Soldier
Page 109
“These are your witnesses?” The Patriarch’s voice was deep, commanding, yet full of unbridled loathing. His cold blue eyes raked over Riley and me, and it took everything I had not to curl a lip in return. “Dragons,” he stated flatly, turning back to Garret. “I should have known you would bring demons as your seconds. Can you control them, traitor? Do they understand they are not to interfere?”
I bristled. “Don’t worry about us,” I said. “We’ll behave, as long as your soldiers remember they’re not allowed to shoot us in cold blood.”
“Do not fear, dragon,” the Patriarch replied, making the last word sound like a curse. “They understand honor. They know what is at stake.” He looked at Garret, a faint smile curling his lips, dismissing the rest of us. “I thought it fitting that your treasonous former partner be here to witness your destruction,” he said in a low voice. “The true soldiers of St. George will follow the rules of this challenge and will make certain your witnesses do not interfere.” His voice dropped even lower. “But know that when we are finished here St. Anthony will be punished for his role in this treachery, as well. God’s judgment will extend to all.”
I felt Garret’s anger, saw it in the way his jaw tightened and his eyes grew hard. But his voice was calm as he answered. “Judgment has yet to be decided, sir.”
“Indeed.” The Patriarch nodded, and straightened. “Lieutenant Martin,” he called without taking his eyes from us. “Please give Sebastian his weapon.”
One of the older men approached and held out his arms. Resting in his palms was the sheath of a long, straight blade, much like the Patriarch’s, with a black cross handle poking out of the leather.
Riley snorted. “Longswords?” he stated in disbelief. “I know the Order never got past their medieval glory days, but still. Are we back in the Dark Ages? Why don’t you guys just mount a horse and charge each other with lances?”
Both men ignored the rogue, though the man called Martin gave him a black look, obviously not pleased with being so close to his ancient enemy. “Trial by Combat is one of the ancient rites of St. George,” the Patriarch told Garret. “Therefore, we will fight as the knights did before us, long ago. No guns, no modern tricks. This shall be between two warriors in the eyes of God.” He gestured to the sword. “Take your weapon, Sebastian. And don’t worry about balance, or inferiority, or keenness. It is a perfectly efficient blade. I sharpened it myself.”
Garret reached out and took the offered sword, then drew it from its sheath. Bared to the light, it glimmered coldly, a simple-looking weapon without color or adornment. Not as fine as the Patriarch’s blade, I noticed, but I guessed a sword didn’t have to look pretty. It just had to kill.
“We’ll begin momentarily,” Martin said, looking at Garret as he stepped back. “I suggest you use that time to prepare yourself. Pray, settle any final accounts and say your last goodbyes. The duel starts in five minutes.”
Garret nodded. We retreated until we were about fifty feet away, well out of earshot, before Riley let out a breath and shook his head. “Well, isn’t he a charming bastard,” he muttered with a quick glare back at the Patriarch. “You sure you got this, St. George?”
“I don’t know.” Garret looked at the sword in his hand. “We’ve trained with knives and blades in the Order, though not as extensively as everything else. The Patriarch, though...it’s said that he collects swords and medieval weapons. I have no idea if he knows how to use them.” He, too, glanced at the men behind us, silhouetted against the stark white of the flats. “I guess I’ll find out soon enough.”
“Yeah, well, try not to get yourself killed, Sebastian.” Riley’s voice was begrudgingly concerned. “Flipping the Order off is a lot easier when you’re around.”
“Thanks,” Garret said drily.
“No problem. Although, if you do get splattered into eighteen parts, that will make certain things easier for me, as well.” Riley gave a slightly evil, almost triumphant grin, and his eyes glittered in the dim light. “So remember that, human, because I plan to be around for a long time. I’m not going anywhere.”
I scowled at the rogue, but Garret gave him a wary, almost puzzled look. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to make certain I win,” he said.
“Perish the thought, St. George,” Riley said breezily. “This is a win-win situation for me. You kill the Patriarch and deal a devastating blow to the Order, awesome. You get yourself killed, the Order is still in chaos over the scandal, and I can use the confusion to make sure my underground is safe from both them and Talon. No more human, no more agonizing. Win-win.”
I bristled. “Don’t worry about us,” I said. “We’ll behave, as long as your soldiers remember they’re not allowed to shoot us in cold blood.”
“Do not fear, dragon,” the Patriarch replied, making the last word sound like a curse. “They understand honor. They know what is at stake.” He looked at Garret, a faint smile curling his lips, dismissing the rest of us. “I thought it fitting that your treasonous former partner be here to witness your destruction,” he said in a low voice. “The true soldiers of St. George will follow the rules of this challenge and will make certain your witnesses do not interfere.” His voice dropped even lower. “But know that when we are finished here St. Anthony will be punished for his role in this treachery, as well. God’s judgment will extend to all.”
I felt Garret’s anger, saw it in the way his jaw tightened and his eyes grew hard. But his voice was calm as he answered. “Judgment has yet to be decided, sir.”
“Indeed.” The Patriarch nodded, and straightened. “Lieutenant Martin,” he called without taking his eyes from us. “Please give Sebastian his weapon.”
One of the older men approached and held out his arms. Resting in his palms was the sheath of a long, straight blade, much like the Patriarch’s, with a black cross handle poking out of the leather.
Riley snorted. “Longswords?” he stated in disbelief. “I know the Order never got past their medieval glory days, but still. Are we back in the Dark Ages? Why don’t you guys just mount a horse and charge each other with lances?”
Both men ignored the rogue, though the man called Martin gave him a black look, obviously not pleased with being so close to his ancient enemy. “Trial by Combat is one of the ancient rites of St. George,” the Patriarch told Garret. “Therefore, we will fight as the knights did before us, long ago. No guns, no modern tricks. This shall be between two warriors in the eyes of God.” He gestured to the sword. “Take your weapon, Sebastian. And don’t worry about balance, or inferiority, or keenness. It is a perfectly efficient blade. I sharpened it myself.”
Garret reached out and took the offered sword, then drew it from its sheath. Bared to the light, it glimmered coldly, a simple-looking weapon without color or adornment. Not as fine as the Patriarch’s blade, I noticed, but I guessed a sword didn’t have to look pretty. It just had to kill.
“We’ll begin momentarily,” Martin said, looking at Garret as he stepped back. “I suggest you use that time to prepare yourself. Pray, settle any final accounts and say your last goodbyes. The duel starts in five minutes.”
Garret nodded. We retreated until we were about fifty feet away, well out of earshot, before Riley let out a breath and shook his head. “Well, isn’t he a charming bastard,” he muttered with a quick glare back at the Patriarch. “You sure you got this, St. George?”
“I don’t know.” Garret looked at the sword in his hand. “We’ve trained with knives and blades in the Order, though not as extensively as everything else. The Patriarch, though...it’s said that he collects swords and medieval weapons. I have no idea if he knows how to use them.” He, too, glanced at the men behind us, silhouetted against the stark white of the flats. “I guess I’ll find out soon enough.”
“Yeah, well, try not to get yourself killed, Sebastian.” Riley’s voice was begrudgingly concerned. “Flipping the Order off is a lot easier when you’re around.”
“Thanks,” Garret said drily.
“No problem. Although, if you do get splattered into eighteen parts, that will make certain things easier for me, as well.” Riley gave a slightly evil, almost triumphant grin, and his eyes glittered in the dim light. “So remember that, human, because I plan to be around for a long time. I’m not going anywhere.”
I scowled at the rogue, but Garret gave him a wary, almost puzzled look. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to make certain I win,” he said.
“Perish the thought, St. George,” Riley said breezily. “This is a win-win situation for me. You kill the Patriarch and deal a devastating blow to the Order, awesome. You get yourself killed, the Order is still in chaos over the scandal, and I can use the confusion to make sure my underground is safe from both them and Talon. No more human, no more agonizing. Win-win.”
