Malcius frowned. “What kind of battle?”
“A real battle,” Yserria said. “We are in the Third Echelon. The Fourth Echelon is led by Orina Goldren, who had already challenged Echelon Deshari for the marshland along the border. Echelon Orina has agreed to split her forces and attack from two equivalent positions. Echelon Deshari’s champion will lead his forces against one, and I will lead mine against the other. The winner will be whichever of us is successful in defeating Echelon Orina’s forces—or whichever takes fewer losses, if that be the case.”
Malcius looked at her in disbelief. “That is absurd. Echelon Orina is Echelon Deshari’s enemy. Why would she agree to that?”
Yserria was surprised by his reaction. “Because it is a challenge. Actually, it is three challenges being resolved at once. The echelons often battle. It keeps their troops strong and experienced. They do not go to battle for the sake of destroying each other’s forces but to determine a winner.”
“You are to fight with weapons?” he said. “And people will be killed?”
“Yes, of course. It is a battle.”
He threw himself into a rickety folding chair that threatened to collapse with the force. “Who are your warriors?” he said.
“That is the difficult part,” Yserria replied. “For this kind of challenge, I would be expected to bring my own forces. Since I have none, the echelon has agreed to allow volunteers to fight with me. It is in her best interest that both battles are won after all. I think it is safe to say that the best fighters will back her champion. She has chosen a different champion to lead the charge. His name is Ifigen. He served in the queen’s royal guard before Echelon Deshari claimed him. He has led several successful campaigns against the other echelons since he joined her.”
Malcius threw up his hands. “Great. How is this better than the archery competition?”
“Because this one does not depend on my skill alone.” She dropped her gaze. “I could not have won the other challenge.” Taking a deep breath, she hardened her resolve and looked at him. “I have never led a battle, but I am a Knight of Cael and a King’s Royal Guardsman. I have been training with Rezkin and the strikers for months. I can do this. I just need the people.”
Malcius shook his head in defeat. “Where is my sword?”
“You may use one of mine,” said a gruff voice from the tent’s entrance.
Malcius and Yserria both turned to see the intruder. He looked to be in his late forties and was quite fit, despite his limp.
“I am Balen,” he said. “I am Wolshina’s champion. He raised his hand, and two younger men stepped into the entrance. “These are my sons with my former matria. They are Vannin and Nolus. We have all fought in many battles, and we will fight with you, if you will have us.”
Yserria grinned at Malcius. She turned to the men and said, “Please, enter. I would be honored to have your assistance. I am surprised by your offer, though. I was not exactly accommodating with Japa.”
“On the contrary,” said Balen. “We are most appreciative of your acceptance. Japa is a gentle man in a warrior’s body. To take a life would break him. He will be happy in service to you. I can tell that you are compassionate.” He nodded toward Malcius. “It is obvious you do not want this one, but you will personally go to battle to keep him from the echelon because he is your fallen consort’s kin.” He glanced back at his sons. “The matrias do not often recognize this, but the men of Lon Lerésh honor our bonds. We have spread word of your motives for challenging the echelon. You will not go into battle alone.
Chapter 16
Rezkin peered at his prey from atop the parapet in the shadow of the building. Boulis was a dour man with short-cropped, black hair and a thin mustache across his upper lip. He wore a bright red suit with yellow frills about the neck and wrists; and his fingers, heavy with golden rings, anxiously gripped a wide-brimmed red hat bearing a large yellow plume. The saber at his hip was sheathed in a gilded scabbard, and he carried a small belt knife encrusted with gemstones. From his shoulders swayed a short red cape trimmed in gold, and his black, knee-high boots were polished to a shine.
Rezkin had been following Boulis for more than a day, and the man had yet to do anything of interest. He had no more reason to kill Boulis than the rantings of an addled old man who was convinced that Boulis had been responsible for his grandson’s death. The only truth he had found in the king’s claim was in Boulis’s money problems. Boulis was, at that moment, in the bailey cheering a sparring match between two soldiers who looked no better than street ruffians. Every bet Boulis had placed had been a losing one, and Rezkin knew this one would be no different. Since Boulis was a betting man, Rezkin wondered if he could entice him into a duel to the death. At least then he would have an excuse to kill the man.
More than anything, Rezkin was frustrated with the disquieting sensation of indecision. Killing Boulis was a means to an end. He should not have needed any more excuse than that. The strikers who had trained him at the fortress would have applauded the plan, but the strikers who currently served him would say it lacked honor. Others of his ilk would have no problem with the task. The Jeng’ri would likely shank Boulis in passing, while the Adana’Ro would use poison or slit his throat in his sleep. With the boisterous crowd, Rezkin could easily have killed the man at any time, yet he waited—he waited for an excuse. He wondered if he could let the man live, perhaps extract an oath of fealty from him, but it would be against the Rules to allow an enemy to remain at his back.
Rezkin was also frustrated with Moldovan. If any other monarch were to visit Ferélle, he would not be expected to run about doing Moldovan’s errands. To Moldovan, though, this was a test to see if Rezkin was worthy of the crown. Rezkin did not want the crown, though, and he did not serve Moldovan. So, he waited, trying to come up with a better plan. Perhaps he could find the sword on his own. Perhaps he would forget the sword altogether. Only one man stood between him and Cael. Was that man Boulis or Moldovan? Perhaps he should kill them both.
His gaze caught the familiar blonde head weaving through the crowd. Behind it was a darker one, followed by another. Rezkin scanned the perimeter and finally found what he sought. He slinked from the shadow back into the castle. He stalked through the corridor in the new boots and princely garb Moldovan had insisted he wear for that evening’s event. It was a sleek, black affair with silver buttons and a gold and silver baldric. The short, black cape had a silver lining, and the Esyojo family crest of two battling vuroles, one silver and one gold, adorned his chest. The silver and gold saber at his hip belonged to Moldovan.
Rezkin rounded a corner, and two guards at the other end of the corridor shouted to two others in an opposite direction before running to intercept him. As they neared him, they slowed and then came to a stop with a bow. Commander Tinen said, “Your Highness, we respectfully request that you stay with your escort at all times. It is our duty to protect you.”
Rezkin did not pause as he continued walking. He said, “How can you protect me if you cannot keep up with me?”
“If you will stay with us, we will be more than capable,” said Tinen.
“So, I should restrict my movements because of your inferior training?”
“I assure you, Your Highness, our training is superior to that of any other kingdom.”
Rezkin entered an empty office on his right. The two guards followed him, in addition to two more who had joined them. He turned and looked at the commander of his little entourage but said nothing. Tinen waited, but his confusion became increasingly evident under Rezkin’s icy stare. After several minutes, Rezkin said, “Yours is superior?”