The Weight of Honor (25 page)

Duncan crossed the capital courtyard in the breaking dawn, filled with a sense of optimism he had not had in a long time. Finally, it was a new day in Escalon, a day which would change his life, and the fate of his homeland, forever. He had not slept since his encounter with Tarnis, filled with a sense of triumph, of anticipation. He thought of the imminent truce, the pact he was about to accept with Pandesia, and he realized he had achieved all he had ever hoped to achieve for his people and more. He felt as if he were walking into history. Once and for all, Escalon would be free.

Duncan marched quickly, Kavos, Bramthos, Seavig, Arthfael, his sons Brandon and Braxton and all his commanders beside him, his hundreds of warriors marching behind him, all of them filling the city in the early dawn, through the empty streets, the sound of their clanging armor echoing off the walls, off the courtyards and plazas, their boots marching on cobblestone to perfect rhythm. They were one, a unified force, the already legendary men who had liberated Escalon against all odds. This would be a great day for them all.

Duncan glanced over at Tarnis, marching with them, prepared to help broker the truce, and he could see from his earnest expression that he was eager to make up for past wrongs, for allowing Pandesia in, and that he wanted to set wrongs right. Duncan had always known that he would, that deep down,  Tarnis was a good man.

They passed beneath a massive stone arch and finally, the city square opened up, and as it did, Duncan looked out before him and was thrilled at the sight. There, as  Tarnis had promised, stood the Pandesian governor, alone, awaiting him, the ceremonial black and white sword of surrender in his hands, palms up. Duncan’s heart quickened. Everything Tarnis had promised was true.

Emboldened, Duncan marched into the courtyard, Kavos on one side, his two sons beside him, and Seavig and Tarnis on the other side, ready to accept Pandesia’s surrender, to negotiate a truce for all time.

They all finally came to a stop, Duncan but ten feet away from the Pandesian governor. The square was dead silent, almost too silent. The governor glared back at him, this representative of Pandesia, who had invaded his country, who had made their lives hell, and Duncan, face to face with the enemy, forced himself to contain his anger.

Duncan waited in the silence. It was the Pandesians, after all, who had offered the truce, and it was they who must speak first.

Finally, after a long, uncomfortable silence, the governor, a prim man in an elegant dress who was sweating despite the cool morning, stepped forward. His eyes darted nervously in his head, and Duncan expected him to reach out and hand him the ceremonial sword; but instead, to Duncan’s surprise, the governor turned the blade and dropped it to the ground.

Duncan reddened.

“That is an insult,” Duncan said, baffled.

The governor smiled back.

“Good,” he replied.

Suddenly, the courtyard filled with the sound of armor rattling, of boots marching from all directions. Duncan spun and was stunned to see himself entirely surrounded by a division of Pandesian soldiers, thousands of men marching in a coordinated fashion from all sides of the courtyard, entering through the open-aired arches, emerging from every possible crevice. He heard the sound of arrows being drawn, and he looked up to see thousands more soldiers perched atop the battlements, arrows trained down on him. Even more shocking, they were dressed in the colors of Escalon. Duncan narrowed his eyes and realized they bore the red and black insignia of Baris. Yet he did not see Bant amongst them.

Duncan tightened his grip on his sword and clenched his jaws with fury, beginning to realize the depth of the betrayal. He was dumfounded that his own countrymen could turn on him, and astounded that he had led his men into a trap.

Duncan’s men shifted nervously in every direction, realizing, too, that they were surrounded, and Duncan turned to Tarnis, furious that he had sold him out. Yet Duncan was surprised to see from his face that Tarnis was shocked, too. Duncan followed his glance and turned to see Enis emerge from the Pandesian side, standing beside the governor, and it all became clear: Enis had orchestrated this all. He had sold out not only Duncan and his men, but his own father.

Duncan froze, realizing that, for the first time in his life, he had been outmaneuvered. They could perhaps fight the men surrounding them, even against the greater numbers, but with all those bows aimed down at them, they couldn’t even risk drawing their swords.

Enis stepped forward, a satisfied sneer on his face, came close to Duncan and stared him down.

“Well,” Enis finally said, breaking the tense silence, “you had your chance. Now I have made myself King.”

Duncan frowned back, repulsed by this boy.

“My boy, what have you done?” Tarnis asked, his voice pained, sounding much older.

Duncan saw the genuine horror, the sense of betrayal, on Tarnis’s face, and he realized that, at least, Tarnis had not collaborated with his son. He clearly had no knowledge of this.

“I did no worse than you, Father,” Enis replied, “when you let them in through the gates. I am merely finishing the job which you began. Your time has passed—it is my time now. You have your way of bartering, and I have mine. Mine is much more efficient, it seems. All I had to do was trade one man and his men to secure our borders. Quite the deal, don’t you think?”

Duncan glowered.

“You are worse than your father,” he seethed. “Tarnis, at least, sought to help our country. But you—you make a pact with your own countrymen to ambush your own people. And not for any sake of peace, but all for your own position. Your father did it for security—but you do it for power.”

Kavos, clenching his jaw, tightened his grip on his spear.

“I warned you, Duncan,” he said, his voice filled with rage. “I warned you to kill them all.”

“The time for words has passed,” Enis snapped, turning to Duncan. “Lay down your weapons now, and I will spare your men. Resist, and look up: you will all be dead before you draw a sword. There is no way out.”

Duncan looked around, fuming, knowing he was right. As a soldier, he craved to fight anyway, even with arrows protruding from his body, to fight to the death; yet as the commander of these men, and now as their King, he felt a responsibility. He could not sacrifice all these men’s lives. They would follow him anywhere, would fight anywhere for him, and he could not betray that sacred trust.

Duncan slowly laid down his sword, and one at a time, the air filled with the sound of men drawing swords slowly and laying them down on the stone. The courtyard filled with the clatter of a thousand pieces of steel hitting stone.

Only Kavos stood there, gripping his weapon, trembling with anger.

“Kavos,” Duncan said softly.

He gave Duncan a long, hard look, then finally, reluctantly, he laid it down, too.

Enis’s smile widened in satisfaction.

“Son, you cannot do this,” Tarnis said in a fatherly tone, stepping forward and laying a hand on his shoulder. “It is dishonorable. I negotiated a truce, in my name. You disgrace it.”

“Your name was already disgraced, Father,” Enis replied. “But mine, on the other hand,” he said, and stepped forward, pulled out a hidden dagger, and stabbed his father in the heart. “Mine will live forever.”

Tarnis gasped as he collapsed to the ground at Duncan’s feet.

Duncan stood there, horrified, disbelieving what he had just seen. A father killed by his own son, all for the sake of power. As much as he disapproved of Tarnis, he did not deserve to die that way.

Duncan, irate, rushed forward to grab him, but suddenly, he felt himself grabbed and yanked backwards from behind, as Pandesian soldiers from all sides closed in and restrained him. Duncan writhed with all his might, but he could not break free as he watched the nightmare unfolding before him. He was furious, most of all, at himself. Kavos had been right all along. Why had he trusted them?

“You will pay for this!” Duncan shouted.

“I think not,” Enis smiled.

Suddenly, from the Pandesian side, Bant emerged. He stepped forward and sneered at Duncan.

“It looks like you can’t protect your little birds any longer,” he seethed.

Bant then stepped toward Brandon and Braxton, each restrained by Pandesian soldiers, and sneered at them, but a few feet away.

“Not so big now without your father to protect you?” he asked them.

And then, before Duncan could react, Bant raised a sword, stabbed Brandon, then stabbed Braxton, in the chest.

Duncan felt as if he himself were stabbed as he watched his boys collapse at his feet.

“NO!” Duncan shrieked.

He writhed with all he had, dying inside, unable to break free, and suddenly he felt a metal gauntlet smashing him across the face, knocking him unconscious. And as his face hit stone, landing beside his two dead sons, his world turning black, he had one final thought:

Kyra? Where are you?

Aidan sprinted through the back streets of Andros in the breaking dawn, White at his side, gasping for air as he ran, refusing to stop. He turned down street after street, criss-crossing the sprawling city, his lungs bursting, his legs burning, and not caring. After witnessing those men in that back alley arranging to betray his father, he was more desperate than ever to find him, to warn him before it was too late. But with dawn breaking, Aidan’s heart fell as he knew his time was running out. He ran even faster, ignoring the pain.

Aidan ran and ran, crossing through small squares, entering alleys, then emerging into squares again. He tried to follow the directions those people had given him, hours before, asking everyone he could. He followed street signs, etched into the stone the walls, illuminated by torchlight, hard to read. The city was so still in the early morning light, so quiet, so peaceful, it was hard to believe that any chaos could be imminent.

Aidan stopped and rested as he emerged from an alley, grabbing onto a wall, heaving. He wiped sweat from the back of his hand, unsure if he could go on, unsure if he was even heading in the right direction—when suddenly, he heard it. It was the unmistakable sound of boots, marching. Of armor, clanging. It was an army. His father’s army. And it lay just beyond those walls.

Aidan burst across the square, sprinting again, determined, running so fast he could barely breathe, White keeping pace beside him. Finally, after passing through a series of arches, he turned down an alleyway and emerged to see a huge open arch—and the sight on the other side of it dazzled him. There was a great square, the greatest of the capital, and assembling inside it, he saw with a thrill, was his father, standing there proudly, leading hundreds of men.

Aidan rushed forward, about to pass through, when something made him stop himself. He stood there, at the edge, in the shadows, as he noticed something else: thousands of other soldiers, dressed in blue and yellow, surrounding his father. Aidan’s heart lurched as he realized who they were: Pandesians.

His father, he realized with a shock, had already been betrayed.

Aidan watched in horror as he saw his father and his men lay down their weapons; as he saw his father detained; and, most of all, as he watched his two older brothers, standing beside his father, suddenly get stabbed in the heart.

“NO!” Aidan cried out.

He began to run, to race out into the square, to help his father, his brothers, to grab whatever sword he could find and kill any Pandesians he could.

But a strong palm suddenly smothered his face, closing his mouth, silencing him. It pulled him back, stopping him in his tracks. The palm was fat, meaty, slick with sweat, the palm of an overweight man, and yet still it had strength, enough strength to detain him. Aidan was surprised that White didn’t snarl, didn’t help him—but then he looked over and realized, with a shock, why: it was Motley.

Aidan, anguished, desperate to aid his family, struggled to free himself.

“Let me go!” he tried to yell, between Motley’s fingers.

But Motley tightened his grip and shook his head.

“If I do, you’ll end up like them,” he replied firmly, yanking him back into the shadows.

Aidan tried to resist with all his might, but Motley was too strong.

“That is not the way,” Motley urged. “Be silent. You’ll get us both killed, and you’ll be of no help to your father or his men.”

Aidan tried to resist, but it was no use. Despite himself, he felt tears pour down his cheeks as he relived in his mind’s eye the image of his brothers being murdered.

“There is another way,” Motley urged, his voice earnest for the first time since Aidan had met him. “A far wiser way. Don’t die here. Live to fight another day. I will help you.”

But Aidan thought of his family out there, on the other side of that wall, needing him, thought of how far he had journeyed, only to be stopped so close, and he writhed to break free, even if he knew, deep down, that Motley spoke the truth.

“I’m sorry,” Motley said. “I don’t want to do this. But if I don’t, it will mean your death.”

Motley stuffed a rag in Aidan’s mouth, gagging him, and tossed him over his shoulder. Aidan tried to cry out, but it was no use; he kicked and flailed, but Motley was too strong.

Before he knew what was happening, Aidan was bouncing up and down, slung like a sack of potatoes over Motley’s shoulder as Motley ran away from the square, through the dark alleyways, White at their side. Motley, badly overweight, heaved from the effort, but to his credit, he never stopped running. He managed to take them far from the square, far from the death of his brothers, the ambush of his father, far from all the misery, from all the events that Aidan knew would change his life forever, and off somewhere to another world.