by Chad Cottle
At the top of the hill called Tarm, Caltanian looked down into the valley of Gandis at his slaughtered army. Twinkles of light burned his eyes, the sun reflecting off thousands of pieces of scattered armor. Dead horses littered the battlefield. Tendrils of smoke curled into the sky from the hundreds of burning tents and cookfires, their last meal left uneaten. Here and there clusters of men marched from tent to tent, setting them aflame. Banners came down burning, new ones went up in their places. Caltanian stared at one of them as it went up. A black bear on a white background with the star of Malic, the ten-pointed blood-red symbol of Cairnn, stared back at him from the standing bear’s stomach.
“My Lord?” came a timid voice from behind Caltanian. Caltanian gave no indication that he had heard. “My Lord?” came the voice again, a little louder this time. Then, “They know we’re here. If we don’t leave now…”
Caltanian screamed. His deep rumble of agony echoed through the valley, down to the men ravishing his encampment, back up to where he stood with his cluster of generals. He thought for a minute that the men below paused to look up in his direction. He thought he could almost hear their mocking laughter in response.
“My Lord?” The voice was urgent this time, accompanied by the shuffling of feet.
“He’s beyond us, now!” shouted another voice. “Let him die here alone! He’ll not dare face his father!” The man turned and ran eastward.
“Lord Jowas!” called the first voice.
“Let him go, Morah,” said Caltanian. “He was always too headstrong to follow me or anyone. I don’t need his kind. He’ll die here this day. Let his soul rot in hell with the ones we were able to kill.”
“Forgive me, my Lord, but I think it’ll be us who die if we don’t leave now.” Morah’s voice was cold with fear but firm with resolve. Caltanian couldn’t remember the last time he heard fear in that voice. When they were young men in the training fields back home, perhaps, but surely not since the day they became veterans after their first slaughter in the Fire Mountains.
“Rest easy, Morah. I must see it to its end.”
Morah did not know whether Caltanian meant the end would be their deaths or something else. Death was the only conclusion he could see. But he staid. He always staid.
Caltanian watched the valley below. Not two hundred yards to the west, a knot of cavalry was headed straight for them. Their blue-lacquered armor flashed in the sun, their swords glinting silver and red. They could feel the thundering of the hooves. One of Caltanian’s remaining ten men fled eastward, quickly followed by another. They were all on foot. Caltanian turned to look at his remaining men.
Morah, Terian, Yoro, Wesu, Andrograh, Polinian, Resti, and Singah. On all their faces was fear. Even Morah was trembling. Caltanian had never seen fear in the eyes of those men. They were his most trusted friends. He drank with them, rode with them, built homes with them, planned wars with them. They didn’t want to die. He could see it in their eyes, but they would stay up until the end, even if it meant being ridden down like grass.
He smiled at them. A grin so wide that it might have been his wedding day. All of them–every one–smiled back. The pounding of the hooves grew louder, almost deafening. Morah flung his left arm into the air and spread his hand wide. “Dai Anai,” he yelled. “Dai Anai!” With honor. With honor. He was prepared to die. The others took up the chant. All except Caltanian. He kept his eyes on the approaching cavalry.
The late afternoon sun cast the horsemen’s shadows over Caltanian and his chanting men from fifty yards away. Swords came out of scabbards. The chanting roared louder, threatening to contend with the hooves.
Ten yards away, Caltanian threw both arms into the air and cried, “Forgive me, father!” and he pulled the sun from the sky. He drank up the light, soaked it out of the very air. Then he, too, took up the chant. But his perspective was not the same as the perspective of his men. With honor. He did what he did with honor.
Caltanian and his eight remaining men disappeared. Into the very soil their bodies crumpled, their souls into the light within Caltanian. He soaked them up, and far away, in the middle of a patch of grass in the courtyard of his father's palace in the city of Gandis, Caltanian put them all back together. From the soil beneath the grass he took their bodies. From the light within him he spit back their souls. The first thing he saw after they had fully materialized were the startled looks on the faces of his men. Startled and horrified.
#
The cavalry plunged into the nine men waiting to die, but they were no longer there. They looked about in wonder, and more than one thought he might have gone mad. When they found no one, Ilani, their leader, threw back his head and laughed. “The fool has consigned himself to worse than death, now!” After his laughter subsided, he pointed east and said, “Three went that way. Find them and bring back their heads!” The remaining cavalry sped off to the east, leaving him in a swirling cloud of dust. He looked north toward Gandis. “Wherever you are, Caltanian, I’ll find you. I’ll find you!” That last echoed down through the valley.
#
Morah spun toward Caltanian and lashed him across the face with his gauntleted fist. The silver spikes lining the backs of each finger split open Caltanian’s cheek as he fell to the ground. Caltanian twitched in agony, holding the left side of his face. His cries echoed around the courtyard. People standing on the balconies looked down at them, stricken. Others, their view blocked by the many trees lining the rectangular structure, ran to where they could see. It wasn’t everyday that nine men appeared out of nowhere.
Not one man moved to stop Morah as he took one step toward his friend and viciously kicked him in the ribs. Caltanian gasped. “How could you?” Morah demanded. “How could you do this to us?” Grabbing Caltanian by the hair, he pulled him to his feet. Caltanian’s eyes were glazed over, but he was still conscious, his lips curled back in a snarl. Before Morah could hit him again, Caltanian grabbed the last fading tendrils of light from the sun, transformed them into matter more tangible, and wrapped Morah in a cord of fire that spun around him from head to foot like a coil. Only his fist was outside the wrapping. The coil seared his flesh, burned his hair where it touched, and set his undershirt and riding pants aflame. He screamed from within that coil, but it held him so solid that the only movement anyone could detect was the rapid movement of his eyes.
Caltanian fell to a sitting position, removed a gauntlet, and gingerly touched his cheek. He unhinged his breastplate and threw it away, then wiped the side of his face with his undershirt.
“You’re cooking him inside his armor!” cried Wesu. “Let him go!” He drew his sword.
Caltanian held up a hand. “Take another step and I’ll wrap you in the same!” he threatened. Wesu hesitated. Caltanian created a coil two feet in front of Wesu, and Wesu stepped back. “If any of you come near me you’ll get the same!” Morah was still screaming. Flames danced out of the slits in his armor, now. An unbearable few seconds later, Caltanian pulled the coil away, extending it six feet in diameter. Morah, free to move, frantically unhinged his breastplate and threw it off. He ripped off his undershirt and riding pants, as well. His whole chest was red, the hair completely burned off, and blisters were already forming. He writhed and howled. When he looked through the coil at Caltanian, he lunged forward, throwing himself into the coil. He bounced backward, lost his footing, tried to correct, and fell into the opposite side of the coil, ultimately landing on his face in the scorched grass. He turned to his back and moaned.
A band of palace guards were racing along the western balcony, heading for the staircase leading below.
“I did it for you, Morah. And for Andria. She needs you.”
“There is no honor in what you did. We were to die for our country today,” came the muffled response.
“And in death you would lose everything. Did you really want that?”
“You think Andria will look me in the eye when she hears of this? We are dead already. Perhaps your father will find it in his heart to grant us an asylum from the coming onslaught of persecution. Maybe on the isle of Terinia,” he coughed.
“Do you want me to kill you, then? Since you are already dead, I'll spare you the shame of having to defend yourself.”
Morah groaned as he pulled himself to a sitting position. He looked up at the sky, the balconies. With a cough, he muttered, “I’m not the one who needs to defend himself. The sun is gone, now, anyway. You couldn't kill me even if you wanted to.”
As if just realizing that fact, Caltanian's coil of fire disappeared from around Morah. He had held onto the light, reached as far as his training would allow, for as long as he could. There simply wasn't enough to maintain the magic. And with the leaving of the sun, Caltanian's power was gone. The moon would not rise for three hours, yet, and that didn't shed enough light to do more than an apprentice's dabbling. Surely not enough to defend himself if need be.
Morah staggered to his feet. And then he wept. Tears fell from his eyes and watered the grass at his feet. “You were my best friend! Damn you!” he wailed. He limped away, then, to the southern gates of the courtyard, toward his rooms in the western wing, toward safety, he hoped.
“You are a fool!” Wesu said to Caltanian. “An absolute utter fool!”
“You will thank me one day,” Caltanian returned. “I have no doubt.”
Wesu snorted and turned to leave. But just as he turned, the guards from the balcony rushed into the square and seized him. He turned his head and shot Caltanian a glare of anger that would have burned right through his coil of fire. “May your father have mercy on your soul. I surely won’t!” Then he was dragged off.
Then they took Caltanian. They did not fear him now that the sun had set.
The other men who had just arrived from the battlefield more than five-hundred miles away were also escorted away, to their rooms, Caltanian thought. But not he, no, he was being taken to his father. That thought alone was enough to bring a sinking feeling of fear into his stomach.
His two escorts, one holding each arm, took him north, under the archway that supported the balconies and through the inner gardens toward the palace gates. Three sets of gates led to the palace. The outer gate, built higher than any structure in the world, surrounded the city, with guard towers at all four corners and one more between each of the corners. The inner gate, built just a bit shorter than the outer, and then the palace gate, built lower than them all. Caltanian shook his head at the uselessness of them. An enemy could use the exact same magic he just did to land himself inside all three without anyone the wiser. He had often wondered at the stupidity of such minds that relied on mortar and bricks rather than wits and magic. A strong arm and solid steal are better than wits and magic, a teacher had once told him. His father, actually. One of the stupid minds. But he did as his father told him. He was a man of honor and great dignity, a king loved by his people, revered by his subjects. An honest man. Caltanian was awed by the truth he learned from his father, that honesty and stupidity were married. Inseparably connected, insufferably at odds with one another. And yet to be at odds with his father would not be taken well by the people, and the only other heir was his younger brother Terolian, the traitor.
The guards, despite the obvious frigidity of the situation, escorted him as a prince and not as a thief. Caltanian knew them both by name but refrained from speaking to him. He had sparred with both of them, dined with them. He doubted he would ever have the chance to do either again.
It was a long walk to his father’s chambers. He was certain that
he should prepare a grand speech to defend himself but hadn’t the faintest
idea where to start.
***
Shez looked out over his crumbling kingdom with eyes that hadn’t seen sleep for days. A thin sheen of rain was falling outside the window, and the darkened sky reflected his mood. He tapped the Staff of Gandis on the stone floor near his chair, it’s sound echoing through the large throne room.
He was alone.
Far below, he watched many of his people. Wrapped in linens and wearing hats to keep out the rain, they carried out their business. He didn’t miss one of them. They were his people. He was responsible for each of them. And the weight had given him gray hairs twenty years before he should have had them.
His eye caught the movement of his troops on the tops of the battlements on the outermost gate of the city. There was an army massed out there, he knew. An army of traitors and tyrants, men of little understanding who knew not mercy when it was granted them. Hadn’t Shez been the most merciful king in the last three centuries?
Shez heard the shuffling of feet behind him but didn’t turn around to see who it was. A messenger, he knew. Probably Elandria.
“Forgive me for intruding, my Lord,” said the man. It was Elandria. “I have urgent news.”
“The army? How many?” asked Shez.
There was a short pause. “At last count, over thirty thousand.”
“And my son?”
“He leads them, yes, my lord.”
“Thank God dear Mera is not here to see this.”
“Indeed, my lord.”
“Are my troops ready?”
“All of them. A thousand more recruits from Reli joined us this afternoon.”
“It’s still not enough,” said the king.
“It is enough,” said Elandria. “We will prevail. You son is young and headstrong. His youth will grant us victory.”
“I wish I could be as sure.”
A moment of silence passed between them. “My lord, I came with urgent news. You son Caltanian has returned.”
The King shot up from his chair and turned so quickly that Elandria inadvertently took a step backward. “What do you mean he has returned?” he demanded.
“He is being escorted here as we speak. He will arrive shortly.”
“Escorted? Since when has the heir to the throne been escorted?”
“I’m afraid the circumstances of his arrival are…questionably uncharacteristic.”
“How did he arrive?” asked Shez, dreading the answer.
Elandria gulped.
“Out with it!” commanded the king.
“It appears that Caltanian used the sun to return himself and his generals.”
“Dammit!” Shez turned and sank back into his chair. “That will be all.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Elandria turned and left. When the footsteps stopped and the heavy
door closed behind Elandria, Shez wept. He had lost both his sons.
#
By the time Caltanian reached the outer door to his father’s chambers, he hadn’t a clue what he was going to say to him. Any defense seemed preposterous. But no defense was senseless. He was damned either way, he knew.
His escorts turned him over to Elandria who was standing between two guards on either side of the door. Elandria’s gaze was full of sorrow, but he said nothing. He turned and opened the door. Caltanian followed. Just inside, Elandria bowed, then turned and walked from the room, closing the door gently behind him. Caltanian looked toward the window where his father sat and dreaded this confrontation more than any of his life. For a brief moment he wondered if he should have let himself die on the battlefield.
Slowly he walked toward his father.
“No closer,” said Shez without turning. “A traitor is not allowed near the king. You are fortunate to even be in my presence. If you were not my son, you would be dead.”
“I am not a traitor, father,” said Caltanian.
“You pulled the sun from the sky!” said Shez. “And then dare to mock me?”
“I did what I had to do, father.”
“Did you, now?” Shez rose from his chair and turned to look at his son. His face was red from weeping, his gaze radiating sorrow and anguish. “Have I lost you this day, my son? Have I lost all that I have left?”
“I am not lost,” said Caltanian, his gaze never faltering.
“I forbid the use of your magic more than a decade ago, punishable by death, and you defy me. Why?”
“We were overrun. They were outnumbered, but Terolian has trained many men in the use of night magic. They…slaughtered us during the night and fled from us during the day until our numbers were less than their own. Then they charged our camp and swallowed us whole. It was my only escape.”
“Why didn’t you die on the battlefield?”
“Is that what you want, father?” Caltanian raised his voice. “You wish your seed to die in me, that no heir remains but my traitorous brother who is even now preparing to attack the city?”
“I have my honor, as you did yours.”
“Honor! What the hell good will honor serve us when we are dead? You need me, father. Without my use of Daylight magic and your use of Night magic, we will die and all you have built will be for naught.”
“No,” said Shez. His lower lip quivered. “Not this way. Not with your gift.”
“Mother is dead, father! When will you open your eyes and see it for yourself! She is gone, and there is nothing you can do—”
“Don’t you dare speak to me of your mother!”
“Oh, come on, father. She died from the use of the gift, at the hands of a traitor!”
“And no more shall die from it!”
“More already have. And if you don’t use me and use your own gift, everything we have worked for will be lost. Why are you blind to such reason?”
“We have had this discussion before,” said Shez.
“And we’ll have it again and again until one of us is dead.”
“Until you are dead.”
“I’m dead either way, father, so what have I to fear? Your wrath? Kill me now. It makes no difference to me. If I live out the night, Terolian and his men will be here eventually to kill me, anyway. We will all die, and it will be because of your unreasonable anger at mother’s death! I beg you to not let the most noble kingdom in all of history fall because of your irrational anger.”
Shez said nothing for several seconds.
“I have never betrayed you, father. I have never sought your crown. You have brought this people peace and harmony, progress and wealth. Don’t let it fall into the hands of greedy, blood-thirsty men because you cannot come to grips with the death of my mother.”
“You don’t know what it means to love a woman,” Shez whispered.
“You may be right, father. But I know what it means to love my kingdom, and no woman can dig that love out of my heart so that she might take its place.”
Shez actually smiled. “You would have made a good king. A better king than I,” he said.
Caltanian’s heart sank. It seemed that his father’s heart had softened for a moment, but it wasn’t to be. He was a good man, but a just man. How could Caltanian expect him to overrule his own decree? How would such a move affect his kingdom, his credulity? “I beg you to reconsider,” said Caltanian. “The people know our circumstances. They know that we will be crushed, but they follow you anyway. They believe you will lead them to victory. So lead them, father, with me at your side. Your Night magic coupled with my Daylight magic will be sufficient. They will not betray you if you use your God-given powers to rid them of their enemies. They know and accept the fact that you are not perfect. Such a small oversight will not sway them when it will ensure their continued freedom.” That was all Caltanian had in him. His future, the future of the kingdom he had known he would one day rule, lay in his father’s next words. He closed his eyes and waited.
Shez’s breathing was labored. He coughed, then said, “I cannot betray myself.” And then he clapped his hands and two men-at-arms came into the room. “Take my son to his chambers. Post a guard. If he leaves, kill him.” Then, to his son, “I will speak with you later, before first light. I cannot trust you when the sun returns.”
Caltanian was escorted from the room. He was too stunned to protest.
He was sure the city would not hold throughout the night.
#
Caltanian stared out the window of his chambers. A cool breeze blew the smells of roasting meat and burning wood into his room. The darkness had deepened and the moon had risen in the east. Cook fires dotted the inside of the city as well as outside the gates.
It would begin soon, he knew. What form it would take, he did not know. At least he was safe from his brother or one of his trained magicians simply appearing in his chambers. Any magician needed soil to do that. Bodies could not be put back together without it.
An hour passed, then two. Caltanian wondered why the attack hadn’t started and felt a bit of hope that his brother was waiting one more day. Perhaps that would give his father time to reconsider.
Suddenly, the sound of splintering wood flooded the city. The floor shook with the intensity of whatever had happened. Caltanian scanned the torch-dotted battlements and heard the shouts of men, but saw nothing more. The floor shook again only moments later. This time, Caltanian saw flames near the outermost gates and heard screams mingled with the shouting. He fell to his knees and offered supplication to his God for mercy on their souls and didn’t believe his words made it past the ceiling. He was powerless to help, and the night had only begun. It would be nearly ten more hours before the sun would rise. He pounded his fists on the floor and cursed his father for being such a fool, then resumed his watch of what was happening below.
The southern guard tower shattered in an explosion of light, illuminating his room for half a second as if it were mid-day. Caltanian could have soaked power from that explosion, but it took him by surprise and wouldn’t have been enough power to counter anything, anyway. A series of explosions rattled his teeth and caused him to fear that the castle itself would crumble without ever being attacked directly.
“Do something, father!” he raged out the window. He knew that his words would find no ears. He wept for the defeat of his people. It was only a matter of time, now.
The assault continued relentlessly. Three hours later, the outer wall around the city collapsed. They started on the inner wall immediately. The intensity of the blasts appeared to have dissipated slightly. Such power would quickly weaken the spellcaster. For the first time since the assault began, Caltanian thought that perhaps the palace wall would survive until morning. He hoped that his father would see sense before then.
Terolian, his younger brother, had always been a target of Caltanian’s teasing when they were children. Three years apart, Caltanian found it amusing to have a younger brother. They had become fast friends, however, and Caltanian was awed by Terolian’s intelligence. Despite being three years apart, they were tutored together. Caltanian had always been better with a sword, but Terolian quickly surpassed him in academic pursuits. They had been trained in their magical gift, learning that they each could manipulate the powers of light and dark to do their bidding. Terolian, like his father Shez, had command of Night magic while Caltanian gathered his power from the sun. That was until their mother died.
Outside, another explosion rocked the palace. The door behind him opened and Caltanian spun to see his father standing in the doorway. The king made his way to the window and stood next to Caltanian. His eyes scanned the mayhem below and they both watched a portion of the inner gate explode in a ball of fire. Caltanian fought the urge to lash out at his father for his neutrality. What good would it do?
“They will have us before morning,” said Shez. “Gandis will fall to the enemy.”
“Do something, father. I beg you.” There was no anger in Caltanian’s voice. When his father said nothing, Caltanian fell to his knees and hugged his father’s legs. “Please, father. There are women and children in the city. Spare them, if you can.”
Caltanian felt a tear fall into his hair. “Stand up, my son.” Caltanian stood. His father’s face was wet with tears. “May my people forgive me for what I’m about to do. May your mother forgive me.”
“I forgive you, father.”
Shez barked a laugh. “’Tis easy to forgive one of a sin you have committed yourself.” And then the old man turned to the window and rose his arms. Caltanian could not see or sense anything, but he knew that his father was pulling the darkness from around him, gathering it within himself. He saw anger in his father’s eyes, righteous indignation, and it made his heart soar with pride and hope.
Shez cast his spell a minute later, his arms stretched out toward the inner gate. The explosions ceased. Caltanian stood in awe as minute after minute passed without even the hint of battle. The cries of men dwindled to almost nothing. Shez turned to Caltanian and placed his hands on Caltanian’s shoulders. “There is a shield around the city,” he said. “May God grant that it holds until first light. Then the battle is yours. It is the best I can do.”
“It is enough, father. We will not let you down.”
Shez nodded and walked toward the door. He stumbled, but Caltanian was there to assist him. Just before Caltanian opened the door, he said, “Thank you, father.”
Shez sighed. “You are free to go. I will have the guard at your door removed.”
Outside, Caltanian gave Shez to Elandria. “You may go,” Shez said
to the two guards at the door. The two men promptly bowed and left
their posts. Caltanian stood in the doorway and watched his father
until he disappeared around a corner.
#
Morah was in mortal agony. He had been tended to by his wife, but his wounds were severe. Blisters covered his chest and stomach. There were some on his neck and his thighs, as well. His back, too, was covered with them. He lay on his side. Any adjustment in his position caused more pain than he thought he could bare. And the explosions outside did not bode well, either. He found himself wishing that he would die. Death could not be worse than this, surely.
His door opened and someone entered. He didn’t dare turn his head to see who it was, but he didn’t have to. A form appeared before his face, and the visitor came to his knees so that Morah could see his face. It was Caltanian.
Morah tried to get up, but the agony of his burns was too great, and he fell back with a grunt. He watched as Caltanian motioned toward the door. Several more men entered, their armor clanking. Suddenly the room was bright and noisy with hissing torches.
“Leave,” rasped Morah. “You are dead to me. Let me suffer in peace.”
“I regret what happened in the courtyard. I have come to amend it.”
“Don’t you touch me with that foul magic of yours!”
Caltanian ignored his friend. “Give me the torch and hold him down,” he told the nearest man. The man handed the torch to Caltanian and sat beside Morah. “Hold his wrists,” said Caltanian. Then he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, and he sucked in the light from the room. He could feel the power from the flames pool in his soul and lamented the fact that it would never approach the power he could take from the sun, but he knew it would be enough. He tossed the torch to one of his guards and approached his friend. Morah struggled, but the man appointed to hold him would not let him move. Caltanian ran his hand along Morah’s neck and let his magic loose. Morah screamed, but when Caltanian’s hands moved from his neck to his chest, the blisters were gone. Caltanian traced Morah’s entire body, and wherever he touched, the blisters completely disappeared. The whole process took five minutes, and when it was over Morah was sitting on his bed, head bowed. “Let him go,” Caltanian told his guard. The man retreated to his fellow guards and took up his torch.
Morah did not look up. He gingerly traced his arms and chest, then his neck. He was whole again. “Your father has betrayed us,” he said.
“My father has given us a chance to survive.”
“A king betrays himself to save himself. Where is the honor in that? It is cowardice.”
“Will you swallow your damnable pride, Morah? You are not one to judge honor!”
“Leave us,” Morah said to the guards. They hesitated until Caltanian nodded, then they filed out. The light in the room dissipated to the dancing shadows of two torches set in sconces on either side of the door. “I have no country,” said Morah after all the men had left.
“Will you stop this nonsense? You’re making me ill. You want to see your wife murdered? Your son? Are their lives worth less than your pride? You owe my father your life. You owe me your life.”
“I have not my own life to give. You have taken it from me. Do with me as you wish.”
“I need you, Morah. I need your strength and your weight with the soldiers. They will follow you and Wesu. The battle will commence in earnest tomorrow at dawn. I need you there to lead us to victory, that we may retain our lives and our honor, that we may quell my brother’s arrogance.”
During Caltanian’s words, Morah was shaking his head. “No,” he said. “I cannot serve you any longer, nor will Wesu. We no longer live.”
Caltanian shrugged. “So be it. If that is the way you wish it to be, fine.” He pulled a dagger from his belt, looked at its sharp edge, tested it with a finger. Then he extended his left arm. With the knife, he cut his skin four inches up his arm, then returned the knife to his belt. Blood dripped onto the floor.
“Dear God, no! Don’t do this!” begged Morah.
“You leave me no choice,” said Caltanian. “I will have you be force if you will not come freely.” He bent to the floor, turned his arm flat, and rubbed in a circle. His dark blood smeared across the stone.
“Please!” cried Morah. “I will do as you ask!”
“Indeed you will.” Caltanian continued rubbing his arm until a square foot was wet with his blood. He stood, placed his feet just outside the perimeter of the stain, then once again retrieved his knife. He placed the knife in the upturned palm of his left hand and said, “Once we pledged our blood to one another, in the Fire Mountains after the defeat of Shagez. That pledge was forged with steel, and to this day our knifes and our souls have been intertwined by that blood. Nothing is stronger than that bond, not steel, not death, not stone, not betrayal.” Caltanian turned the knife and let it drop to the floor. The blade sank two inches into the stone without a sound. He stepped back and placed his arms behind his back.
Morah stood up, looked down at the knife sticking out of the stone. He took his own knife from his belt and raised his right arm. He winced as the knife cut his flesh and blood dripped to the floor. He repeated Caltanian’s ritual, rubbing his own arm over the top of where Caltanian had rubbed his. He rubbed around the knife sticking from the stone, then finally stood and placed the knife in the upturned palm of his right hand. “Not even in betrayal,” he said. He let the knife drop. It, too, sank two inches into the stone without a sound, four inches from Caltanian’s. “So be it,” he finished.
Caltanian smiled. Morah did not. “See you at dawn,” said
Caltanian, then left the room.
#
King Shez collapsed to his knees twenty minutes before the first rays of day shot over the horizon, and with him collapsed his shield around the city. Elandria helped him stand just as the explosions near the inner gate commenced anew. Elandria led him to his room and helped him remove his robes and climb into bed. He knelt by the bedside and rubbed Shez’s hand between his own until the king fell asleep.
Outside, the explosions seemed too close.
#
Twenty minutes later, the magical assault on the city abruptly ceased. The darkness had waned, giving way to the light minute by minute, and Caltanian knew that his brother’s power went with it. He could feel the power of the sun and smiled. But it was a grimace of anger, not one of happiness or jest. He had thirteen hours before the sun went down. It would have to be enough. He was certain the city would not hold through another night. Fortunately, it didn’t appear that it would be a cloudy day. Caltanian and his men would have the full strength of the sun.
Caltanian looked to the man standing on his right and said, “Are they ready?”
“They know what to do. You trained them well.”
Morah and Wesu and Caltanian’s other generals were below, near the gates, ready for the ground assault they knew was imminent. They would have a few minutes warning before the attack. Even now they could see men moving just inside the outer gate. Outside the outer gate there were more. Thousands more.
“May God be with us this day,” Caltanian prayed. “It will be our first or our last.”
“Good luck, my lord,” said the man to his right.
The ground assault began just after the sun had fully risen above the horizon. Five hundred screaming men charged through the rubble of the outer gate toward Morah and his men who waited five hundred yards away. Fireballs found them first, cutting through them with horrifying finality. They came from above and from the east and west, cutting great swaths through the ranks of soldiers. The men scattered, looking this way and that for the source of the fire, their charge completely destroyed. Surely they had been told that they had no reason to fear magic, but Caltanian was certain his brother understood the potential threat after battering unsuccessfully at his father’s shield during the night.
The charging soldiers did not regroup. More fireballs found them, cutting men in two and leaving charred bodies wherever they flew.
The remaining men fled.
There were cheers from Morah’s men, but they remained where they were. “Go now, Morah,” whispered Caltanian. “Now!”
Morah’s men charged a moment later. Ten rows of mounted men went first, thirty abreast. The breach in the wall was wide enough for thirty. Impossibly wide. Behind the mounts came the footmen. Archers appeared on the battlements, and inside the remaining guard towers Caltanian could see his magicians. Trained in secret for almost a decade, they were the ones he was counting on most.
Fire lanced into the now terrified men below. Morah’s cavalry met the confused front and commenced a slaughter while fire consumed the soldiers in the back. Caltanian himself added his magic to the fray, letting loose the power he took from the sun.
Terolian’s men fled. Twenty thousand strong, they trampled each other in their haste to get away. Morah’s men relentlessly cut them down.
By mid-afternoon it appeared the battle was over. Several thousand had thrown down their weapons and begged for mercy. They were taken to Caltanian who granted them mercy once they had sworn an oath to Shez. Anyone who did not swear the oath was put to death.
But amid the dead and dying, Caltanian did not find his brother.
He was still out there somewhere, perhaps bidding his time. Night
would fall again, and Caltanian feared the magical assault from the night
before would resume. Terolian didn’t need his men for that.
#
Shez called for his son an hour before nightfall. Caltanian left matters in Morah’s capable hands and went to him.
The king was in his bed, looking pale but content. He smiled when Caltanian entered.
Caltanian walked to his father’s bedside and knelt. “Father,” he said. “How may I serve you?”
“I have heard the news. You have served me well.”
“It is not over yet. Are you capable of defending us this night should Terolian commence his attack?”
“I fear not. Your work this day must be enough.”
“The men are…concerned…about our use of magic after so long.”
“That will be the true battle. What happened today was a skirmish compared to that,” said Shez.
“Your mother came to me while I slept.”
Caltanian nodded. Such a belief was sheer madness, but his father was old and madness came with old age.
“I see the disbelief in your eyes, son.”
“Forgive me, father.”
“She came to me,” Shez said forcefully. “She said I am to join her soon. You will be king.”
“Do not speak of this, father.”
“She is proud of you, of your good heart. She told me you will be a good king and will bring much prosperity to your people.”
Caltanian shook his head. “You have many years left, father.”
Shez laughed. In jest, he said, “Perhaps a good king, but a liar, too.”
There was a knock on the door. Elandria entered. “My lords,” he said. And without any change in his demeanor, he added, “Terolian has surrendered. He awaits you in the courtyard.”
Caltanian sighed with relief.
“It seems you won’t need me afterall,” said Shez.
Caltanian stood. “I must go, father. I will return shortly.”
“Have mercy on your brother.”
Caltanian frowned. “Mercy, father? On a traitor?”
“You and I are both traitors this day, under the law.”
“You are the law, father.”
“No. The law is larger than both of us. Have mercy.”
Caltanian shook his head. “I don’t see how I can, father.”
Shez laboriously raised himself to a sitting position. He pointed a long finger at his son. “Mercy will win his respect. Mercy will win his love. With the mercy you give him this day, so shall your people show mercy to you.”
“In this case, mercy will make me weak. A weak king, a merciful king, is a dead king.”
“I have shown mercy since the day my father died, and we have prospered more than we ever dreamed we could. If there is anything you have learned from me, I hope it is that.”
“There is a time to be merciful and a time to judge. This is not a time for mercy.”
“Mercy will make you great. Sharpness will make you rot.”
They stared at each other for a long minute. “We shall see, father.” There was no malice or challenge in Caltanian’s words. He could not see himself showing mercy to his brother. So many people had died at his hands, because of his actions. The people would demand his execution. He turned and left the room.
It was time for justice.