Heir Of Novron: The Riyria Revelations (92 page)

Arista looked to Myron.

“I don’t know that word,” the monk replied.

“I wouldn’t think you would,” Royce said. “I taught him that one.”

Irawondona lashed out again. He moved with blinding speed, spinning forward so that the dual blades flashed in the growing sunlight, their movement visible only by the streaks of light they left. She could hear the sound of the humming knives vibrating the air.

Hadrian leapt back, looking uncertain how to deal with the oncoming whirlwind of metal. He dodged and dodged again as the blades swept close to his head and legs equally. The elf lord drove him back to the edge of the thicket wall. Once there, he flicked the bottom blade, slashing out at Hadrian’s
chest. With an agile spin, Hadrian traded places and slammed the elf lord with his elbow while tripping him with the pole. Lord Irawondona quickly somersaulted to his feet with a look of shock on his face.

“You fight like…” Lord Irawondona stopped. He was breathing hard and eyeing Hadrian with concern.

Hadrian now advanced.

This time the blades collided. Staccato strikes sounded across the hilltop. Poles spun up against each other, striking, crossing, clipping. Again there were the hum of bees and then more strikes. Irawondona pushed Hadrian back, jamming him, driving him off balance, his whirling pole streaking in the golden light. Hadrian stumbled and staggered off balance, and the elf lord flashed a grin. He pressed his attack but then Hadrian made an unexpected twist and raked Irawondona across the side with his long blade. A clean stroke—Hadrian’s blade sliced from neck to leg.

The elven lord fell back, shocked. He felt along his side with fear on his face, at the same time Hadrian looked at his weapon—neither found blood. They looked bewildered for a moment; then Irawondona shook it off and regained his stance. He no longer made an effort at exhibitionism.

They circled each other, more hesitant than before, each feinting and falling back, reaching, searching for a weakness in the other. Irawondona charged again; once more the blades clamored, ringing with a sound horrible to hear. One blow after another the metal collided edge to edge, razors striking razors. Just listening to the noise made Arista weak.

Once more Hadrian fell and again Irawondona stabbed, this time faster, forcing Hadrian to log roll away. Irawondona chased but was not fast enough and Hadrian was able to get back on his feet and caught the elf in mid-stride. The elf lord
was too late to pull back and Hadrian’s short blade sliced down the back of Irawondona’s exposed calf.

“Ha-ha!” Hadrian laughed. “Not fast enough! Now you’re—”

No blood.

Once more the two looked at the clean blade and the unscarred flesh and slowly Irawondona began to smile.

“Oh dear Maribor!” Arista cried. “Not again, oh please god, not again.”

“What is it?” Mauvin asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Hadrian can’t harm him. I don’t understand. Did we make a mistake when naming him as champion?”

The elf lord, grinning with confidence, attacked again, this time more openly. Hadrian dodged and counterattacked and his strike found Irawondona’s neck. The long blade came slicing across from under the exposed throat from the bottom up. Irawondona’s head jerked up, but once more, the blade did not bite.

The elf lord laughed. “I am a god,” he said, and began to strike out at Hadrian without fear.

“No!” Arista screamed. She looked to the others desperately, tears filling her eyes. “Oh god, Royce, do something. Save him! Please, you have to save him!”

Royce looked at Hadrian as he retreated under the constant bombardment from Irawondona. The elven lord was not letting him rest. It was all Hadrian could do to dodge or glance aside the blows. It would not be long now.

He pulled Alverstone from its sheath. He had never found anything that the blade could not cut. Hadrian had even used
it to blind the Gilarabrywn and that was supposed to be impervious to all weapons except the one bearing its name.

In the ring, Irawondona struck wildly from high over his head. Hadrian lifted his pole to block and the long blade struck it. The crack was tremendous as the pole broke in two. The blade struck Hadrian in the chest. The armor prevented the blade from penetrating, but Royce heard something snap and Hadrian cried out. Still, he managed to trip Irawondona to the ground. Hadrian was breathing hard, his face clenched in pain. He spat blood and staggered. “I’m sorry, Arista—I’m so sorry.”

“Say goodbye to your champion, Gaunt,” Mawyndulë declared. “I will be king now, as it was meant to be.”

Royce sprinted for the old elf.

Mawyndulë looked amused for a moment, then shocked. His guard stepped out but at the last minute Royce sidestepped and dove for Mawyndulë. He drove the dagger at the old man’s chest. The chair toppled, with both of them falling over and sprawling across the snow.

They got to their feet simultaneously.

Mawyndulë remained unharmed.

“The blessing of Ferrol is upon me, fool! You can’t harm me—but no such protection defends you!”

With a wave of his hand, a column of flame formed around Royce. Fire coursed up his body and engulfed him.

“
Royce!
” Arista shouted. She raised her hands to counter the spell, but before she could, the thief stepped out of the flames.

Everyone stopped.

Even Irawondona paused.

When the flames abated and died away, Royce remained unharmed.

“That can’t be,” Mawyndulë said.

Then the old elf’s eyes widened. “Irawondona!” he shouted. “Forget that one! Kill this one. Kill Royce Melborn!”

The elf lord looked puzzled, glancing back at Hadrian, who had collapsed to his knees and was struggling to breathe, his arm and legs drenched in blood.

“Gaunt isn’t the heir; Hadrian is worthless,” Mawyndulë shouted. “It’s this one. Royce Melborn is the Heir of Novron. Kill him. Kill him now!”

Royce looked as stunned as anyone.

Irawondona left Hadrian and walked toward Royce and Mawyndulë.

“Myron! Mauvin!” Arista shouted. “Water—bandages—now!”

She entered the ring and threw her arms around Hadrian, lying him down. “Royce?” Hadrian asked. “
Royce
is the heir?”

“Yes!” Arista told him as she poured water over his wounds and began binding them tightly with linen. “Why didn’t I see it? Arcadius didn’t just happen to bring you two together. Somehow he knew. He was reuniting the heir and the guardian. Esrahaddon must have known too. Gaunt was just a diversion. When he begged me to help find the heir, he never said
Degan Gaunt
, he just said
the heir
! He’s why we were able to reach the horn. Esrahaddon knew that only the
true
heir could get past the Gilarabrywn. All this time the heir and the guardian
were
together.”

“But why didn’t Esrahaddon tell us?”

“To keep him safe. That’s why he led everyone to Gaunt. Can Royce defeat Irawondona?”

Hadrian shook his head. “Not a chance.”

“Then we have to hurry. You still have a fight to win.”

“But I can’t hurt him.”

“Only because the true heir never named you as champion. Once Royce does, you’ll be able to hurt him. You’ll have to fight and this time you
must
win.”

She stood up and shouted, “Royce! Don’t fight. Just give me some time and then name Hadrian as your champion.” She knelt back down to tend to his wounds.

“Arista, I can’t.” Hadrian lay on his back, his chest heaving for air, blood smeared on his cheek and pooling around him.

“You
can
beat him,” Myron said as he tore more bandages.

“No, I can’t—”

“You don’t understand,” the monk interrupted. “I speak not from faith in you, but from fact. You are a Teshlor Knight. Techylor was the best warrior in the world and the leader of the Instarya warrior tribe. Irawondona is from the hunters’ tribe, he doesn’t know how to fight.”

“Believe me, he does.”

“Not like you do.”

“Okay, fine, but you fail to take into account that I can’t move. My ribs are broken. I can’t even stand up.”

“Leave that to me,” Arista told him, and began to hum.

Irawondona spoke briefly to Mawyndulë in elvish as Royce slowly retreated from them, backing away between the tents and down the snowy hill.

“
Just kill him!
” Mawyndulë demanded as his guards helped right his chair.

Royce stopped his retreat and crouched, digging his feet in the snow and feeling the weight of Alverstone in his hand. He had heard what Arista had shouted and he looked over to
where Hadrian lay. His friend was in bad shape, but Arista was going into one of her trances.

“Come here, little prince,” Irawondona jeered, walking toward him. Royce was surprised that the elf could speak Apelanese. “It is our turn to dance.” He waved the halberd, spinning it like he had when fighting Hadrian.

Royce looked at Arista once more, then tossed Alverstone away.

Irawondona smiled. “So you’re going to make this easy for me, are you?”

“Not really,” Royce replied. “I just don’t want to accidentally hurt you.”

“I don’t think you understand how this works, little prince.”

“On the contrary, I think it’s you who is confused.”

“Just kill him and get it over with, you idiot!” Mawyndulë ordered.

Irawondona advanced, racing down the slope, and lunged. Royce dodged, backing farther away.

“You’re quick,” Irawondona told him. “But then, you are the descendant of one of us.”

The elf lord spun his pole once more and advanced. Irawondona attacked and with each swipe Royce dodged and withdrew farther down the slope on the east side of the Lee, nearing the place where Arista had killed two Seret Knights.

“Stop running, little prince, accept your fate. We are done with human rule. I would prefer to wear the crown, of course, but even a Miralyith is better than a mixed blood. It is time that mankind left Elan for good.”

“And then you’ll live happily ever after?”

“Indeed we will. We will roam the world as we once did. We will destroy the goblins and then it will be just the dwarves and us again, and eventually… just us. Then Erivan
will rule Elan again. When that day comes, Ferrol will walk among us once more.”

“Do you really think Mawyndulë will honor any agreement he made with you? He hates you more than he does us. It was
your
people that betrayed him. They convinced him to kill his own father. He wants to be your king so he can enact his revenge on those who hurt him the most.”