Chapter Thirty-Two #2
When they finally relaxed and uncoupled, Finnvid frowned. “You didn’t . . . did you?”
“Now you can say ‘fuck,’ so you’re going to lose the ability to say other words?”
“I don’t need to say the words when you know what I mean. And you didn’t.”
“I didn’t. I don’t want to.”
“You don’t want to?”
“I’m saving up. For tomorrow night.”
“Be a bit sad if you end up getting killed before then.”
“I guess I’d better be careful. And you’d better help me find the right words to keep people from wanting to kill me.
” Theos grabbed the soap from the side of the tub and started scrubbing.
“First, let’s get clean, and shave. Then we’ll get dressed, then maybe sleep a little.
And when we wake up, you’ll tell me what I need to say. ”
“I’m not sure why you think I’ll know how to convince a crowd of Torians of anything.”
“You’re very persuasive. You’ve convinced me of all sorts of things.”
“Like what?”
Theos had already shared more of himself that night than he had in the rest of his life combined. He’d given all he could. So he shrugged and said, “You persuaded me to drink a lot of broth. That’s quite impressive.”
“I’m definitely qualified to become your speechwriter, then.”
“You’re the best of the available candidates.” Theos passed the soap over and said, “Get clean. We have a war to stop.”
And for once, almost magically, Finnvid did as he was told.
***
Theos didn’t seem nervous. Finnvid was so tense he was practically vibrating, but Theos stood on the stage in the city’s central square, watching the men stream in, and appeared perfectly calm.
From ten paces away, on the ground at the side of the stage, Finnvid had no idea whether Theos’s composure was an act or genuine, which somehow made him even more nervous.
He’d given up his world, was risking his life, and he couldn’t even tell how the man he loved was feeling?
Then Theos glanced in his direction and made a face while taking a deep breath and then exhaling. He was nervous. And he was letting Finnvid know something he was hiding from everyone else, because Finnvid was special to him. Which made all the risks worthwhile.
He smiled back, trying to seem more confident than he was, and Theos shook his head. “You used to be a much better liar,” Theos called to him.
“You used to give me better reasons to deceive you.”
Theos grinned, then his attention was caught by a disturbance at the entry of the square. Finnvid followed Theos’s gaze and his chest tightened around his heart. It was the warlord, a squad of men following him, and they were heading right for the stage.
The yard was about half-full, more men pushing in after the warlord, moving faster now in anticipation. Finnvid wanted to run. Not away, but toward Theos, so he could protect him. Still, he’d been given his role, and he would play it. He would maintain his discipline and make Theos proud.
So he stood still, and when the warlord reached him and fixed him with a hard stare, Finnvid met the man’s gaze.
“What are you doing here?” the warlord growled, and for the first time Finnvid saw the hint of uncertainty in the man’s face.
He really didn’t know what Finnvid was doing, and maybe didn’t know what Theos was planning, either.
“I’m waiting to find out,” Finnvid said. It was honest enough.
“Do you represent your brother? Has he canceled our alliance?”
Finnvid ached to lie, to bluff the warlord into backing down, but he didn’t think he could sustain the illusion, and Theos wanted everything out in the open. So he said, “I represent only myself. I cannot speak for my brother.”
The warlord nodded sharply, then leaned in. “If you get out of here, now, I’ll forget about this. But if you stay? You’ll be held to your decision.”
“As will you,” Finnvid replied. The bravado tasted sweet as it passed over his tongue, but it turned to sour fear as the warlord smirked at him and then waved his men toward Theos.
“Arrest this man!” the warlord bellowed.
The warlord’s men started forward, and Finnvid shrank back.
He’d argued about this, but Theos had won.
Finnvid would stay out of the way, and Theos would have no Sacrati bodyguards, no one to make it look as if the Sacrati were in revolt.
It needed to be clear that Theos was acting alone.
So Finnvid stood and watched as the men climbed to the stage and approached Theos.
Twelve of them, battle-scarred and strong.
And they all froze the moment Theos drew his sword.
“What are the charges?” Theos asked. His voice was almost as loud as the warlord’s, but it was lighter, somehow. Less angry, less aggressive. Almost conversational, if conversations were carried on at such elevated volumes.
“Treason.” The warlord stalked up onto the stage himself, but stayed behind his men. “You have conspired with the enemy against the interests of the people of Windthorn and the Torian Empire.”
“And if I allow you to arrest me for this, will there be a fair and public trial? Will I be allowed to speak in my own defense?”
“That is the Torian way,” the warlord replied as if it were a real answer.
“So you give me your word of honor that you would not murder me without a trial, the way you murdered the Sacrati captain?” Theos stopped speaking, then shook his head. “But what use is your word of honor?”
“Arrest him,” the warlord hissed toward his men, and a few of them stepped gingerly forward.
Theos stepped forward as well, and the men froze again. Twelve men. Finnvid knew the reputation of the Sacrati, but he also knew these were well-trained Torians. Twelve-to-one odds were too much, even for Theos. And the men must know this too. Still, they didn’t attack.
Theos watched them for a moment, then nodded, and half turned.
He still had his eye on them, but he was facing his audience as well.
“The warlord has murdered the Sacrati captain,” he said, loudly enough to be heard throughout the square.
“You all know this. There was no trial because the warlord had no evidence. Is this the man who should be leading us?”
“We are under attack from within,” the warlord bellowed. “In times of war, soldiers follow the orders of their commander! We don’t have time for trials, and we can’t expose state secrets in the name of evidence!”
Theos didn’t even look at the warlord. He told the crowd, “You know he’s lying.
You know he’s a murderer. And not just the captain.
Twelve Sacrati left Windthorn to escort the Elkati home; only two returned.
You know this. He’s come up with lies to explain what happened, but you know they aren’t true.
You’ve spoken to the others who were there, your fellow Torian soldiers, and they’ve either told you the truth or they’ve dropped their eyes in shame.
They stood by while their fellow Torians were butchered, and they did it because they were following orders. ”
The warlord strode forward then, shoving one of his soldiers toward Theos, then turning and yanking the arm of another. “Arrest him, or kill him—I don’t care!”
It was too late, surely. Theos had spoken, and the men had heard him, and Finnvid had seen the words hit home. They did know. But now that the warlord’s men were moving again, reluctantly circling around Theos, preparing to attack, the men in the audience didn’t do anything. They stared, waiting.
Not bloodthirsty and waiting for a show, Finnvid didn’t think. There was no excitement on their faces, just doubt. The reeve had been right; they wanted to be led, and they hadn’t been given an order.
Finnvid was tempted to shout out his own command, but he knew he couldn’t.
He wasn’t even a Torian; they wouldn’t obey him, and his attempt would make Theos look weak.
Still, he wouldn’t stand by and watch Theos die, so he climbed up on the stage, his sword feeling awkward and too heavy in his trembling hands.
The fighting started when he was at the top of the short flight of stairs.
He couldn’t say how he knew, exactly: his view was blocked by the men in front of him.
There was just a sort of collective gasp that told him one or more of the men had rushed in to attack.
There was a buttress on the side and back of the stage, and Finnvid jumped onto it, thinking he could run along the top of it and attack from above, but when he looked over at Theos, he froze, and just stared.
Two attackers were already down. Theos was fighting the rest of them, his back against the buttress on the far side of the stage, and he was—he was fearsome, and beautiful.
There wasn’t room for all the men to attack at once, so only three of them were doing battle, slashing and hacking and being met each time with Theos’s quick blade or with a simple absence where his body had been a perfect target a moment before.
He was Sacrati, the perfect warrior. He darted forward, fast and light, and one of the men tumbled to the ground, clutching his suddenly red gut.
There was a pause, not even time for a full breath, but it was all Theos needed. “Enough!” he bellowed, and he raised his sword and pointed it toward the nearest men. “Enough. Drop your weapons, now!”
They stopped. Finnvid was close enough to hear Theos when he lowered his voice and said, “Is this how you want to die?”
They remained still for just another moment, and then one of them looked at the man next to him. “This is better than hanging, and that’s what we’ll get if he wins. Kill him.”
As the men surged forward again, Finnvid surged too. A scream ripped from his throat, a strange, wild sound that seemed likely to curdle his own blood, if no one else’s.