Page 89 of Lhora
Duren and Sov continued to swing at each other—lunging, blocking, parrying. They both were breathing heavily, and both were bleeding from where they’d suffered cuts and stab wounds.
The majority of both sides had ceased fighting to watch the duel between the two leaders. She noticed how the Beinights had put some distance between themselves and the Coltrosstians. They knew, as well as everyone else, that the outcome of this confrontation would determine whether they’d be further swept up into this battle, or if there was a chance it would finally come to an end.
Sov tried to mow down his son again. Duren ducked, but his exhaustion was taking a heavy toll on him. Lhora almost cried out when she saw the blade slice downward, and he was too slow to completely dodge out of the way. The sword sheared through his sleeve and peeled off a strip of his skin along with it.
Duren grabbed his arm and took several steps back, facing his father who also retreated a short distance away. Sarpi Sov chuckled at the sight of his son wincing in pain.
“Admit defeat, Duren. Throw down your sword before I run mine through you.”
“I will never give up my sword, Sov. I will never bow down to you, ever again. I no longer accept you as my Sarpi.”
Sov smirked. “And I no longer accept you as my son. I should have listened to my counsellors when they told me you were not of my blood. I should have known that plugging tokko had spread her legs for my entire garrison. You’ve proven yourself time and time again that you are not of my seed.”
Duren’s gaze never wavered from his father’s face. “And to think I used to look up to you. That I wanted to emulate you, until I witnessed your deceit and evilness for myself. If I’m not of your seed, all the better. That way I’ll have no compunction about killing you, and ending this vile regime.”
“I’m looking forward to ending you, and finding a man worthy of being called Sarpen,” Sov admitted in a tone that put Lhora on edge. At the same time, she felt her father’s burst of alarm. The Sarpi was planning something. His deception was as dark and as poisonous as the words he was spitting out. Automatically, she jerked her eyes away from the two men who were using their verbal confrontation as an excuse to catch a moment’s rest…
No,Fallmin wordlessly whispered.
Duren was catching his breath. The Sarpi was…
She saw the figure gradually, almost imperceptibly creep up behind Duren. The man raised a hand, and sunlight glinted off the honed edge of a dagger.
She reacted without thinking. Lowering her head, she slammed into the crowd surrounding the two combatants as she lifted her sword above her head. She saw the man’s blade come down, and threw the shurr at the man’s exposed back.
The sword plunged into the spine. At the same time, the metal sang, and Vadris Pra jerked in agony as skin and tissue were flayed from the bones. His arm continued its descent, but his aim had been deflected. Lhora screamed Duren’s name when the dagger slid into his shoulder instead of the back of his neck as intended.
But it was the shoulder for his weapon’s arm. The same arm the Sarpi had managed to shave a moment before.
Duren dropped to one knee as he fought the pain. Sov saw his advantage and lunged forward with a triumphant yell, sword raised to finish off what his Vadris had failed to do.
Lhora shrieked, never expecting to see the shocked expression come over the Sarpi’s face. A second later, Duren’s blade slid farther into the man’s lower jaw and throat. As Sov’s momentum continued, Duren held onto the hilt, allowing the Sarpi to finish impaling himself on it, until the tip of the sword eventually protruded from the top of the man’s skull.
The world hushed. The particles of disturbed dirt and dust settled, and the air cleared. Duren still gripped the hilt, even though it was now slick with warm blood. The Sarpi’s body slid down another beres or two. There was no light in the man’s eyes, and no life left in the carcass.
Rushing over to Duren, she dropped to her knees and threw her arms around him to help keep him propped up. She glanced over at where the Coltrosstians remained staring and gaping in disbelief. “Are you going to show your allegiance to your new Sarpi?” she harshly reprimanded them.
One man standing in front took a step forward and lifted his sword. For a split second she thought he was going to attack, when the roil of his emotions washed over her. The soldier dropped his weapon on the ground and walked away. A second soldier came up from behind him to add his sword. Then a third. One by one, each Coltrosstian offered their blades as a show of loyalty and service.
Duren reached up with one smeared hand to pat her arm. “Let me stand.”
“Can you manage it?” she whispered.
“I have no choice.”
Releasing him, Lhora stood and moved aside to give him room. She watched him struggle to rise until he was able to face his countrymen. Upon releasing his sword, Sov’s body dropped the rest of the way until it lay face down in a pool of blood.
“I am Duren Sim Sov, Sarpi of Coltross. As of this moment, I declare a truce between Coltross and Beinight, and I renounce any agreement made by the past Sarpi with the Tra’Mell. TheTra’Mellis our enemy, and we will join our forces to prevent them from overcoming our world to claim as their own.” His voice was strong, belying his body’s weakening state.
“Take your swords and return to Coltross. Spread the news that our war with Beinight is over, but our fight against the Tra’Mell is just beginning.” He winced as he struggled to stay on his feet. “I would never sell you out for sheer glory. I never will. You have my word. As soon as I’m done here, I’ll return to Avergild and put forth a petition to the High Council to declare every word I’ve spoken here as law. We…Coltross…arefree!”
The crowd erupted into cheers as the men raised their arms and shook their fists. Overwhelmed by their response, she was unaware of the boiling anger directed at Duren until she caught the figure in the corner of her eye. Instinctively, she snatched her dagger from her weapons belt and launched herself at the man. She felt his blade slice down her side as hers sank into his neck.
They landed on the ground with her on top. The dagger’s handle bore into her chest with bruising intensity, but she refused to let go of it, twisting the weapon until it dug a hole through the Vadris Plur’s throat.
There was the sound of a scuffle. A few vares away, she saw Vadris Boe being restrained by two Coltrosstians. The look on the man’s face equaled the waves of hate emanating from him.
“Place him in cuffs,” Duren ordered. “He’ll be given a fair trial when we return. Are there any others who wish to join him? Make your move now, or else you’ll be cut down without mercy and without a trial if you make any similar attempts.”
