Chapter 36

Oscar crossed the capital courtyard in the breaking dawn, filled with a sense of optimism he had not had in a long time. Finally, it was a new day in Escalon, a day which would change his life, and the fate of his homeland, forever. He had not slept since his encounter with Tarnis, filled with a sense of triumph, of anticipation. He thought of the imminent truce, the pact he was about to accept with Bandrania, and he realized he had achieved all he had ever hoped to achieve for his people and more. He felt as if he were walking into history. Once and for all, Escalon would be free.

Oscar marched quickly, Kavos, Bramthos, Seavig, Arthfael, his sons Armon and Ahern and all his commanders beside him, his hundreds of warriors marching behind him, all of them filling the city in the early dawn, through the empty streets, the sound of their clanging armor echoing off the walls, off the courtyards and plazas, their boots marching on cobblestone to perfect rhythm. They were one, a unified force, the already legendary men who had liberated Escalon against all odds. This would be a great day for them all.

Oscar glanced over at Tarnis, marching with them, prepared to help broker the truce, and he could see from his earnest expression that he was eager to make up for past wrongs, for allowing Bandrania in, and that he wanted to set wrongs right. Oscar had always known that he would, that deep down, Tarnis was a good man.

They passed beneath a massive stone arch and finally, the city square opened up, and as it did, Oscar looked out before him and was thrilled at the sight. There, as Tarnis had promised, stood the Bandranian governor, alone, awaiting him, the ceremonial black and white sword of surrender in his hands, palms up. Oscar’s heart quickened. Everything Tarnis had promised was true.

Emboldened, Oscar marched into the courtyard, Kavos on one side, his two sons beside him, and Seavig and Tarnis on the other side, ready to accept Bandrania’s surrender, to negotiate a truce for all time.

They all finally came to a stop, Oscar but ten feet away from the Bandranian governor. The square was dead silent, almost too silent. The governor glared back at him, this representative of Bandrania, who had invaded his country, who had made their lives hell, and Oscar, face to face with the enemy, forced himself to contain his anger.

Oscar waited in the silence. It was the Bandranians, after all, who had offered the truce, and it was they who must speak first.

Finally, after a long, uncomfortable silence, the governor, a prim man in an elegant dress who was sweating despite the cool morning, stepped forward. His eyes darted nervously in his head, and Oscar expected him to reach out and hand him the ceremonial sword; but instead, to Oscar’s surprise, the governor turned the blade and dropped it to the ground.

Oscar reddened.

“That is an insult,” Oscar said, baffled.

The governor smiled back.

“Good,” he replied.

Suddenly, the courtyard filled with the sound of armor rattling, of boots marching from all directions. Oscar spun and was stunned to see himself entirely surrounded by a division of Bandranian soldiers, thousands of men marching in a coordinated fashion from all sides of the courtyard, entering through the open-aired arches, emerging from every possible crevice. He heard the sound of arrows being drawn, and he looked up to see thousands more soldiers perched atop the battlements, arrows trained down on him. Even more shocking, they were dressed in the colors of Escalon. Oscar narrowed his eyes and realized they bore the red and black insignia of Baris. Yet he did not see Bant amongst them.

Oscar tightened his grip on his sword and clenched his jaws with fury, beginning to realize the depth of the betrayal. He was dumfounded that his own countrymen could turn on him, and astounded that he had led his men into a trap.

Oscar’s men shifted nervously in every direction, realizing, too, that they were surrounded, and Oscar turned to Tarnis, furious that he had sold him out. Yet Oscar was surprised to see from his face that Tarnis was shocked, too. Oscar followed his glance and turned to see Enis emerge from the Bandranian side, standing beside the governor, and it all became clear: Enis had orchestrated this all. He had sold out not only Oscar and his men, but his own father.

Oscar froze, realizing that, for the first time in his life, he had been outmaneuvered. They could perhaps fight the men surrounding them, even against the greater numbers, but with all those bows aimed down at them, they couldn’t even risk drawing their swords.

Enis stepped forward, a satisfied sneer on his face, came close to Oscar and stared him down.

“Well,” Enis finally said, breaking the tense silence, “you had your chance. Now I have made myself King.”

Oscar frowned back, repulsed by this boy.

“My boy, what have you done?” Tarnis asked, his voice pained, sounding much older.

Oscar saw the genuine horror, the sense of betrayal, on Tarnis’s face, and he realized that, at least, Tarnis had not collaborated with his son. He clearly had no knowledge of this.

“I did no worse than you, Father,” Enis replied, “when you let them in through the gates. I am merely finishing the job which you began. Your time has passed—it is my time now. You have your way of bartering, and I have mine. Mine is much more efficient, it seems. All I had to do was trade one man and his men to secure our borders. Quite the deal, don’t you think?”

Oscar glowered.

“You are worse than your father,” he seethed. “Tarnis, at least, sought to help our country. But you—you make a pact with your own countrymen to ambush your own people. And not for any sake of peace, but all for your own position. Your father did it for security—but you do it for power.”

Kavos, clenching his jaw, tightened his grip on his spear.

“I warned you, Oscar,” he said, his voice filled with rage. “I warned you to kill them all.”

“The time for words has passed,” Enis snapped, turning to Oscar. “Lay down your weapons now, and I will spare your men. Resist, and look up: you will all be dead before you draw a sword. There is no way out.”

Oscar looked around, fuming, knowing he was right. As a soldier, he craved to fight anyway, even with arrows protruding from his body, to fight to the death; yet as the commander of these men, and now as their King, he felt a responsibility. He could not sacrifice all these men’s lives. They would follow him anywhere, would fight anywhere for him, and he could not betray that sacred trust.

Oscar slowly laid down his sword, and one at a time, the air filled with the sound of men drawing swords slowly and laying them down on the stone. The courtyard filled with the clatter of a thousand pieces of steel hitting stone.

Only Kavos stood there, gripping his weapon, trembling with anger.

“Kavos,” Oscar said softly.

He gave Oscar a long, hard look, then finally, reluctantly, he laid it down, too.

Enis’s smile widened in satisfaction.

“Son, you cannot do this,” Tarnis said in a fatherly tone, stepping forward and laying a hand on his shoulder. “It is dishonorable. I negotiated a truce, in my name. You disgrace it.”

“Your name was already disgraced, Father,” Enis replied. “But mine, on the other hand,” he said, and stepped forward, pulled out a hidden dagger, and stabbed his father in the heart. “Mine will live forever.”

Tarnis gasped as he collapsed to the ground at Oscar’s feet.

Oscar stood there, horrified, disbelieving what he had just seen. A father killed by his own son, all for the sake of power. As much as he disapproved of Tarnis, he did not deserve to die that way.

Oscar, irate, rushed forward to grab him, but suddenly, he felt himself grabbed and yanked backwards from behind, as Bandranian soldiers from all sides closed in and restrained him. Oscar writhed with all his might, but he could not break free as he watched the nightmare unfolding before him. He was furious, most of all, at himself. Kavos had been right all along. Why had he trusted them?

“You will pay for this!” Oscar shouted.

“I think not,” Enis smiled.

Suddenly, from the Bandranian side, Bant emerged. He stepped forward and sneered at Oscar.

“It looks like you can’t protect your little birds any longer,” he seethed.

Bant then stepped toward Armon and Ahern, each restrained by Bandranian soldiers, and sneered at them, but a few feet away.

“Not so big now without your father to protect you?” he asked them.

And then, before Oscar could react, Bant raised a sword, stabbed Armon, then stabbed Ahern, in the chest.

Oscar felt as if he himself were stabbed as he watched his boys collapse at his feet.

“NO!” Oscar shrieked.

He writhed with all he had, dying inside, unable to break free, and suddenly he felt a metal gauntlet smashing him across the face, knocking him unconscious. And as his face hit stone, landing beside his two dead sons, his world turning black, he had one final thought:

Gwen? Where are you?