The Long Look, page 26
part #1 of The Laws of Power Series
"What happened?" he asked, rubbing his head. There would be a bump; no question.
Duke Laras retrieved the prince’s sword, and kicked the prostrate form laying beside it once as he did so, then leaned closer for a better look. "He’s dead, Your Highness."
Galan could see the blood, but not much else. "Who?"
"Tymon the Black, slain in personal combat by the Prince of Borasur!" King Aldair slapped him on the back so hard he almost fell again. "Nobly done, as we all witnessed!"
"If you say, then it must be so," Galan admitted. "I remember reaching him but not much else."
"Combat can do that to a man. Squeeze time, or lengthen it. Sometimes even take it away," said Aldair. "I’ve known such before. I don’t know long you fought; it seemed like several minutes. We could not approach; his foul magic held us at bay."
As if to emphasize the point, there was another dull booming sound, from somewhere deeper in the earth. Several small stalactites broke free from the ceiling to splash into the dark waters of the underground lake.
Laras nodded. "You’ve saved my family, Prince. I don’t know how you had the wisdom to lead us to this place, but your deeds spoke more than any explanations. I owe you everything."
Galan took Duke Laras’ hand in friendship and accepted his embrace, though for the life of him he could not remember doing any of what they said he did. He went to Princess Ashesa who stood, almost hesitantly, at the edge of the group.
"Did you see it, too?"
"Yes, My Lord," she said. She looked neither sad nor happy, just anxious, though about what Galan could not say. He decided to say what he could. What, finally, he thought he understood.
"I’ve been a fool, Princess. I’ve meddled in things I should not and sought justification where it was not. There are many things I do not understand about this day, but I’ve discovered that I no longer care. You are safe, and that’s all that matters to me." Galan took her hand and he kissed it, and Ashesa, for the first time he could remember—and barely imagine—blushed as red as a fireflower.
"You are safe, too," she said almost shyly, "and that is all that matters to me."
There was another boom, and more stalactites fell. Sir Tals spoke up, "Gentlemen and Ladies, I suspect this cavern is not altogether stable. I think we should leave now."
There was no dissent. Those that could find torches held them aloft as they made their way toward the entrance. One of Aldair’s barons stumbled over something and glanced down in irritation.
His eyes got very wide. "Your majesty! Come look at this!"
Aldair strode up to him. "Are you daft, Takan? We have to leave!"
The man just pointed, and Aldair sighed gustily and looked. "By Martok’s hairy bollocks…"
Two skeletons lay side by side by the water’s edge, their bones partially crystallized over the centuries. Their clothing had long since rotted away, but the gleam of gold was clear enough. One wore a medallion with the royal arms of Wylandia.
"The lost princes," Molikan said, softly. "Can it be?"
"They were lost in the Blackpits," Aldair said. "Or at least so it was told."
There was another boom. Somewhere behind them they heard large boulders shifting. "If we don’t leave soon we may join them," Tals said.
"I can’t leave," said Aldair. "Not yet."
Galan tried to read Aldair’s expression. "Duke Laras, you and Sir Tals lead everyone out. We’ll follow."
Aldair nodded to Lord Kyre. "You too. Get my men out of here."
Kyre obeyed without a word. Sir Tals was less resigned. "Your Highness, I’d like to stay," he said.
"I know," Galan said. "Now go. I’ll be all right."
Duke Laras put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. "That was not a request, Lad. Let’s be gone. You too, Your Grace," Laras said, turning to Molikan. I think their Majesties need to be alone."
Soon everyone else was gone and Galan and Aldair were left by themselves in the near blackness, with only Galan’s torch to hold it at bay. Aldair reached for his belt. He frowned as his hand came away empty. "I seem to have lost my dagger."
"Take mine, Majesty," Galan said, carefully drawing out the blade and handing it, hilt first, to Aldair. There was another boom. They tried not to think too much about what it might have done to the cavern ceiling or the only passageway out.
"You know what I have to do, don’t you?"
Galan nodded. "You need a peer witness for this ceremony, as I understand it. In your case someone either crowned or first in the line of succession. I am the only such here."
"One alone is more than enough. For your discretion I am in your debt, as well as for this fine adventure. There have been very few such since my coronation. I’d advise you to enjoy this one while it lasts."
Galan nodded, though he’d already sworn to himself that he would put as much distance between the rest of his life and this day as he could possibly manage. Aldair took Galan’s dagger and touched it, briefly, to the wrist of his right and then his left hand.
"Very sharp," he said, in approval. Already the blood was beginning to well up and trickle into his palms. He turned his hands toward the stone, and let blood drip onto each shining skeleton.
"’My blood I offer in payment for your own. My flesh bear the pain, my sorrow heir to your own, my body to punish as you choose. Forgive my ancestor, and forgive me. We are your family, as you are ours. I pray for your spirits’ pardon and make offering in your honor, as the gods demand.’"
After only a moment’s hesitation, haltingly, Galan gave the proper response. "So witnessed," Galan said, "before both gods and mortals. It is fitting."
Aldair let out a sigh, the Ritual of Atonement complete. It was normally used to settle blood feuds when simple punishment was no longer possible. Galan judged its use here appropriate enough.
Aldair stared at the skeletons. "That should have been done long ago. It seems there is even more I owe to you, Prince."
"You did the proper thing, Majesty, whatever your ancestor was or was not guilty of. That rite settles debts; it does not create them. We won’t need to speak of this again."
Another stalactite fell perilously close. "Well, there is much we should speak of, Prince," Aldair said. "I think out in the sunlight would be a better place to do so. As soon as possible."
Galan glanced at the ceiling. "On your heels, Cousin."
§
"I was beginning to think they would never leave," Seb said. "I could only risk a few more blasts without collapsing the entire cavern."
Koric followed Seb out of their hiding place near the rear of the cavern. It took a moment with flint and steel to get their torch lit. It only took one more moment to find the body.
"He is dead, isn’t he?" Seb said, his voice somewhere between wonder and sorrow. "It’s not a trick this time."
Koric, kneeling beside the body, looked a little green. "See for yourself."
Seb reached down, then nodded. "Yes. The wound isn’t that great; Galan didn’t strike well. Yet he is dead."
"We both know it wasn’t Galan that killed him," Koric said.
Seb nodded, sadly. "Tymon knew what was coming, and he knew he couldn’t defeat it, though I guess he had to try. He said as much."
Koric nodded. "He said something else."
Seb frowned. "What?"
"He said that, if the worst happened, I would know what to do."
Seb gave the lad an odd look. A tear glistened in the corner of his right eye. He brushed it away, angrily. "’Do?’ Is there aught to do, save bury him? We’d do that much even for that poor misguided fool Vor."
"If we have to," Koric agreed.
"You’re not making sense," Seb said.
"No. In time I hope to do so. Let’s wait a bit."
"Wait? What for?"
They both heard the tap tap tap of wood on stone. A small golem walked into the weak torchlight from somewhere out of the surrounding darkness. It was the one Seb had watched Koric prepare, mere hours before. It walked its stilted walk right up to Tymon’s body. It stood there, motionless. It seemed to be waiting as well.
"For that," Koric said.
"Well," Seb said, "I guess your handiwork was satisfactory after all. Yet the battle is over, and this thing is too small to help with the burials. What good is it?"
"Let’s find out. Master Seb, will you hold the torch closer please?" Koric’s mouth had a grim set as he clumsily pulled on Tymon’s robe until the body’s bare chest was exposed.
"What are you doing?"
"What Master Tymon told me I would know to do. I hope I’m right."
Koric took his knife from his belt and began to carve the Glyph of Life into Tymon’s cooling flesh. Both Seb and the golem watched with more than casual interest.
Ω
18 Epilogue
"Every court in the Seven Kingdoms will speak of this wedding for years to come," Lord Kyre whispered.
His guest, richly dressed but hooded as a priest or one with an infirmity, shrugged. "Why so?"
Kyre nodded toward the altar, where the High Priest of Amatok had just finished blessing the groom and his men. King Galan I of Borasur, crowned scant days before, stood resplendent in ermine and velvet with his Groom’s Men awaiting the arrival of the bride.
"Well, to begin, the story of Galan’s duel with Tymon the Black is already common knowledge across most of the mainland. The lad’s well on his way to becoming a legend."
"That’s not necessarily a good thing," his guest replied.
Lord Kyre gave a small shrug. "No, but in this case I think it may be. Also consider that no fewer than two crowned kings are attending this wedding, in addition to Galan himself. Insular the other kingdoms may be, but they will certainly take note of this. I fancy they will consider their own relationship with Galan of Borasur and his growing number of allies. I believe envoys will follow after a barely decent interval."
"Allies including the formerly contentious Wylandia?"
Kyre smiled. "My point. His Majesty Aldair himself as one of the Groom’s Men? Imagine!"
"I don’t have to. I see it."
Someone shushed them. They both nodded apologetically as the choir began to sing something traditionally ethereal. They both smiled as Princess Ashesa of Morushe entered the Temple of Amatok on her father’s arm. Ashesa was befittingly radiant, her Royal Father beaming with pride and—let it be said—relief. Behind them followed the Ladies of the Court lead by Lady Margate. She was trying not to cry and failing miserably, for all that she looked happier than anyone could remember seeing her for a very long time.
All bowed as the procession swept past. Ashesa glanced their way, smiling. For a moment the smile faded into surprise, but the smile quickly returned, dropped into place like a portcullis falling. In a moment she was past them and going to meet her king.
Lord Kyre looked stricken. "Oh, bliss... Do you think she recognized you?"
"I’m sure she did. Don’t worry; she won’t betray me."
"Are you certain of that? It was quite a risk, you coming here."
"And for you to arrange it, Lord Kyre. I think we may call our account settled after this."
"I am grateful. But still, I have to ask: why take this chance?"
"Because," Tymon said, "this is the part of the story I never get to see. I thought perhaps it was time."
"A reward?"
Tymon the Black, fiend and monster—for so it would be recorded for all time—thought about it for a moment, then shook his head.
"A reminder."
The End
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Richard Parks is an ex-pat Southerner now living in central NY state. He is the author of the Yamada Monogatari series and The Laws of Power series, and at least a metric ton of short stories. He has been a finalist for both the World Fantasy Award and the Mythopoeic Award for Adult Literature. He regularly blogs at “Den of Ego and Iniquity Annex #3,” also known as www.richard-parks.com.
Richard Parks, The Long Look
