Son of the Hero (35 page)

I didn’t have much strength to draw on, even for anger. I didn’t see how I could possibly handle any more fighting. But I had to try. I looked around. Gold had calmed down a little more, but there was no way I was going to be able to mount alone.

“Lesh, I’m going to need help,” I said. He nodded. “You may have to tie me in the saddle again.”

“If we have to, lord,” Lesh said. I wondered what I looked like. Even Lesh sounded as if he was about to lose control of his emotions. He boosted me into the saddle, and Harkane was on the other side to make sure that I didn’t fall off there.

“We’ll be right at your side, lord,” Lesh said. Someone brought Lesh’s horse over for him. I held on to the pommel of my saddle. Tie me in the saddle? My head started playing tricks again, something about El Cid winning a battle after his death, leading his army into battle—a corpse tied to his horse … or was that just another Charlton Heston movie?

“We’re ready, lord,” Lesh said. I opened my eyes and looked up. Most of the people I had led out of the castle were back, mounted and ready to go into action again. Annick didn’t even look at me now. She had her sword out and she was staring at the Dorthini line.

“Uncle Parthet, if you’ve got any way to prop me up through this, you’d better get busy,” I whispered, looking up toward the battlements. His face seemed to zoom in and he nodded … but the look on his face was grimmer than anything I had ever seen. His mouth was moving rapidly, but I couldn’t hear anything. I hoped it was a potent spell he was weaving.

I looked back to our army. Barons Dieth and Resler were out in front with the cavalry. They were looking to me. Our battle plans hadn’t made any allowances for halftime intermission, and there wasn’t time for a huddle. I reached up past my shoulder to make sure that Dragon’s Death was still in its clips, but I didn’t draw the weapon.

It was time for the final scene, but for a moment I just sat there, hunched forward, my eyes on the back of Gold’s neck—looking for the energy to do anything at all. I couldn’t even have fallen on my sword right just then. Finally, after what might have been almost as long as it felt like, I straightened up and looked around.

“Let’s do it,” I said. If I could have come up with any alternative, I would have grabbed it in a second, but my mind was damn near blank—at least as far as useful ideas were concerned. All I could do was try to project one step ahead at a time. I clucked at Gold, and he started forward, toward the enemy. I led my troop on an oblique line so we could move into position in front of the center of our army. Keeping track of the Etevar and his wizard didn’t take any effort at all now, even when I wasn’t looking in their direction. As on that night in Fairy with the mountain trolls, I knew where my enemies were.

We trotted away from the dragon, back out into the afternoon sun. The sun was behind us now, in the eyes of the Dorthinis. Before I turned my troop directly toward the center of the Dorthini army, I gestured for the rest of the Varayan army to advance again.

I must have been burning with fever on top of all the injuries, with delirium hovering nearby. There can hardly be any other rational explanation for the fact that I got on my horse and rode at the enemy again despite the extent of my pain. I didn’t even have it in me to wonder, What the hell am I doing here? It just wasn’t important any longer. As far as I could tell, I was already so far gone that it didn’t matter whether I lay down and waited or kept going until the congregation of Heroes yanked me off. But at least it made the pain fade a little.

You have your duty and I have mine
.

The sight of me advancing at the head of the Varayan army sent a few more detachments of Dorthinis running. I was too dragged out to get much of a boost from that. I wouldn’t have had the energy to cheer if their whole army had turned tail. I was barely aware of
Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?
lilting past my brain.

The two armies had been more than a half mile apart by the time I finished off the dragon … and the dragon nearly finished off me. The Dorthinis still weren’t doing much to close the gap. They were just waiting—maybe even drawing back a little, postponing the second clash. I was out in front of our force, my continuing “right” as Hero, but Lesh and the rest of my companions were so close that you’d need a photo-finish camera to see that I was in the lead. The survivors of the troop I had led out of the castle were just a little behind my companions, fanned out so they had fighting room. Dieth and Resler brought their cavalry right up behind that group, and the infantry—the bulk of our army—advanced in two ranks behind them. At the rear, a few dozen archers and maybe sixty riders completed the tally.

On the Dorthini side, the cavalry was split between the center and both ends of the line. In the center, just behind the infantry, the Etevar and his wizard had a hundred mounted soldiers right around them.

That’s where I aimed.

My danger sense was a futile throbbing at the back of my head, barely able to make itself felt over the other pains. I knew where the danger was, and I was heading for it intentionally. I kept my eyes on the black-clad figures of the Etevar and his wizard, looking for some kind of signal from them, some way to escape more fighting. I hoped that the fact that I had just killed the wizard’s dragon and walked away—more or less—might make them eager for peace terms. With more than a third of their army running east and most of the remainder wishing that they were, it seemed a smart idea for the Etevar to try for a truce.

That’s what
I
thought anyway.

As we closed to about eighty yards, I pulled Dragon’s Death and looked back for an instant. Our cavalry was a tight wedge with me at the apex now. Any second, I figured, the Dorthini wizard would come up with some new trick to try to stop me. I was mildly surprised that he hadn’t hit me with everything he had while I was still groggy from my fight with his dragon. It wouldn’t have taken much at all to finish me then.

I raised my sword and made a feeble pumping motion with my arm, then moved Gold into a modest canter. Behind me, our cavalry kept pace. Out in front, the center of the Dorthini line held firm … although people were still fading from the flanks.

“Let’s get them,” I said. It wasn’t nearly a shout. I started whistling the sword’s battle tune. I drew strength from that, maybe even from the sword and from whatever Parthet was doing to help prop me up. My brain went into combat mode. That’s how I thought of it at the time.

“One last battle,” I whispered through the sword’s song.

I aimed directly for the standard of the Etevar, slamming us right into the center of the Etevar’s best troops. I didn’t get much chance to fight there, though. With my companions shielding me so tightly, only a couple of Dorthinis got close enough for me to even feint at them.

That was enough at the start. And when the crowding got closer and more Dorthinis came within reach, Dragon’s Death bit into soldiers and horses, falling as if it had the weight of a dragon on top of it. The Dorthini elite started to break around us, and then the Etevar and his wizard were right in front of me.

This time it was no illusion. The wizard was staring straight at me, not ten feet away, but his eyes were blank white. There was no color in them at all.

“His eyes were with the dragon,” Parthet’s voice whispered in my ear. “Ignore him. He can no longer harm you.”

I needed a moment to absorb that. The Dorthini wizard had been directing the dragon with his eyes, seeing for it, seeing
through
it. Annick had blinded one eye of the dragon with an arrow. I had finished the other eye with my elf sword.

A
blind
wizard! He couldn’t see to do anything.

The Etevar wasn’t blind, though—except with rage. He charged me, screaming. His horse’s reins were draped around the pommel of his saddle. The Etevar had a sword in one hand and a mace in the other. He led with the sword, and when I parried that, he tried to dent my head with the mace. I ducked and pushed, since I couldn’t get my sword back fast enough to use it. When the Etevar swayed back, off balance, I leaned over to the side to try to finish the fight quickly. I lost my balance too, though, and the best I could do was push off Gold with my one good leg and jump the Etevar. We went to the ground and rolled.

There was plenty of room around me now, too much. The fight with the Etevar’s elite had opened up the formation.

I hung on to the Etevar as if he were a life preserver. I knew that if I let go, he’d be able to get to me before I could get up. So we got to our feet together. I don’t think the Etevar realized that he was doing most of the work for both of us. With my bum leg extended a bit behind us, I pushed the Etevar away and got Dragon’s Death between us. Facing sword and mace together didn’t worry me particularly. It may have helped me more than it helped the Etevar. He couldn’t use both weapons to full advantage simultaneously.

He charged, swinging the mace first this time. The handle was metal, not wood, so I couldn’t slice head from handle. His follow-up was an underhand lunge with the sword, toward my groin, below the mail shirt. Dragon’s Death rebounded from mace to sword, moving both away from me. My blade came back up, reached for the Etevar’s face. He leaned back, sidestepped, and came in again.

All I could so was shuffle along or pivot, and that handicapped me. For a time it was sword against sword, with the Etevar holding his mace back—a balance and a threat. His broadsword was longer and heavier than most, but it still wasn’t in the same league with Dragon’s Death. If I had had two good legs under me, and even an ounce of strength, I could have ended the duel quickly, without trouble.

The Etevar gritted his teeth and fought without speaking. I didn’t have the air or the energy to talk. Chat during a duel may sound good on the movie screen, but it has no place in real life—not unless you’re completely tired of living.

The Etevar had to realize that I was gimpy by then. He started moving in a slow circle around me, forcing me to turn and drag my bum leg as he tried to get me off balance so he could get past Dragon’s Death. The circling wasn’t comfortable, but it did let me keep track of what was going on around us. I had to know if any of the Etevar’s people came close enough to help him. I was beyond relying exclusively on my danger sense.

I made the first mistake. The routine lulled me. The Etevar crossed his weapons and caught the blade of Dragon’s Death coming down, using the head of his mace to pin my sword against his. Then he pushed in toward me, lowering his head as if he planned to butt me to the ground. I stepped back, and my bad leg forced me to pivot. The Etevar brought his weapons through and the sword scored a long cut along my left arm. I pivoted back toward him and brought both arms down, slamming my fists and the hilt of Dragon’s Death into the back of his neck as he tried to step past. He went down, though not for a long enough count to let me take advantage. But in his rush to get back to his feet, he left the mace behind.

He charged again right away, though—apparently maddened with rage. He came at me as if he planned to bowl me over with just his anger. When Dragon’s Death came straight down, his sword wasn’t enough to keep it off. The elf sword bit into his shoulder. I dragged it off to the side and made a home-run swing, aiming for the most vulnerable target, his neck.

The Etevar’s blade dug into my side, but his head was off before I got out, “For my father.”

And then the darkness claimed me.

Raucous music. Old Teutonic drinking songs seemed to alternate with modern pieces like “Another One Bites the Dust” and “Bohemian Rhapsody.” I fancied that I could smell blooming lilacs and wondered if I had somehow found my way home to Louisville. The pain was gone, so I assumed that Dad and Vara had finally come to collect me. It didn’t seem to matter. I had finished the job I started out to do. I told myself that I didn’t really want to be King of Varay anyway.

What comes next?
seemed to be more important at the moment. I was curious, but mostly in a distracted, intellectual sort of way.
What is death? Who runs things here?
And
Where the hell
is “
here “?

“Come back, lad.”

At first, I didn’t notice the voice. I was lost in the void of eternity, trying to deal with that.

“Come back, lad.”

It was Parthet’s voice. It’s over now, Uncle Parker, I thought. But my peace was becoming more and more disturbed. The emptiness suddenly had borders. I felt pressure on my head. A tingling nibbled at my skin. This wasn’t an electric tingle, more like the nibble of a fish on your toe while you’re swimming.

“Hang on to my voice, lad.” Parthet again. Then I heard one of his mumbo-jumbo chants. It started as a whisper that I had to concentrate on to hear, and it built until it forced my attention.

I’m not dead, I realized, and I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. The pain returned—not so great as before, but still more than I really wanted to endure.

“His eyes are open!” That was Lesh’s voice. I assumed that he was talking about me, but I didn’t know that my eyes were open. I tried blinking. There
was
some light, not much. Dusk, I thought. The rest of the afternoon had gone, and the early evening. There were forms in the hazy twilight around me, forms that took shape as the light seemed to strengthen. Parthet and Lesh were both leaning over me.

“You’re going to be all right, lad,” Parthet said. I thought that I heard relief in his voice, but everything was still hazy. “We’ll get you inside now. I couldn’t let them move you before.”

I didn’t answer, but Parthet didn’t seem to expect me to. He stood and spoke to other people. The words were simply too slippery for me to hold on to them, whatever they were. After a moment, I felt myself being lifted—on a stretcher or something.

“Into the castle,” Parthet said, his voice farther off but stronger. I managed what felt like a deep breath and let myself be carried. Lesh stayed at my side, talking, telling me about the rest of the day’s events. The battle was over. The Etevar was dead. His soldiers were either dead, fled, or under guard. His blind wizard had been bound and hooded.