Triumph of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [32]
“So be it!” Prince Garald shouted grimly, but his words went unheard in the tumult. With one final, coldly formal bow, the Prince drove his chariot back into the Corridor and vanished from sight, his warlocks and their catalysts disappearing as well.
It was noon. Bells pealed out in Merilon, the Sif-Hanar—in a fit of patriotic frenzy—colored the clouds to match Merilon’s own banners, making it appear as if the sky were draped with flags. The nobles flew to their parties, hymns of battle and Merilon’s national anthem on their lips. The people of City Below held an impromptu street dance and lit bon fires. The city was ablaze with light, the parties and gaiety would last far into the night.
Standing silent in his crystal-walled study high above the tumult and the merriment, the Emperor of Merilon looked down upon it unseeing, unhearing. For him, the Challenge had come and gone and he had missed it, though it had spread out before his eyes. In his vision, there walked only a single figure and in its hand it held a weapon of darkness.
The parties in Merilon were just reaching their height, the sunlight was fading sulkily to twilight, the first of the evening stars could be seen flickering dimly overhead before The DKarn-Duuk stirred or spoke. Behind him, the Bishop sat, breathing heavily. Occasionally mopping his forehead with a cloth, he was thinking it was well past time for his dinner and he started nervously when Xavier broke the long silence.
“Joram has returned from the realm of the dead,” The DKarn-Duuk said in a soft voice. “If we do not stop him, the Prophecy will be fulfilled. Alert the Duuk-tsarith. If they find Joram, he is to be killed on sight. This time he can—and must—be destroyed!”
9
To Victory!
A week following the Challenge, on a day determined by negotiation between representatives of the warring nations, the battle between Merilon and Sharakan began.
Early in the morning, long before dawn, Prince Garald and his entourage arrived on the Field of Glory to set up the Gameboard. His enemy, Emperor Xavier and his entourage, arrived at nearly the same time, doing the same thing several miles distant.
The Field of Glory was located in the approximate center of the world of Thimhallan. A large tract of land, relatively flat, dotted here and there with clumps of trees and covered overall with thick, smooth, green grass, the Field of Glory had been set aside in ancient days for the purpose of settling disputes between nations. No one ever came here for any other reason. The Field was consecrated, both by prayers and by blood—the latter being the unintentional result of the Iron Wars.
Before and after that time, warfare in Thimhallan was fought in a civilized manner as befit the higher order of magically gifted humans who fought it (as opposed to the lower order of Dead humans left behind in the old world). The primary feature of the Field of Glory was the Gameboards. Made of the holy stone of the mountain fortress of the Font—granite taken from around the Well of Life, the source of magic in the world—the Gameboards were located at opposite ends of the Field. Each Board was shaped into a perfect square, nine feet long by nine feet wide. When the Field was not in use, the flat and featureless Boards lay upon the ground. The druids saw to it that the Boards were carefully tended; the grass around them was shaped trimly and neatly, spells of shielding kept animals and birds from desecrating the Boards’ surfaces.
On the day of battle, as was happening this day, the leaders of the combatants, accompanying nobles, War Masters, and high-ranking catalysts arrived at the site of the Gameboards and performed the Ceremony of Activation and Blessing just as the first rays of dawn lit the Field.
Prince Garald took his place with Cardinal Radisovik at the head of the Board, which faced north. His companions—the noblest of the nobility of Sharakan—gathered around the Board, nine on each side. Each nobleman’s catalyst stood by his side. At a signal from