Ashar'an Rising (Nexus Wars Saga) (10 page)

Two other warriors moved from behind and grabbed him under the armpits, half guiding, half dragging him towards the dais. As they moved the crowd parted with an expectant buzzing, and four people emerged to climb the dais.

One was the unmistakable figure of Khalan, dressed in white, though he still wore the black cloak. His face was downcast, appearing mournful, but he did raise a contemptuous look at Valdieron, followed by a mocking smile.

There was another man, appearing much as Dhalan had, tall and handsome, though more thickly muscled and maybe slightly taller. His dark hair was flecked with white streaks, belying his age. He walked with confidence and surety, though slightly banded, not surprising for a man who had most likely spent most of his life on horseback. He also wore predominantly white, as did the others, which Val assumed to be a symbol of mourning here.

The other two were women, and where Dhalan and the King were similar so were these two, most likely mother and daughter. Both were tall, though the mother was slightly larger of frame, and her hair was flecked with grey. Her face was wide and proud, with large mouth and nose, which she had obviously passed down to her daughter. Both wore diaphanous lace gowns that appeared almost scandalous, but no doubt such garb was not uncommon given their practicality in the scorching conditions.

The Equinary sat, while his wife and children stood behind him. It was obvious to Valdieron that the women of the Darishi were not held in as much esteem as the males. He had seen no female warriors, and there seemed to be few young females.

A hushed quiet fell, then a surprised whispering sprung up as Valdieron dropped to one knee in obeisance such that he had seen at the court in Thorhus. While he knew nothing of the Darishi nobility, he felt he should show some subservience and respect, for so far it seemed he was not viewed very highly.

“
Rise, Valdieron of Tyr and hear judgment.”

Valdieron rose and surveyed the Equinary, whose voice and demeanor showed signs of tiredness. It appeared Khalan had made his move to kill Dhalan while his father was still in command of the clan, though it was obvious the Equinary would soon have to step down or be forced to step aside. Not that he was old, scarcely fifty years, but the years were not kind to him, it seemed, his eyes sunken and his skin tight. His eyes however, a pale green, showed some life and they held Valdieron as he spoke, though they were lined with moisture.

“
Valdieron of Tyr, for the murder of Dhalan, Chieftain of the Black Lion Clan and first heir to the title of Equinary of the Black Lion clan, you will be executed by hanging, your body burned and scattered over the lands. How do you wish to plead?”

Each word the Equinary spoke sent a shiver of anger and regret through Valdieron. He shifted his gaze to watch Khalan as the sentence was read, but the Prince was not looking at him, to all appearances the mourning brother.

“
On my word, I say the guilt lies elsewhere, Lord of the Black Lion Clan.” Under other circumstances he may have been proud of his choice of words, but it was important he show the proper decorum here, even though he had no experience in these matters. His answer brought another hushed whispering from the crowd, though he could sense their anger and distrust.

Most likely the Equinary had been prepared for such an answer, though he arched his brow slightly in surprise, or was it disbelief? Maybe he was so predisposed towards Valdieron's guilt that he thought Valdieron would simply confess.

“
And how do you propose to prove yourself?” This came gravely, and even Valdieron wondered how he could do so. The crowd watched him expectantly, maybe waiting for him to crack and try to escape. “Have you a witness to attest to your innocence?”

Valdieron shook his head ruefully. “No, lord, but if you would hear my story, then perhaps you might not be so inclined to sentence me to death.”

Khalan's head shot up at this, and he looked to his father hopefully, hoping the lord would not grant Valdieron's request, but the Equinary nodded slowly. “Speak, Valdieron of Tyr, but know that what you say is worth little without proof.”

Valdieron inclined his head thankfully, still down on one knee. “On my word as a warrior of the realms I swear that what I say is truth, and should it still not sway your decision, then I at least go to my death with honor.” These plainsmen seemed to live by an honorable and strict social structure, and his words seemed to strike something in the crowd, who began to buzz again, and the King gave a nod that his words would be heard and dealt with accordingly.

And so Valdieron began his short story from the time he entered into the plains. He told of Kaz, knowing that to omit anything would provide a chance for incrimination should it be revealed later. When he mentioned the Hara'kar, the crowd erupted into an angry buzz, and there were many questioning eyes turned to the Equinary, who quieted them with raised hands.

“
As the melee lengthened, Chieftain Dhalan was lost to me as I battled the Hara'kar. It was not until a break in the fighting that I saw Khalan carrying his brother in his arms, obviously dead. Then Khalan lowered Dhalan to the ground and ordered the Hara'kar to take me alive so that I could pay for Dhalan's death. They overpowered me, and that was the last I knew, since I awoke just now.”

The crowd buzzed again, and this time there were questioning looks towards Khalan, whose head was raised, but he clutched at his sisters hand for support, and tears ran down his cheeks. His father turned to him, and there was a questioning look in his eyes.

“
For this man to speak such lies is an indication of his lack of honor, after giving his word he would speak the truth.” The words were faulty with tremors, a perfect act by the Prince as he continued to cry. “I fought off he and his Hara'kar hirelings, Dhalan's body at my feet with this man's sword through his chest. How can he speak of honor after such a deed that will forever haunt my dreams and those of our family?”

Valdieron almost laughed at the incredulous words, but he knew the crowd was enchanted by the Prince's rousing lies. Instead he reverted his gaze back to the Equinary, who was studying him intently.

“
Have you anything else to say, Valdieron of Tyr?”

“
Only that I spoke the truth, Lord, and that had your son really faced me in Battle as he said, then he would also be dead now, but instead it is I, captured under false pretences after facing him and six Hara'kar.”

“
Your reputation has indeed become known to us, Valdieron of Tyr, but to say your skills as a warrior rival that of a first cavalier is presumptuous in the least.”

Valdieron merely shrugged, suddenly tired and feeling the weight of forced guilt on his shoulders. “There is only one way to find out.”

The crowd gasped as one, whether at Valdieron's temerity or his foolishness at challenging Khalan, he could not tell. Khalan's face seemed to light up, however, as if he had expected or hoped for such a chance to dismiss the possibilities of his guilt. If he killed Valdieron, it would only help to quell those who disbelieved his motives, while if Valdieron won, he would still have to be sentenced, though it would not likely change.

“
You would challenge my son in his current state of shock and mourning?” The King sounded incensed by the challenge, though a part of him seemed willing to agree to the combat.

“
I cannot say I am in better shape. I am cramped, wounded, tired and have been drugged for at least the last day, the effects of which are still making me unsteady. To say I have the advantage would be untrue. All I need is my sword and a moment to prepare.”

If the Equinary held any reservations, the crowd was more than willing to see the battle. A soft chant of 'Fight! Fight!' grew. He turned to his son, who nodded slightly, though not until he wiped the forced tears from his eyes.

“
Bring his sword!”

The crowd let out a cheer as one of the guards brought forth Valdieron's sword and tossed it at his feet. Valdieron took hold of it, feeling its familiar warmth and presence, but even as he rose he knew he was in trouble. His muscles were stiff and sore, and his back was burning like a forge. Every little cut he had received against the Hara'kar burned as sweat invaded the wounds.

He asked for some water, which was granted, and he took a long drink. Khalan leaped from the dais, removing his heavy cloak and unsheathing his saber. Val removed his own shirt, tentatively so as not to break off too much dried blood from his wounds, especially the long cut across his shoulders, but it was no use, and he felt blood flowing down his back as the wound began to seep again. The crowd buzzed at this for some reason, sensing this would not be the only blood to flow.

If the lethargy he felt had been drug  induced, he hoped it would pass as the adrenalin began to build. He stretched weakly, trying to coax sleepy muscles into use, and when the King clapped his hands for the combat to begin, he still felt leaden.

Khalan's visage was set in a determined grimace as he advanced on Valdieron, slowly and inexorably. Valdieron waited for the Prince, knowing every second gave his body that much longer to recover. The saber was arcing in on him quickly, however, and he was forced to make a sweeping parry, and the fight was joined.

Luckily for him, Khalan was not the warrior Javin was, and Valdieron had improved more since the tournament. He was good, however, and he matched Valdieron stroke for stroke as they spun around the circle like two dancers trying to match each other's moves. The crowd warmed to the entertainment, 'oohing' each time a stroke was barely evaded and cheering each time there was a nick, even when it was Khalan doing the bleeding. His white shirt was soon soaked with sweat and blood, but his face remained locked in a sneer as he desperately tried to outfight Valdieron.

Growing more confident and fluid with each swing and step, Valdieron worked at disarming the Prince, knowing it would serve his cause no good to slay him, as much as he may have deserved it. After a pressing combination, he had Khalan backpedaling at the center of the circle, and three consecutive strikes had the saber whizzing through the air into the ground, while at the same time he stepped into Khalan with what would have been a finishing blow had he so desired. Trying desperately to backpedal, the Prince's heel caught on the protruding trapdoor that led to the oubliette, and he fell back heavily.

The crowd ceased chanting as Valdieron stepped away, tossing his sword towards the guard who had handed it to him and returning to kneel before the Equinary, his head bowed as a wave of nausea and dizziness hit him. Every muscle burned, and his head felt like it was running with fire from the wound below his neck. He sensed Khalan rising, smacking the dust off himself as he stalked into the crowd, disappearing, much to the crowd's amusement.

“
Your skill and actions have been noted, Valdieron of Tyr,” spoke the Equinary after a time, the crowd growing silent and expectant as they waited on the verdict. “As such, you will accompany us on the morrow to Stonemere, where the Council of Riders will confer on your punishment. Any comments you wish to make will be held until then. Take him away.”

A surprised but not displeased murmur ran through the crowd as the two guards moved forward to grab him again and lead him to the oubliette, though not as forceful this time. The jailer opened the trapdoor, and he was lowered inside, but there was no binding him as the trapdoor was closed and latched.

He heard the lord order three guards to remain on watch there, but he did not really care as he stumbled to the bench and pulled himself onto it. There was no longer feeling in many of his muscles, as if the exertion had caused whatever drugs were left in his system to become more potent, and despite the fire in his back, he fell asleep almost instantly.

Soft hands, combined with coolness across his back, woke him some time later; how long he could not tell. He jerked his head around quickly, despite the pain in his neck and the sharp pain it caused him. A figure stood over him, dressed in a dark robe with a hood, and Valdieron began to move but halted as he felt what must have been a poultice across his back wound. He realized this person was most likely a healer, and if he had wanted him dead or hurt, he had the opportunity while Valdieron slept but had not taken it.

“
Do not move. The unguent will cleanse your wound and help it to heal.”

He gave a start at the sound of the female voice. There were no other guards, but still this woman was here. Obviously the lord felt he was to be trusted enough to let her enter by herself.

“
Rest. You have a long road ahead of you tomorrow.” With that, she laid a cool hand upon his shoulder and he let his head fall back as warmth began to spread through his body, fighting the shocking coolness of the pit and the infections which clung to his many wounds. It brought with it drowsiness, but this one was welcome, and as he let it overcome him he thought he heard her speak again.

“
Until me meet again, Valdieron.”

That voice sounded familiar. Where he had heard it before? Try as he might, he could not remember, as his memories, like dried autumn leaves before a breeze, swirled and eddied just out of reach. Sleep overtook him again, but the words hung with him through turbulent and restless dreams.

The
preparations for leaving Salt Springs were almost finished when Valdieron returned from bathing in the cool waters of the spring. It had indeed been salty to the taste, though not enough that it was undrinkable, and he guessed it was something to do with minerals in the ground. A small stream ran into it from the lush fields in the North, making him think it was water from an underground bore that filled the spring.