Gillian Bradshaw - Island of Ghosts

I laughed. Leimanos edged his horse beside Wildfire and looked at me questioningly.

“We never saw any griffins,” I told him. He had come along on that journey.

He looked puzzled.

“When we rode east,” I explained.

“Oh! No, my lord.” He was still puzzled. After a moment, he added, “We saw plenty of other strange things, though. Do you remember the tiger?”

“Yes,” I agreed, contentedly. “It’s a lucky man who leaves his life complete.”

“My prince,” he said firmly, “I trust Marha that you will not leave your life today.”

“It’s in the hands of God,” I replied. “I’m not afraid.”

We rode through the infantry fort of Hunnum just past the middle of the morning, and it was still before midday when we turned off the road. Leimanos, who had inspected the location, led us across two fields, over a stream, and into a patch of woodland. In the middle of the wood was a large clearing, with a charcoal burner’s hut surrounded by ash heaps; it, and the woodland, were empty. I realized that I’d seen it before, in a dream. It was another good omen, but I could not tell Leimanos, though I knew it would reassure him. What I felt that morning was a joy so private that I could not speak of it at all.

I had dismounted to inspect the ground, and my men were building a fire to warm themselves, when Arshak and his party arrived. He left his followers beside mine, by the hut, and rode over to greet me. His armor gleamed golden as he rode out of the shadows of the trees into the sunlight at the center of the clearing, and I stood holding Wildfire’s bridle and smiling as he approached.

“Greetings,” he said, stopping in front of me. “Is the ground acceptable?”

“Greetings,” I replied. “I have no quarrel with it.” I remounted Wildfire and gathered up the reins. “Shall we take the oaths from our men? Or do you wish to rest your horse first?”

“It was a short ride,” he said, smiling back at me. “We’ll take the oaths now.”

We rode back to the hut, where my men had started the fire, and first one party, then the other, stretched out their hands above the freshly smouldering heap of charcoal, and swore that the contest would end with the death of one or both contestants, and that no revenge would be taken.

“What shall we do about the body?” asked Arshak, when that was finished.

“I believe you had a plan for a drinking cup, if the gods favor you,” I replied.

He smiled. “True-but your friends the Romans might disapprove.”

“You don’t care about that, do you?” I asked. I could have added, “You are assuming that you only need to hide the body for two days anyway”-but I didn’t. The exaltation I felt would only be cheapened by triumphing over him, and I might endanger the lives of his colleagues at Condercum if I spoiled their preparations. “The corpse can be buried here,” I said instead. “But the Romans are likely to find out and arrest the survivor anyway. You’re not afraid of them, are you?”

He smiled again, then suddenly extended his hand to me. “I’m glad it ends like this, Ariantes,” he said. “For what my allies tried to do, I am sorry.”

I shook his hand. “Spoken like a prince, Arshak. I’m glad to settle with you.”

We turned back, each to our own party, and made the final preparations. I tightened the girths on Farna’s saddle, checked the buckles of the armor, and unfastened my bow case, handing it to Banadaspos. I took off my coat and passed it to Leimanos, and mounted. My men spread out down one side of the clearing from the fire; Arshak’s down the other. I looked at Arshak, now sitting high in the saddle of his white Parthian mare. “You are a king’s nephew,” I told him. “I yield the honor of first choice of position to you.”

He bowed his head and, without another word, rode into the center of the clearing; he made the mare rear up, gleaming, and turned her, lifting his spear. I nodded. He understood as well as I did that my hope was in the training of my horse, and he would make me come to him. I turned Farna and cantered her round to the west end of the clearing. The sun was high and would not get in his eyes much, but it might yet help. I raised my hand in salute to it, and saw Arshak answer with the same gesture. I was perfectly content when I lowered my spear and touched Farna into a gallop toward him.

He did not move from his place, only braced himself in the saddle, holding his spear ready. I watched his face as I approached rather than that bright edge: I knew he could move it quicker than I could see. When his eyes flickered, I dropped from the saddle sideways and touched Farna to make her veer off; the tip of the lance whispered through the air above my head, and I heard a shout from the onlookers. I stabbed toward him with my own spear as I passed, but he had already kicked his mare and made her bolt out of the way. I slithered back upright, spun Farna about on her hindquarters, and started her back. His horse was a shade slower than mine and was still turning; he had twisted and was looking at me over his shoulder, grinning with excitement. My chance. I braced myself for the impact, aiming the tip of my lance at his chest.

He kicked his feet out of the stirrups, spun in the saddle, and swept his lance across sideways. It caught me on the left side; my spear was swept out of line, and I almost fell. I pressed my face against Farna’s armored side, trying not to clutch at the saddle in case I dropped my spear. I was slow to pull myself back up; my left knee ached, and would not obey my command to lift me, and I’d almost lost my right stirrup. Over the shouts I could hear the hoofbeats of Arshak’s mount following me.

“Go, sweet one,” I told Farna, nudging her with my elbow since my feet and hands were busy. She flicked her ears and lengthened her stride, staying ahead of the other. I managed to get my right foot back fully in the stirrup and push myself upright. Arshak slowed his mount, straightening his spear. I galloped round the ring once, the onlookers merely a blur of metal, collecting myself again. Arshak followed on the inside, then turned his mount and rode in the opposite direction, speeding up again. Again I watched his face as he galloped toward me.

There was no flicker of the eyes this time: they were fixed and merciless, impossibly blue. I veered Farna sharply left, turned her almost on top of the onlookers, and galloped in the opposite direction, with Arshak galloping after me and his men jeering. “Run, darling,” I whispered to her, and she heard and galloped with all her brave heart, gaining lengths. When I had space, I turned her again, into the center this time, and tried to cut in beside my opponent. But he dragged his mount to a halt and waited for me with his spear braced. I veered off again and circled round once more. Arshak again galloped in the opposite direction, bearing down to meet me. I veered left, right, left again; the spear point followed me unerringly. I brought Farna rearing to a halt, spear level, bracing myself for the impact.

He ducked as his mare took the last few steps, dropping so quickly that my spear hissed through the air above his shoulder, and his own spear twisted down so fast I had no idea where he’d aimed it, until I felt the pain white-hot in my bad leg. Through the shouts and the burning I could hear, small and distinct, the snap as the weak bone broke. Gasping, I whipped my spear about sideways, but he brought his free hand up, and the shaft slapped into his palm. His fingers locked on it, and I was too dizzy with pain to hold on. Somehow I drove my left heel against Farna’s side-and the twist of the bone as I did nearly made me scream-and she leapt sideways. The spear lifted my leg, tugging as it came out, and I could feel the blood gushing warmly down my shin. Farna galloped in the direction I’d sent her. I glanced back, and saw Arshak wave my spear triumphantly before flinging it to the ground.