Part 45 (1/2)

”Our champion against yours?”

General Haith flashed a grim smile. ”No, you misunderstood. Our king against yours.”

A premonition of dread flashed through the marshal. ”Sire, it's a trick! You cannot do this.”

The king's voice cracked with anger. ”Osbourne, hold your tongue. This is a king's decision.”

The marshal bit back his words, fearing a disaster.

The king stared at the general. ”So the Mordant will fight?”

The general gave a terse nod. ”This afternoon, in three turns of an hourgla.s.s, midway between our two armies.”

”No, it will be here, within sight of the third wall, where all my men can bear witness.”

The general hesitated but then he agreed. ”As you wish.”

”And the weapons will be swords.”

”Agreed.”

”And we'll fight afoot.”

”As you say.”

The king nodded, his face solemn. ”Then I call upon the G.o.ds to witness this agreement. For the sake of the Octagon, I will meet the Mordant in battle.”

The general smiled. ”So be it.” He began to turn his horse but then stopped. ”Oh, the Mordant bade me to give you this.” One of his escorts threw a long bundle wrapped in bloodstained maroon to the ground. ”In three turns of the hourgla.s.s, the Mordant will meet you in mortal combat. To the victor goes the spoils.” The general turned his horse and put spurs to flanks.

They watched as the enemy galloped into the north.

”Sir Abrax, the package.”

The king turned his mount and they galloped back to the wall. The other captains waited near the campfire. The men pressed close, yearning for news.

Sir Odis, the champion of the lance, broached the question. ”What news, my Lord?”

But the king ignored him. ”Sir Abrax, the package.”

The king sat by the fire, using a dagger to cut the bindings. The bloodstained cloak fell away revealing a gleam of sapphire blue. The king's breath caught. ”My son's sword.” He lifted the great sword, ”Mordbane!” a sheen of blood still coated the blade.

A hushed silence fell on the men.

The marshal took a deep breath. ”Sire, the sword is a weapon aimed at your heart. More proof of the Mordant's treachery.”

Rage smoldered in the king's green eyes. ”He mocks me by returning Ulrich's sword. As if it has no value.”

”Sire, he seeks to cloud your judgment. By returning the sword he goads you to battle. He goads you to rage. I implore you, for the sake of the Octagon, do not accept these terms.”

”For the sake of the Octagon, what else am I to do?” The king rounded on the marshal, a spray of spittle flying from his mouth. ”Would you have me hide behind my men, letting his army slaughter us to a man? Or should I take this chance, this one chance, to wrest victory from the Mordant?” The king glared, his mailed hands balled into fists. ”It's not just the fate of the Octagon at stake. Nay, the fate of the entire southern kingdoms lies at risk. You're the knight marshal of the Octagon. Can you see another way to victory? Can you?”

The marshal had no answer.

”This is an offer I cannot refuse. Not and keep my honor.” The king's voice turned winter cold. ”Or do you doubt my skill at arms?”

Aghast, the marshal shook his head, ”Sire, no, never that.”

”The Mordant is not trained as a knight, nor does he wield a blue sword. He will not stand against me.”

”Not in a fair fight, no.” The marshal struggled to put his fear into words. ”Sire, I cannot believe the Mordant will take the risk. Since when does the Dark Deceiver fight from the front?”

The king's gaze narrowed.

The marshal pressed the attack. ”Sire, there's some trick here that we do not understand.”

”Enough!” The king's voice carried a cold rage. ”It is done. I've given my word. In three hours time, I will meet the Mordant in single combat.” A gasp of awe rippled through the men. ”As the G.o.ds are my witness, I shall slay the Mordant, claiming victory for the Octagon and vengeance for my sons. So help me, Valin.”

The marshal bowed before the king's will. ”May the G.o.ds make it so,” but in his heart, he feared the Mordant's treachery.

56.

Blaine It took the better part of the day for Kath to recover. She asked a torrent of questions, while ravenously devouring their meager stores. ”Tell me again about the h.e.l.lhounds.”

So Blaine told her everything while Bear and Boar sat nearby, urging her to eat. He told her a tale of running during the mornings, sleeping in the afternoon, and then fighting all night. The hardest part was explaining the hounds' fiendish cleverness, how they always waited till the men were bone weary and how they used diversions, hunting as a pack. And then he told her about Torven's idea to use the dead hides to ambush the hounds and about the battle in the moonlight.

Kath listened hard to every word. When he finished, her face was thoughtful. ”I never thought they'd be so many.” She looked at him, a trace of fear in her eyes. ”I wonder what other surprises the Mordant has in store?”

It was a question none of them could answer.

”Do you think there are more hounds out there?”

Bear answered. ”Most likely.”

Kath nodded. ”Then the battle's not over.”

”Svala, we have a gift for you.” Blus.h.i.+ng red beneath his blue tattoos, Bear nudged a large leather pack toward Kath, a pack he'd carried all the way from the Ghost Hills.

”A gift?” Kath smiled, her face a mixture of surprise and pleasure.

Bear nodded, gesturing to Boar. ”We traded for it. We thought it might be yours.”

”Mine?” Kath pulled the pack toward her, fumbling with the buckles.

The other warriors crowded close, come to watch Kath.