Part 55 (1/2)
”Stop running, little prince, accept your fate. We are done with human rule. I would prefer to wear the crown, of course, but even a Miralyith is better than a mixed blood. It is time that mankind left Elan for good.”
”And then you'll live happily ever after?”
”Indeed we will. We will roam the world as we once did. We will destroy the goblins and then it will be just the dwarves and us again, and eventually... just us. Then Erivan will rule Elan again. When that day comes, Ferrol will walk among us once more.”
”Do you really think Mawyndule will honor any agreement he made with you? He hates you more than he does us. It was your people that betrayed him. They convinced him to kill his own father. He wants to be your king so he can enact his revenge on those who hurt him the most.”
”You're lying.”
”Am I? For three thousand years he's sought his revenge. Kill me and you will place a tyrant on your throne and his first order will be your death.”
”He is still an elf. Better that he rule than a half-breed like you.”
”Whatever bonds of kins.h.i.+p he had, he lost long ago.”
”Even so, even if he kills me, if my death and the death of every clan leader is the cost, so be it. We will be rid of your kind-of your blood.”
He struck out and once more Royce dodged. But this time he realized too late his own mistake. Irawondona had antic.i.p.ated the move; he saw the feint and compensated, swinging around with the long blade. Royce was caught. The metal entered him with a surprisingly quiet hiss. Looking down, he saw the blood-coated tip as Irawondona pulled the blade free.
Royce collapsed.
”Royce!” he heard Hadrian cry. ”Do it, do it now!”
The elf lord raised his blade once more. ”Farewell, Son of Nyphron.”
Royce took a breath. ”Byrinith con-duylar ben-Hadrian Blackwater,” he said as loud as he could manage.
”Duylar e finis dan iskabareth ben Royce Melborn!” Hadrian replied quickly even as Irawondona's stroke came down.
The tip of the long blade slammed against Royce's chest but he barely felt it. A bright spark flashed and a loud crack echoed as the blade shattered and sent bits of metal skipping down the hillside.
Irawondona stood above him, stunned.
Royce muttered and coughed. ”My friend is going to kill you.”
Irawondona looked down at him, confused, but Royce took little notice now. He lay staring up at the blue sky. ”You were right, Gwen. You were right.”
The elven lord looked over his shoulder and saw Hadrian, bandaged and standing in the ringed arena. With what sounded like an elvish curse, Irawondona spat on Royce, glared at Mawyndule, and walked back toward the ring.
Irawondona entered. ”Your weapon is destroyed,” the elf said in a pitying voice as he gestured at the halberd, lying in two pieces.
”No, it's not.” Hadrian reached behind him and drew out the great spadone blade.
Irawondona hesitated but then threw aside his broken pole and drew his own sword, which gleamed much the same way as Mauvin's. The two moved to the center of the ring.
Irawondona attacked first, spinning and swinging. Hadrian took hold of the advance guard of his sword with his off hand, gripping his blade up to the f.l.a.n.g.es, and caught the attack with two hands much the same as if he had still wielded the pole. He pivoted and spun the sword around but the elf slipped away. He riposted instantly, but Hadrian was there with the hilt guard again. There was a spark and the two separated once more; this time they both panted for breath.
Irawondona attacked again and feinted. Hadrian saw the ruse and moved to cut-but then the elf leapt in the air and spun. Irawondona flew from the ground so nimbly that he appeared to fly, leaving Hadrian's sword nothing but air. Irawondona flipped, and as he touched down, he struck Hadrian across the back with a hammer punch from his sword's pommel. The blow drove Hadrian to the dirt once more.
Hadrian was down as Irawondona attacked. Once more, reflex saved him. Hadrian rolled aside and kicked Irawondona in the knee, causing the elf to stagger back long enough for Hadrian to gain his footing.
Arista, Mauvin, Magnus, and Myron rushed to Royce where he lay on the hillside, struggling to breathe. Arista was not a doctor, but Royce looked bad. Already the earth around him was dark with blood. His chest and sides were slick and s.h.i.+ny, violently thrusting to breathe; both eyes were rolled up, exposing only whites.
”Stay alive, Royce,” Arista told him. ”Do you hear me? You need to stay alive!”
Royce muttered something and drew in air with a horrid gurgle. ”I saved-I saved him.”
”Not yet you haven't. It's not over! Royce, listen to me.” Arista took his hands. ”You can't die, do you understand? Do you hear me?”
He jerked, his head twitching.
”d.a.m.n it!” she said, and placing her hands on his chest, she closed her eyes and began the chant. Immediately she felt the resistance, a solid separation, as if a wall stood between them. The Hand of Ferrol left no cracks or seams. The s.h.i.+eld was perfect and impervious.
She opened her eyes. ”I can't help him,” she told the others. ”Hadrian! Hurry! He's dying!”
At the sound of her voice Irawondona smiled. ”I don't even have to fight to win. I'm faster than you are. I can avoid you until he dies. Then Mawyndule will be king. But rest a.s.sured I will kill you then. You will be the first; then I will kill your woman, and that empress of yours, then every last man, woman, and child on the face of Elan.”
Hadrian nodded. ”You could do that. And when your son and grandson ask about this day, you can tell them how in the fight that decided everything, you did nothing. You chose to run until time ran out, because you were afraid of being killed in a fair fight by a human-a fight ordained by your G.o.d, Ferrol. Then they will know that your race gained their dominance through cowardice and that mankind was truly the greater race.”
Irawondona glared.
”Go on, you can admit it. You're afraid of me.” Hadrian raised his voice. ”You're afraid of me, and I'm only a human. I'm not even a n.o.ble or a knight. Do you know what I am? I'm a thief. Both of us are, Royce and I.” Hadrian pointed down the hill. ”We're nothing but a pair of common thieves. My father was a lowly blacksmith. He worked in a pathetic village not far from here.” Hadrian let himself laugh. ”An orphan and a blacksmith's son-two human thieves who terrify the invincible elven lords. It's so pathetic.”
”I'm afraid of no human.”
”Then prove it. Don't wait for him to die. Don't be a coward. Have at me.”
Irawondona did not move.
”I thought as much,” Hadrian said, and turned his back on the elf.
There was no sound. Hadrian knew there would not be. Years with Royce had taught him so. It was the look on the faces of those who watched that let him know Irawondona had moved.
Hadrian had already s.h.i.+fted his grip on the two-handed pommel of the spadone. His fingers spread in the fas.h.i.+on his father had taught him. His knees bent as his back bowed and his arm moved. One minute he was on the hill at Amberton Lee and the next he was in Hintindar behind the forge as his father shouted instructions.
Don't look! Danbury ordered, tying on the blindfold. Trust your instincts. Don't guess; know what he is doing. Believe it. Act on it!
Hadrian swung outward to his right. The great sword of Jerish Grelad caught the morning sun on its worn blade and glinted, s.h.i.+ning for one brief moment.
It's more than fighting, Haddy, Danbury said. It's what you are. It's what you will be-what you must be. Trust in it.
Hadrian's knees. .h.i.t the snow, sending up a burst of ice crystals. He could see the shadow now, the rus.h.i.+ng darkness of Irawondona running at him from behind. Pulling against the weight of the spadone, he started the pivot, the collapsing rotation.
It was a blind attack.
You don't have to see your opponent to kill him, his father had explained. You just have to know where he will be. That's the key to everything. And if you know, what good are eyes? What good is seeing? Trust in what I've taught you and you'll hit him.
Hadrian continued the spin, one knee coming up, his shoulder twisting his waist as he put his full weight into the arc. He did not look. He did not need to. He knew. He knew exactly where Irawondona was and where he would be.
He felt metal kiss metal as Irawondona tried to parry. The force of the spadone, the weight behind it, was too much to deflect. The metal sang, but there was hardly a quiver to the stroke as it carried through the weak defense, driving the sword from Irawondona's grip. The spadone continued in its stroke and Hadrian hardly felt the impact as it cut into the elf's side. Irawondona's body offered even less resistance than his blade, and Hadrian completed the swing as if he were performing it alone behind the blacksmith's shop. The only difference was the splash of blood.