Roads of the Righteous and the Rotten (Order of Fire Book 1) (15 page)

16

Zar breathed
deep as guards
charged through the gate. With shield on his back and head tucked low and close to Dancer’s mane, he turned the stallion around and made off in the opposite direction. There were woods nearby, about two miles south of the city, and that’s where he wanted to fight them—not on the plain where he’d be easily surrounded, and they could shoot Dancer full of arrows and hack him into the dirt. The woods, however, would limit their space and break them up into smaller groups. That’s what he needed.

He didn’t bother turning to the sound of the thundering hooves storming behind him. Dancer was galloping his fastest, and there weren’t many horses that could pass him, let alone keep up, but these tall steeds, long- legged with nimble frames, were royal bred for hard running, and didn’t seem to have any trouble staying on the stallion’s trail.

Zar knew the company had gained on him when the clapping of hooves grew louder in his ears. He kept his head tucked low. Arrows were difficult to fire at such speeds, but his pursuers would still likely attempt it. A few flew far over his shoulders and lodged into the ground ahead. Before he had time to get nervous about one of them catching him in the back of the skull, he reached the woods.

Zar slowed Dancer as they entered the trees, cantering a short while in the woods before hopping off and giving him a smack on the rump. Dancer trotted off gingerly and Zar heard the soldiers entering the wood. He drew his sword and hid himself behind a tree, his back against its bark, his elbows tucked in, his sword in both hands against his chest with the blade extending up in front of his face.

Dancer wound his way between the trees away from him, and the rustle of guards traveled in the same direction. They were fast approaching the tree where he stood tucked away. One rider broke past first, racing after the sound and distant sight of Dancer in the woods. Zar could hear the nearing hooves and feel their vibration, and peeked out to see the lean, muscular legs of royal horses charging forward. He slashed at one of them and brought the mount crashing down, throwing its rider into the dirt. Zar promptly struck the fallen man, splitting the Snowguard’s helm, and the other horses stopped sharply at the commotion, two of them spooking and rearing up. Zar wasted no time running between them, and struck a guard who was struggling to stay on his horse after it spooked. He left the man’s thigh open and bleeding and took off running between the trees.

The horses crashed through the wood, their limbs snagging branches as Zar darted away, making sure to curve around the trees. An arrow struck a tree directly to his right, so close to his face that a piece of bark chipped off and stung him on the nose. Zar looked back. Two of the riders nearest him had become frustrated with trying to navigate their mounts through the thick woods and had hopped off their horses. Zar broke his retreat and cut directly back to them. The rest of the group saw him, hopped off their mounts, and started after him.

An arrow breezed past his locks as Zar ducked low and moved toward his targets. He met blades with the first one and parried the other right after, stepped back while the first man advanced and struck the man’s wrist—splitting his glove until blood ran out. Zar side-stepped and parried the other, stabbing through the man’s mail and into his ribs, and was off, moving forward just as quickly as he had turned around.

The men had taken advantage of his short turn around, and spread themselves around his location instead of running directly after him, so they could swarm in from different directions. One had moved fast enough to circle around to his front, and came swinging his sword at Zar’s face, yelling loudly the whole time. Zar dipped his head and ducked under the blow, leaving the man’s blade wedged soundly in a young tree. The man pulled on the weapon. Zar brought his sword down through the man’s arm, cutting off his limb with his hand still gripped tightly around the sword’s hilt.

Zar rolled his body, avoiding the blade of another, the guard’s armor grinding against his own as he went by, and caught the sword of another with his own, steering it to the ground then cutting into the man’s ankle through the back of his boot. He slipped between two trees, just avoiding an arrow that struck into one of them, still weaving deeper into the forest.

Zar was growing tired from all the maneuvering and his pace slowed. The crashing coming from behind him grew louder—guards were catching up, and he glanced back to see two men at his back—no, three. He stopped, knocked away a blade, parried another right after it, thrust his blade home into flesh, parried another blade and kept moving. He could see through the trees in front of him that the forest floor dropped not far ahead, and the whirling and trickling noises he had been too busy to mind as he fought and fled through the woods grew more clear and obvious as they called out keenly through the forest air. There was a river.

Zar ran toward the bluff until a voice called out—a taunting voice, so taunting it stopped him and turned him around.

“Would you run all day, coward?”

Zar looked to see a weary guard staggering forward, and another guard, bleeding and holding his leg hopping forward with a grimace. The voice hadn’t come from those two, they were breathing far too heavily to have called out so calmly. A rider with long brown hair flowing in the wind marched his mount forward slowly and deliberately, and Zar knew at once
he
was the owner of the voice.

“No,” Zar called. “I think I have thinned your numbers down enough.”

“Yes, you have,” the man replied, stopping his mount and climbing down. He didn’t move forward when he descended, but stood right in front of his ebon-coated mount. “You nearly fell my whole set.”

The two soldiers were still moving towards Zar when the man’s voice sounded and stopped them in their tracks.

“Wait. The man and I are having a talk.”

“So
you
command them,” said Zar, mouth open and still breathing heavily from the running. “Are you their captain? Wait, no, that can’t be right.” Zar’s eyes scanned the man’s raiment—a fancy chainmail shirt with links both silver and gold, and the black cloak that was draped around it with the highland bear embroidered on the back in gold stitching. Zar took a closer look at the man’s face—neat and cleanly shaven with smooth white cheeks that looked as polished as a woman’s. He had heard jokes that Prince Tharid was prettier than most farm girls, and had seen the prince from afar on a few occasions, riding about the capital with guards at his sides and his hair dancing far behind him in the wind. “Could it be?” Zar continued, smirking and squinting a bit. “Do I have the honor of standing before Prince Tharid of Snowstone?”

“The honor is mine,” said the prince, gently swaying his head back to clear a group of locks that hung over his left eye. “You fell five of my men while running through the woods. I think I should have a name.”

“Strangers and enemies exchange names as a sign of respect—how I see it.”

“I see it the same,” said Tharid.

“Although I have no respect for you or your father—”

“But we’ve only just met,” said the prince with a smile. “I want Tiomot to know the name of the man who defies him.”

The prince laughed and shook his head. “Defies? You speak as if you’ll live past this day.”

“I most certainly mean to,” said Zar. “I’ve bested most of your men. I daresay I can finish the job.”

The prince ran his hands over his head and swept back his hair, collecting it in the back. He held up the bunch as he pulled his cloak out behind his neck and stuffed it inside to fall down his back. “You’re forgetting about
me
.”

“I haven’t,” Zar replied. “Stand with them and fall with them the same. Though I was hoping you would run back to your father and tell him
Zar
is the one who cursed him in the city, who shouted the truth to the people—that he steals their women in the night.” Zar studied the prince’s face as he mentioned the women, judging his reaction, but Tharid wore nothing but the same thin smile.

“You seem to take quickly to rumors, but a better rumor to be concerned with now regards my skill with a sword. They say Prince Tharid is the best man in Krii.”

“I haven’t heard that one,” Zar bantered honestly.

“No matter, I’m going to give you a demonstration.” The prince’s hand clasped around the black leather hilt hanging from his belt. “Apologies my men couldn’t be more of a challenge. Why don’t you try your hand with me?”

“Just you?” Zar asked, brow raised as his eyes floated over to the two remaining guards who stayed at a distance , but fidgeted nervously. Last thing he needed was to get stabbed in the back while he was busy dueling with the prince.

“No one will interrupt us.”

“Ah, the
honorab
le
Prince Tharid who fights the rogue alone.” Zar stepped a few paces forward, his sword lifted at shoulder level and held in both hands, pointed straight at the prince across from him.

Tharid moved forward slowly, his sword extended much like Zar’s—straight out with its tip pointing forward at the man. Both men inched forward with slow calculated steps, eyeing the body of the other, waiting and watching for movement. Then, for one short moment both men were still. Their eyes were clear and fixed, and it became so quiet it seemed the whole world had stopped, like the plants refused to rustle in the wind, like the birds stopped chirping and all the other animals of the wood knew that for those few seconds they ought not move.

Tharid lunged forward, and Zar swung his blade to knock away the thrust. When their blades met the prince pulled his body back immediately, his weight still on his back foot. If Zar had put his full weight into the parry it would have left him no time to recover, and would’ve given Tharid time to shift his weight back forward to strike a blow. But Zar had taken a half step back and parried light, and the prince’s hollow thrust was brushed to the side while keeping himself balanced and out of range.

Zar moved back into striking range and swung his sword from high. Tharid caught it and let the blade slide down his own. He pushed Zar’s sword to the side and Zar moved himself out the way of the slash that followed. Zar kept his strikes high, again and again, which Tharid parried, then attacked from under after the prince knocked away his blade—a strike to the wrist that usually surprised his enemy. The prince brought both arms up quickly and avoided the blow. He brought his sword down hard on Zar’s, who had quickly brought his sword up over his head to catch it.

The match looked as perfect as an act, for each man blocked and countered the moves of the other, each moving their bodies nimbly, their blades gracefully. Feet light, stances heavy, the swords flew and crashed, and Zar grew frustrated as his best moves were left undelivered. It wasn’t long before both men grew tired from the dance. They seemed equal in skill and reach. The only thing left to do was outsmart the other.

They stepped back from one another, both men now breathing heavily.

“Good!” said the prince, panting and chuckling.

“Would it be odd to say I’ve been waiting for a duel like this? Come, let’s see if we can finish this.”

Zar was far too exhausted for words. He studied the man’s body, and thought quietly as they again moved toward each other. When their blades met again Zar found Tharid’s sword moving even faster than before, as if the man had been saving his strength for the final moments, and the prince’s sword worked its way under Zar’s guard, striking up at Zar’s hands, aiming to part him from the sword. When Zar released his left hand and swayed to avoid the blade, the prince turned the sword out and cut into his arm. Zar’s left arm dropped to his side, blood running down it.

Both men lunged forward and stabbed at the other. Zar knew their blades were about the same length, and as the men drove towards each other, Zar released his wounded left arm from his sword-hilt, turned his body sideways and reached out straight and far with the right arm, gaining the perfect few inches he needed. The prince’s blade stopped a few inches away from Zar’s underarm while Zar’s sword point pierced the man’s chest, breaking a cluster of fancy links on the prince’s armor.

Zar paused a moment with his sword’s point embedded in the prince, watching the busted iron links around his blade fill with red. His own armor cracked, and a blow to the chest stopped his breath and knocked him back a step. Zar looked down at the arrow shaft lodged in his chest, then at the prince who had fallen back with his hand over his wound, and at the two men who were now moving forward, one of them with a bow in hand.

The prince yelled out, “Fools! Well, go on, kill him now since you’ve spoiled the duel!”

Zar ran towards the river, grabbing the shaft sticking out from his chest and breaking it off until only a small wooden stub poked out from his broken chainmail. He could see the lip of the ravine, hear the water rushing below, but he was moving so slow that a guard caught up to him and he was forced to turn around and meet the man.

He faced the man while still moving towards the ravine, parrying the blade while quickly stepping backwards around trees and over rocks. He slipped once, walking back over some rocks, but picked himself up and knocked away his attacker’s blade while still shuffling backwards for the river.

The prince’s voice called out, “He means to escape into the river! Do not let him!”

Zar blocked another blow and held it, then pulled his dagger out with his weak left arm and poked it under the man’s arm. The other wounded man hobbled up right after with a sword raised and Zar parried with what felt like the last of his strength, falling back as his body gave out, sinking into what seemed like nothingness as the man slashed at him desperately.

The nothingness grew wet and cold. The next thing he was aware of was being swept in a strong current and swallowing water, then feeling the ground underneath him, cold and muddy. He crawled blindly as he tried to regain his senses. He saw shadows, blurred and hazy, and it felt as if every trace of air had been squeezed from his body and replaced by water.