Chapter 21
Able
Lake Olympus, Konge Province, Titan
"My father was celebrated as the greatest swordsman of his generation, and that is among the more modest praise I have heard. Had Gladius not fallen to Randwulf, I would have been raised with these expectations hovering over me like the Sword of Damocles. I have struggled living in my father's shadow enough as it is, and I worry for my own son. To have great expectations weigh upon your shoulders, only to to be crushed under that weight... it is a cruel thing."
-Excerpt from the assorted writings of Mark the Guardian
Aiken cut a gallant figure coming to the aid of Lord Mark in the moment of his greatest need, or at least that was how the young man fancied to imagine himself. This posturing was wasted when he saw who had loosed the arrows that brought down Lord Mark's horse. It was his brother Cedric. Standing opposed to his own flesh and blood, Aiken hesitated. Cedric did not, and now Aiken was slumped against the body of Lord Mark's dead horse with an arrow in his lung. Brotherly love did not count for much with this curse of madness.
And while brotherly love apparently held no sway under the influence of the curse, a hunter's training and instincts were less impeded. Cedric drew an arrow from his quiver and lined up a shot to finish off Aiken. For his part, Aiken could not even lift his bow with his all but lifeless arm, but it was perhaps just as well, as he doubted he would be any more likely to loose an arrow at his brother now than he was before.
There was little more Aiken could do but embrace the end. His deeds may not have been a match for his grandfather, but surely he had done his duty so that he could face death unashamed. He had been a model of an able Rowanite and he left sons to carry on his bloodline. What more could be asked of him? Even if someone would venture to ask, he was past the point of delivering.
Cedric drew back his bowstring. Aiken resolved himself to at least look his brother square in those curse-maddened red eyes as he met his end. However, before Cedric could loose his arrow, a cluster of men put themselves between the two Rowanites. Aiken could hear the sound of Cedric's arrow sink into one of their shields.
"Cover me!" a young man's voice shouted.
That same young man set down his spear and shield while the men to his left and right pressed closer so that their shields would offer him some protection. He then stooped down to take the bow from Aiken's hand, saying, "Forgive me, Brother."
It was then that Aiken recognized the young man as Gillius the half-blooded, the one his mother doted on in defiance of their customs, who twice failed the hunter's trials. He was perhaps the last person Aiken would have expected to come to his aid and the last person he would have wanted to do so as well. It was not due to his blood or the circumstances of his birth, which would have been more than enough reason by the reckoning of outsiders, but the fact he was counted among the unable not once but twice. He did well to salvage what he could of his honor—Aiken would credit him that much—, but it did not change how little that honor was.
Gillius took an arrow and drew back Aiken's bow. Through the legs of the men standing in front of him, Aiken could see where the arrow landed, cleaving through one of the fingers on the hand Cedric used to hold his bow. If Gillius was capable of landing such a shot, how the devil could he fail the hunter's trials?
While Aiken was finding himself vexed at this show of marksmanship, his consciousness began to fade. What followed, who can say what was real and what was the dreams of a dying man? There was a rush of enemies. Were they mortal men or devils out of the pits of Hell? Flashes of lightning, mighty thunderclaps. Maybe fire and brimstone as well. Was anything too fantastical?
And so Aiken did not know if he awakened to reality or fantasy the next time he opened his eyes. The men who were with Gillius were scattered about, dead or dying from many wounds, but with quite a few more than their number heaped around them. Gillius himself was not far from Aiken's feet, frozen in a vain effort to hold back a rather grievous-looking gut wound. Aiken thought he was already dead, but then their eyes met.
"I thought you were gone," Gillius said.
"I could say the same of you," Aiken replied.
"Not gone, but going, I fear."
Aiken looked at the bodies around them.
"The trail ahead won't be lonely, at least."
His jaw moved wordlessly as he thought about what he ought to say but was reluctant to give voice to. His time was short. Time was short for both of them. If he was going to say it, he needed to do it while there was still breath in him.
"Seems I was wrong about you."
"How so?"
"By the trials, you were deemed unable, but... But it looks like the trials aren't the only judge of a man's measure."
"Talk like that might get you exiled."
Aiken glanced at the arrow sticking out of his chest and replied, "I don't think I have to worry about that."
"Thank you, Brother."
For the longest time, it rankled Aiken and the others how Gillius would call them 'Brother' when they refused to acknowledge their kinship with him. However, now Aiken actually felt a swell of pride hearing it. He wanted to say as much, but when he looked to Gillius, he had already stilled in death. There was a hint of a smile on his lips, though, so unless it was some trick of the body in its last moments, his spirit was at ease for his passing. Maybe that thought alone would be enough to ease Aiken's passing as well.