The Lost War by Karl Gallagher (novel24 .txt) 📗

“These, the least of us, labored at the worst duty here, keeping us all healthy. They were not visited, not comforted, barely fed. We abandoned them. So they abandoned us. Would they have done so if they’d known the danger? Perhaps. Perhaps they’d rather die than haul everyone else’s shit one more day.

“Now they rest from their labors. We pray that they are at peace, gathered in Lord Jesus’s loving embrace.

“Now others are the least of us. Those whose names we do not know, for we look past them. Let us treat them as we would treat our Savior come among us.”

He opened the Bible again. “In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread till thou return unto the ground, for out of it wast thou taken; for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.”

Then Lord Pulpit led them in the Lord’s Prayer and dismissed them. He led his choir in “Clouds of Witness” as they left.

Four Weeks After Arrival

The only challenger was King Ironhelm. The announcement from the throne that bouts would be fought “until one champion yields or loses consciousness” had gotten rid of everyone seeking to get practice or impress a girl. The break with Kingdom tradition made the populace restive. Ironhelm saw a victory in the dueling ground as the only way to prevent a riot or even open warfare between the pro- and anti-Estoc factions.

They clanked their way onto opposite sides of the grounds. Count Dirk lifted the rope to let Ironhelm in. Was that a sign the officer in charge of martial activity favored the challenger? Or was that reading too much into it? Probably too much. He needed to stop brooding and focus on the fight.

A herald stood in the center. He bowed to the queens on their thrones, then turned to face the populace. “Ladies, lords, and commoners! Behold the tourney for right of sovereignty over the Kingdom! On my left, our reigning monarch, King Estoc, winner of eight championships in the Kingdom, fighting for the glory and honor of his consort, Queen Camellia!”

Cheers rang out from the court and populace, forcing him to pause. Ironhelm studied the crowd. The crown’s supporters were packed tightly on that side. His own side was silent, a few hissers quickly shushed by their neighbors.

When they quieted the herald resumed. “On my right, the visiting monarch of a Far Away Kingdom—” The official phrasing brought harsh chuckles from some. His home kingdom was now much farther away than a six hour drive. “—King Ironhelm, winner of nineteen championships and thrice king before, fighting for the glory and honor of his consort, Queen Dahlia!”

The other side cheered, and were met with hisses and boos. Ironhelm worried whether they would accept him if he won, then put it aside. Fighting distracted would guarantee a loss.

The revised protocol skipped the fighters standing side by side to salute the thrones. The courtiers negotiating it seemed to fear treachery. As the herald bowed himself out of the ropes Ironhelm saluted Estoc. The ruler returned it. Their squires fastened on their helms before ducking under the ropes in turn.

“Lay on!” cried Count Dirk.

Ironhelm took a few wary steps forward, studying his opponent. Estoc was younger, faster, and taller. He’d have to find a weakness to win, and he’d never watched the king fight before. A few knights had shared their observations, all variations on “Don’t leave any openings, he hits like lightning.”

Estoc hadn’t moved. Odd, his reputation said he’d be charging in. Ironhelm shifted left four paces. The king only pivoted to watch him.

Trying to provoke a response, Ironhelm rushed four steps forward, then hopped to the side. Estoc only raised his sword to guard position, then lowered it when the threat passed.

If the boy wants to wait, I can wait all day long, thought Ironhelm.

A gentle breeze stirred tent flaps and banners, drowning out the whispers of commoners asking for explanations of the standoff from their older friends.

Estoc let his shield and sword hang down, exposing his whole center. “What are we doing?” he asked quietly.

“What?” replied Ironhelm, watching his opponent for a sudden attack.

“This is stupid. Why are we doing this?”

“Your Majesty, this was your idea.”

“It was?” Estoc paused for thought. “It was. Huh. Well, it’s still stupid.”

Ironhelm kept his guard up in case this was a trick. “So now what?”

“Now I break the news to the ladies.” Estoc let his sword dangle from its wrist-strap and shield hang from the elbow loop. That freed both hands to remove his helm. He walked over to the edge of the dueling ground to address Queen Camellia in a low voice.

She smiled and laid her hand on his cheek.

Estoc slapped his helm on without fastening the chinstrap, gripped sword and shield, and charged at Ironhelm. “Die, you bastard!”

Ironhelm twirled left to dodge. His sword parried a blow sneaking around the edge of his shield.

The charge carried Estoc past. He stumbled to a halt. “That’s so strange. For a moment I hated you. Now I’m back to normal.”

Queen Camellia stood at the ropes. “Fight! Fight hard!” she yelled.

The helm shadowed Estoc’s face but the shock of realization showed in his body language, even through the heavy armor. “You! How could you?”

Ironhelm followed the logic. “Keep your helm on,” he ordered his fellow king.

Camellia turned to look behind her.

Autocrat Sharpquill came out from his place behind the thrones. “Your Majesties, this tournament must be fought to a conclusion or we will have no resolution of our disputes.”

Ironhelm turned to face his squires. “Marshals, knights, and squires! Find all the full helms you can. Place them on the courtiers.” Men ran to obey.

Queen Camellia tried to countermand the order but King Estoc endorsed it. Worried discussion among the populace grew loud.

The courtiers submitted to