Revelyn: 1st Chronicles - When the last arrow falls (83 page)

The king frowned and looked harder at the man. ‘You... I know you!’

‘And I know you Refr Cantiri, imposter King of Revelyn. I have known you all your life.’

The king in deepening shock suddenly recognised the man who once long before, had been his childhood friend.

‘Ofeigr, it is Ofeigr, but this is impossible!’

‘No more impossible than you being King in Revelyn,’ came the terse reply.

The king was thinking hard and fast. To meet this man again like this was bewildering in the extreme. He could not understand how it might be, but perhaps he could turn the situation to his benefit.

‘Surely you would not shoot me, like this, unarmed? What fight have you with me. I have made sure the Faero Islands were left alone, the people there have ruled themselves...’ Again Ofeigr cut off his words.

‘I have a fight with you and you well know why I stand here.’ The arrow did not waver and Ofeigr knew he could stand like that for half a day. He had long dreamed of this moment and played it over and over in his bitter mind.

The king suddenly remembered that thing which he had done and pushed far down in his forgotten store of memory that for an age it had seemed no longer true. In that moment he had no words, but stood in trembling fear for he saw that Ofeigr was intent on his revenge.

‘She was fifteen Refr, only a child when you took her. She had no skill in the ways you wanted, she thought of you as a brother, as a friend. She was my only sister and apart from you my only friend, and when you had finished with her, you despised her, and that drove her finally to death. She hung herself, but you tied the rope as surely as I stand here to kill you.’ He paused and his eyes of bitter sorrow bored into the King. ‘I lost the two of you that day. I swore I would be avenged of one.’

Each word hit the king like a mighty war hammer, and deep inside he squirmed as though to avoid the searing pain which the renewed memory brought to him. He found no words of sorrow for this was a skill he did not posses. He only thought of how it had all come down to this.

‘I do not understand Ofeigr.’ He spoke as gently as he could for he knew that death was but an instant away. ‘How did you find me, how did you know who I was? Why are you here with these enemies of mine?’ He found a thousand confused questions tumbling from his tongue.

‘Your middle name is Peter. You came to the throne and Revelyn then had a ruler called Lord Petros. Do you not remember telling me that this was the name you liked, the one which you would one day be called? Did you not tell me that Refr the fox had not been cunning enough to save his parents the day your brother was stolen from you. I heard stories of this new king and how he came to the throne, favoured by King Frederic, a usurper many said. I knew who you were, and I swore that one day I would come to be avenged.’

The king was amazed at the ferocity of Ofeigr’s words, for he had forgotten that those he had hurt and left behind might still have some claim upon him.

‘I had no plan until by chance your brother returned to the Islands.’ Ofeigr continued.

At this news the king started to shake, and his demeanour changed remarkably.

‘My brother returned? Little Remy came home. Ofeigr are you sure? I searched for him for many years but lost all hope and then...’ his voice trailed away.

‘And then you fell in with King Frederic and other things became important, like power and lust and domination.’ Ofeigr hissed the words of deadly accusation. King Petros was unable to reply for he knew it was all true.

A silence stood between them for a time. Ofeigr’s arrow remained motionless over Petros’ heart and they looked long upon each other as many unspoken thoughts passed by them; vivid memories of times lost and twisted into other shapes became a vice like bond they each could not resist. Until one spoke.

‘Please Ofeigr tell me this,’ the king pleaded quietly, ‘I have been in error in many things but I always loved my brother. What happened to him? Where is he now?’

Ofeigr smiled for he knew that in this he would be avenged.

‘He is with us here, this day. Over there where your sorcerer lies in bonds.’ Ofeigr nodded with his head.

The King turned quickly and gazed upon the battlefield and searched the group of people who now stood in numb shock upon the rock shelf where the archer had slain the
Wolvers
and turned the battle singlehandedly.

‘Which one?’ Petros demanded for he knew not which it could be.

Ofeigr’s next words tore a jagged hole through his deadened heart.

‘He is the archer. The one you have hunted with such hatred. You have just slain him.
He
is your brother, Refr Cantiri. The one for whom you so longed in anguish is now dead. I lost my sister at your hand. You lost your brother at your own.’

In white and trembling anguish, and as the awful truth swept over him, the defeated King of Revelyn stood and stared in horror. Finally Ofeigr spoke once more with a deadly biting sarcasm.

‘Long live the king, for because of him, his brother will not.’

*

The small and war weary band which stood upon the rocky shelf watched with some amazement as Ofeigr marched his prisoner down to them.

‘It is the King himself,’ said Reigin quietly.

‘Ofeigr has surprised us all,’ commented Scion who had greatly wondered what had become of his new friend.

Zelfos grimaced and swore, for he knew that they had lost, but he was a creature of great cunning and his mind searched for some means to gain the advantage despite his desperate situation. Leander had been stripped of his weapons and sat in the long grass, his hands bound behind him. Cordia had staunched the bleeding from his wounded leg and he had recovered quickly from the mighty blow to his head for he came from a people renowned for the thickness of their skulls. He too felt the bitterness of defeat, but unlike Zelfos or the King he did not fear what might come to pass. In fact a part of him was glad that the two men he had tried to serve were no longer able to make his life a misery with their vain bickering and impossible demands.

The King reached the rocky shelf in a state of deep shock. He had walked down from the trees at Ofeigr’s command in great turmoil.  His eyes were fixed upon the fallen archer and his heart pounded relentlessly in his chest. The realisation that after so many years of missing his little brother and then searching in vain, he had killed him. He could not yet believe it to be true, but he could not deny the logic of what Ofeigr had said. It all made sense and yet it could not be true.

That man lying there so still is not my brother. Not my little Remy who I last saw stolen away in the arms of a Norz raider. No I can’t believe it.

‘Behold the king of Revelyn!’ Ofeigr announced with not a little triumph in his voice.

At this Sylvion looked up from her sad and tearful grief by Rema’s side and there was death in her eyes. Reigin saw it and was quickly at her side.

‘My lady,’ he advised in a voice which she found hard to ignore, ‘there has been enough death; now we need to look beyond. Let us leave this place and see what peace lies in the future. No violence now will undo what had been done. Rema is dead and he gave his life for you. Let that be the end of it for now.’

He placed a huge but gentle hand upon her shoulder and she responded to its warm direction. The hate and anger died, replaced once more by an even deeper sadness.

King Petros ignored them all and in a daze walked slowly up to Rema and fell to his knees by his side. The others watched in wonderment as he looked upon the fallen man. He reached gently down and caught up the tiny whale bone pendant carved in the shape of a sword which hung round Rema’s neck, and in that moment he knew that this indeed was his brother and he had slain him. And then he began to weep.

As Ofeigr explained what had come to pass such that all who heard were greatly shocked, the mighty King of all Revelyn, Lord of Light was torn apart by grief.

Zelfos and Leander were speechless at this amazing revelation, but could do nothing but watch and wait for what might happen next; and yet Zelfos had no sorrow in his ugly heart. The death of the archer gave him a divided emotion. All death and violence between humankind gave his strategy support, but this selfless sacrifice of life was grievously bad; it set back his plans and threw confusion where he had smoothed the way. But still his mind worked ever quicker to seek a way to once more gain the upper hand. He knew the battle was lost; he suspected that the magic of the
Vaudim
of which he had no knowledge would seal that fate, but still there was a way perhaps with guile and not the blade to win through in the end. As the company stood and watched the pathetic spectacle of the king weeping for his slain brother, the pieces in Zelfos’ mind began to form a desperate plan and so when the time seemed right, he spoke. He was bound firm and on his knees, only his tongue would save the day. His words must be like a golden coin found unexpected amongst the poorest rags of poverty.

‘He is still the king!’ He spoke it firmly yet without superiority as though it were a problem that could not be easily overcome.

The people round about, suddenly jolted from what they looked upon, all turned and stared at Zelfos who smiled weakly in submission.

‘He is still the king.’ He repeated once more, ‘there is an army waiting beyond this place and all have sworn allegiance to his rule.’ He let the words sink in for they were but a score and weary with battle. To face another larger foe so soon was surely a daunting prospect.

‘And furthermore,’ Zelfos continued trying hard not to sound as though he had the answer, ‘the people of the land have all accepted his authority for he has held the Royal Sceptre and survived. This test he has passed, and none can deny it is, in Revelyn, the proof of who shall rule.’

At this point Sylvion could no longer be contained and shrugging off Reigin’s calming hand she strode toward the man for whom she held such hate and loathing. As she went her Shadow Blade appeared in her hand, and suddenly it was at his throat, and in a panic he thought he had gone too far. The Blade did not give off its deadly light for she held it merely  as a threat and wanted him to answer her.

‘You dare to think that this man can continue on as he has done?’ Her words cut the air into pieces and echoed shrilly around the rocky walls. ‘You are death and he in weakness and folly has allowed the land to fall into shadow; almost to doom, and you kneel there and dare to suggest that he has any right at all to rule.’

Zelfos fought hard to keep some composure for her eyes spoke death and the blade against his throat gave him good reason to understand that this embodiment he had chosen could be a fearful thing.

He smiled as best he knew with such a threat before him. It was not graceful and seemed more a leering twitch but it was all he could manage then.

‘I merely point out that this battle cannot be the end, and your gaol cannot be achieved by any lawful means unless the Royal Sceptre had been held and that test passed before appropriate witnesses. Lord Petros has done this. I cannot see how you can hope to undo what has been done.’

With all the bravery his humanity allowed the sorcerer looked full into her eyes and wished her weak and undecided.

Sylvion wavered for a moment; he made a point and she had seen so much death. The idea that Revelyn should be further tortured was not something she wished for.

‘What do you suggest then sorcerer?’ She asked more quietly but the icy edge to her voice was still clear to all.

Zelfos flinched at her naming him so, for he had worked hard to seem something other than a common conjurer and merely one who channels other’s spirits. The land had seen too many such tricksters. He was far more than a sorcerer. Despite this slight he took a deep breath and laid out his desperate plan.

‘I propose that all hostilities shall cease, and we return to Ramos where the King shall once more claim the Royal Sceptre, and if he survives then his rule shall be confirmed and you will accept the consequences that follow.’

The audacity of such a proposal took them all by surprise.

Reigin hissed in great anger. ‘It is a trick and he cannot be allowed to draw another breath. This battle had been hard won,’ he pointed then to Rema’s body and swept it out over the grassy plain and ended pointing over the walls of the
Vaudim
to where they all knew many had met death in the previous days. ‘I do not trust this monster. My Lady you must not agree to this!’

Sylvion did not flinch. She had heard Reigin’s words but did not turn or answerer them for in her mind she knew by some deeper intuition that there was a hidden victory in Zelfos’ proposal that he had missed. It was a gamble but she told herself that now was the time to have faith in her belief, and let the detail take care of itself.

 Ever so slowly she pushed forward on her blade into Zelfos’ unprotected throat. He flinched in terror as it cut the skin and blood tricked quickly down his neck. He tried to swallow but could not.

‘And what guarantee do you have for me,’ she whispered with deadly intent, ‘that you and any else of your kind would abide by any such agreement.’

Zelfos thought hard but could not respond.

‘You see my point sorcerer,’ she continued,’ you deal in lies and so none can believe you when there is a need.’

The point of the Shadow Blade made Zelfos’ breathing difficult and he lent back as best he could to relive his fear and discomfort.

‘And yet,’ Sylvion continued for all to hear, ‘there is logic in what you say. The people must accept their ruler and see that the Royal Sceptre has given the authority. That test must be passed.’

Zelfos felt a rush of exultation. She would accept his plan. He knew that the Lord Petros had once held the Royal Sceptre. He had been there and witnessed it. He could pass the test again and then this royal upstart, Sylvion Greyfeld would be bound by her own promise. She would have to accept defeat and all that this would bring, and Petros once more would rule as he, Zelfos wished, and the final part to his plan would continue unopposed. Whilst all about looked like defeat he had found a way.