Chapter 25

Oscar marched quickly through Fort Andros beneath the moonlight. He walked across ancient stone floors, past endless marble walls, his armor rattling, joined by several of his men, and he tried to shake from his mind his troubling thoughts. He walked past a series of arches and columns that looked out over the inner courtyard of the capital building, and his heart lifted with pride to see his hundreds of soldiers milling about, Kavos’s and Seavig’s men with them, Bramthos and Arthfael beside them, all preparing, waiting for the dawn. In but a few hours, they would march from this place, attack what remained of the Bandranian garrisons, and battle would come for them all.

Oscar turned down another corridor and saw a row of torches lighting the night, dozens more of his men lined up along the walls. Oscar had ordered the extra guard, and he was glad he had: that feast had turned into a fiasco. The alliance of Escalon splintered, his men nearly coming to blows with Bant. Oscar felt he was holding all his men together by a thread, and that he could trust no one.

Oscar was deep in thought as he marched, his mind teeming with a million anxieties, unable to sleep even if he had wanted to. With Baris leaving the alliance, Oscar had not only lost half his manpower, he knew, but had also made a great enemy in him. The men of Baris were vindictive and sneaky, and now not only would he have to defeat Bandrania, but he would also have to watch his back from within his own land—all thanks to his hot-headed sons. Bant, though, would likely slink back into his canyon, take no sides, and if Bandrania won, bank on their neutrality to spare them. Neutrality would spare no one in this war, though. Oscar knew that.

Oscar shook these worries from his mind; he had bigger ones to focus on. At daybreak he would lead half his men to ride south, for the Southern Gate, to relieve Lewis and hold back the Bandranian invasion. Along the way he would liberate and clear the southern cities, and secure the south. The other half of his army, led by Kavos and Bramthos, would be dispatched north and west, to secure Ur, its ports, and the north and west of Escalon. Without Bant, though, his men would be stretched thin; he would have to rely on whatever men he picked up along the way, on the people of Escalon aiding him in spontaneous revolt. If he could just seal the Southern Gate in time, and the ports of Ur in time, then, Oscar knew, Escalon could hold.

Oscar turned down corridors, marching and marching, until he reached a narrow stone staircase. He descended, deeper and deeper, impatient, as the staircase twisted and led him to the lower levels of the capital building. Walking these halls brought back memories.

As he reached the lower level, Oscar felt a knot in his stomach as he remembered where he was going: to visit Tarnis, locked up below. Oscar had received a scroll urging a word with him. He had been skeptical, wondering Tarnis could want from him now that he was imprisoned. A part of him wanted to ignore him, yet he knew Tarnis still wielded power and influence with his many connections in the capital, and he thought it wise to at least hear him out. He also still held, he had to admit, some warmth for him for old times’ sake, and his nostalgia tugged at his strings of compassion.

“You are wasting your time,” came a hurried voice beside him.

Oscar turned to see Kavos marching beside him, his face hard and lined, unsmiling. He did not look happy.

“Nothing Tarnis can say will make any difference,” he continued. “Words from a prisoner are meaningless, and he is but a weak old man trying to worm his way back into power.”

Oscar considered that as he walked.

“Perhaps,” he replied. “Yet still, I must hear him out. There comes no harm in listening, and a ruler who does not listen is a foolish ruler indeed.”

They reached a massive stone arch, secured by iron bars and guarded by Oscar’s men, and as Oscar paused before it, Kavos reached out and grabbed his arm, giving him a meaningful look.

“Do not trust him,” he urged. “We cannot trust any of them. You did him a great service by not beheading him. Remember: loyalty is not an entitlement. And loyalty misplaced is the most dangerous thing of all.”

Oscar pondered his words.

“It is just a conversation,” he replied. “I shall make no rash decisions. Regardless of what this old man has to say, we ride, all of us, at dawn, and I am as anxious for battle as you.”

Kavos didn’t seem convinced.

“We are men of war,” he continued. “Not men of talk. Don’t forget that. We are not like Tarnis. We are not like any of the others here. You will be unlike any King Escalon has ever had. Finally, one of us will be on the throne. You will be King second—and warrior first. But don’t assume, even for a second, that the others are like you.”

With that, Kavos turned and marched away.

Oscar turned and nodded to his guards, who bowed their heads in respect and opened the iron gates.

Oscar entered the small stone courtyard, open-aired, the moonlight shining down, and in the far corner spotted Tarnis sitting against a wall, hands on his knees, looking dejected, but a fraction of the man that Oscar once knew. Several of Oscar’s guard stood along the walls, torches burning high above them.

As Oscar entered, Tarnis looked up, and his eyes lit at the sight of him. He jumped to his feet and hurried toward him.

“I knew you’d come,” he said, smiling. “You were always the only warlord I could trust.”

Tarnis reached out to embrace him with a warm smile—but Oscar stood there coldly, not allowing his embrace.

“I am no warlord anymore,” Oscar replied, cold and hard. “I am your King.”

Tarnis stood there, and his face fell in disappointment as his arms slowly fell. He appeared humbled. It felt funny for Oscar, after serving so many years on the King’s council, to be on the other side of it—but he had to make sure Tarnis understood the new power structure and was not under any illusions.

“Forgive me, my King,” Tarnis replied, his voice broken. “I meant no offense. It takes time to get used a new title. After all, it was not so long ago when you called me King.”

Oscar gritted his teeth, thinking of the battle awaiting him at dawn and having little patience for this man.

“Why have you summoned me?” Oscar demanded, short.

Tarnis sighed.

“What I have to say is for your ears only,” Tarnis said, and glanced at Oscar’s guards, lining the wall.

Oscar stared back at his friend, his impatience growing but sensing an important message, and he reluctantly turned and nodded to his soldiers.

They immediately turned and filtered out, leaving the two of them alone in the courtyard, closing the iron gate behind them with a bang.

“Quickly,” Oscar said. “My time is short.”

“Walk with me,” Tarnis said, placing a hand on Oscar’s shoulder. “Grant me at least this much.”

They turned and walked, Oscar indulging him. It was a warm night here in this southern climate, the breezes temperate, the moon lighting their way as they passed beneath torches in the courtyard. Oscar recalled what a slow talker his old King could be, partly because he was a slow thinker, never quick to rush to judgment, and partly for effect.

“For many years you served at my council table,” Tarnis finally said, nostalgic. “I made a lot of good decisions, decisions that benefited Escalon. I made some bad ones, too, I will be the first to admit. You are King now, and you must know what it means, what it really means, to be King. It means you will encounter the bad along with the good.”

Tarnis took a deep breath as they walked.

“Surrendering Escalon,” Tarnis continued, “was a bad decision. I know this now. And I am truly and deeply sorry for it. But I did what I thought, at the time, was best for us all.”

They continued on in silence, Oscar wondering what this was all leading to. He could not help but wonder, too, if he would feel the same way when he was King.

“You will come to learn that when you are King,” Tarnis continued, “you will make many good decisions, and many bad ones, too. You can only hope that the good outweigh the bad. In my case, I was not so lucky. So many excellent decisions, all forgotten, all wiped away by that one bad one.”

They walked in silence, Oscar pondering his words.

“There is no shame in making bad decisions,” Oscar finally replied. “All decisions are forgivable, as long as they come from a place of honor. Your decision to surrender our country held no honor. That was your mistake. That was a bad decision, but more importantly, it revealed a character flaw. Moments of danger, of crisis, reveal character. I have seen it many times on the battlefield. And at the end of the day, we can only be judged by our character.”

Oscar expected Tarnis to argue, but to his surprise he nodded back in agreement.

“I cannot disagree,” he replied. “And you shall be a wise king—wiser than I clearly thought. I displayed a flaw in my character, true. Yet I also displayed many virtues in that same bad decision. Compassion. Humility. There is honor in these, too.”

Tarnis sighed as they continued on, Oscar feeling impatient, wondering what this was all leading to.

“Make no mistake,” Tarnis continued, “you, too, will encounter moments of flawed character as King. Yes, even you, with all your chivalry and honor. What you don’t yet understand is that to be King means nothing more than embracing compromise. Your job is to hold together the loose alliance we call Escalon. Yet we are not truly one land—we never have been. We are a series of competing strongholds. And oftentimes, too often, as King, you must bend to keep them all together. Unity.” Tarnis shook his head. “As if it were some great goal. What is so great about unity? Why is it so important that we all be one land, one name, one banner? Why not just be competing strongholds, each ruled by its own warlord?”

Oscar contemplated his words as they walked.

“Then we could not fend off an invasion,” Oscar replied.

“I was a master politician,” Tarnis continued. “As was my father, and his father before him. I was good at what I did, just as you are good at what you do. I could not wield a sword, as do you—and yet, you could not stomach all the lies and machinations as I had to suffer in that council of nobles. We each have our talents, our strengths and weaknesses. It doesn’t make either one of us better than the other.”

They stopped, and Tarnis turned and looked at him, eyes filled with compassion.

“I elevated you above all my warlords,” Tarnis said. “I made you my most important warrior. And you, in turn, kept me alive when you had no reason to—a far greater gift, to be sure. Now I wish to return the favor.”

Oscar stared at him, wondering.

“How?” he asked.

“By saving your life in return,” Tarnis replied.

Oscar frowned.

“My life needs no saving.”

Tarnis smiled and shook his head.

“If only that were true,” Tarnis replied. “At dawn, you will recklessly wage war on all of Bandrania. You know as well as I do that you cannot win. Even if you cleared our land, secured the Southern Gate, they will send the hordes of the world against us and will not stop until all we know is dead and gone.”

Oscar gritted his teeth, unmoved.

“That is the difference between you and I,” Oscar replied coldly. “You wage wars only when you can win. I wage wars when honor and duty compel them.”

“What if I brought you victory another way?” Tarnis asked. “With honor, and without losing a life?”

Oscar stared back, suspicious.

“And how can you do that?” he asked.

Tarnis smiled.

“I have built much good faith with Bandrania,” he replied. “I did not resist their invasion, I complied with their demands, and as a result, they hold me in high esteem. They listen when I speak to them. I have got a message to them—and they have responded. I have negotiated a truce for you.”

Oscar raised his eyebrows, shocked.

“A truce?” he asked, indignant. “And who are you to negotiate a truce for a land you no longer rule?”

Tarnis shook his head.

“More than a truce,” he insisted. “A victory. Your victory. A victory never before achieved. After all, the great Bandrania has never backed down in its history, has never before conceded, as they are willing to do to you. They will leave our shores. There will be no more bloodshed. Victory will be yours. At dawn, their Lord Governor has vowed to me he will appear before you and accept defeat before you and all your men.”

Oscar stared back, skeptical.

“And what is their price in return?”

“A safe retreat,” Tarnis replied. “Nothing more. They want to spare the remainder of their army and ensure them safe passage from our borders.”

Tarnis paused, as Oscar let it sink in.

“Don’t you see, Oscar?” Tarnis pressed. “I am handing you a complete victory.”

Oscar felt unsure.

“It sounds too good to be true,” Oscar replied.

“Does it?” Tarnis asked. “They know we have their men surrounded. They know we have momentum. They have many important Lord Governors still here. They fear for their lives, and they have petitioned Bandrania, too. They know Escalon is difficult to hold—and they have more important kingdoms to conquer. They have already taken from our land the best that they can take, and they are ready to move on.”

Oscar stared at Tarnis long and hard, debating. His heart began to warm thinking of handing his people a victory, of no more bloodshed, of Escalon being free.

“If it is as you say, an unconditional victory,” Oscar began slowly, thinking, “then yes, I shall allow them to retreat. I have no reason to slaughter troops who have conceded defeat. Indeed, my honor compels me to make sure they retreat unharmed.”

Tarnis smiled.

“A wise decision,” he said.

Oscar studied him.

“And what about you?” Oscar asked. “What compels you to care so much to broker a truce for a new King who has ousted you?”

Tarnis furrowed his brow.

“I love my country,” he replied. “As do you. We just have different ways of showing it.”

Oscar waited, sensing more.

“And yet,” Tarnis continued, “aside from the general welfare of Escalon, there is one small thing I would ask of you for my brokering this truce.”

Oscar stared, wondering, while Tarnis took a deep breath.

“It is no command, old friend,” Tarnis continued, “but a request. A small favor. I know I stand in no position to make requests, but I appeal to your love and your mercy and our once-strong friendship.”

“Tell me,” Oscar urged, curious.

“I have a daughter Tarnis finally announced.

Oscar stared back, shocked. He knew the King had a son—an impetuous and unlikable young man—but he had never heard any word spoken of a daughter.

“A daughter?” Oscar asked.

Tarnis nodded.

“My only daughter. Illegitimate. My only surviving issue outside of my son. I could not allow her to be raised here. Her existence would have been a threat—I have always kept her location secret. You are the only one I’m telling.”

Oscar stared, wondering.

“What is it you wish from me?” he asked.

“Her safety,” Tarnis replied. “You are the only one I trust. She means more to me than all I have left in the world.”

Oscar could see Tarnis’s expression, and for the first time since he had known him, he detected true sincerity in his words.

“Where is she?” Oscar asked.

Tarnis took a deep breath and looked around, as if afraid someone might be listening.

“At the tip of the Devil’s Finger,” he said, his voice low. “In Knossos.”

Oscar was shocked to hear it; Knossos, he knew, was an extreme, remote place, inhabited by warrior monks in the Tower of Kos, and not much more. It was nearly impossible to reach and as secluded from Escalon—and the world—as any island could get.

“I trust you with my life,” Tarnis added. “Because she is what remains of my life. I do not ask you to reinstate my title—nor do I ask for freedom. I will serve you as King. I ask only that you find her. And protect her. I fear word has leaked of her existence, and that nefarious forces close in on her even now.”

Oscar took a deep breath, satisfied Tarnis was genuine, and approving of his love for his daughter. It made him think of Gwen.

“Consider your daughter safe,” Oscar said. “You may have made mistakes, but you are a fine man, in many ways. I am glad I did not kill you.”

The old King laughed heartily, smiling wide, a look of relief crossing his face for the first time.

“As am I,” he replied. “To victory, my friend.”

Tarnis reached out his forearm, and Oscar reached out and clasped it. As he did, he thought of the truce to come, and he felt a sense of imminent victory welling up inside of him as a new dawn began to break over Escalon.

Finally, victory was his.