Marcellus' mouth tightened angrily. He took the offensive, using swift and furious strikes to try to throw Valdemar off balance. For a few minutes the only sound was the clash of blades as Marcellus struck and Valdemar parried.
Marcellus stumbled as his bad knee nearly gave out. Valdemar stepped back to give the knight a chance to regain his balance. He smiled as they warily circled each other. "Yes. You would call me mad, yet your own beloved king would use you, his Champion as a dog sent on a mission to assassinate me on the battlefield."
"You know nothing." Marcellus' chest heaved as he fought for breath. "My mission was to liberate, not assassinate. Lucretius did not know you would even be on the battleground. The security of the prince was of chief concern to him. I'm sure you've already slain him, but I do not regret my part in trying to secure his rescue."
Valdemar peered at Marcellus, considering. Could the knight be telling the truth? It seemed impossible. Yet Valdemar had learned much in his perilous climb to power of when a person lied or spoke the truth. He detected no guile on Marcellus' face. "No prince from Kaerleon ever set foot in these lands, Sir Admorran."
The certainty of the words struck Marcellus like a blow. He nearly stumbled again when he stepped back as though dodge the statement. "You…you would not be expected to know of this."
Valdemar laughed uproariously. "Is that what you were told, Sir Admorran? Is that why you traveled so far and led your men to such a tortuous end? Are you so gullible and naive to believe such an obvious minstrel's tale? I know nothing of any prince from Kaerleon. But I have another idea, Sir Admorran. It seems to me that you were sent here for only one purpose: to die."
"You lie!" Marcellus' eyes blazed as he raised his blade.
Valdemar flicked his wrist. The point of his rapier caught Marcellus under the chin, just at the point of drawing blood. The knight froze with his sword still upraised, his eyes shimmering furiously.
Valdemar kept his blade at Marcellus' throat. "Unthinking rage can get you killed quickly. Your fury was impressive in the courtyard, your strength incredible. But where did it get you, Sir Admorran?" He smiled again as he lowered his blade. The two men backed away a few steps before Valdemar attacked. Once again he struck deliberately, testing out his opponent. Marcellus's jaw tightened, his muscles loosened. Their dance grew deadlier, the blades practically thirsting for a taste of blood. The harp music in the background flowed in time with their movements.
Valdemar spun away from a deadly thrust, upsetting a priceless vase on a marble pillar. The pieces shattered unheeded across the flagstones. "It doesn't matter if you were sent here to kill me or not," he said as he parried and counterattacked. "Your arrival on the battlefield was almost providential. It could not have occurred any better had you been delivered to me wrapped in irons. Strange that you would arrive on the cusp of my victory, when my strength was the greatest. Almost as if you were meant to fail, wouldn't you agree?"
Marcellus' blade hummed as it clashed against Valdemar's. "Lies." His voice was hoarse. "You might expect that kind of deceit here, but Lucretius would never stoop so low."
The blades clacked faster, a staccato that guided the choreography of their movements. Valdemar felt a rush, the thrill of danger, the heat of battle against a foe almost worthy. It was nearly sensual. He lived for that sensation, yet only experienced it in a few fleeting moments of his tempestuous life.
"Why?" he asked as their swords clashed. "Do you serve so blindly that you cannot conceive the concept of betrayal? You are a fool, Sir Admorran. Every man will betray when it serves his purpose, even your precious Regnault Lucretius. It is not a matter of whether or not he sent you to your death. Only a matter of why."
Marcellus' face remained locked in stubborn denial. He denied the truth, both that of his faltering body and the facts that practically slapped him in the face. His attack only intensified, as though a victory would somehow redeem him of his folly. Valdemar almost pitied him as he casually parried the increasingly errant thrusts and strikes. He knew it would not be long before Marcellus' body betrayed him as severely as his king did.
As if on cue, Marcellus' leg buckled, and he fell to his knees as though overwhelmed by a weight heavier than any he had ever known. The sword tumbled from his fingers and clattered to the floor. Valdemar imagined that the knight's mind reeled, sought a way to counter what he knew to be true, fought to cling to denial even as all the questions he'd been wrestling with clicked into place. But the reality was unavoidable, forcing him to let his hopes flutter helplessly like the flower petals on the floor, caught by the breeze and swept away.
Marcellus stared up at Valdemar with his teeth clenched and his eyes rimmed red. Defiance was all that held him erect. Pride had deserted him, leaving him staggering from the inescapable truth that stabbed worse than any blade could.
Valdemar placed his sword point against Marcellus' cheek, drawing a blot of crimson from the indentation. "In my country we say that you only know a man's worth when you have drawn his blood."
Valdemar's rapier lashed so quickly it took a moment before Marcellus' cheek opened and dribbled blood. The fallen knight did not even wince. His eyes stared blankly, as though unaware of the moment.
Valdemar examined the bead of blood that slid down the blade. "And so now I have come to know you, Sir Admorran. You are a noble man, it seems. A loyal man. And an unimaginable fool. I truly believed that you were sent to slay me on the battleground. Instead, it appears that you were delivered to me. But to what end?"
The knight did not answer. His eyes glistened, but his face was stone, hardened in the mask of a warrior ready to die. Valdemar turned and strode back onto the dais. "You are a highly valued prisoner, and some of my councilors have advised me to keep you alive. Should things turn badly, I could ransom you or use you for leverage."
He lifted a bottle of aged Epanos red from the nearby table and poured into a dragon-engraved chalice. "But what value do you have when your king has gone through such lengths to be rid of you? You are worthless as a prisoner. I have had a thought to relieve you of your hands and feet, garb you in motley and display you as a trophy of war. Imagine the reaction of the lesser kingdoms. They would flock to my banner all the more just to catch a sight of the Champion of Kaerleon so miserably humiliated."
He sipped the wine, gazing at Marcellus over the rim of the chalice. The knight betrayed no emotion, just stared into the beyond with unblinking eyes. Valdemar shook his head. "You cannot hear me, can you? Still lost in the despair of your betrayal? Do not worry. Your pain will end soon. It occurs to me that you can serve me best by dying. After all, such great pains were taken to cast you into my hand. So you will die, Sir Admorran. In full view of my people, you will receive the glory that you deserve. And what better glory than to be slain by the Lord of Bruallia himself?"
Valdemar tugged on the thick cord beside his throne that would alert his guard. He spared Marcellus a final glance. "Farewell, Sir Admorran. Tomorrow will be a momentous day for the both of us."
The chamber swiftly became a place of shifting shadows when the sun sank behind the mountains. When the guards came for Marcellus, they had to drag him away, deep into the belly of the fortress where in the darkness his heart could break in silence.
Valdemar waited until the room was empty before he turned to the only witness of his triumph, the harpist who continued to pluck his instrument, this time a melody of supreme triumph.
"A crucial victory, wouldn't you say?"
The question was a mocking one. The harpist had not been able to speak ever since his tongue was removed. The man had once been a lord himself, the former ruler of Ravynna. He had held Valdemar prisoner as a lad, using him as leverage against Darroth Basilis, Valdemar's lordly father. In time Valdemar escaped. When he returned, it was with an army at his back and vengeance in his heart.