Soldier (Talon, #3)(93)
I glared at him. “All right, but you’d better win,” I whispered, wondering how he could be so calm about this. When he first told me what he had to do, I’d been shocked. A duel to the death with the leader of St. George? I knew Garret was a skilled soldier and that he could handle himself better than any human I’d seen, but still...it was a duel to the death! If he screwed up, or if something unexpected happened, I would lose him. “You can’t let him beat you,” I said, gazing into his eyes. “You have to win.”
He nodded once. “I intend to.” And in an even softer voice, added, “I finally have something worth living for.”
We started across the flats, the brittle, crusty salt crunching beneath our footsteps. The alien landscape stretched on, white and barren, so empty you could see all the way to the distant, hazy mountains. Nothing moved on the flats, no grass, trees, animals or anything. The only sounds were our footsteps in the salt and the occasional mutter from Riley.
After a couple minutes, a group of small black dots appeared in the distance, growing larger and larger, until I could recognize them as people. A man stood in front, tall and striking, waiting for us with his arms loose at his sides. He was dressed in a uniform of brilliant white accented by red, the symbol of the scarlet cross and shield on his shoulder. A sword, straight edged and lethal with a cross-shaped hilt, hung from his waist.
I felt Garret tense, just as I glanced from what had to be the Patriarch to the three men standing behind him. Two I didn’t recognize. One was an older man with dark hair and stern eyes, and the other, with his snow-white beard and black eye patch, was older still. But the last, standing a little ways away and not quite meeting my gaze, was Tristan. All three were armed, but then again, so were we.
We came to a stop about twenty feet from each other, Garret slightly out in front, Riley and me to either side. I looked at the Patriarch, saw the instant, venomous hatred the second our eyes met, and swallowed the growl rising to my throat.
“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.”