by Ian Newton
Chapter 16
Any Single Request
The private halls leading deep into the fortress were empty and five minutes after Connor arrived, the King appeared. He walked the guard out into the long, stone corridor, pointed to his station on the ground and told him he was not to yield ground to a single living thing.
The King went back down the hall about thirty feet and turned into his private study. He shut the heavy oak door and set a bar across it from the inside.
With the same level of casual authority, he’d demonstrated all day, the King turned and got right to the point.
“Connor, sit in any chair you choose, but please sit.”
The overstuffed high back next to the fireplace was nice looking, so he took it.
The King grabbed Connor’s chair by the arms and spun it until he was looking out into the room. Then he took a smaller chair from the table and sat across from him.
“For any of this to work,” he said, “I must know your request.”
“What?”
“Your request Connor. You’ve won the prize, “Any Single Request” and now, in this very private room, I need to know your request. We must talk about it, work together and see just how much is possible.”
“I don’t understand your majesty. You want me to tell you what I was going to request, here? Now?”
“Don’t play the fool with me. I’m in the middle of a very real, very dangerous and incredibly compelling game. And I am looking for allies.”
Connor took out his fishing pole, and asked, “What did you have in mind?”
“We must reach an agreement, right here, right now. But we cannot do this until you tell me your request. Speak it, and I will do all I can to help you understand the impact of your words.”
Connor baited his hook, and said, “Your highness, I cannot tell you my request until I know I’m not your pawn.”
“You are the key to our continued success Connor Duncan. Together, we can do great things, but we must work together. I have far more to lose than you by revealing secrets. To win you over and demonstrate my commitment, I will tell you my secret first. Then you must tell me your request.
If that’s not fair enough, I’ll have you killed after I tell you my secret and before you ever leave this room.”
The tug on Connor’s line almost pulled him into the water, and he said, “I will speak first your highness. Your willingness to see us as allies is clearly of greater advantage than taking separate paths.”
Connor closed his eyes, and said, “My single request is to be officially appointed to the station of Blacksmith Guild Master.”
The King smiled immediately, stuck out his hand, and said, “Welcome to the trade business, my boy. You’re going to love it!”
“So we have a deal?” Connor asked, in total disbelief.
“We do, Guild Master Duncan. I’m sure your grandfather will be proud. Imagine, you in charge of the land and he’s got the sea.”
Connor remained astute and shrewd enough to ask, “So what’s the real plan?”
“We’ve got about ten minutes until we’ll be missed. When we leave, you’ll go with my guard. Are you ready for the plan?” the King asked.
“I’m all ears.”
“The sword in my hand,” he said, taking off the velvet cover, “is real.”
“No, it’s not. It’s just a replica made of glass and gold.”
“Let me say it again. This is the important part. The Crystal Sword in my hand is real. It offers the powers to destroy at will, unify a city and kill virtually any attacker. In short, I now hold ultimate power.”
Connor shot off a salvo of questions:
“What if it breaks?”
“Who’s going to believe you?”
“What if you have to use it?”
The King smiled, and said, “You’re going to make many more swords, just in case this one breaks. No one will ever notice or even care because people are stupid.
Second, everyone already believes it’s the real thing and with your side of the story, it will stick forever.”
“What’s my side of the story?”
“You went to the Kingdom, just before the waves of Light came and before the Light in the sky could be seen. It was your last trip with your father. While you were there, you found the sword.”
“I know just the place,” Connor added.
“How did I get back here with it?”
“After your dear old father died in the foothills, you walked back. He is dead, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Good, then just like everyone else, you used your backup stash from the desert and just barely made it back alive.
That’s your story. Can you work with it and make it convincing?”
“I’m your man,” Connor said, shaking the King’s hand and sealing the bond.
“There are currently only two Blacksmith Guild Masters. One for my navy and one for the land. Your grandfather has my navy. Virgo, my Guild Master of the land, will become responsible for the weapons foundry. It needs full-time attention if we’re going to win this war.
You,” he said, pointing at Connor, “will become responsible for everything but the foundry. You cannot fail. This is your “Any Single Request”. I hope you really meant it, and you better be up to the challenge, because if you fail, I fail and as allies if I fail, you fail. Are we aligned?” the King asked, standing up.
“We are your majesty, but we have a minor complication. The Glass Smith, Farmer and the Goldsmith, the old man along with his apprentice helped craft the sword. We will need them to manufacture our replacements.”
“Are they in the courtyard today?”
“They are, sire. You’ll find them hiding above us with your archers. They’re listening and watching, but it’s all a harmless secret.”
“I will have them picked up before you and I give our performance. Later, when we’re all together, we can decide as a group how to keep secrets.”
“Your majesty,” Connor asked, as they moved toward the door. “What about my third question?”
“On that matter, you must trust me. My plans will create the greatest Empire the world has ever seen and you my new friend, your wildest dream just came true.”
Connor was smiling and didn’t even realize it.
“In just a few minutes I will present you publicly, and you must be as far from scrutiny as possible. My guard will take you to the same section of the wall your friends are hiding on. They will be detained, you will feign ignorance because the guard who escorts you is only doing his job.”
Connor nodded.
“I am your King. You speak when spoken to, you kneel along with everyone else when I enter a room. You are no different today on the outside then you have ever been before. It will be rare if we ever talk in public. You will learn more about your new responsibilities in the days and weeks to come. As a Guild Master, we will see each other weekly and occasionally, privately. Even during our private discussions, you must play your part, forever. And for god’s sake, do it well or we’re all dead. Have a little fun with it and really throw yourself into the work. Win the hearts and minds of the Blacksmiths. Be the man you’ve always wanted to be!
Remember, above all, the sword is real. You found it, brought it back, found out about the contest and here we all are today. The first version, the fake; that was a clever bit of sales, from a smart man.”
The King went out of the room and told the guard where to station Connor on the wall. He also told him about the two uninvited guests he would find when he was up there.
“These guests should be blindfolded and taken to the dungeon,” the King instructed. “The command to the jailor is solitary confinement, regular diet, regular water, and wine privileges.”
Placing a hand on the guard’s shoulder, the Ki
ng said, “None of this ever happened. You are sworn to me.”
The man looked him in the eye, and said, “I am sworn to you, my lord.” Then he went back for Connor and the two left in a hurry.
“Guild Master,” was his only thought as he blindly followed the guard through the maze of narrow, torch-lit hallways.
With the footfalls of Connor and the guard fading away, Pridarius schemed. For generations, the loyal subjects of his forefathers had participated in the relentless consumption of every natural resource within their reach. With each passing year, there had been less and less.
For the past three years, even his father’s fleet of fishing vessels returned with empty nets and disappointment. A smothering heat blanketed the land. The once plentiful flocks of livestock failed to thrive and each season the crops had withered in the relentless sun.
The once bountiful royal treasury now held barely enough gold to pay his army, his staff, and his expenses through the months ahead. Every available resource had been used to build his fleet of warships and equip his meager army of five thousand men.
But defeating the fortress city of Colesco would take more than brute force. It would take more than treachery, intimidation, brutality and murder. In order to penetrate the walls of their citadel, it was going to take a miracle.
Picking up the Crystal Sword, Pridarius covered it with the red velvet drape and laughed, filling his chest with pride and his heart with malice.
Just before noon, Connor was escorted onto the upper defensive wall surrounding the inner courtyard. The Goldsmith and Farmer went without resistance, and no one below took any notice.
When the bell tolled twelve, the tradesmen were summoned back to their tables. With everyone back in position, the trumpeters announced the arrival of the King and everyone respectfully took a knee.
When the King had taken his place, he asked everyone to rise. The gaggle of fancy courtiers was now off to one side of the courtyard, and the only thing between the King and the tradesmen was the tables they stood behind.
“We have a winner!” the King announced with great exuberance from atop his stage.
Everyone applauded with excitement and looked around to see if they could identify the winner, but nobody was claiming the prize.
“Here today, we have Smiths with fantastic mastery of their craft,” he swept his arms wide, “but this contest was more than a challenge of skill. It was a challenge to imagine a sword befitting my father and his legacy.”
There was a spontaneous cheer in the courtyard, “The King, the King, long live the King.”
“Only one of you thought about what this blade would need to look like if it would be held forever, in my father’s hand. If it was to serve as a symbol of his strength, his cunning, and his wisdom.”
The King paused and motioned to have something brought forward.
“There is a lost sword of legends called the Crystal Sword,” he announced, pausing for effect. “The legends tell us the sword was created within the City of Light, and it possesses incredible magical powers.
Such a sword has always lived in the dreams of men and kings,” he said, in perfect oration. Then he spoke as he had done earlier with Connor, looking into the distance and speaking to no one, “The legend says, you will know the sword of kings by its flawless crystal blade of blue, its woven basket of pure gold and the bud of a rose for a pommel.”
Silence and the wind of an early fall day filled the inner courtyard.
Heads turned back and forth scrutinizing the swords on the tables, but nothing fit the King’s description.
The King took a wrapped object from one of his guards, left his station on the stage and walked across the lawn until he was directly in front of the tables. He held the object out and slowly removed the red velvet cover, revealing the Crystal Sword.
Lifting it over his head, the rays of sunlight turned the polished gold and flawless blade into a reflective beacon of unimaginable beauty.
The crowd gasped.
The King sauntered elegantly across the lawn until he stood before table number one. The silversmith behind the table looked on in fascination, and the courtiers gazed upon the magical sword from their lavish sitting area.
“The sword is flawless in every way,” the King announced.
Right on cue, the courtiers declared, “Perfection,” and, “It’s the real Crystal Sword,” and, “That’s the one from my dreams.”
“This sword,” he announced, walking down the row of display tables, “possesses the ability to utterly annihilate an enemy. Anyone challenging this sword or its owner will pay with their lives! It will unite us in cause and purpose. With this sword, we will expand our borders, replenish our dwindling resources and conquer all who oppose us!”
With his miracle held high above his head, the courtyard exploded with celebration.
Before anyone had time to settle down, the King held up his hand, requesting silence. When the only sound was the wind-ruffled banners, he pointed the sword at the top of the wall, high above the tables.
“This is Connor Duncan, the man who found the Crystal Sword.”
The guests below as well as the soldiers around him delivered a thunderous applause.
“With this gift,” the King shouted with great enthusiasm, “he is also the winner of our contest.”
Only with the King’s gentle coaxing did the cheering and applause finally settle down.
“We have one last matter to resolve with Mr. Duncan, isn’t that right?” he asked, playing to the overly excited crowd.
“Mr. Duncan,” the King called up. “I will hear your request now if you please.”
“Thank you, your majesty, and thank you, everyone. This is the greatest day of my life.”
“Your request, Mr. Duncan, if you please.”
“I have the skills of a Master Blacksmith and a Master Cooper,” he said to the crowd below, “and I have always dreamed of being something more.
Your highness, my one single request is to be officially and permanently appointed to the position of Blacksmith Guild Master.”
“The Crystal Sword!” the King yelled, holding it up in celebration and whipping the crowd into another frenzy.
The noise, but not the enthusiasm was quieted just long enough for him to say, “Your request is granted, Guild Master Duncan. I will meet with you and your fellow Guild Masters at my table for our evening meal. Together, we will work out the details.
Until further notice Master Duncan, you are my honored guest.
Thank you all for participating,” he said to the tradesmen at their tables. Turning to the courtiers, he thanked them and returned to his platform. The sword was recovered in velvet, the King briefly spoke with his event coordinator and his Sergeant-at-Arms, then excused himself along with half a dozen armed guards.
Two days later, just as his spies had confirmed, an impressively large ocean-going ship from Colesco arrived in the King’s harbor. She was tied-in on the northernmost slip, but only after half a dozen warships had been relocated. Her large, white flag fluttered and snapped atop the center of three masts, displaying her golden symbols of peace and prosperity.
The sergeant-at-arms greeted the three “peace delegates” at the bottom of their gangplank and brusquely instructed them to take a mount. Each of the delegates was offered a sway-backed pasture horse with a worn out saddle and only one stirrup.
With a quick signal of his hand, the sergeant, and his mounted soldiers surrounded the delegates. With uncooperative horses, the delegates were unceremoniously escorted up a winding switchback road, while balancing on the single stirrup.
Struggling to maintain their poise, the delegates voiced concerns over their mistreatment, but silence was the order, and their complaints fell to the wind.
&nbs
p; When they arrived at the castle, there was no formal greeting. There was no announcement of visitors; there was nothing beyond a cold fall breeze warning of an early winter.
“The King awaits,” was the only statement issued by the sergeant as he led the three men from Colesco through a maze of hallways and stairs. With spear points leveled at their backs, the peace delegates reluctantly followed.
Outside the enormous ornate doors of the King’s Throne room, the delegates were held under armed guard for no less than two hours. When the doors were finally opened, the King had just dismissed a serving girl and was dabbing at the corners of his mouth with an embroidered linen cloth. As the delegates were escorted in, the girl dutifully moved her golden serving cart behind an enormous tapestry and disappeared.
Next to the King, a simple wooden stand rose several feet off the floor. Atop the stand and available to him at his whim, rested the magnificently beautiful and mystically powerful Crystal Sword.
The guard stopped twenty feet from the dais and knelt to his King. When the delegates from Colesco remained standing, the soldiers behind them brought the length of their spears across the back of their knees. The King smiled maliciously as the delegates crumpled.
With a soldier’s hand on either shoulder, the delegates were not permitted to stand until the King finally commanded them to rise.
“This is an outra..!” one of the delegates started yelling as he got to his feet, but he never finished his sentence because the soldier in front of him had turned around and punched the man right in his mouth.
“You will only speak when spoken to,” the King offered casually as the man held his bleeding face.
“Whoever is in charge of your little delegation, step forward,” the King ordered.
The red-faced, middle-aged man took three steps forward.
“What is your title?”
“I am the vice-chairman of the Colesco Senate.”
“Have you come to surrender?”
“No, we have come to negotiate peace.”
The King laughed malevolently while gently caressing the Crystal Sword.
“Do you know what this is?” he asked, lifting the sword from its stand.
“It cannot be!?” the vice-chairman mumbled in horror as he retreated several steps.
“Oh, but it is!”
A mile away, atop a steep and winding road, Connor and Virgo struggled to roll a huge iron sphere into the base of a massive watchtower.
“What are these?” Connor asked his fellow Guild Master. “And why are we moving them into the watchtower?”
“Each sphere holds two hundred pounds of black powder,” Virgo explained as they began rolling the second of three giant balls into the base of the five-story monolith. “A discovery of our King.”
When the third sphere was in place, Virgo carefully unscrewed a small circular plate from each of them.
“I don’t understand,” Connor said.
Virgo pulled an intricately crafted device from his satchel and held the delicate mechanism in front of Connor. “In fifteen minutes,” he said, “this will strike flint against steel.” Then he carefully screwed the small mechanism into the iron ball where the circular plate had been. When all three mechanisms had been installed, Virgo and Connor raced to their mounts and fled from the watchtower as quickly as their horses would carry them.
With the Colesco delegates standing atop the King’s citadel walls he reached into his pocket and felt the small timer ticking down.
“The watchtower in the distance is as thick and as tall as the walls of your impenetrable city!” the King announced. “Watch!!” he screamed at them. “Watch and see what awaits your precious city! Feast your eyes upon the power I command!!”
He leveled the sword at the tower in the distance, and a fiery blast engulfed the entire structure. Huge pieces of stone went sailing through the air, and a black cloud of smoke rolled into the sky as they watched a distorted wave of air racing toward them. It pushed at everything in its path, and when it hit the delegates, they crumpled to the ground like rag dolls.
Every window in the castle shattered and pieces of the watchtower started raining down.
The King looked down at the delegates and pointed the sword at them. They turned white as snow and began shuffling across the top of the wall in a vain attempt to escape their fate.
The King reached inside his shirt and pulled out a roll of parchment just as five guards came running toward him.
“These!” the King yelled, shoving the parchment in the vice-chairman’s chest. “These are my terms for your surrender!! When my army and my navy arrive at your gates, they had better be unlocked! If they are not, everyone in your city will die, and it will be on your head, not mine!!”
He turned to the guards, and commanded, “Take them back to their ship. Throw them on board and cut their lines. The delegates from Colesco are no longer welcome in my kingdom!”
