The High King: A Tale of Alus (34 page)

Gerid was dressed in his finest clothing as he led Finneas and James, also finely dressed, through the gates of the king's castle. The guards reviewed his passes, one from King Colona and the other from Admiral Koort, and had another guard come to lead him from the mass gathered before the main hallway. They were led to a side chamber guarded by a pair of guards garbed in the silver and blue, the colors of the king's guard by all those wearing them, Gerid guessed. Thinking back, he remembered the same colors mixed into the flags of the tseulty fleet under Admiral Koort.

They entered another hallway paralleling the main and there they were bid to wait on a pair of plush benches. They were padded on both the seat and backs. Silver and blue patterns reinforced the Tseulty influence of the castle.

Gerid took in the paintings of the hall and waited patiently. There were no weapons displays, he noted, like in Colona's castle. King Tadmin of Tseult must have worried about giving any enemy an edge before meeting him. The three men sat for more than half the morning before the oak doors finally opened. Another set of guards stood to either side and waited just within the doorway. A third man, obviously of some ranking within the house, gestured for them to follow him inside.

A pair of hallways later and a last set of gilded doors, the inlays of the royal crest in gold upon them, finally led them to the king's throne room. It was much smaller than Colona's main room, but Gerid gathered that this one wasn't used for just any visitor. He was an ambassador from the King of Rhearden and as such apparently warranted finer more intimate treatment.

The king stood at his entrance. Larger than King Colona by at least a foot, Tadmin of Tseult was more like the warrior king Gerid had envisioned. His strength of body was easily taken in as were the riches of his garments and jewelry. The queen still sitting beside his chair was equally resplendent in a silver gown trimmed with blue. Sapphires laid in silver, formed her earrings and necklaces. Her rings alternated gold and silver with a variety of jewels. Each finger had at least one, which Gerid found a little gaudy, but she was a queen and was entitled to her riches, he guessed.

Tadmin also wore a variety of rings, he noticed as the king beckoned him closer. Wearing a darker blue outfit with silver trimmings, the king's golden hair and crown seemed out of place on his shoulders. "Come forward, ambassador of Rhearden. Let me see what kind of man Colona has sent me this time." He turned to the queen and spoke loud enough to hear, "He's a lot bigger than the last one that was sent, isn't he? Perhaps Colona learned a lesson from the last time?"

Gerid wasn't sure what lesson was supposed to be learned, but he was sure that King Colona must have learned it. That king was sharp of mind as this one was strong of body. He said nothing, while moving forward from his men. The commander approached the throne to the base of the stairs leading up to it.

"I have gathered from my sources that you are already challenged to a match in the arena,
ambassador," the last word was coated lightly with sarcasm. "I hope that you do better there than the last ambassador who came here." Again he turned to his wife, "Little bloke from Eirhden, wasn't he? That king never has learned, has he?"

At the woman's slight shake of her head, the first real movement that Gerid had seen from the queen to show that she was alive, the king continued, "I have taken the liberty of moving your match up to just before lunch, ambassador. If you survive, we'll continue our chat over lunch. If you lose..." he shrugged and left the matter lie. "If you'll follow Banjamin, over by the door there, he will lead you to a room where you can change into more suitable attire for the arena."

"Will our challengers from last night be there, your highness?" Gerid asked calmly. The commander realized now that he had indeed been set up. If James hadn't gone after the men, they would have challenged him directly. One way or another, the king would have the "ambassador" fight in the arena to prove his strength. It led him back to the conversation that he had had with Finneas only days before aboard the Vengeance. This was a king in power by strength of body. Gerid just wondered what kind of mind the man had to go with that body.

Tadmin still stood atop the dais. He answered Gerid's question with a smile, "Of course."
Gerid stood firmly. Legs a shoulder length apart, he stated, "Then the match would be invalid. The captain of my flagship was to be involved as well."
The king nodded. "I'll have someone bring him here then."
Knowing that the king wouldn't give in to reason, Gerid simply shrugged and followed the man called Banjamin.

Half an hour later, Gerid and his men, as well as Ferrin who had met them there as the king had promised, looked upon an open air arena from a waiting room with a gate between them and the arena itself. There was a pair of men fighting within the confines, already.

He took at the match calmly. The men were clad only in breeches and armored sleeves. Shields and tridents flashed in and out striking against shield or trident. The two men were good, very good. Gerid began to worry about the men they faced. He knew that he could not be killed, of course, but his men, on the other hand, were not so blessed. Gerid simply had to have faith that he could protect them and rely on the skills that he had helped give them in drill after drill over the past several months.

The crowd roared suddenly, bringing Gerid out of his reverie. One man stood hands raised in triumph. Beside him, his trident stood nearly as tall. It was set deep into the dead opponent's chest.

Men rushed from another doorway as the champion left the arena circle. They took the corpse and dragged him back into the doorway from which they had come.

One of the arena guards watching them nodded to Gerid and his men. "Your turn, outsiders. Good luck. You'll need it against Brisal and his men."

Gerid didn't bother to acknowledge the man. Adjusting his grip on shield and wooden sword, he led his men into the arena through the newly opened gate. He couldn't believe the noise inside. Looking all around him as he entered, Gerid saw thousands and thousands of tseulty faces looking down on him. On the north side of the arena and twenty feet above, sat Tadmin in his box. The queen sat beside him and a number of other nobles as well, judging by everyone's clothes. Gerid looked at them incredulously. This was barbaric to his tastes, but there they were. The people that the population held as role models laughed and pointed like the lowliest of peasants gathered around him.

Gerid took in a dozen more gates around the arena. All were lowered as was the one they had just come through. One thing he still noticed was a lack of opponents. The warrior took in the crowd. Here and there the commander thought that he could see people from the bar from the previous night. Jesel and her father were there. The girl looked sad enough for him to believe that she was not in on the king's plot. Her father wouldn't even look at him from where he sat.

The crowd began to roar louder suddenly. James gestured towards a gate across the way. Another pair of the barriers was raised to either side. From the sides, two wooden tables were brought out bearing nearly a dozen wooden practice swords and more shields. The men carrying them retreated quickly and their gates shut. The gate opposite them remained open but empty to his eyes. The crowd started to quiet in disappointment.

A pair of horns suddenly blared from the royal box. Playing a series of notes, like those of the cavalry buglers in Rhearden, they finished only after a man, clad in the silver and blue, stepped to the front and center of the box. "Ladies and gentlemen of Tseult, we have before you the ambassador of Rhearden and his entourage. They will be facing five of our best."

The man known as Zeffus stepped from the shadows and exited the gateway. He raised his weapons and hands towards the crowd as the orator proclaimed, "First to enter the arena, Zeffus the western storm!"

The crowd cheered.
A second man stepped out after him. Gerid knew this one even before the introduction. "Orttes the otter!" the man didn't acknowledge the crowd, but simply stared at Gerid and his men. The nickname aside, he knew this man would be a strong adversary.
The third and fourth came together. "Havel the arena hawk, and his brother, Muggel the merciless!"
The crowd seemed to cheer twice as loud for the two brothers. Probably just his imagination, Gerid reconsidered.
"And lastly, your champion of the royal arena, Brisal the destroyer!" The crowd went wild. Gerid couldn't be mistaken this time. Women tossed roses by the dozens to the warrior exiting the gate. People waved to get the man to just look their way and, when he did, several of the women swooned.
Gerid swallowed. He knew that this one would have to be kept from his men at all costs. If the Destroyer was even half as good as the crowd believed, then only he could tame this monster. Their commander would have done his best before this accolade, if only because the man was even larger than he was.
As the crowd began to subside, the horns played a different tune. It sounded even more grandiose than the first. The orator had stepped back. No other messages would be given. The gate behind Brisal had closed.
The five men moved to close the distance to only ten feet. Brisal nodded as did his men. "The tables have spare weapons should you need them. The only rule is to do what you can to win. I would wish you luck, but we have met few outsiders who could actually survive more than a few minutes in here.
"If you are ready?"
Gerid looked to his men, who nodded. He nodded as well and stepped between the two sides ready to defend him and them. The arena fighters took no extra time to stalk forward towards the men of Rhearden.
Gerid met Orttes’ first blows. He knew that the speed of his attack must have been partly the reason for his name after only a few strikes.
The flurry of blows increased and the stinging of the wooden swords nearly knocked the weapon from his hands several times. Gerid changed tactics by lunging with his shield into the man. A flick of his wrist sent his sword point down into the dirt before Gerid punched the man solidly in the face.
Orttes reeled away from Gerid and toppled to the ground dazed. He was ignored as the commander swept up his sword and met Brisal's attack. The man had held back in the initial rush of the others. A sense of fair play, he assumed since they had both the numerical and size advantage.
Brisal used Gerid's shield attack as his own and tried to sweep below the clash of weapons to hit his abdomen. Gerid was quick enough to turn the attack, but only so that it struck his leg instead. The pain was minimal. His sword struck the man's side in retaliation.
Moving back from each other, the two reassessed one another. Engaging again, Gerid nearly smiled. The man was slower than Orttes, even though he was much stronger. The attacks were strikes intended to force Gerid back by the blows alone. Unfortunately for the tseulty, Gerid was still considerably stronger. He was also quicker.
In a quick flurry of blows from both shield and sword, he drove Brisal back. Landing several hits to the body, including one that may have cracked the man's rib, the gladiator was suddenly on the defensive. Had he been listening, Gerid would have noted a sudden hush from the crowd. Their champion was losing.
He did hear a cry from Havel in time to dodge the man's attack. The Tseulty warrior had apparently seen Brisal in trouble and broken from Ferrin to stop Gerid. The commander's shield swept the man aside in a crushing blow even as his sword met the champion on the other side. Twisting to bring the shield between him and Brisal, Gerid, still holding his sword, leveled Havel with a punch to the jaw. The hawk dropped like a stone.
He heard the crowd gasp with shock. Brisal fell back to regain his breath and that allowed Gerid to see James being beaten back by Zeffus. Ferrin was also in trouble as a partially recuperated Orttes prevented the captain from helping the younger man. In fact, the captain was starting to need help himself.
Ignoring Brisal a moment, Gerid leaped to help James. He was the nearer of the two. Zeffus yelped as Gerid caught his sword in mid-strike with his own. With a grin at the surprised man, the commander struck him a strong blow shield on shield. Over the din of the metal hitting metal, they could all hear Zeffus' arm crack. The man howled and dropped to his knees.
James looked furious as he tried to strike the injured man. Gerid grasped his arm and shook his head. "No, he can't defend himself now. If he gets back up to fight, then you can strike him. Help Ferrin instead."
The younger man nodded and gave Zeffus a last lingering look. The gladiator looked up at Gerid and started to rise. A quick blow to the man's head knocked him out cold.
A roar from both the crowd and Brisal brought Gerid whipping around in time to catch the man's attack hard upon his upraised shield. It was too late to save his balance, however, and both men toppled to the dirt floor.
Both swords were discarded as first Brisal and then Gerid began trading punches with their free arms. Shields pressed tightly between them, the men traded blow for blow until Gerid was able to lever the man off of him. A last punch to the side of the man's head left him dazed enough to allow Gerid to regain his feet and his sword.
Brisal was slow to rise and Gerid took stock of his men. Finneas was hunched over gathering his breath, but his opponent, Muggel, lay at his feet defeated. Orttes was being kept at bay by the combined efforts of James and Ferrin. A skilled swordsman against two good swordsmen, it was still anyone's guess who would win the day.
Gerid looked at Brisal who looked shaky on his feet. "You can yield, Brisal, or I can lay you out. I leave it as your choice."
The man's eyes narrowed and his balance steadied. "I am champion. I'll not give up so quickly. You yield."
Gerid laughed disdainfully.
Brisal threw down his shield and sword. "Dare you fight me with your fists, outsider?"
He threw down his weapons as well. The crowd cheered in approval as the two men began to circle like a pair of caged tigers looking for the opening for a kill.
"My name is Gerid Aramathea, the white demon. Perhaps you have heard of me? The Enswerians and Klostens gave me that name when I fought in the mercenaries of Rhearden last year."
A glimmer of recognition came into the man's eyes for only a moment. Brisal was an arena fighter. The only thing that remained in his mind was survival and the need to win. He was champion and for a reason.
A quick flurry of punches from Brisal created a cheer from the crowd. Several connected on Gerid's body. He allowed them to in fact. Just when the crowd had come to their feet in support of their champion, when all the people of Tseult figured no man could stand long before the blows of their champion, Gerid caught first one hand and then the other in a pair of crushing grips. Brisal gritted his teeth in pain.
Gerid slammed the man with his head once. Twice. Three times, before Brisal slumped to the ground in defeat.
Turning to pick up his sword, the commander of the strongest single fleet on the North Sea whipped the weapon at Orttes. Still struggling against the two men, he never saw the flying sword hilt strike his temple. Crumpling, unconscious from the blow, the last man met the earth.
Gerid looked up to the royal box. Shaking his head in amazement, the king leaned against the railing from where the intensity of the fighting had drawn him. The commander looked across the distance, meeting the king's eye, and shrugged.