“Where to go?” Al asked from the opening to the corridor.

“Which army looks familiar?” Teleure said.

Al looked left and saw purple, black, and gray. To his right he saw blue, green, and white. “That way,” he said, pointing to the Arvonnese.

“I’ll be here. I can’t take sides, Alpine. I operate as apolitically as possible.”

“I understand. Thank you, for everything.” He hugged Teleure, who turned up his cowl and found a boulder to sit and spectate.

He walked to the army, scanning everyone until he found a familiar face. “Your Grace,” he said to Jemerie. “What passes?”

He wrinkled his nose for a moment, then gave him a sudden, incredulous gaze. “Emrys, where did you come from?”

“Samenstrar.”

“Directly? But, how? We didn’t know until two weeks ago that Sayen had declared war.”

“It’s a story for another time. Where is the King?”

Jemerie sighed and jutted his chin in the direction of the Sayanese. Al turned and surveyed the scene, having a hard time understanding what the other regiment was doing, or not doing. He could clearly see a ring of men surrounding something in the middle. Not much of it made sense. “The King went to parlay for terms and the Sayenese shot a hundred arrows at the party. I’m almost certain that he is dead. The Queen is with him and I’m sure the reasons why the Sayenese aren’t attacking have something to do with Telbarisk. I’m fairly certain he’s the tall man standing at the edge of the woods over there. Other than that, we’re sort of at an impasse.”

“Attacking at parlay is heavily punishable. Of course, if every witness were killed, I suppose they wouldn’t mind risking it. The victors write history. Thank you, Jemerie.”

“Good luck, Emrys,” he shouted as Al ran to the center.

Al hadn’t realized how tired he felt until he made that final sprint. Teleure and he had run all night to get here in time and he was already exhausted, feeling like a piece of straw in a banjo player’s mouth. Every inch of his body felt rubbery, chewed, sweaty, and deeply needing some rest.

This didn’t stop him from running at top speed, of course.

“Excuse me!” he said and two of the axmen parted. As Al suspected, Caudin had fallen to the salvo. In one swift move, he knelt into a slide that stopped next to Caudin’s feet. He pulled up the hem of the King’s pant leg and grasped his shin. “Come on,” he whispered.

Anla startled and turned to face him, her eyes red and wet with tears. “Al! You came. I didn’t know if you got my message.”

“Loud and clear. I left as soon as I could.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “He passed a few minutes ago.”

“Give me a chance.”

She stared at him with her mouth ajar, then gently gave her Caudin’s hand. He took it, moving to his side and clamping his other hand on his chest. He gritted his teeth. He was going to hate a great many things if he had run 650 miles and made it within the window to help his king only to have his magic exhausted from non-stop running…

Caudin gasped a breath in and fluttered his eyes open. Anla cried out and ran to his other side, grabbing his hand. He gave a wild look, then turned to her and cupped his hand against her cheek. Then, he turned to his other side.

“Al,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You made it.”

“Yes, Your Radiance.”

“’Twas a close thing.”

“My apologies, Sire. I wish I had arrived sooner.”

A few of the woodcutters turned and stumbled back in surprise. “He’s alive!” one said and the rest turned to look. “He’s alive!”

“Alpine,” Alistad said, moving next to him. “He needs those arrows out to heal, but removing them may cause him to go into shock and kill him. Can you…can you stabilize him while pushing the arrows through?”

“Yes, in theory. I’ve never done it before.” He turned back to Caudin. “Sire, I’m going to need you to touch my skin so that I can use both hands.”

“I would do whatever…you wanted at this point. You want the national…wine to be Caudet? I’ll name it.”

“Caudet is terrible,” he said, breaking the shafts in half as gently as possible. “Anyone have a glove or a bit of fabric?”

One of the lumberjacks pulled a kerchief from his pocket and handed it to him. “Finally listening to wisdom, Wizard?”

“Yes, Sire. Could you help the Queen hold him at an incline?”

“Just about wine?” Caudin asked.

Al locked his gaze on his king’s as he was pushed up. “No, Sire.”

“Good,” he said. “Finally.”

He wadded the kerchief at the end of the shaft to help him brace. “On the count of three. One, two…” He pushed the arrow through as Caudin gasped in pain, his head swaying for a moment while his eyes blinked rapidly.

It grew a little easier with each arrow, but Caudin was far from safe. He had lost a lot of blood and his skin was shockingly white. Al healed him until his wounds were closed, then stood.

“What would you like to do about Sayen, Sire?” he asked.

“As I am grievously injured, it is in my right to appoint my second to fight for me. I know you are tired. You just ran almost seven hundred miles in two weeks. You just saved my life. If you have anything left to spare, I’d like my second to be you. You’re the only one I trust to do this.”

“I’d be honored, Your Radiance.”

Al knelt beside Caudin, who took his blood and drew three lines on the wizard’s forehead, the middle straight and the other two flaring from the top. “The Sigil of the Monarchs. Show him that and he can’t deny you a duel.”

“I’ll be back soon, Sire, so please don’t move before I can heal you fully.”

“Al,” he said, grabbing his arm. “Make him pay. I want the ambassador, too.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Also, you might want to change before you challenge him, unless you plan on killing him with your stench.”

“It’s been a long journey. I will, Sire.”

He quickly shucked off his clothes and put on his wrinkled uniform. “Lose the coat as soon as you can,” Caudin advised. “And Al?”

“Yes, Sire?”

“You’ll need a weapon. Perhaps one of these kind gentlemen will let you borrow one?”

Three men immediately turned around and held out their axes. “Thank you,” he said, picking up each and deciding on the one that felt like it was balanced best.

He turned and was embraced by Anla. “Come back,” she said. “We still need you.”

“I will, Your Highness,” he said. She gave him a kiss on his cheek and patted his arm, reassuring him. He realized the doubt she knew he had by the tremble in his voice and was thankful that she didn’t say anything.

Telbarisk had joined them and stood just outside the circle. “Alpine,” he said, “where are you going?”

“To fight the King of Sayen. Can you make a bridge wide enough for a horse to cross?”

He nodded and turned to the ground between them and the Sayenese, closing his eyes and holding his hand in front of him as he usually did. Al moved in front of the group and planted his feet. “Hey!” he shouted, “I want your king!”

Those in the front who had been trying to find a way around the bog in the middle of the field looked up sharply at him. “I challenge the King of Sayen to a duel, based on rules laid out in the Noh Amairian Accords!”

Most went back to looking around, but he held the attention of a few of them. “Your king is a coward!” His words were much louder, and he turned to nod at Anla in thanks. “He’s so afraid of losing his precious Mielsa that he broke parlay and attacked a defenseless king. News will get out and your country will be sanctioned, embargoed, ostracized. We’ll leave today and we’ll ask our ally, Empress Mayasena, to bring her wrath down upon Sayen.

“Unless the King fights me now. Then, the Accords will be satisfied and no one will challenge your rights.”

A few soldiers pointed down and yelled something at him. Before he could say anything, a few other men found the bridge Tel had created. Two men on horseback proceeded to walk over the small strip of dried land. One was a young man with long, dark blond hair tied back, his strong, angled face impassive. He was dangerous looking, but Al ignored him completely for the older man beside him. He felt an odd sensation looking at him, like the world around him grew darker for a throbbing moment and he felt like he should be feeling pressure, but nothing had changed save his attention drilling into the man. He was old, in his seventies, but still had straight posture and the alertness of a man twenty years younger. His white hair had thinned to almost nothing on the top of his head, making his working circlet of amethysts and jet set in silver stand out against his pink skin. His beard was thick and kept short. His face was disarmingly pleasant, blue twinkling eyes and soft features that reminded Al of Caudin here and there, especially his nose. He looked far too kind to be the man behind the atrocities of his grandson’s life.

Both dismounted at the same time and walked towards him. The young man gestured to the older, and in Arvonnese said, “This is His Radiance, King Halinar the Thirteenth, called Halinar the Grand, Halinar the Boon, Lord King of Sayen and the Mielsa, The Fierce Protector of-”

“Yes, I’m sure he’s just a swell ruler,” Al said. “I’m Emrys Gray, nothing more.”

“’Emrys’?” the King asked, his voice a nasally tenor. “That’s, what, an advisor?”

“Top advisor, yes.”

“And how did you come about this position?”

“Caudin and I have been friends for some time now.”

He was going to continue, but the King cut him off with a dry laugh. “He sends a paper-pushing bureaucrat to fight the most decisive duel Noh Amair has known for centuries! I wondered if this king of yours had something up his sleeve, but I see he’s just as idiotic as I suspected. So, as the King’s second, I suppose you wish to choose me to fight?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s in the Accords. You do realize I am an expert swordsman and have been training since I was five?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Al said. “I don’t care if you were the top fencer in the known world, I’m still going to kill you.”

“Bold and confident. Pray tell, what makes you so sure?”

“Because you are the wrong the gods have spent decades trying to fix.”

“Oh, you’re pious…”

“Hardly. I just can’t deny when things are obvious. The Twelve are very angry with you. You groomed your daughter to persuade her husband to give you the Mielsa, and when you failed you instigated the Kalronists to kill them, just so you could have a connecting port. Your daughter, your grandchildren…What kind of monster does that?”

“Heavy charges…” the King mused, absently checking his sword belt.

“Today you fired upon another king during parlay.”

“Ah, that I didn’t do. He would have to be my real grandson for that to be true. And the volley was loosed in self-defense. A parlay party can only be twenty-five members; the Arvonnese sent thirty, which we saw as a threat and acted within the bounds of the Accords.”

“He sent twenty-five and you know it.”

The King shrugged smugly. “Not that anyone will know. Once you and I are finished with this duel, we will wipe this battlefield of any witnesses. Now, shall we get this over and done with?

“Telbarisk!” he yelled. A minute later the grivven was at his side. “This is Telbarisk of Nourabrikot. He will act as Arvonne’s witness.”

“Fine, use your pet giant,” the King said, waving his hand. He shucked his outer coat and unsheathed his saber, studying it just as Al quickly took off his own coat. “I should ask if the King of Arvonne is still alive.”

Al lifted his stringy hair from his forehead. “He said this is the Sigil of the Monarchs and this guarantees me a duel. He was alive last I spoke with him. He requested the ambassador when I win.”

“’When’,” he sniffed. “All right. You have your tall, intimidating man and I have my witness. Let’s get this over with.” He turned to Glostinag. “Signal the men that we’re sparring and that we’ll continue our business in a minute or so.”

Despite his threat, the King didn’t attack. He and Al circled each other in a patch of clover, the King’s sword low, but not posed. Al kept reminding himself to loosen his grip on his ax. He needed to be springy, relaxed, not to break his weapon before he ever swung. “Why an ax?” the King finally asked. “It has to be the worst weapon to fight against anything, even a tree.”

“Skethik gave one to me,” he answered.

“Ah, the piousness again.” He feinted in, testing Al’s defenses, managing to brush the sleeve of his shirt. “It’s an admirable quality.”

“So is ambition, in the right amount and direction,” Al retorted.

“No, you’re wrong there. Ambition is a wonderful thing in the right people. Ambition is terrible in a farmer or a tailor; what a waste to work your whole life bettering your village if you can’t better your country. In a king, now there’s a worthy place.” He feinted again. “Kings aren’t held by any restrictions. They are the only people that could rule the whole world, if they chose to.”

Done with the conversation, the King went on his first attack with his saber, his stance wide and his left hand on his hip. Al was able to flip his ax twice to parry, but the King sliced his left arm before stepping back. “This has to be the most ludicrous fight I’ve been in. Where do they teach you to fight with an ax? Which school did you attend?”

“The King of Arvonne taught me. I’ve been practicing for a few years now.”

The King snorted and Glostinag laughed. “I would have had more respect for you if you had said you’d forgotten your weapon and had to make do with that.”

He attacked again, this time slicing Al’s cheek. Though shaken, Al took a moment to remember some of Caudin’s lessons. His window of advantage had already closed, but perhaps he could find an advantage somewhere else. The King was old, and though still reasonably agile, he could only make two or three moves before needing to catch his breath. Al began to return the attacks, swinging and chopping into the King’s space as he retreated. He didn’t even parry those, just dodging as best he could. Al managed to hit his shirt, but heard the sound of metal hitting metal.

Okay, he thought, catching his breath. He has chain mail. Caudin would say that chain mail is increased protection at the cost of stamina. Which meant that…

The King went in with a flurry of fast thrusts, parrying what Al could return. His saber clanked loudly, a grating sound, but better than the silence Al heard when he managed a slice on his ribs. He stumbled back, then dove forward with his ax in a wide, backhanded arch that connected solidly with the King’s side. While it didn’t cut him through the mail, it definitely hurt by his stumble. He’d bruise.

Al was thinking of his next assault when the King asked, though heavy breaths, “So. You’re southern. Kintanese?”

“Br’vanese,” he replied, clutching his ax in anticipation of an attack.

“How does a khajit find themselves in the court of Arvonne?”

Al rankled against the slur, but didn’t bite. “I’m Ghenian, second generation. I met Caudin when he was traveling and we struck a tried and true friendship.”

“That’s…” The mocking smile on his face wavered. “Ghenian. Gray. That’s a wizard’s name.”

“It is.”

“You’re not just a paper-pusher, I see. Enhanced reflexes, better stamina, superior balance. You’re a hard wizard.”

“Just a hard wizard. No.”

“Oh. A switcher, then? I shouldn’t let you rest and tap into the Calm to let you heal from-”

“No, not a switcher.”

The King scowled slightly and narrowed his eyes. “A cross-switcher?”

“No,” Al said, licking his thumb and wiping it over the cut on his cheek, showing the King that it had already healed. “I’m cyclical.”

His opponent gave a quick laugh, then looked more closely at his face. “True?”

“Yes. Now, tell me your merit,” he grinned as he began the series of spins and chops that Caudin had taught him back on the crossing from Sharka to Tektorn. He wheeled and sliced, coming within a hairsbreath of the King. Then finally, two dozens moves in, he clipped him on the chin. Blood spurted from the wound, staining the King’s beard and neck crimson. Al knew it was superficial, but finally getting one on him boosted his confidence.

“You are a cyclical wizard, I can see that. Very, very rare and very valuable. I have a proposition for you. I will end this duel, spare your life, and give you whatever you wish if you join my court. Riches, women, power, it’s all yours. You could be on my council, helping make decisions. Or perhaps you’d like to govern Erifana? Your little king there came up with a covert posse and tried to take out my power in the region.”

“He did?” Al asked.

“Yes. Quite irritating, really.”

“Good for him.” An annoyed look crossed the King’s face while Al gave a lopsided smile. That had been a stupid idea that he would have counseled against, but it was so direct and brash and Raulin that he couldn’t help but remember the days they’d spent together in Gheny.

“One point of negotiation,” Al said.

“You’re considering,” the King grinned. “Yes, what would you like?”

“A cape.”

“What?”

“I want a cape, something fancy.”

“A cape?”

“Yes, you know with a jeweled clasp and some detailed embroidery.” When the King said nothing, Al rolled his eyes. “Oh, I’m telling you to take your offer and fuck off, you idiot.”

The King’s eyes widened in surprise. “Fine, then. Act like a khajit at the end.”

With that he began attacking in earnest, but so did Al. The King would thrust a few times, then let Al swing wildly, dodging until he found an opening. Al had done wonderfully up until then, being unblooded and generally untested, but it was here that everything began to catch up to him. He was still exhausted, running on his fifth or sixth wind, and every wound he received only tired him more. He suffered one particularly nasty slice to his unprotected leg that immediately ached and throbbed through his healing ability.

“You should have taken the offer,” the King said.

Al charged once more, hobbling on his leg, his flurry slower. The King stepped back, watching the swings until he calmly stepped in and stabbed his outer left chest with the tip of his sword. He pulled out with a jerk and retreated to his side. Al gritted his teeth, taking in short, shallow breaths.

“You’ve been rather insulting to me and quite boorish, but I still admire you for putting your life on the line for your king despite your deficiencies. I’ll make it quick.” He took a stance that splayed his arms, taunting Al to make his move.

He didn’t have much time to really articulate the sense of dread he was feeling. He had been anticipating healing Caudin, of seeking out others who needed it, of a warm bath and good food and laughter. He wanted to hug his friends and talk about his time in Samenstrar. He didn’t want to die.

With a heavy sigh, he twirled his ax. He started in his outward pattern and pulled in, as he’d done against the trirec who had attacked Telbarisk in Genale. When he got close, he planted his left foot back and chopped diagonally. He hissed and collapsed forgetting that he was injured. An experienced fighter wouldn’t have made that move. An experienced fighter would expect his injured opponent to favor his wounded leg and try a different technique.

Al’s ax sunk into something and he panicked. The one rule Caudin had taught him, had beaten into him, was that he needed to make sure he pulled his ax from the tree trunk as quickly as possible. Chop, pull, move on. Al tugged with urgency for a few moments, waiting for the King’s blade to find his open flesh, until he realized his ax hadn’t found a tree, but the neck of the King. He let go of the haft and watched as the King sank to his knees. He looked up at Al in total surprise, his lips already stained crimson with his blood. He didn’t even have the chance to bleed out; his body crumpled to the ground as he suffocated.

There was a stunned silence as two thousand people took in the results of what should have been a relatively easy, one-sided duel. He stood over the King’s corpse and pried his ax from his spine, wiping the blade on the greenery. As an afterthought, he reached down and took his sword and crown, then turned to the King’s second.

“Your king is dead. You must instruct your army to lay down their arms and surrender. If you do not comply, the Arvonnese army is within their rights to hunt you down to a man and slaughter you. We will expect the general of your regiment and the ambassador to Arvonne in parlay within a quarter hour. You may retrieve your dead after that point.”

Glastinog looked like he wanted to say, or do, something. Instead, he set his jaw and nodded, hopping on his horse and riding to his army.

Al hobbled over to Telbarisk, who set his hands on his friend’s shoulders. “I’m so very proud of you, Alpine.”

The wizard gave a weak smile. “Thank you. Make sure the army doesn’t slink away.”

He was tired in ways he thought only the dead could appreciate. Just a little bit longer, he thought. There was still so much to do.

The lumberjacks, still at attention, parted when they saw him. One laid his hand in Al’s shoulder in camaraderie, which made him wince. He paused to watch Anla gently stroke Caudin’s face, which was in her lap. They’d had no idea how the fight would end and had chosen what may have been their final moments together loving one another. The looks on their faces were pure. He hated to interrupt.

They both looked up when he shakily knelt next to his king. “Your Highest Radiance, I present to you the crown and sword of the former King of Sayen. Long live the Emperor.”

It took Caudin several moments to school his expression from one of joy and amazement, to something close to majestic. He cleared his throat. “Yes, thank you, my emrys. You have pleased your king today. You may ask a boon of us.”

“Caudin,” he said, slumping down, “I just want a damn bath, a hot meal, and a bed.”

“I think we can arrange that,” he said with a broad smile.