Sir Rowan and the Camerian Conquest (20 page)

“I will not give you the satisfaction of a fight, Gavaah,” Rowan said calmly.

Gavaah’s countenance contorted into an evil smile. “You
will
fight, Rowan, because I know something you and they”—he motioned toward the chanting crowd—“don’t know.”

Gavaah signaled, and a set of gates opened. Another cart entered the stadium with another knight strapped to its rails. This knight, however, was arrayed in full armor with helmet and visor in place. The cart came near and halted.

“You see, it wasn’t very difficult to locate the rest of the rebels once we saw the gliders.” Gavaah let his words soak into Rowan’s mind, and his heart skipped a beat as he considered what Gavaah was saying. Gavaah nodded to one of the guards, who jumped up into the other cart, grabbed the helmet of the knight, and lifted the visor for Rowan to see.

He could only see her eyes, but it was enough. There beneath the armor was his beautiful Mariah. Her eyes were filled with fear. Rowan felt as if a knife had pierced his heart.

“Rowan!” Mariah cried out, but the warrior quickly snapped the visor back in place and jumped from the cart.

“Mariah!” Rowan screamed, but the name was lost in the chant of the crowd. He pulled against the iron bindings.

Gavaah signaled again, and the driver of Mariah’s cart bolted away toward the center of the arena. Once there, the driver unharnessed the horse from the cart and led the animal away, leaving Mariah and the cart behind. All the while the crowd continued to chant, unknowingly immersing Rowan and Mariah in a death chant that happened to be his own name.

Out of the open gate, six large men dressed similar to Rowan entered the stadium and walked to stand between Rowan and Mariah, a distance of about fifty paces.

Rowan clenched his teeth and pulled frantically against his bonds. “Let her go, Gavaah!” Rowan demanded. Then he sagged in defeat. “Let her go … and I will fight for you.”

“Oh, it’s much too late for that, Rowan,” Gavaah said. “I’ve devised something far more entertaining than a mere fight between you and other knights. Look at these warriors, Rowan.” Gavaah gestured as if he were explaining the simple rules of a game to someone. “The combatant who kills you receives a weighty sum of gold. The combatant who kills the other knight, your lovely wife, will receive the same amount if and only if you are killed first. If, however, you prove too difficult to kill, any one of them can decide to kill her and receive half the gold—not nearly as rewarding, but a much easier prize.”

Gavaah looked toward Mariah. “You and I are the only ones here that know who she is. That makes the fight so much more enjoyable, don’t you agree? Oh, and for every combatant you defeat, another will join from the gate … and another … and another … until both of you are dead.” He gave a wicked chuckle. “It’s quite remarkable what men will do for a little gold.”

Gavaah looked around and seemed to now enjoy the chanting he heard. “They don’t know it yet, but they will love this day and the blood I bring them … and they will want more. It is the way of the human heart, Rowan.”

Gavaah looked deep into Rowan’s eyes and sneered. “Good-bye, my stupid Arrethtraen knight.”

The driver of Rowan’s cart had released the horse’s harness and led the animal back into the gate while they were talking. Now Gavaah and his guards moved to their seats in the grandstand, and the driver returned. He set a sword in the ground, then climbed into the cart with a key to unlock the shackles binding Rowan’s wrists. The man’s hands were shaking so badly he could hardly fit the key into the lock.

“Hurry up, man!” Rowan looked anxiously at Mariah and the six combatants who stood between him and his love.

Finally the man found the opening to the lock and turned the key. As soon as his right hand was free, Rowan grabbed the key from the man and pushed him out of the way. He quickly opened the other lock and jumped down to grab the sword. He looked beyond the combatants to his still-shackled wife and dared not think about the odds. He must play Gavaah’s twisted execution game even if there was no hope of winning.

“Rowan! Rowan! Rowan!” the crowd continued to chant, not knowing just how cruel this day could become.

A HOPELESS FIGHT

Rowan had to get to Mariah quickly before any of the combatants became impatient with the fight. He approached the men, and the largest of them was the first to engage. Three others positioned themselves to Rowan’s right and left, while the remaining two began to circle behind him. Rowan quickly disengaged to drop the weaker of the two. As he reached to recover the man’s weapon so he could fight with two swords, another combatant entered the arena from the gate behind them.

After two more engagements and one more fatal wound to one of the combatants, Rowan’s mastery was obvious, despite the odds. The ferocity with which he executed his moves bought him the hesitancy he needed from his opponents. They knew that if they came within reach of either of Rowan’s swords, they would die or be seriously wounded.

The crowd did indeed love the fight and cheered all the more for Rowan. Rowan tried time and time again to maneuver toward Mariah, and though he was able to close the distance, his opponents maintained their positions between them. He dared not draw any closer, for close proximity would also decrease the time he had to react if one of the combatants decided to take his sword to her instead.

Keeping track of all six men was at first more than Rowan thought he could do, but soon his mind and body had elevated to a whole new level of functioning. It seemed impossible that any of the combatants
could penetrate his defenses with a sword. All they could do was hope to wear him down.

Three more encounters left another combatant incapacitated, but he too was quickly replaced. Rowan saw one of the original six combatants turn and look at Mariah, and he knew the time was short. The desperation of the scene forced him to adapt to a whole new fight. His mind and sword worked in perfect sync—analyzing, slicing, projecting, cutting, decoying, and thrusting.

Rowan fought with two and three men at a time, engaging each only long enough to keep the others from advancing. With each mistake a combatant made, a body fell to the ground. Rowan saw the man who had earlier looked at Mariah drop his sword ever so slightly, and he knew he must act now if he was going to save her life. The man’s foot shifted, and Rowan intensified his assault against the two men he was currently fighting. After three quick cuts, both opponents went down, but the delay gave the retreating man time to break away.

“No!” Rowan abandoned all caution in pursuit of the man. When he felt the tip of another combatant’s blade slice across his back, he planted his foot, spun about, cut through the man, and continued on, hardly missing a step.

The leading combatant was now almost to Mariah, who tugged hopelessly against her bindings. The crowd roared in both excitement and fear as the fight hurtled toward a gruesome end. Rowan wished desperately that time would stop, for he was simply too far behind the man to reach her before the combatant did.

Suddenly a commotion arose from the right side of the stadium. A large figure draped in a black cloak jumped from the commoners’ stands and began running toward Mariah. The crowd roared its approval as the man drew a gleaming sword from his belt.

Rowan dared not even stop to glance at the newcomer or hope that he had come to help. Perhaps some citizen wanted the gold too.

Now eight men were racing toward Mariah and the cart that held her in the center of the arena, but only one would be first. The combatant was nearly there, and Rowan watched in agony as the man mounted
the cart. The next closest was the man wearing the cloak, but he was still ten paces away and would be too late as well, no matter what his intentions were.

The combatant drew back his blade. Mariah pulled back from him, pulling desperately against her restraints, as Rowan screamed her name.

Suddenly the man in black stopped running, threw off his cloak, and drew a short sword. Rowan was stunned to see Sir Lijah take aim and let the weapon fly toward Mariah’s executioner. The brute’s blade began its plunge toward her heart, and Rowan faltered, but just before the tip of the brute’s blade touched Mariah’s breastplate, Lijah’s sword sunk solidly into the man’s torso, and he collapsed against the side rail.

Lijah took up a defensive position for Lady Mariah as Rowan took his sword and hacked through the wooden side rails that held her iron bindings. Mariah then recovered the fallen combatant’s sword and joined Rowan and Lijah against the remaining combatants.

Gavaah rose to his feet, infuriated by the interruption of his execution, and ordered all remaining combatants into the arena. More than twenty armed men rushed upon Rowan, Lijah, and Mariah from two different gates. The crowd gasped at the impending bloodbath, then resumed cheering.

The fight seemed to rage on endlessly. Fourteen combatants fell before Lijah took a cut across his left shoulder. Rowan moved to cover him, but both men were tiring and began to make mistakes. Mariah fought gallantly, but when Rowan took a cut to his thigh, he recoiled, leaving her exposed for a moment too long. She deflected a cut from one combatant, but a second plunged his sword through her breastplate and into her chest.

“Mariah!” Rowan felt his soul crumble as she fell to the ground. With one powerful blow, he cut her attacker down in an instant. More combatants fell to Lijah’s sword as he rallied to defend Mariah. Only four combatants now remained, but Rowan didn’t care. He dropped his sword and fell beside his wife. Lijah covered them both, taking two more combatants down. The last two hesitated, then slowly backed away.

All the stadium hushed to hear the wails of the mighty Sir Rowan. He gently took her helmet off and cradled her in his arms.

She looked up at him, struggling with the pain, and tried to smile. “My … love,” she whispered.

Rowan’s eyes swam with tears.

He shook his head. “No, Mariah. Please stay with me. I can’t live without you!”

Mariah shook her head. “You … must live. The Prince … calls you.”

Rowan’s tears spilled onto her cheeks. She coughed and squeezed her eyes shut, wheezing in pain. When she opened her eyes, she lifted a gentle hand to Rowan’s cheek.

He covered her hand with his own and leaned to within an inch of her face. “Please …,” he whispered. “No.…”

“You … you’re the one the scroll speaks of.” Her voice was faint. “Always knew there was something … special about you.”

Mariah winced, and Rowan tried to shush her, but she shook her head. “Your destiny … the call of the King.” She managed to smile at him. “My love …”

Her hand slowly fell away from his face as she slumped in his arms. He gathered her close and screamed against the crushing ache in his bosom. All the kingdom seemed to fall silent as Rowan wept bitterly for his bride.

Then, gradually, the pain within him hardened to a slow-burning anger—against Gavaah, his warriors, the combatants, and the people’s lust for violent entertainment.

Rowan lifted his head and looked about the stadium with tears streaming down his face. He lifted Mariah in his arms and held her out to the thousands who had watched his love die.