Deathsworn (Wattys 2018 Winner)

8 - Taaj

Taaj knew Bard was dead the moment the lance struck him. Being from Sand Country, he'd never witnessed a joust before. In Zaffaar they preferred scripture to swordplay, chess to cavalry. In the universitums, people would often converge to watch the wisest in their heated debates. That was considered sport. This? The mininsters of Zaffaar would consider this near savagery.

The first blow had broken Bard's arm, or at the very least severely damaged muscles and tendons. The Greenman was a hardy type, Taaj knew this, sometimes too hard for his own good. Bodkin had tried to dissuade him and Bodkin had failed. The second blow Sir Claudo delivered had ended things, for all of them. Taaj was only surprised it hadn't taken Bard's head off, helm and all.

He'd watched it all from the stands. Bodkin and Weasel had been in the lists with Bard, but not he and Toyne. Bodkin knew things and Weasel was supposed to be a squire. He supposed Tall Toyne might have gotten away with staying there, too, being the master-at-arms. Taaj, though, stuck out like any Zaffaarian did in Scavania. His presence at Bard's side was explainable, but to not have to answer questions in the first place was what he preferred. Now, he watched as the physicians carried Bard's limp body away, the helm so badly wrecked it looked to have been thrown from a cliff. Weasel was with them. He would take it hard, would Weasel. He alone, of the Gallowmen, had yet to fully understand the ways of the world, yet to fathom its whimsical jokes that ruined entire kingdoms and drove people mad with grief.

The people about him were cheering for Sir Claudo. He pranced about, showered by the flowers thrown at him from the gallery. Orl Ejjar was on his feet clapping to salute the show. Erikk was standing also, face a work of stone.

Taaj felt Toyne's gigantic hand on his shoulder and he half-awoke to shuffle, absently, from the stands. It was an unspoken promise that made Bard their leader, nothing more. There had never been a vote, the Burned Priests hadn't gotten involved and Bard certainly hadn't forced his authority on them. Once or twice, in the early days, could Taaj recall resisting out of habit, but experience had taught him that things were better when Bard dictated them. He himself was too hot-headed; Bodkin too obstinate; Toyne too simple and Weasel but a boy.

Now, though, he thought, as he and Toyne slipped from the jeering of the lists and wandered numbly towards their tent, Bard is gone. Broken to the sound of almighty applause. Taaj would grieve him in his own time. If I live long enough to grieve. The Burned Priests were another problem. The Gallowmen had been given a name and Erikk still lived. Taaj knew better than to assume the Priests would simply forgive their failings.

Bodkin was already at their pavilion, using his fingers to fine-tune the fletching on an arrow. He looked up but Taaj knew he didn't see them. He wasn't seeing anything, lost as he was to his fortress of thoughts.

Taaj strode past him and into the tent. He hoisted up his mat and went back outside to load his horse.

'Leaving?' Bodkin asked.

'He's dead, Bodkin. There's no surviving that, you saw the hit. He's dead and so are we if we don't get gone. They'll come for us soon, to ask about the body. What do we tell them? Bard was the one who had everything aligned in his head.'

'Erikk's still on the list,' Bodkin grunted back.

'And he's protected by castle walls, a host of guards and arms to shame a blacksmith. You want to hang around and try and talk him to death then do it. Toyne and I are leaving.' Taaj strapped his mat onto the sand steed and glanced about the place. 'Where's Weasel?'

'With Bard. They wouldn't let me go with him. Only his squire ...'

'We'll wait for that fool, then we're gone.'

'Fara Mordova?'

A slight chill tentacled around Taaj's spine and crept, ever so slowly, upward. 'No, not Fara Mordova. Without Erikk we're as good as dead there.'

'Then where?'

'I don't know, Bodkin, you're the ideas man now. You're the one who said Bard would survive the joust.' Taaj could feel the irritation drumming away on his skull. It would not be long before he lost himself to rage, as so often happened when he perceived danger.

'I said he could survive the joust. He was still on the horse after the first tilt remember. I tried to get him to withdraw but wouldn't listen.'

'Damn Bard and damn his pride,' Taaj heard himself saying.

Bodkin slid his arrow back into its quiver. 'There was something else. Earlier, today, Weasel mentioned something about a girl. A 'lady' Bard had spent time with. One with hair the colour of ice.'

'Girl? I didn't see him with no girl.' But then, come to think of it, hadn't there been a girl on the day of their arrival? Hadn't Bard intervened in some quarrel between an old man and a young boy?

'Nor me. But I knew Bard. He was proud, but he wasn't stupid. Elders know he wasn't stupid. Perhaps it was something else kept him on that horse.'

'You're saying I'm going to die because of a skirt?'

'Taaj.' It was Tall Toyne. He always had the best sense for when Taaj was about to become dangerous.

'Tell me, Bodkin. How did Bard have a woman we knew nothing about?'

'Taaj,' Toyne said again.

'It wasn't a woman he had,' Bodkin countered, 'it was someone he met here, at the tourney.'

'I'm going to find Weasel and he's going to give us the truth of it. Good for nothing, spindly, little-'

'-Taaj!' Toyne roared it this time.

Taaj turned to see the Islander pointing in the direction of the lists, a measly blot of green and brown running quickly towards them. Weasel's face was white and clammy when he eventually arrived outside the tent.

'What happened?' Taaj asked him. 'Are we discovered?'

'No ...' Weasel attempted to suck in air and speak at the same time. 'Got ... kicked out ... physicians tent.'

Taaj turned to Bodkin. 'We have to go. Now. If we leave then we'll have a head start on the Priests. There's still more than two days of the tourney left.'

Bodkin averted his eyes but Taaj sensed he was coming around to the idea.

'Leave? We can't just abandon him!' That was Weasel, panic in his voice.

He's a boy. He doesn't understand. 'Weasel, lad,' Taaj said, 'it's done, it's over. I loved him like a brother, but there's nothing for it. We can't do anything for Bard now except be buried alongside him.'

'But ... what happens when he wakes up?' Weasel asked.

'He can't wake up, Weasel. He's dead.'

'No,' Weasel said, mustering a firmness Taaj hadn't encountered before, 'he isn't.'

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

* Please remember to vote if you liked the chapter (hit the star). It all helps towards increasing awareness of the work and thereby letting others to enjoy it as well :) Would also greatly appreciate comments/feedback/reviews whenever possible. If you take the time to read it, please let me know what you think.

*Book art courtesy of the amazing Max Panks Artist. Visit here to browse his vast array of work. Commissions available at reasonable prices. https://www.instagram.com/maxpanksart/