“They are like artists,” Valentyna muttered to Liryk, who was standing nearby.
The way the two men moved reminded her of the grace of the wild, beautiful forest cats her father had once shipped to Briavel from more exotic climes.
“They are of a match, majesty,” Liryk admitted, equally awestruck. “Neither has the upper hand on the other,” he added before whispering, “Koreldy is amazing.” Only Liryk and Krell had been permitted to know the secret of the Champion and Valentyna intended it remain that way.
“Shh!” she cautioned but, though quietly glad to see him flinch under her firm voice, she then made an effort to soften her warning. “It’s too dangerous for Romen to be exposed.” she added in a whisper. The soldier nodded, abashed.
The King had begun to perspire lightly with his efforts and the warmth of the afternoon sun. This was taking longer than he had planned. He had thought it a fun piece of drama to entertain the masses and an opportunity to show off. There was no one to match his prowess with a blade and yet this masked swordsman was parrying everything Celimus was throwing at him.
A thought began to nag at Celimus. He could not focus on it for his opponent had begun to increase the pace at which he fought. That too reminded him of something familiar.
What is it
? The dance had taken on a darker feel too. The man fighting silently in such dedicated fashion opposite him had a stillness and a calm he felt he recognized.
That is it
! He felt he knew this swordsman. Flashes of familiar movement and balance in the man appeared beneath his flamboyant style.
I’ll be damned
, Celimus thought suddenly.
He fights at times like the red-headed troll, Wyl Thirst
And if the man opposite had not been so tall or lean, he might almost have believed it.
Doggedly Wyl fought on. looking for the opening. He was not permitted to draw blood but perhaps he could flick the King’s sword away. Whatever happened he would humiliate the man and send him on his way. his tail between his legs.
Celimus was openly sweating now. The Queen’s Champion was relentless. He was no longer allowing the King to showcase his moves before responding with his own. He had just slipped up to full battle tempo. Celimus began to feel the first pinpricks of fear coursing through him. The man meant business.
He was dueling seriously. No more posturing or swoops with the sword; no more looking for cheers and grins from the audience. The black Champion meant to beat him. Celimus would not let that happen.
The silence about them had grown palpable and Celimus was grunting with each sword thrust. The more he thought about the orange-haired bastard who had brought him such grief at the royal tournament, the more anxious and ragged his own fighting became.
Wyl, meanwhile, could see nothing but the blur of the blue sword. It felt to him as though he needed no sight. The sword knew where to move and he was one with it. He could kill Celimus now. The King was tired from the previous evening and early start. Wyl sensed his frustration. He knew that the Morgravian monarch had drunk ale and wine last night and danced plenty. The carousing at the banquet would rise up and become another enemy for him this afternoon in the heat. Wyl could see it occurring before his eyes as the sheen of perspiration on the King increased. He could kill him now and surely save Valentyna and Briavel. perhaps even claim the Legion? There was no heir for Morgravia. The realm would lose its momentum for a while until it found itself a new monarch through the various noble families with blood connection to the Crown. And while Morgravia panicked. Briavel would find strength and calm.
Valentyna would have the time to settle into her rule and be stronger for it.
Yes! Kill him. End it now, no matter what happens. Finish Celimus
, he commanded himself, his wrath hard and complete.
Wyl found a stillness within and his sword began to shine blue with the fast and furious strokes with which he now punished Celimus. He felt he was fighting with the strength of two men. Himself and Koreldy.
Perhaps even three or four, adding Valor and Gueryn to the list.
It was all the King could do to fend off the killing blow.
Wyl did not see Valentyna step hastily from the podium on which two thrones had been placed. He could not know she was running toward them now. terrified, absolutely sure that Romen was about to break his promise to her and spill Morgravian blood on Briavellian soil.
All he could see through the grille of his visor was Celimus battling for breath, eyes darting, horrified that the next swipe would be the one to end his life. And then he had him. The King tried to feint but again Wyl knew the move; with Romen’s and his skills locked firmly into one. there was seemingly no thrust or feint he could not anticipate. With one sharp snap of his wrist, he sent the King’s sword tumbling from his grip and the sovereign of Morgravia falling backward, terror in his beautiful dark eyes.
Now
! Wyl and Romen seemingly said together. Wyl holding the blue sword in a double-handed grip, ready to plunge into the chest of the betrayer, the murderer, the faithless cretin who ruled a great nation.
Wyl lifted his sword high above his cringing opponent, who yelled cravenly, and then he heard the near-hysterical shriek of a woman…the woman he loved, who was now standing before him, eyes wild, breathing hard and screaming directly at him.
“Liar!” she hurled at him. “You traitor! Throw down your sword!” It was as if Wyl had snapped out of a trance at the accusation. He staggered backward, letting go of the blade, stumbling away now. Celimus was on his feet in a flash. Valentyna was barely in control of herself, tears coursing down her face. The King was touching her, checking to see she would be well.
Wyl hated him more than in any other moment of his life for that touch, that false concern. It was such a clever move to make. Why had he not thought to offer comfort? She would have pushed his treacherous hands away, that’s why, he told himself with immense regret. Wyl could hear himself breathing behind the visor—he could swear he could hear his own heart thumping in his chest. Suddenly guards surrounded him, swords drawn. Two grabbed his arms but he did not struggle; he felt useless, limp. He was no longer a threat to anyone.
If only she had let me finish it
.
Celimus was white-lipped with fury despite his breathlessness. His face still pale with terror. “He was going to kill me!” he bellowed at the Briavellian Commander and Chancellor, who were running to their Queen’s aid. Jessom slithered to stand by his King.
Valentyna pushed away her tears and dug as deep as she could ever recall to find composure, to steady herself and be the Queen she was.
“I noticed the aggression, sire,” she replied. “He will be punished, of course.”
“Aggression? Punished? I will execute him right now before you,” Celimus raged.
Valentyna turned an icy gaze on her royal guest. “You will do no such thing in my realm, majesty. No blood will be spilled in Briavel this day.”
“Except mine!” he roared, spit flying.
“I see no trace of it, sire. Only your sweat of fear.” Her words cut deep.
“He must be executed,” Celimus insisted, the gentle pressure from Jessom’s steadying hand, unnoticed by most, urging him to regain his composure. “I insist.”
“King Celimus,” Valentyna said, her voice as cold as anyone had ever heard it, “I alone have the authority to mete out his punishment. Please withdraw.”
“I demand to see his face,” Celimus cried.
A stillness overtook Valentyna. Anger—the depths of which she had felt only at the news of the way in which her father died—was her master right now. Romen had betrayed her. In spite of his declared love for her and hers for him, he still chose his own path. That path now moved away from the one she herself stood upon. Love so newly kindled became tainted. A sense of treachery ran through her veins to her heart like poison.
“Lift his visor.” Celimus demanded, impatient with Valentyna.
The guards who flanked Wyl looked only to their Queen for permission. She had no choice. The safety of Briavel now rested on placating this dangerous King. Romen must bear the consequences of his own stupidity and betrayal.
She nodded and Wyl’s heart sank. He had lost her.
Chapter 41
Celimus stepped forward, keenly feeling the triumph, and ripped back the visor on his silent foe. Wyl would later try to convince himself that the shock on his enemy’s face was worth the loss of the woman he loved. He forced himself to believe he had won and lifted his chin so Celimus could set a good look at the familiar face, the sardonic, easy smile.
“Hello, Celimus.”
“You!” the King roared, disbelief claiming him. But then he surprised everyone, even Jessom, who knew his turns of mood better than any, by bursting into laughter. It was loud and vicious…most of all it was confusing for Valentyna. She had no understanding of this.
“Your majesty?” she asked, an edge in her tone. “Perhaps you would share the jest with us?”
“Oh, Valentyna, my poor, witless child,” he said, wiping the tears from his eyes and not caring at the way she instantly bristled or that he had shocked her Commander and Chancellor with the pointed insult. “It is priceless, absolutely priceless that your Champion—the one who would protect your life, your virginity, your crown—turns out to be none other than the scum mercenary who ran your father through with a sword not so long ago.”
“You dare to bring my father into this!” she cautioned, her voice a knifing whisper.
“Only to save you, my innocent.” he said. “This man is Romen Koreldy, a mercenary, who came to me with his hands outstretched for a fortune in gold. He admitted to killing your father; he admitted to killing our very own General Wyl Thirsk. And then he dragged back our General’s body for good measure so we could see it with our own eyes.”
“You lying snake!” Wyl railed at the King’s terrible fabrication, and yet felt helpless at the look of shock on Valentyna’s face.
Valentyna felt the dull, tingling sensation at the back of her head that preceded rage. She recognized it even though she had felt it so few times in her life.
“It’s true, your majesty. He tried to extort a sack of gold from me, laughing at the way he had murdered your father, claiming he had paved the way for Morgravia to overrun a weakened Briavel.”
“I shall kill you—” Whatever Wyl wanted to say next was cut off by a firm arm around his throat.
Celimus had regained full control of himself now. The smile was back as he wiped the dampness from his face with a piece of linen. “I speak true. Valentyna. He is an extortionist. I sent him packing with nothing, of course. Warned him if he set foot on Morgravian soil again I’d hang. draw, and quarter him. Sad as it is to admit, Koreldy was General Thirsk’s choice as Captain for the mission to Briavel. He insisted on gathering his own handpicked men about him. Yes. I thought it strange at the time that he did not take Legionnaires but Thirsk insisted on using mercenaries. He persuaded me that taking a troop of Legion men into Briavel could be misconstrued and cause ire. It is all much to my regret now. but who was I to question my General on matters of strategy?” he said innocently. “This man, your Champion, is false, Valentyna. He has betrayed me and Morgravia and now he has done the same to you. Execute him!” She had listened carefully to the King while her rage bristled beneath the seemingly calm countenance she had forced herself to adopt. She heard the lie in his voice, despite his best attempts to conceal it, and she would never believe that Wyl Thirsk had been untrue—she had met him, heard the sorrow in his voice as he told his tale. Now Valentyna drew herself to full height and squeezed her hands together to keep herself from revealing her fury. “It is my understanding, Celimus—now that we are discussing this—that you planned General Thirsk’s death.”
Her words fell like splinters of ice before them and Wyl was only sad that none of the Legion’s soldiers were close enough to hear this exchange.
Pity
, he thought.
It could have changed everything
.
“Your majesty,” Celimus replied just as coolly, but masterfully paying her appropriate respect as this shift in the situation demanded. “I am surprised you know of such a thing and I cannot deny it. But what you do not know is that General Wyl Thirsk was suffering from delusions. He was readying to make war on Briavel.”
“What?” both Valentyna and Wyl cried together.
She looked toward her guards and they gripped Wyl tighter. He was meant to stay silent as the sovereigns spoke.
“Yes, your majesty,” Celimus continued, ignoring Romen. “Wyl Thirsk was unstable. My father knew it and warned me of it but our two families go back such a long way that I had to know for myself I liked Wyl, despite our differences in opinion.” He shrugged. “I grew up with him.” Wyl began to rant and Valentyna had him removed. Liryk had no choice but to give orders to take him to the gatehouse and secure him for the time being.
Valentyna was in great pain from Romen’s betrayal and this new information threw a whole new spin on the story she had been told. She had to hear it in full. She gave a signal and her team of people started a new contest of boulder throwing, which every strong man in the audience was invited to participate in. It achieved the diversion she needed and people began to drift away, stunned at how the contest had turned out—it seemed clear now that the Queen’s Champion had attempted to hurt the King. However, the wealth of entertainment on offer soon distracted them and the disquiet and confused murmurings died down.
Relieved. Valentyna returned her attention to the royal party. “Thank you, Commander Liryk. I will call for Koreldy when I’m ready,” she said, then addressed the King. “We shall continue this in my solar.” She turned and strode away. Celimus, still fuming, followed along with Jessom. Krell brought up the rear but soon stepped ahead of the royal party to make arrangements for refreshments. Inside the solar the silence was keen as cool drinks were served.
When all servants had withdrawn, Valentyna addressed her sovereign guest again. No warmth had found its way into her voice in the interim.