Fate

Benjamin A. Sorensen

“You must be joking,” I said as I lifted my sword. “Even his idiocy cannot descend so far.”

“I swear by my head,” Indaris replied. His immaculately polished armor and bright tabard gave mute evidence to the peace with which the keep was currently favored. “He published an outright defiance, and ordered it read in all the towns.”

I looked down at my own gauntlets and the general’s insignia found thereon. Suddenly, I pounded my fist into my hand. “The fool,” I spat, not bothering to hide my contempt.

Indaris’ blue eyes looked slightly surprised.

“I know, I know,” I replied. “He is the prophesied savior. But you have not had the burden of overseeing his training these past twenty years.”

“But he will bring about Sharek’s downfall.”

That much was true.

The augurers had been called in at his birth, and had slain the ravens to perform the necessary reading. Their words were conclusive. The child would bring an end to Sharek. There had been universal rejoicing.

It was said that within the Kingdom of the Dead, Sharek himself had laughed. I did not doubt for one second that he had. Sharek was still alive, but he had found a way to make himself King of the Dead. He held all the power for which one could dream. The idea that any boy could undo him was ridiculous. Sharek would have laughed upon hearing the augury.

Sharek had been so certain of his power that he had let the child live, even when he had heard of the augury. So we had lived in peace for twenty years.

“I will see it for myself. Has it been posted in the town?”

“Yes, in the main square. I saw it there myself.”

“I will go to see it. You have my thanks.” I stood to leave.

Soldiers saluted as I walked down the halls of the keep. The Black Blade of the Royal House could be seen everywhere. We were respected among nations. We had given birth to he who would bring about Sharek’s downfall. The torchlit halls seemed suddenly to press down on me despite their cavernous size, and the shadows cast by the torches danced along the walls. The light reflecting off of my armor created odd patches of light amid the shadows. I held myself erect, feeling threatened by the corridors.

It was with relief that I emerged from the keep and into the High Ward of Terem. The city of Terem was built against a cliff, and was fed by waterfalls emerging from underground streams. Hyrum’s Wall surrounded the keep, the Cliffwall surrounded the High Ward, and the Bulwark surrounded the Low Ward. I mapped out defenses in my head as I made my way to the main square in the High Ward. No common marketplaces here, of course. Nothing but cobblestone and the White Obelisk, where the writ of the King was placed for the nobles to read. I saw that something had indeed been recently attached, and hastened to read it.

I winced. I did not need a signature or seal to know who it was. I knew the tone.

Let it be known among all the townships and cities of the Kingdom of Terem, and in all other kingdoms of this world, that I do cast my defiance into the teeth of Sharek and all his foul kingdom. Let he who rules over the dead come to me, and we shall look one another in the face and see who lives. Sharek rules us no more, for I do not fear him.

I ground my teeth. It took a great deal of self-restraint not to tear the notice from the Obelisk. I knew it would do no good, that the fool would have sent it off to all towns, and to the other rulers of nations. He sounded like something out of a fairy tale.

Seething, I turned to reenter the palace. There was nothing I could do; he was the augured savior, after all. No simple military man could speak to him with impunity. Not even one who had practiced the sword with him just that morning. Nobody would ever believe the prophesied one to be a fool.

I gave curt nods to those who saluted, returned to my room, threw open the door with a crash, and hurled curses until my creativity exhausted itself. Then I sank down into a chair and wearily began to estimate the death count.

“You have heard of the prince’s most recent mistake, I take it?”

Weireth was perhaps the only man with whom I could speak openly and honestly. His burden was similar to mine, save for one thing: the prince did not think he already knew everything of swordplay.

“That’s the word I was looking for!” I said. “Mistake! All that profanity, and there was the word right under my nose!”

Weireth smiled humorlessly. “Sarcasm aside, how soon do you think Sharek will respond to the insult?”

“How fast can death take a man? He rules the Kingdom of the Dead, Weireth. He’ll attack as soon as he hears.”

“Such a man as that has swift ears indeed. Within the week?”

I nodded. “Couldn’t you have persuaded the fool away from it? You’re supposed to teach him how to think.”

The smile dropped from his face.

“All right,” I said placatingly. “I don’t mean to snap at you. It’s him I’m angry with. I guess he didn’t tell you?”

Weireth nodded. “He has never told me anything. He ceased listening to me at an early age, when his parents told him he was the augured one, against my advice. In his own mind, there can be no wisdom, no learning, greater than his own experience, for he holds the key to Sharek’s downfall, that which has eluded men for centuries. Therefore I fear that the voice of reason may not have been sufficient, in any case. You, my friend, are much closer to being a philosopher than he ever was. It seems as though he never will progress beyond his current state.”

“Yet he is the augured savior,” I said bitterly. “What was he thinking?”

“Were he of a more mature nature, I should say that he meant to rule his own Kingdom of the Dead.” Weireth turned to leave, then paused. “But he is not of such a high level. His motivation is simpler.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“It is my impression that he is bored with the whole idea, and is seeking to finish it as soon as possible. Tomorrow will be his twentieth birthday, and the twentieth year of the augury. Will you be coming to the celebration?”

“How could I miss it?” I asked mockingly.

Weireth’s lips twitched in that humorless smile. “Someday I will be your equal for irony. Perhaps, by some miracle, it will even be in this world. I do not expect any of us to live long. Sharek will come within three days.”

“Is that an augury?” I asked.

He shook his head, and said, “Auguries have done enough harm to this generation. This is simply thought.” Then he left.

I sat for a time, planning for possible onslaughts. Having vented enough of my anger, I was able to think calmly. I held a glass of water in one hand. A man in my position could never afford to be drunk, though beer might have relaxed my nerves at this point. I looked out the small window to the courtyard below. The shadow cast by Hyrum’s Wall covered the half of it, and men and women walked around performing their tasks without a thought for the approaching night.

When I had calmed down sufficiently, I gave the necessary orders. More men had to be sent to the graveyards, and the people themselves had to be made ready. Once that was done, I left.

I walked once again down the halls and out to the sword yard to practice. I did not intend to lose my edge merely because I had a position of leadership. Working the blade helped me remember those who lived and died by my decisions. I used the physical action to help me work out my stress. Swing after swing, motion after motion, I hacked at the dummy with all the savagery I could express nowhere else.

After a time, though, my arms grew weary. I forced myself through a few more forms, then let myself relax. Sweat plastered my hair to my forehead, made streaks down my clothing. The air was still, allowing for no chill to cool me down.

I returned to my rooms and let worry trouble me until I fell into a fitful sleep.

I awoke the next day with a headache. I rose wearily out of bed and headed for the baths. Not many torches burned in the halls; I was an early riser. It was doubtful that the sun had topped the cliffs to warm the city. Everywhere I looked, though, servants were already beginning the preparations and decorations for the augured savior’s birthday. His twentieth birthday; he would become a man today, according to tradition. The festival was to be held within the palace itself, of course, with layers of guards. We took no chance that an assassin might attempt the life of the augured savior. To my mind, it was a somewhat irrational fear, but I did not wish to argue with the king and queen too much on the subject. They were worried for the life of their child. They had the right; they had thought that Sharek would come immediately upon hearing the augury. It had been a tense month for me then, as well, watching the graves every day with my men, hoping that nothing stirred. I had aged considerably in the twenty years since that time, and more than just physically.

“Sir?” a servant said, interrupting my thoughts.

“Yes?” I replied.

“I’m afraid that there is not any hot water for the baths yet. We have diverted everybody to the preparations . . .” He trailed off, expecting an outburst of temper.

I sighed. Even though I had never shown any anger toward the servants, they seemed to expect it from a military man. “It’s all right,” I replied. “I can stand cold water.” I moved past him and into the baths, stripping down and making myself as clean as I could in the frigid water. The water did nothing to relax my muscles or ease that dull throb in my forehead, and I left as soon as I was clean. Even in the short time I had been gone, more banners and arrangements of flowers had been placed in the halls, making everything seem a bit more lively and cheerful, as if we didn’t expect Sharek to come soon. The banner of the Black Sword could be seen every other step, which didn’t help my temper any. The current heir was a disgrace to that banner.

I returned to my room and readied my formal armor piece by piece. The armor had been crafted specifically for me, but had been tooled and engraved for state occasions. Not only was it beautifully decorated, but it was also the best suit of armor I owned. Any swordsman would have a hard time getting through the metal defense it offered. I was expected to wear it all day today in honor of another year in the prince’s life.

When I had finished with the armor and donned the tabard of the Black Sword, I turned to leave. As soon as I stepped out of my room, Weireth was there. “An imposing presentation, Tyrin. Do you dress for a funeral?”

“Close. I want to go make sure that the defenses are in place around the graveyard after I have finished the training session with the prince.”

“My attempt at humor has gone uncomfortably astray,” he said. “I do not envy you this task, either. The prince comes to the beginning of his twenty-first year today, but I at least am permitted to dress as I will. The armor you wear must be uncomfortably heavy.”

“It is sometimes. I am growing no younger. I can still bear the weight, though.”

“Perhaps I will come to see you teach the prince. But will you train in that armor?”

I shrugged. “I’m required to wear it today.”

We walked through the halls of the keep and down into the courtyard. Weireth’s staff made a loud clacking sound as we moved.

“Has he shown much difficulty in training?”

“Not much,” I replied. “He can show off his swordplay to his friends, so he takes care to learn it, if not to learn it well. He should be able to defend himself competently against me by now, but he just barely gets by.”

“So he does not truly wish to apply himself here, either?”

“Apply himself?” I snorted. “The words are mutually exclusive.”

We came to the practice yard. I leaned against the wall, waiting for the prince to show himself. There was barely any activity in the training yard, only a few soldiers for whom swordplay was a hobby rather than simply a duty. The metallic sounds of their training sang through the air. There was a general holiday. Today was the day of the prince’s birth. Only those in charge of decorating the halls and preparing the food were required to work today. That and the job of training the prince in swordplay, which fell upon my shoulders.

“He should have been here by now, should he not?” Weireth asked after a time.

“Yes,” I said, frowning. “I will not appreciate having to go look for him.”

A few more minutes of silent waiting followed. I began to lose my temper.

There was a slight noise from the edge of the practice yard, and I looked to see a simple servant gesturing towards me. I walked over. The servant’s face twitched nervously as he said. “My lord, the prince sent me to . . . to say to you that he is not coming to practice today.”

I held my temper firmly in check and asked, “Did he give a reason?”

The servant swallowed twice, then said, “He said that it was his birthday, my lord, and that there were more important things to be done than to practice swords. He sent me to tell you not to bother.” The servant stared fitfully as if expecting an outburst. But it was not against him that my anger was directed.

“Well done. Get back about your duties.”

As soon as the servant was a safe distance away, I swung my mailed fist heavily at the fence surrounding the practice yard, leaving fresh gouges in the already battered wood.

“The news has not been good, I see,” Weireth said from behind me.

“No. He cannot be ‘bothered’ to practice the sword. He feels that there are more important things to be done.”

“My friend, I had thought that he respected you more than me. How do you bear having to teach him and pay the price of his folly?”

Twenty years ago, Weireth would not have asked that question, and I would not have known how to reply. I had been as glad as any to hear that the auguries had foretold an end to Sharek. A few years in the army, and I was already doing well for myself, practicing untold hours in all that I could in order to be the best possible. It had felt good to be a soldier, to be charged with defending others. And it had grated to know that we were under Sharek’s dominion, that he could come and slay as he chose. So I had rejoiced when the augury was made, and worked with renewed hope. Everybody had watched the prince grow with great hope. And ten years later, I had been chosen for the honor, as I then thought it, of teaching warfare to the prince. Weireth had already been tasked to teach the boy wisdom, and he warned me that it might go roughly. He had a talent for understatement. The prince studied swords well enough, but nothing else I cared to teach him had any effect or impact.

I did not answer his question. I knew my answer, but to say it aloud was beyond me. And the prince was abandoning warfare, as if he could stand against the least of my soldiers.

“I’m going down to the graveyard to speak of war with real men,” I said, making an abrupt decision. “You’re welcome to come if you wish.”

“I am afraid I must decline,” Weireth said with a shake of his head. “I am curious to see what has distracted the prince away from the practice yard. Since my real duty is obsolete, I will content myself with observing and understanding the prince. Who knows? He may change.”

“I think I have the better job,” I replied. “All I have to do is make sure rotting corpses are staying put.”

Weireth smiled again as he walked away, leaning on his staff.

I passed through Hyrum’s Gate with a minimum of fanfare, then made my way through the streets to the graveyard.

There was only one graveyard for all of Terem. It was only common sense, when Sharek could send his armies to destroy. If the dead were all gathered about one place, we only needed to defend that place. Several small cemeteries would have destroyed the city.

My predecessor had suggested that a crematorium might limit Sharek’s power. I had sat stunned at the brilliance of the idea. Without any bodies, the dead could not harm us.

My predecessor had been found the next morning scattered about the practice yard. Enthusiasm for the idea died down when we realized that Sharek took exception to it. Nobody dared cremate a body.

The cemetery was not a place of peace, of respect for the dead. It was a place of fear, with high stone walls not designed to keep the living out but to keep the dead in. A large iron bar held the gates closed, and was only moved on the authority of the Keeper.

Martin Kiles was a large man, with more bulk than even I possessed. He had black hair and a beard that was peppered with gray. He had been the Keeper for ten years, and greeted me grimly as I came.

“Sharek hasn’t come yet,” he said.

“Have the extra men come?”

“Yes. Last night. I was glad to see them. I was getting a bit nervous after having heard the prince’s declaration.”

“I imagine you were. How are the people taking the alert?”

“As well as can be, I suppose. They bring them in iron coffins instead of wood, and we toss them over the wall. A few are shocked, but the stories they tell about Sharek in the streets are even more frightening than the reality, so they don’t question what I do.”

Ever since the kingdom of Aren had been destroyed, we had learned much about fighting the dead. When Aren blatantly defied Sharek’s demands, the dead had risen to take their vengeance. And those who were most recently dead were the ones that were hardest to stop, to kill. Hence the iron coffins. Even the dead had a hard time getting through two inches of iron. It was only when the kingdom lay in ruins that they discovered the use of fire to kill the dead. But even that might not have been enough, for every man the dead killed became one of the enemy.

“Have you gone in to bury any?”

“I’ll do it at noon. It’s a job that requires sunlight.”

“That it does. How many men are on the towers?” At regular intervals along the cemetery wall, towers rose like fingers, letting guards have a clear view of what was happening. The goal was to cripple the dead before they made it out of the cemetery. Bows were no good. Only rocks and fire could damage the dead.

“I’ve got four on each. Give me some more, and I’ll put five. More than that and they run out of room.”

I nodded. “Thanks. I’ll try and get more oil down here. We may need it.”

He nodded. “I’m thinking of soaking the ground, but I don’t want to waste the oil if it’s a false alarm.”

“I don’t think it’s a false alarm. Soak the important points so they can be lit in a moment.”

Martin Kiles nodded. “Glad someone over their cares what happens,” he said by way of farewell.

“Me too.” I turned to walk back to the castle.

The castle’s walls were stuffed with banners and decorations befitting the prince’s birthday. I had spent many of the hours after my meeting with Martin Kiles trying to calm myself. It didn’t work. I felt my nerves winding tighter and tighter. Now, the time had come for the celebration of the birthday, and the bells began to ring.

None of the deep bells rang; those were the bells used for funerals. Smaller, lighter bells were used to peal out the celebration of the augured one’s anniversary. This close to the bell towers, I could feel the vibrations in my armor.

There should have been echoing shouts of acclamation from all over the city. Last year, the people had swarmed the walls to cheer the prince. They had celebrated his continued existence. This evening, however, I could hear no cheers. I could understand why not; the people were all afraid of Sharek. Night was coming on, rumors had flown far and wide of the prince’s defiance, and the people trembled within their homes and prayed for death to pass over them.

Within the castle, though, many were smiling and cheerful. They were right next to the prophesied one. Surely Sharek could not destroy them while they were so close.

I moved slowly to the Great Hall. I was expected to be there to greet the prince when he made his appearance. I would be one of several, but my absence would be noticed. Nevertheless, I did not want to go. I wanted to be out at the graveyard watching for the first signs of the dead moving.

The elaborate wooden doors stood open, and on either side, soldiers wearing the Black Blade stood at attention, ready to draw their swords at the least sign of trouble. I nodded to them as I passed. At least the soldiers knew that something might happen.

The Great Hall was well-lit, with tall pillars stretching upward on either side. In the corner to my right, a large group of musicians prepared themselves for the dancing that would inevitably follow the feast. The tables and food were to be brought in after the prince had made his appearance and received his gifts, according to custom. Various nobles, dressed in elegant, flamboyant clothing, stepped through the door after me and crowded as closely as they could to the thrones set at the end of the hall. A long, white carpet stretched the length of the Great Hall to lead up to those thrones. Each was shaped of obsidian, and rising out of the back of each was the image of a sword stuck blade-first into the throne.

The rulers of Terem sat beneath black blades, hence the symbol of the royal family.

I moved through the hall slowly. I was conscious of every clink and rattle my armor made; silence was customary until the prince appeared and spoke. It was, after all, his birthday. I felt distinctly irreverent by wearing my armor to such a gathering, even though tradition required it. When I finally took my place beside Weireth, I was considerably relieved.

We waited in reverent silence for the prince to arrive. The only sound was that of the bells from the outer towers, but even that was muffled by the thick walls of the Great Hall. The prince’s parents, the king and queen, sat rigidly on their obsidian thrones. We all waited mutely for the augured one to arrive for his celebration.

The bells ceased to peal. It was the appointed hour.

The prince did not appear.

Traditionally, the smaller door, that which led directly to the prince’s chambers, would have opened, and the prince would have entered with a fanfare from the musicians in the far corner. He would have walked in a slow, stately manner to the thrones, presented himself before his parents, then turned around and presented himself before the gathered people.

But then, traditionally, the Great Hall would have been full with those of the common people who could find a place. Instead, the Great Hall was only filled with those who did not know of the defiance, did not care, or were forced to be there.

There was some nervous coughing and shuffling from the nobles as they realized the prince was late. I ground my teeth.

“Calmly, Tyrin,” Weireth said in a voice too low to be heard by any save me. “Teeth should not be lost over tardiness.” He put a placating on my shoulder, and I was forced to admire his patience and self-restraint. He had been putting up with our salvation’s behavior longer than I had, yet he seemed to bear it better.

The minutes passed, and still the prince did not show. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved.

Finally, the smaller door was opened, and the prince arrived. The musicians began their fanfare.

With a slow, stately pace, the prince made his way before the obsidian thrones and bowed to his parents. Then he turned around in his elegant clothing and faced the assemblage.

The prince of the realm, destroyer of Sharek and augured savior, dabbed at his face with a lacy white handkerchief and said, “I say, this is quite a better-looking show than the one I got last year. Dreadfully sorry to be late, but I had a devilish time getting just the right polish on my boots.”

With that pronouncement, sound returned to the Great Hall as we were freed from tradition’s silence. Nobles began to come forward and offer their gifts.

“The right polish on his boots?” I asked quietly.

“For him, it seems to be of inestimable importance,” Weireth replied with his humorless smile. “You must admit that they do look rather good.”

The gifts for the augured one were many and varied. The local nobles presented their gifts first; the richer gifts from the other kingdoms were saved until last so that no gift would seem inadequate at the time it was given. Sculptures and paintings were as common as swords and armor. Had he been a prince of peace, swords and armor would not have been necessary. But he was the one who would bring down Sharek, and so swords and armor were as expected as elegant clothing or beautiful art.

A trained falcon from the heights of Byre. The bird was black as night, black as the obsidian thrones and the Black Blade of the kingdom. Its eyes shone eerily in the torchlit hall, and its silence and calm made it all the more menacing as it rested sedately on the arm of its trainer. Perhaps the trainer was a gift, as well. The bird was worth more than many could hope to earn in their life.

From Adum, there was a rod of ivory. For those with strength of mind and will, the rods could perform incredible feats. Stories were told of one of Adum’s rods bringing the dead back to a true life. But that was before Sharek.

“It would seem that such a gift is wasted,” I remarked softly.

“Indeed. He does not have the ability to use such a wonder, and hence will feel no inclination to use it at all. Were he at all ambitious, I could use the Adumian gift as a goad to improve his soul, but he has not grown enough to notice the burden the rod represents.”

“He is a man today, according to tradition,” I remarked wryly.

“Tradition has very little to do with reality, Tyrin,” Weireth replied. “Nevertheless, I appreciate the irony of the gift as much as you.”

The gifts continued. “A Selesian cape,” Weireth said. “That, at least, suits our savior well.”

The cape seemed to be made of white sunbeams. The fabric glowed with subtle magic that magnified the light. When worn, it would form a distinct aura of pale illumination around the person who wore it. The prince immediately tried it on.

“This is just the thing to wear when I face Sharek,” he said delightedly. His voice could be heard clearly over the knots of conversation in the hall.

I winced, clenching my fist.

“Calmly, my friend,” Weireth said. “It will soon be over.”

“Don’t remind me,” I answered. “Or did you mean that the birthday celebration is going to end soon?”

“I was referring to both,” Weireth replied.

After the seemingly interminable presentation of gifts, our augured savior moved towards us. I tensed, and though there was no noticeable change in Weireth’s posture, I knew that he was preparing for a conflict, as well.

The Selesian cape produced the desired effect; a soft glow of light surrounded the prince.

“Appallingly boring,” he said by way of greeting. “I can hardly stand that long without going light-headed. A good game of cards is more exciting than all this rabble. A fellow can win or lose over a thousand marks a hand!”

“Is that where you were this morning, Prince Jhaness?” I asked.

“Oh, heavens no! Cards are not for the morning; only a lout would seek that entertainment so soon after rising. No, I had to attend to my outfit. I must say that this cape really adds something to the whole effect. I felt that a loose silk shirt would be better than the regal doublet, but what do you think?”

He looked at us as if our opinions mattered to him.

“We have been trying to find you since yesterday morning,” Weireth said smoothly. I was startled by his ability to completely change the subject without seeming to do so.

“It should not have been so difficult. I was simply involved in preparations for my birthday.”

“Was the defiance to Sharek one of those preparations?” I asked abruptly.

Prince Jhaness seemed about to reply when the food began to appear. Without missing a beat, Prince Jhaness gathered the Selesian Cape around him and moved to his seat.

“You manage your words well,” Weireth said as we found our way to our seats.

“Whatever my feelings about him,” I replied, “respect must be shown when speaking to the royalty.”

We sat to eat. The prince sat casually, motioning with his hands in an attempt to give his words the importance they lacked. His elaborately curled hair reflected the light of his cape almost as well as his pale skin. He spent more of his time sniffing the wine than drinking it.

I could not bring myself to eat much, though the food brought before us was enough to make a man sell his soul. Prince Jhaness habitually caused me to lose my appetite.

“Do you hunger for something else, Tyrin?” Weireth asked me.

I shook my head. “I don’t know.” Around, cheerful conversations made themselves heard, but I had no heart to join in.

When finally the feast ended, I could feel the night in spite of the surrounding walls. It was dark outside. It was late; I was tired. Prince Jhaness was obviously slightly drunk. “What time do you make it?” I asked Weireth.

“Close to midnight. But the prince comes to us now.”

I turned and saw that it was true. Through intense concentration, Prince Jhaness was making his way steadily towards us. Several of the drunker nobles began singing a song of praise for the prince. The slightly off-key singing seemed an appropriate anthem for the fop that descended towards us.

“Ah, there you are!” Prince Jhaness said. “I never did get a chance to answer your question.” Abruptly he lowered his voice, whispering conspiratorially. “Of course it was part of the preparation. Don’t you think it a grand idea?”

I clenched my fists, but did not reply.

“Of course it was. I’m going to bring down Sharek, and the sooner the better. It’s dreadful having people remind me of it all the time, so I thought I should make him come.”

“Don’t you care about the people who will die when he does come?” I asked as angrily as my lowered voice would let me.

“Care? About them? Why? What have they got to do with bringing down Sharek? My dear fellow, you are frightfully odd at times. You seem to think that anybody besides me actually matters. Anyway, I’m off to find a girl to dance with. Find a girl yourself; it’s relaxing. Such rigidness is hardly complimentary. Ta ta.”

He walked away, and I turned my back on him and kept my head down until I could master my desire to break the augured savior’s jaw.

“You were right,” I said. “He’s bored.”

“I was right about other things, as well,” Weireth said. “Do you not feel it?”

I started to ask him what he meant, but something within me made me stop. Within my heart, something cold was attacking my soul. It was a chill that spoke of death. Something within me was already saying, “Surrender.”

With a savage effort of will, I thrust the cold feeling from me. “Sharek is coming,” I said.

Weireth nodded with a pale face. “It is past midnight. The third day is come. Sharek comes.”

I immediately started to make my way through the crowds of people beginning to dance. Their smiles seemed frozen on their faces, as if they no longer had the ability to wear any other expression.

“Death cannot be stopped,” Weireth called after me. “Not by mortal men.”

“I must try anyway,” I replied.

Making it through the gates of the Great Hall, I broke into the swiftest run my armor would permit. Cold flowed through the halls, freezing my sweat even as it formed. I ignored it, forced myself to move, relying on the padding within my armor to provide what extra warmth I needed.

Finally, I broke out of the corridors and into the courtyard. I needed to get to Hyrum’s Wall. I needed to see what was happening within the city.

I bounded up the stairs of Hyrum’s Wall, then looked out toward the graveyard, panting.

The cemetery was burning, meaning that Martin Kiles had managed to ignite the ground. But a large section of the wall looked as if it had been shattered. Even from the distance, I could see that, in spite of the flames, stumbling, silhouetted shapes were moving through the breach to be lost in the night. “What happens?” Weireth called from the courtyard.

“An attack from the dead,” I called back. “But I think the soldiers are still fighting close to the graveyard.”

As Weireth began to walk up the stairs, I turned my attention back to the fire. I could see the light from the torches the soldiers carried, and several more points of light were streaming towards the graveyard from all the other parts of the city. Everything seemed to be going as planned, but something bothered me about the battle. There was a clear line of torches where my men were fighting the rising dead, but Terem’s soldiers seemed to be holding their own. Nothing to worry about. I kept on telling myself that, but the worried feeling refused to leave. I knew I was missing something.

Weireth made it up the stairs, and he looked out on the battle. “It is true that we must try,” he said. “But I have no weapons to confront Sharek.” He looked again at the wall of torches. “Neither does your army. How is it that they stand so well?”

I looked at the ring of torches and felt my blood run cold again. If Sharek were with his dead, the army would not be holding nearly so well. A distraction. Sharek was not with the dead; he was using the dead to draw away all the soldiers and fighting men . . .

“No,” I said. “He’s already in the palace.”

I turned and began to run down the steps. Weireth’s slower pace could not match mine, but there was no time for me to wait for him. Now I knew why the corridors had seemed so cold even though the dead were for away. The King of the Dead was within the castle, and warmth was slowly extinguished by his presence.

Running seemed to help against the chill as I made my way back through the corridors. Sharek was come to kill Prince Jhaness. And Prince Jhaness would still be within the Great Hall, in all probability. The chill began to ache in my forehead as I moved as swiftly as I could to the Great Hall.

When I reached the Great Hall, however, there was no panic, as far as I could see. The dancing couples looked at one another with the same forced smiles they had worn on my departure. After a few seconds of heavy breathing, though, I noticed that they were no longer dancing. Each seemed frozen in place, and suddenly I could place their pale, frozen smiles. The dancers’ faces looked like grinning skulls. They seemed to be ghouls caught in a nightmarish dance. The prince was nowhere to be seen among them.

As I looked, though, a man began to move across the Great Hall. His armor was so black it seemed to destroy the light from the torches. He stood half a foot taller than any other in the room. In his hand, he held a large sword that seemed to be an extension of his armor.

He wore no helm. His hair was black, but his skin was pale and his eyes were an icy blue. When he saw me, he raised his hand in a grave salute.

“It is a pleasure,” he said, “to meet a true man in this place.”

With absolute unconcern, he pounded a fist into the back of a dancing noble. Her body shattered as if she had been ice. Pieces of her frozen face flew across the room. “This cold that I bring is not precisely physical,” he said. “A strong enough soul can resist that death. But these pathetic things . . . they stood no chance. They had no strength. The attached themselves as infants to their prophesied savior, and made themselves too weak to survive his salvation even if it came.” He took another few steps forward, and shattered another dancer. “Therefore, it is a pleasure, and even an honor, to meet someone strong enough to not be frozen. You are either a man of great courage, or a man of great arrogance. Which?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “Perhaps a little of both.” I drew my sword.

“The difference is hard to see, at times,” Sharek said. “You will try your blade against mine, it seems. That takes great courage or great arrogance. If you win, it was great courage. If you lose, it was great arrogance. None have won against me yet. I do not think you to be the prince who so childishly insulted me, so I will ask: who are you?”

“I am the leader of the armies here,” I replied. “I have a responsibility to protect them.”

“Ah.” With that single word of understanding, Sharek leapt forward and attacked.

I knew from the beginning that I was overmatched. I was weary from going to the wall and back, and the frozen nobles constantly hampered my movements. Try as I might, I could not seem to mount an offensive. Sharek’s relentless, purposeful attack stretched my defense to its utmost, and I was driven slowly across the Great Hall.

If I were to win, I needed to attack. I decided to do so, leaving myself open for a counterstrike. With all my force, I aimed a blow at him.

Without effort, he caught my two-handed blow with his blade, shattering my own sword, leaving a hilt with a five-inch stump rising from it. Too swiftly for me to react, he swung his left fist.

The strength behind the blow was incredible. I felt myself flying through the air, and then I struck the wall so hard that the breath was knocked out of me. My ears began to ring, and my vision blurred. My legs and arms seemed to go numb, and though I knew I held my broken blade, my arm did not respond. Darkness swam before me, and I thought I might lose consciousness.

Within me, something refused to give. If I were to die, I would meet my death with my eyes open. Though I could not stand, could not seem to breathe, I refused to let my eyes close.

Sharek was moving towards me. It seemed like ages before I drew my first, painful breath. It did not seem to be enough, but my head cleared enough for me to recognize how close Sharek was to killing me.

Another step. Sharek held his blade low. Though he had beaten me, there did not seem to be any triumph in his eyes. There was only a dreadful inevitability.

Another step. Sharek was about to receive another member into his kingdom.

A final step. Sharek drew back his sword and was about to strike. I tried desperately to move, but my arms and legs were too sluggish. Just as Sharek was about to send his blade through my body, I heard a new voice.

“Ah, there you are,” came Prince Jhaness’ voice. “Halt, foul beast! Your miserable existence ends here!”

In his hand, Prince Jhaness held a rapier. He was in a perfect fencing form.

Sharek would skewer him like a sheep.

I saw Sharek turn his head to look at Prince Jhaness. The prince’s elaborate curls and Selesian Cape were untarnished, undisturbed.

“This?” Sharek asked. “This man will be my downfall? Such self-absorption can hardly be considered a threat. Let him be ended.”

Sharek turned to kill Prince Jhaness. For one instant, his back was to me.

Using a strength I did not know I possessed, I surged off the floor and buried the broken blade of my sword in the back of Sharek’s neck.

He whirled to look at me, and I could see the broken end of my blade protruding from his throat.

“Courage,” he said brokenly, and fell to the floor, dying.

Haltingly, I bent down and took his sword to replace the one I had lost. Sharek was dying, though slowly. I supported myself with the sword and found my breath coming easier.

Prince Jhaness walked closer to me. “Well, that’s that, then,” he said. “Sharek’s dead. Could you hand me his sword? I mean, I did bring about his downfall, and–”

I didn’t let him finish the sentence. Whatever it was inside me that had refused to surrender to Sharek finally snapped, and I swung Sharek’s sword with all the strength I could muster, completely severing Prince Jhaness’ head.

The headless corpse collapsed on the body of Sharek, and blood stained the prince’s belongings. His Selesian Cape ceased to glow.

The dancers were beginning to move again, slowly. They were still too confused to react to the sight of Sharek or the prince’s head. Weireth, however, walked into the Great Hall, surveyed everything, then moved to speak with me.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Prince Jhaness died when he brought about Sharek’s downfall,” I replied.

“Do you speak truly?” Weireth asked.

I gave him the only answer I could. “As truly as the prince lived.”

Weireth looked at me with understanding in his eyes.

“I don’t think I’ll be serving as a general anymore,” I said. “Find a replacement.”

Then I turned to leave. In my hands, I held a black blade.