Chapter 49
King Gareth had arrived.
He sat atop a massive horse, his golden armor catching the first glint of direct sunlight from over the horizon.
Ian squinted, resisting the urge to cover his eyes. He would not cower in front of this false king. But his knees wavered for an entirely different reason. If Gareth was here, the time for negotiation was past. The Majis would die. But it would be over his dead body.
He forced his eyes to remain open, staring at the bright reflection from Gareth’s armor. This was the last sunrise he would ever see.
A cheer went up from the Chendas soldiers at the sight of their king.
The Iseldan soldiers followed suit, but half-heartedly.
Recognizing their confusion, Ian turned his attention back to Zimri. “Do not do this. Iseldis has trusted you with her safety for nearly thirty years. Do not do this. You do not want this blood on your hands.”
Zimri did not respond to Ian. His attention had turned back up the hill to where Gareth was now dismounting.
The soldiers remained quiet as Gareth stepped down the bluff, flanked by General Gautho on one side and the tallest man Ian had ever seen on the other.
Ian did not recognize the tall man. Most of his body was covered in armor, but his head had no helmet.
It was protected only by long, matted dark hair and a thick beard that obscured his face.
“What battle is this,” Gareth asked as he walked toward Zimri, “that takes place without the blade?”
“I have no blade,” Ian said.
“The prince who ran,” Gareth said, raising his voice to be heard as far as possible. “Here to show his true colors,” Gareth continued. “Tell me, Ian Sirilian, on whose side do you stand?”
“I stand for Iseldis,” Ian said, keeping his voice raised despite the burn in his salty throat. He gestured to the Majis behind him. “These people are innocent, forced to be here against their will, and clearly unable to defend themselves. As Crown Prince of Iseldis, I order you to stand down.”
“They are not unarmed!” a soldier yelled somewhere from Ian’s left. It was close enough to be one of the men from Iseldis, as the Chendas soldiers were too high up the bluff to be heard so clearly. “They are Majis! They have magic.”
Gareth did not smile, but he seemed pleased with this public outcry.
“These men and women will not harm you!” Ian yelled back, looking to either side of Gareth and Zimri, speaking to the soldiers themselves. “Where are their ships? This is clearly not the Return you have feared!”
The sharp snap of energy drew Ian’s eyes back to the left, and he caught sight of a flash of lightning as it hit the man who had cried out about the magic moments before.
The man screamed. He fell to his knees, looking down at the colorful sparks that danced across his metal breastplate.
The man next to him pointed to the Majis. “They attacked!”
Ian did not see where the attack had come from, but he was entirely certain that it was not from the group of crouching Majis behind him.
The Iseldan soldiers pushed forward, clearly wanting to rush the Majis, but too well trained to do so without the express order from their general.
Gareth held up his hand, cautioning the soldiers to stop. “Give this man a sword,” Gareth said, turning to Zimri. “Then let us see if he will fight for those who are unarmed.”
General Zimri unsheathed a short sword from his waist and held it out to Ian.
Ian stepped forward and accepted it before stepping back to his place in front of the Majis. “Yes,” Ian said, directing his words at Gareth. “Yes, I will fight.”
At this, Gareth’s face finally broke into a smile. “Has the crown prince gone mad? Willing to fight against his own men, the men he trained and once led?”
“No.” Ian raised his voice again to counter Gareth’s words. “I will fight you, to take back the throne that you have wrested from my father, and to protect the innocent whom you would so ruthlessly attack.”
“Then fight me!” Gareth stepped forward, holding his arms out wide.
Ian lifted his sword and ran forward, pushing his feet across the dry sand, wishing he had the momentum to sprint but unable to find the footing to do so.
Gareth stepped forward to meet him. Somehow, the man burdened by the extra weight of armor managed to walk across the sand with far more stability than Ian in his exhausted state.
Ian lifted his blade, then brought it down on Gareth’s as they met.
Metal hit metal, scraping in an unholy screech above the waves.
“I have never been quite so pleased to see you,” Gareth said over their joined blades.
Ian drew back his sword, waiting for Gareth to make the first real move.
“Though that says very little,” Gareth continued, twirling the sword in his hand as though he was warming up his wrists for the fight ahead. “As I do not think I have ever been pleased to see you.”
“Why did you agree to fight me?” Ian asked. He kept his sword up in a defensive position, moving his arms occasionally to ease the muscle strain. Perhaps Gareth was simply trying to tire him out.
More likely, Gareth wanted to create a spectacle. Ian did not intend to give him such satisfaction. But as long as the soldiers were focused on him, he had a chance to save the lives of the Majis.
“Because I wish to prevent needless bloodshed,” Gareth said. He stepped toward Ian, twisting his shoulder and turning his wrist to stab his sword forward.
Ian, tired as he was, reacted on instinct as he leaned out of the way. He responded with his own jab, but it was half-hearted, clouded by exhaustion. “Prevent bloodshed? You are fighting your way through me so that you can kill them.” He pointed toward the Majis behind him with his head.
“Kill them?” Gareth replied. “Look at them. They are weak. You fight for them to live, but for what? Who will feed them? Your people who hate and fear them? No. I will not kill them today. There is no need.”
Ian stepped forward, making another attack. If Gareth did not intend to kill the Majis, he had something worth fighting for. His sword danced around Gareth’s defense and struck metal armor with a shrieking squeak.
Gareth leaned away, too late, surprised by the contact. But when he leaned back into the fight, it was clear he was ready to take it seriously. He held out his sword in a true defensive stance and sank into his thighs.
Ian forgot his exhaustion. Forgot his weak and aching muscles. Forgot that every eye on the beach was watching him. And he focused in on the fight at hand.
Gareth made the next move, lunging forward with a speed that should not have been possible with the weight of the armor he was wearing.
Ian struck Gareth’s blade away with his own, barely redirecting the force of the blow.
He was fast enough to not have a blade buried in his side, but he was not fast enough that the blade made no contact.
He felt the warmth of his own blood dripping over his hip before his body registered the sharp sting of the cut.
Ian let the momentum of his movement carry him to the side, leaning into the tense dance of the swordplay itself as he watched his opponent for an opening.
Gareth’s body was fairly protected by his armor, but Ian noted its weak points. Gareth’s face was uncovered, as was his neck. When he had ridden into battle this morning, he was not expecting to actually have to fight. His armpits were also vulnerable, but only when he lifted his arms.
Ian shuffled across the sand, planning his next set of moves to exploit Gareth’s weaknesses.
If he could defeat Gareth, there was hope that the Iseldan soldiers would listen to him. He had seen them waver earlier. There was hope that they might listen to him, even though Zimri had not.
Gareth made his next attack.
This time, Ian was prepared. He dodged the blow, moving dramatically to the side but throwing his body weight forward to surprise Gareth.
It worked. Gareth jumped back and lifted his sword arm, which was still extended from his previous blow, in order to counterbalance his own offset weight.
Ian raised his own shoulder, swinging his wrist to twist his sword up toward Gareth’s armpit.
His blow hit.
The metal surrounding the area stopped his blade from going too deep, but the angry snarl from Gareth confirmed that Ian had caused some injury.
Gareth dropped his sword arm, holding it tightly to his side as he gripped his sword.
His face was furious as he sidestepped around Ian.
“You think you can change anything?” Gareth taunted.
“That your stand here can make a difference? I have already won.” Gareth spat out the words, his voice low and menacing.
Ian listened, not letting Gareth’s words affect him. The man was buying time. He had not yet lifted his sword arm again, which left Ian to surmise that the injury went deep. That was good.
But Gareth also had not switched his sword to his other hand. That would confirm his injury but also put him at a disadvantage.
If one could be at a disadvantage when he was fighting against a single man but had two armies at his beck and call.
“Take your soldiers and return to Chendas,” Ian said, stepping in toward Gareth with his sword drawn.
“Why?” Gareth stepped backward, moving away from Ian. “So you can take your father’s throne? I’ve made that easy for you; he will be dead by morning.”
Ian lunged forward, seething with anger at Gareth’s threat.
Gareth smiled even as Ian’s sword neared his face, pleased that his words had hit Ian so hard. He seemed completely unable to move the arm that Ian had injured.
Ian stopped his sword at Gareth’s throat. “Let my men go free,” Ian said. “Their deaths will not benefit you.”
“Your men?” Gareth replied, still smiling. “Shall we see who they choose to follow?”