The Western Wizard (70 page)

“I bring a challenge I think you’ll accept,
Bolboda
.” Valr Kirin’s voice boomed, pitched to carry over the distance between them. “And I’d like to exchange vows.”

It seemed only fair to meet Valr Kirin partway, and Colbey disliked the need to shout. Holding his reply, he kept his gaze fixed on the Northmen as he moved to the horses. He did not bother with a saddle, only bridled Frost Reaver and mounted. He glanced at the Wolf Point hilltops, picking Rache’s and Tannin’s still figures from the shadows. Turning, he studied the rest of the party. Mitrian stood, no longer feigning sleep. Shadimar remained
still, the wolf quiet at his side. Arduwyn had slipped into a tangle of charred boughs, and Colbey did not see Korgar.

Finally, Colbey looked back to Kirin and his entourage. Slowly, without threat, he approached, reining the Erythanian charger just beyond sword range. “Kirin, I’m willing to hear your challenge, though there’s one thing I don’t understand. Why do you call me Evil Bringer? I’m only trying to keep what’s left of my tribe alive in peace. You, however, want to destroy us for some ancient crime of our forefathers, and men and Wizards call you good. There’s no justice in that.”

“I
serve
justice.” Valr Kirin stared, features locked in a scowl. “I know what you are and what you champion. Your lies may fool your followers, but I see through them, because I know the truth. Wizards and their sources cannot lie. Whatever intentions you claim, your future avows evil and destruction for Northmen and Renshai alike. I have no choice but to oppose that.” His gaze traveled to Shadimar, and his brows rose in anxious question.

Colbey could only see the Wizard from the barest edge of peripheral vision, but he could tell that Shadimar’s demeanor stiffened. The old Renshai could not help wondering whether Shadimar could also read the suffocatingly intense sincerity radiating from Trilless’ champion. Clearly, Kirin believed every word he spoke with an unshakable certainty that nearly convinced Colbey.
Maybe, just maybe, Trilless sees something in my future that even I could never guess.

Though Valr Kirin continued to probe the Eastern Wizard, his words could only be meant for Colbey. “My grudge is no longer with your people, it’s with you. It is destined in the truest sense of the word, in the oldest text of the Wizards. You will betray and ruin the Renshai as well as us.”

Anger descended on Colbey. When anyone questioned his courage or skill, he simply showed them the error of such thought. But that any man might believe, even for a moment, that he would work against the Renshai seemed an insult too base to contemplate. Still, to deny the accusation would prove nothing. To his followers, his actions through the decades would say more than Kirin’s
words ever could. As to Kirin’s followers, Colbey did not care what they believed.

The rest of Kirin’s accusation came carefully. “I see no reason for more than one Northman’s death nor for any skilled swordsmen to freeze in Hel. This feud is ours, Colbey, ours and the Wizards we serve, though you claim to deny your master.” He passed his gilded helmet to the man at his left, a nervous, squinty-eyed youth who appeared no older than Rache. “I serve goodness, and you’ve sold yourself to evil. I have no choice but to destroy you before your deceit damns your people as well as mine. If I fail, I only hope the Renshai will come to understand what you are before it’s too late.” His soft, pleading gaze flitted from Mitrian to Shadimar.

Both looked away.

Valr Kirin’s words did little more than confuse Colbey. “You’re crazy, Kirin. Or, at best, sadly misinformed. My loyalties lie with the Renshai and with Shadimar. If you have no feud with them, then you have none with me. We can end this now and both live in peace.” Colbey studied the man before him without blinking. He hoped that his words demonstrated how much the Renshai had changed, how other principles had joined the insatiable love for battle hammered into him since birth.

Kirin lowered his head, breaking the contact. For a moment, Colbey thought the Nordmirian would cry. “Trilless said you would lie to the end. And convincingly. I should have known that one so long among the exiled Renshai could not escape the same dishonor that drove them to mutilate their cousins.” He again met Colbey’s eyes, his own blue orbs blazing. “From this moment forth, if the gods will allow it, I declare Northmen and Renshai at peace. We will stop hunting you, if you will allow my men to return to the North unhindered.”

The vow pleased as well as startled Colbey. Still, it did not seem to follow naturally from Kirin’s prefacing statement. “That’s all that we’ve ever asked. I have no problem making this promise. Nor my companions, if their word means more to you.” Colbey responded carefully, waiting for the other shoe to fall.

“You and I will fight. Win or lose, we free your hostages unscathed. But, should you refuse my challenge,
my men have orders to kill the Western Renshai.” He raised his hand and rolled his eyes heavenward. “I swear by Thor, my men and I will honor this vow. Our battle is not finished until one of the two of us lies dead.”

Colbey paused to think, seeing no flaws in the bargain. So long as he took Valr Kirin’s challenge, the Renshai could not lose. No matter who triumphed, his people would have what they sought: freedom for themselves and for the captives. The Renshai risked only one thing, Colbey’s life, and they no longer needed an old man who should have died decades past. Since Colbey claimed full ownership of that life, he consulted no one before making his decision. “Lady Sif, goddess of Renshai, hear me now. Your people will join this pact as Kirin spoke it. May you cut down anyone who betrays it.”

Valr Kirin continued to study the sky, but he kept his prayers silent. At length, he passed the reins of his stallion to the man at his right and slid from the chestnut’s back. Colbey unbuckled and freed the bridle, balancing it across Frost Reaver’s withers. He commanded the charger to return to camp. The horse nuzzled Colbey’s arm, then obediently turned and headed toward the others. By the time Colbey turned back, Kirin had chosen a likely battleground on the forest turned graveyard, out of range of archers from either side and where horses would not risk injury from a wild stroke.

The young man who had ridden at Valr Kirin’s left also dismounted, passing his reins to the other Northman. He approached Kirin, first handing him a pair of brass-studded gauntlets, then the helmet.

“Thank you, Olvaerr.” Kirin lowered his voice nearly to a whisper, yet the depth of the silence around them, unbroken even by the normal sounds of an awakening forest, allowed Colbey to hear. “If I die, carry on. Keep your sword arm worked and your honor unwavering.”

“May Thor steer your arm, Father,” Olvaerr replied as softly. He clasped Kirin’s wrist so tightly both of their hands blanched. Then, rather than turn away, he pulled his father into an embrace that lasted only seconds. The love that radiated from both came strongly to Colbey, tearing at him. It brought memories of Episte and what might have been, and Colbey knew an envy that nearly
brought him to tears. For all that he had done and those that he had killed, if he could have lived only one part of his life again, he would have found a way to retract striking Episte and would have shown the boy his love instead. The memory ached within him. Colbey waited until the embrace had finished and Olvaerr had stepped away before heading toward the Nordmirian lieutenant.

Valr Kirin set his helmet in place, then pulled on the gauntlets. Legs braced, stance defensive, he watched Colbey’s approach.

Colbey stopped directly before Kirin. “We can still call this off.”

“We can’t,” Kirin replied, without hesitation. “You know what you are.”

Colbey believed that he did, yet Kirin’s impression seemed so alien, he needed to understand it. He tried to grasp answers from the emotion radiating from the Northman, but all he could read was a direct certainty that Colbey would spread Carcophan’s evil on a rampage through all parts of the world. Again, Colbey found himself caught and drawn to that unwavering conviction that left not the tiniest shred of doubt. Never in his life had he believed in anything with such sureness, nor would he have guessed it possible for any man. Even his faith in Sif had moments where it grew shaky, and he questioned. Though he knew it was folly to weaken himself before battle, Colbey could not resist probing just a little deeper.

Colbey’s journey into Val Kirin’s mind gave him an intensified feel for the emotions that had, already, seemed powerful. He followed the raging torrent of certainty to its root: the Northern Sorceress, a source that could not lie. The facts supported Valr Kirin’s assertion. The most ancient prophecies of the Wizards named the world’s greatest mortal swordsman as the champion of Carcophan’s evil, a Northman who would betray his tribe. Colbey froze there, feeling strength drain from him in a steady wash, yet unable to pull away.

Abruptly, a presence severed Colbey’s mental tie to Valr Kirin, as quickly and sharply as a sword cut. The suddenness nearly sent Colbey tumbling backward, though he caught his balance with a clumsy step tempered
by fatigue. Before him stood the woman who had sparred with him during his prayers on his return from the Great War. A scowl scored her unearthly beautiful features, and her voice reverberated with power. “Believe in what you are, Colbey. To intentionally drain your strength before a contest is cowardice of the worst kind.” As suddenly, she disappeared.

Colbey shook his head, trying to regain his bearings. The efforts of his mental exploration, the hallucination, and the heavy acrid reek of the charred forest made him queasy. Wildly, he glanced at Kirin to see if the Northman had also seen the vision.

But if he did, Kirin gave no sign. His forehead creased, making his look urgent. “Colbey Calistinsson, I have one last pact to make with you.” He met and held the blue-gray eyes. “The man who wins this duel will not bar the loser from Valhalla.”

Colbey nodded once, still dizzy. Until the woman’s words, he had not realized what he had tried to do. Wrapped up in Valr Kirin’s certainty, Colbey had sincerely believed that he would betray the Renshai, that he would serve Carcophan, and that, for the good of the world, he must die. He did not know if that certainty came from Valr Kirin or himself, but it would not fully leave him.
But if Sif told me to believe in myself, how can I do otherwise? I did not war for seventy years to die a coward.
“I would have it no other way. I would never dismember a noble enemy, and you are the noblest I’ve faced. Before we start, though, I do have one question in the name of your blood brother in Valhalla, Rache Kallmirsson.”

Now Kirin nodded curtly. Though he did not visibly flinch, Colbey could feel a flurry of radiating emotion. At the time of the pact, Kirin had never guessed that Rache was Renshai. Sometime in the past decade, he had learned this fact. His more obvious thoughts and actions told Colbey that Valr Kirin had worked through his conflicting loyalties on the matter. Colbey guessed that the relationship might have started the spark of peace between Kirin and the Renshai, though it did not apparently extend to the feud between Colbey and Kirin.

“Whoever killed Rache’s son, Episte, mutilated him
horribly.” Colbey felt his own composure wavering, the vision of the headless body filling his memory with agony. “Why?” His voice betrayed his pain.

“No,” Kirin said.

Colbey waited. The lieutenant had not directly addressed his question.

“No.” Kirin’s hand clenched around his sword hilt. “It wasn’t one of mine.”

“Circumstance says it was. I found him among dead Northmen.”

“It could not have been one of my men.” Kirin did not waver; though, from the edge of his gaze, Colbey could see Olvaerr shuffling nervously. “There’s nothing more to say.”

Colbey glanced at Valr Kirin’s son, tangibly touching his nervous energy, keyed nearly to the point of breaking. The need to know goaded him to search the youngster’s thoughts, yet Colbey resisted, Sif’s words still echoing in his head.

Valr Kirin paced backward a step and drew his sword from its plain scabbard. The blade glowed so brightly that the cloudless sky paled before it. White flames danced along its edge.

Panic touched Colbey from a source behind him, so strong that it tore past Kirin’s aura of determination and Olvaerr’s confusion. Without understanding why, Colbey knew the sword’s name, Ristoril, the Sword of Tranquillity; and he knew the information could only have come from one source.
Shadimar?
The Eastern Wizard’s fear, so unfamiliar and uncharacteristic, shattered Colbey’s concentration.

Valr Kirin’s sword lunged for Colbey, as if sword, not man, was the wielder. Colbey drew Harval and parried. The swords met with a clang that seemed far too loud to Colbey in the dead stillness of the ravaged forest. Sparks erupted from the contact, milk-white pinpoints against misty gray shadow. Colbey twisted, and the Nordmirian’s blade scratched along his own, locking on the crossguard.

Secodon emitted a long, tortured howl.

Slowed by the energy wasted in his mental exploration, Colbey did not press quickly enough. Kirin jerked
his sword free, then bore in for another cut. This time Colbey dodged, returning a sweep that Kirin scarcely met. Again, the swords chimed together, the sound as clear and precise as music. Immediately, Colbey reversed, and Kirin slashed. Colbey met this new attack with a parry that he continued into a sweep for Kirin’s neck. The Nordmirian backpedaled. The tip of Colbey’s sword skimmed along his helmet, leaving a scar across the steel.

Colbey surged in. His blade whipped upward in a feint that fooled Kirin. He raised his sword to block, even as Colbey’s countercut opened his shirt, mail, and abdomen. The Northman staggered, his face as pale as his sword.

Valr Kirin made no sound, but Olvaerr screamed as if the wound were his own. “Father, no!” The youth’s blood rage hammered Colbey from without, and Kirin’s son drew and sprang for the Renshai.

Colbey wrenched his sword upward to meet Olvaerr’s unexpected rush. The chest thrust meant to painlessly end Kirin’s life became a broad sweep, and the magically sharpened steel claimed his arm at the shoulder. Colbey’s blade met Olvaerr’s, and the child’s wild eyes reflected the crazed grief and desperation that Colbey could read easily. Rage tightened Colbey’s grip on his sword. He had broken his last vow to Kirin, his promise to send the noblest of his foes to Valhalla, and he had no intention of claiming the Nordmirian hero’s son as well. To kill Olvaerr also meant breaking a vow to the gods, and it would reawaken a feud that had taken more than a century to quiet.