dying moans echoed in his brain, and deep in his heart, he felt an affinity with the young ruler. They were linked by hate. They'd sought the very same enemy in the midst of the battle. Galla had found him first, and had paid for the honor with his life. Yet another innocent soul erased from the world.

“Kill him! Somebody must kill him and avenge Astrea!” Those words had been directed at him. He'd been wrong not to attack Deinforo, to have wasted so much time on phantoms and Fammin. He should have assaulted the Scarlet Knight immediately, without hesitation. Tomorrow, he wouldn't make the same mistake. With this thought fixed in his mind, he drifted off to sleep at last. Outside, the rain started up again and soaked the field anew.

When Ido woke, the rain was still coming down. He polished his sword in the cool dawn. It was an eerily calm morning, as always before an important moment.

He shined his mud-spattered armor thoroughly, then leaped up to pay his students a visit.

When he reached his troops, everything was exactly as it had been the day before. It was as if nothing had happened at all in the last twenty-four hours: the same battle lines, the same thin rain coursing down their armor and muddying the field. Only now a deep sadness pervaded the Army of the Free Lands. The king's death had taken its toll on their morale.

Ido fixed his gaze on Deinforo, standing at the fore of his troops, just as he had the day before.

Then came the call to attack. Ido and his men took off. Deinforo, too, spurred his dragon, joining the battle without delay this time. Momentum shifted immediately. The Army of the Free Lands struggled to hold off their enemy, and the first few soldiers fell victim to the ghosts and Fammin.

Deinforo was everywhere at once, raiding the battlefield from on high.

This time, Ido didn't waste a moment. He knew exactly what he wanted, and nothing could stop him. A swarm of fire-breathing birds stood between him and his enemy, but he could handle them easily enough, and he had support behind him. Inch by inch he gained ground, his eyes locked on Deinforo, tracing the black dragon's wide circles in the sky.

Ido had all but forgotten his men fighting below. Now and then he swooped down to encourage them or relay a command, but the thought of Deinforo consumed his mind. Soon he felt isolated, a lone figure above the battlefield, as he had long ago.

“Dammit, Ido, your soldiers!” he heard someone shout from afar, but he paid no mind.

He was tired of waiting, tired of fending off those damned annoying birds. Nosing Vesa upward, he shot directly at his enemy, no more questions asked. Just as he'd done on their first encounter, he roused the knight's attention with an immediate jab.

Deinforo blocked the attack, turning toward his enemy. “I see you've made it your little mission to face me.”

Ido said nothing. A muffled, metallic moan came from beneath Deinforo's helmet. He was laughing.

“Truth is, you're a worthy opponent, even if you are a coward,” the knight chuckled.

Without any further pleasantries, Ido launched his attack. Deinforo was prepared and defended himself easily. And so began the cacophony of clashing swords, while their dragons clawed at each other from below.

Ido was furious, but even still, he kept control, never once missing his mark. So exactly did he predict each of his enemy's movements, it was as if he were observing the duel from a distance. The match was a dead tie—two identical methods of attack and the same, ice-cold sense of composure.

The two split off—nothing lost, nothing gained—their dragons gasping for air.

“Now that I think about it, I have some unfinished business with you, too,” said Deinforo, laboring ever so slightly to catch his breath. “You betrayed my Lord. You joined the cause of all those vermin down below.”

Ido laughed. “It's not called betrayal, what I did; it's called renewal. It's called coming back to my senses.”

The battle resumed, just as precise and impeccable as before. Their rhythm accelerated, their swords crossing rapidly in the rain. But neither of the two warriors could land a blow: Each attack was met with the opponent's ready defense.

They split off once again, though this time Ido tried something new. Even as he backed away, the dwarf shifted his weight and spurred his dragon forward. Vesa launched himself at the black beast, clamping his jaws around one of the enemy dragon's arms. Pressed close to his opponent, Ido surprised the knight with an ever more violent attack.

His saddle, meanwhile, was coming loose from Vesa's back, and Ido struggled to keep his balance.

Dammit! How in tarnation does Nihal manage bareback?

In the end, Vesa was forced to loosen his jaws, tearing off a strip of the black dragon's skin.

“Do you think you achieved anything with that little surprise attack of yours, Ido?” Deinforo taunted.