Hecht passed right side to right side. Stain could not get his lance up nor his shield across. Heartsplitter penetrated Stain’s mail, pierced his right shoulder to the bone. Hecht withdrew to his end of the field. Sedlakova and Pella stared, eyes wide. The uproar along the sidelines was deafening. Hecht did not hear it. He faced King Stain, waited.
He sensed disbelief behind him. Sedlakova found his voice. “That was amazing, Boss. You made it look easy.”
“Let that be a lesson. Don’t underestimate me.” As Stain finally got his mount under control, Hecht asked, “Is he stupid enough to keep on?”
“He won’t see that he has much choice.”
Some unfathomable western pride stuff must be at work. “I don’t want to kill him, Clej. He’s able. He could be a valuable ally. Go ask them not to make me kill him.”
Sedlakova was confused. “What are you talking about, Boss? This isn’t about anybody killing anybody. It’s about getting somebody to yield.”
Hecht said, “I said go tell them I don’t want to kill him.”
“All right.”
Pella took off running up the left side of the field. He did not reach the far end in time.
Stain got his dappled gelding moving, slowly. The animal no longer wanted to play.
Hecht sighed. Neither did he. Could he manage this without killing Stain or doing the gelding further injury?
Stain cast his lance aside, drew his sword. Hecht suspected he was expected to do likewise.
He retained Heartsplitter. Trotting, he closed and thrust at Stain’s face again, which the man expected. He chopped ferociously, sword ringing as it bounced off the divine spear. Hecht spun that, to use as a club. He whacked Stain on the back of the neck, leaving him wobbly.
Another brisk passage, sword against spear. Stain could not force Hecht to his shield side. And Hecht had the reach by a yard.
The mare seemed to read Hecht’s mind. Every move she made was exact and perfect. Hecht thumped and poked, hit the King’s feet, knees, elbows, hands, and prodded the gelding’s wounds. He wanted to limit the harm he did but feared those watching would think he was toying with Stain. That would not be good.
He landed a solid blow behind Stain’s right knee, poked the gelding’s worst wound. It screamed, reared, successfully shed Stain this time, limped off and refused to let anyone come near.
Hecht dismounted. Stain got his feet under himself and tried to get himself up but when he lifted his shield his right knee buckled. He dropped again, supported himself on the shield.
“Do you yield?” Hecht asked.
“Never. You did not fight as a gentleman.”
“I’m not a gentleman. I’m a soldier. Combat isn’t play. That’s the lesson here. I will win. Yield.”
“I will not. I won’t dishonor…”
“You mean to die over this?”
“Kill me here. Otherwise, I won’t rest until…”
“If that’s the way it’s got to be.” Hecht raised Heartsplitter. “I don’t want you haunting my back trail.” He thrust.
Stain managed to deflect the spear. Heartsplitter itself seemed surprised. So. Stain was more than just a man.
A circle formed. Men from both forces begged the combatants to stand down.
Hecht said, “He insists that I kill him. He won’t stand for anything less.” He thrust again. Then again, and pushed through Stain’s guard. Blood leaked from all of the King’s wounds. The thing that possessed him could not stop his flesh from growing weaker. “He has a bad case of the stubborns.” Hecht saw no need to note that Stain had surrendered himself to the Will of the Night. Behind the wicked presence Stain felt like a good man worth saving.
Clej Sedlakova said, “No doubt he finds all this hard to believe. He has a huge reputation. You have none.”
Hecht delivered a butt stroke that turned Stain’s helm sideways. The man could no longer see.
Pella said, “Step away, Dad. Let it go.”
A shadow swept across the field. A lone, massive thunderhead moved in front of the sun, pushing a frigid gust front. Men of every allegiance cursed it.
The cold was bitter around the King. Stain straightened his helmet. He looked around wildly.
A woman stepped round Hecht and approached Stain. Hourli. Men asked, “Who is that?” and, “Where the hell did she come from?”
Good questions both, sure to rattle the Righteous further.
The thunderhead stopped moving. That distracted attention from Hourli.
Stain strained to raise sword and shield. He could not. His knee gave way again.
Hourli rested a hand on his shoulder. He released a long groan. An icy spin devil swirled round the pair, snatching up leaves and bits of grass. A fading shriek startled everyone. The baby whirlwind raced toward the nearby woods as though desperate to escape. Traces of dark smoke twirled inside.
Rain began to fall. It included bits of ice.
Stain found the strength to rise. He removed his helmet, shambled forward, dropped to his good knee, presented his sword to the Commander of the Righteous. “An end to this, Lord Arnmigal. I yield without reservation. God’s Will is clear.”
Lightning flashed. It smashed into the wood, shattering trees. The rain grew heavier and more hail-laden. Hecht told Stain, “We need to get in out of this before that lightning walks over here.”
A dozen blistering bolts had struck the forest already.
Somebody asked, “Where the hell did that woman go?”
Another immediately demanded, “What about the mare the Boss was riding? Where the hell is she? Did the thunder scare her off?”
A carronade hammered the woods. Stain said, “I have to get my people under cover.” Two were helping him keep his feet. He seemed a different man.
Hecht’s were headed for shelter already.
The downpour increased. Hailstones made the footing treacherous. Hecht joined the general flight for shelter.
The lightning pounding the forest moved away from Cholate.
He wondered who was wielding the hammer. Then he wondered why he was wondering that.
19. Tel Moussa: Growing Despair
Al-Azer er-Selim settled beside Nassim Alizarin to watch another sunset. Distant clouds, over the White Sea, burned like hellfire. Nassim observed, “You seem glum. I suppose that means bad news.”
“After a fashion.”
“You’re going to tell me why that sprig in Gherig is decorating our graves.”
“After a fashion.”
“Az, I don’t have the patience.”
“I’ve put together a notion based on what isn’t there to be seen.”
“Yes?”
“The Brotherhood is taking Indala deadly serious. They began working against the Shake’s plan before he left for Dreanger.”
“So they knew, despite our efforts.”
“Yes. They were distressed when Black Rogert came back to Gherig. They tried to stop that. They failed. But they found an alternative. Technically, Gherig belongs to the Brotherhood. By making it the fifth commandery they could install a Master senior to the castellan assigned by the King of Vantrad.”
“Reducing du Tancret to the job of housekeeper. Clever. But that doesn’t explain their absurd level of confidence.”
“How have we done with the new men?”
“They may be new to the Holy Lands but they aren’t new to war. The men we’re sending out there are.”
“And they have strong support from their Special Office. Which gives them intelligence resources we can’t match.”
“Could that be why they’re so confident?”
“There’s more. Something to do with the Night. The details are obscure. It might have to do with the Wells of Power.”
Nassim grunted. The Wells of Ihrian. The dying wells. The nearest was the Well of Days, which had lent its name to Indala’s great triumph over the crusaders, years ago. That well lay just beyond today’s tacit frontier.
The Wells all lay inside the Crusader States.
“Are they counting on a resurgence in power?”
“I couldn’t say. There was a rumor that Apparitions had been seen, then another about the Brotherhood considering fortifying the Wells.”