Dragon King Charlie

by Scott Baron

  “Refreshment, Sire?” a musical voice asked.

  Charlie noted the protective glance the assassin gave the room when Hunze entered with a tray of beverages. He took his oath to protect her seriously, and despite his timid act, heavens help the man or woman who tried to harm a single golden hair on her head.

  She looked rather plump in her loose attire, but rather than added weight, the garment hid the rest of her decades-long growth of hair, braided and woven around her body to keep it from under foot.

  Back in her own galaxy, Hunze was a priceless slave, her race of Ootaki’s ability to store magic in their hair being one of the most sought-after commodities in the five hundred plus systems lorded over by the Council of Twenty. And hers had never been shorn, making it exponentially more powerful.

  They had planned on harvesting her hair to power a magical weapon, but Bawb had saved her from the Council when her ship was destroyed. She was no longer a slave, and, fortunately, those who sought her golden locks were in a distant galaxy. She was finally safe.

  A strange thing happened when she had first experienced the warm rays of Earth’s yellow sun. Hunze actually felt her hair growing stronger. Something about the odd radiation from this blazing star in a galaxy far from her own was reacting with her physiology in a powerful way. Ara was feeling good as well, but Hunze’s hair was almost radiant in its power absorption.

  Given time, it might even build enough power to end wars and build societies, but Ootaki could not utilize the power they carried. Nature’s little joke on the peaceful, golden-haired species. So, they became slaves, hunted down and raised in captivity, their hair taken from them when its stored power was needed. It lost potency that way, but was still more than enough for most magic users’ needs and make the loss worthwhile.

  Upon her first arriving at the castle, Hunze had found herself besieged by good-willed house staff. Gwendolyn, the head chambermaid, was convinced her naturally yellow-toned skin was actually a sign of the foul liver humors––known as jaundice to modern medicine––and constantly tried to force a foul milk thistle concoction on her.

  Charlie sipped the chalice of wine she had brought him. It really was quite good, he had to admit. Perhaps not a fine Cabernet or Brunello, but quite tasty all the same. Bawb even partook of a bit, though despite their friendship, it always weirded Charlie out a little seeing red on the Wampeh assassin’s lips.

  Wampeh. Sounds a lot like vampire. And for good reason. It was only a tiny fraction of a percentage of his race that had the gift, but Bawb was one of the few. Those who could take another’s power by drinking their blood. It was incredibly rare, but for those few with the ability, it was a ticket to immense wealth and influence. Of course, now they were on a planet with no magic users for him to feed that part of his hunger. Bawb would just have to suffice with regular old food and drink.

  If that meant no more magical attacks on him or his friends, he was just fine with that. For the time being at least. Both he and his king couldn’t help but wonder how long things would stay tranquil in their new home.

  “That’s the last of them, Sire,” Bawb announced an hour later when the final villager left the chamber.

  “Oh, thank God. Guards, you’re dismissed.”

  The two restrained their obvious relief and trotted from the room.

  “I hope you wrote all of that down, Bob, because there’s no way I’m remembering all of it.”

  “Of course, Charlie. I’d be a rather poor aide if I didn’t.”

  “About that. We really need to find you something less menial.”

  “Absolutely not. This role allows me not only great freedom to observe the goings on around the grounds, but also to command a modicum of obedience and respect, when the need arises.”

  “I see. Walking quietly but carrying a big stick.”

  “Another of your clever analogies, Charlie. You really should write them down one day.”

  Charlie chuckled to himself. “Yeah, Bob. I just might do that. Now, what say you we go see what’s up in the training grounds? I desperately need some fresh air.”

  “A lovely suggestion,” Bawb replied. “Lead the way. Sire.”

  Chapter Three

  The familiar sounds of clashing steel and grunting combatants was welcome music to both Charlie and Bawb’s ears. The assassin was, well, an assassin, and had dedicated his life to the deadly arts. Charlie, on the other hand, had been a decently proficient fighter, but his original calling had been space engineering––Until he was sucked through a wormhole, enslaved by aliens, and sold off as an unwilling gladiator.

  He survived, thanks to both his own perseverance and moxie as well as the years of training he received at the hands of Ser Baruud––one of the most legendary gladiators to ever earn his freedom.

  It had been hard going, but the daily training and constant combat drills had drawn out his hidden talent for it, as well as honed the skills he’d already practiced while back on Earth. In fact, it was Charlie’s gladiatorial prowess that had landed them back on his home world––via a very long way around.

  Today, however, he and Bawb were in a much different position. That of spectators, a king and his aide observing his men as they lumbered through the rote drills devised by Captain Sheeran and his men.

  The troops were practicing swings and parries. Their form left more than a little to be desired.

  “Wow,” Charlie said.

  “You said it,” Bawb agreed. “They look even less elegant than last time we saw them train. They lack agility and grace. And look how they telegraph their swings.”

  “I know. It’s almost painful to watch.”

  They had observed the men’s practice several times in the months since Charlie had abruptly seized the crown and become king, but had thusfar refrained from interjecting in the goings on of the Captain and his top men. They were newcomers, and until they were well-situated, it made no sense to rock the boat.

  Today, however, Charlie had finally had enough.

  “That’s it. I have to say something,” he said, walking across the dirt to the combatant’s square.

  “Are you sure?” Bawb asked, his hesitance only minor. He, too, wanted to step in, but to do so would mean shedding his carefully crafted persona.

  “Yeah. Hold my wine,” Charlie replied, handing him the chalice he’d carried with him.

  “Sire, it is a pleasure to see you join us,” Captain Sheeran said with a strained smile. It was most definitely not a pleasure.

  Ever since his former king met his fate at the hands of Charlie’s dragon friend, he had carried out his duties to his new liege, but under duress. He kept up appearances, though, and for continuity of the king’s guard, that was vital.

  “Thank you, Captain Sheeran. I was just commenting to Bob that it seems the men could perhaps use a little more training in basic movement and body awareness before continuing with fight instruction,” Charlie noted. “I would be glad to make a few suggestions, if you don’t mind. Things that might serve them well in the long run.”

  “Oh, I assure you, we have trained hundreds of men in this manner, and it has always served us well.”

  Charlie smiled and bit his tongue as he chose more respectful words than initially sprung to mind.

  “I mean no disrespect to your methods, Captain, but it seems the men rely more on brute force than finesse, which leaves them at a disadvantage in individual skirmishes. And I’m sure you can see that more than a few of the men have the tendency to telegraph their attacks.”

  “In training, Sire. But bloody battle is a far different mistress,” the captain replied.

  “Of course. But some refinements could help more of them return home intact.”

  The air fell silent as the men ceased their training, watching their captain and their king. Captain Sheeran quickly glanced at the faces of his men. His jaw flexed, but he said nothing.

  Charlie couldn’t help but notice. In fact, even a blind man would have seen the pain
ful restraint on the man’s face.

  “Do you have thoughts on this?” Charlie asked.

  “No, Sire.”

  “Please, Captain, speak freely. We all want what is best for the men, here. There is never repercussion for honest discourse.”

  “It’s just warriors should handle the training of warriors. Sire.”

  A slight titter of laughter rippled through the men.

  “A reasonable position. So, you don’t think my opinions have value in that arena?”

  “Sire, I mean no disrespect, but what can the king know of real combat? You have your dragon fight your battles for you. It is hardly the same.”

  A murmur spread through the assembled men.

  Oh, damn. He went there, Charlie thought, both shocked and amused. He cast a glance at Bawb. The assassin grinned with amusement.

  “Perhaps my liege would indulge the captain and his men with a demonstration?” the Wampeh suggested.

  Charlie held his smile in check, but the thought had been crossing his mind as well.

  “I would never dream of laying a finger on my king,” Captain Sheeran said, his back stiffening at the very prospect of sullying his position.

  “Oh, I don’t think that will be a problem,” Charlie replied with a little smirk, then turned to the gathered men. “Gentlemen, the captain and I will be putting on a little demonstration. I wish it to be clear, I have requested he fight me as he would any other, with no fear of reprisals or displeasure.” Charlie turned to face the captain. “Do not hold back, Captain. There will be no repercussions for striking me. In fact, if you manage it, there may even be a reward.”

  Charlie began to strip from his robes. The ceremonial garb was an annoyance he put up with at Bawb’s request. When meeting his people, he had to look the part, after all. But now he was free of them, embracing the lightness of body that accompanied his trousers and tunic.

  “That goes for any who would care to challenge me. Land a blow and you shall see additional coin in your pocket. Any takers? Come, now. These swords are dull, don’t be shy.”

  Five of the cockier of his men stepped forward, dulled training weapons in hand, flashing confident smiles at their leader. The captain nodded his approval.

  “Very well. Who’s first?” Charlie asked with a grin, picking up a training blade from the rack.

  The first man’s battle cry was more impressive than his assault. He fell quickly, his attacks far too aggressive, leaving him terribly off-balance. Charlie feinted right, then moved left, knocking the man to the ground with the flat of his blade.

  “Next.”

  The second met the same results, though he at least managed to throw a few awkward swings, which Charlie easily dodged, again feinting right, then moving left, his footwork a little bit awkward on his weak side. The captain felt his confidence grow as he watched and studied.

  Two more men went in similar fashion, though Charlie refrained from ending the fights quite as quickly as the first pair. He wanted to give the men more than just a show, but also a learning experience as well. It was more about their becoming better fighters than his own ego.

  The final man actually held his own decently for a series of attacks and parries, but once again, Charlie positioned him with careful footwork, then feinted right before slipping to the man’s left, sweeping his feet out from under him as he landed his swing.

  “Well done, Sire,” Captain Sheeran said.

  “Oh, please. That was just the warm up. Come, now. Let’s show them how it’s done, you and I.”

  The captain picked up a training sword, a knowing grin lurking behind his lips.

  He and Charlie circled each other a moment, then he launched a series of rapid attacks.

  Shit, he’s actually pretty good.

  Charlie was hard-pressed to defend himself for a moment, retreating and regrouping before launching an attack of his own. The two went back and forth for a few minutes before the captain saw what he had been waiting for. The predictable feint. The king’s weakness.

  Sheeran swung, then positioned himself as Charlie feinted right, then moved left. The captain struck hard and fast, aiming for the king’s vulnerable flank.

  But the king wasn’t there.

  A look of shock passed across the captain’s face for the briefest of moments before he felt his sword wrenched from his hand as his body was spun and flipped through the air, landing in the dirt with a dusty thud. His sword arm, he was distressed to note, was held at an odd angle, the king applying the slightest of pressure to his wrist, causing pain to radiate from his hand to his shoulder.

  Despite himself, he let out a small cry of pain. A young guard, distressed by his captain’s cry, rushed forward, charging the king.

  “No, Owen! Do not––“

  But it was not a problem for Charlie. He merely shifted stance, easily sending the youth flying through the air and landing in a pained heap.

  “Stay your hand. All of you! This is your king!” Captain Sheeran called out to his men.

  The stunned soldiers’ shoulders relaxed slightly at his command.

  “Are you all right, Captain?” Charlie asked as he helped the man to his feet. “I hope I didn’t wrench your shoulder too hard there.”

  Captain Sheeran brushed himself off, shocked at what had just transpired.

  “Please forgive him,” he said, nodding to the lad getting back to his feet. “I’ve known him since he was a boy, and I’m afraid he has more loyalty than sense.”

  Charlie grinned and patted him on the shoulder. “Of course, Captain. Totally understandable. You know, it actually felt nice to have a little bit of a surprise thrown in there.” He turned to the assembled troops. “And I hope this serves as a lesson for you all. You will not always fight man-to-man, and you will not always be at an advantage. You must keep your wits about you and your eyes sharp, for danger can come from any direction.”

  The captain faced his men. “Okay. Back to work, you lot. The king will be making some alterations to your training shortly.”

  The men trudged off to their duties, the looks on their faces as much of respect as shock at what they’d just seen the king do.

  “You were faking,” Sheeran said when they were out of earshot.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Your feint and counter. You faked it with each man you fought. You knew I would notice the weakness and attempt to capitalize on it.”

  Charlie grinned. “Indeed.”

  “Clever,” the captain admitted.

  “Things are not always as they seem, Captain. A lesson all would be well-served to remember. This applies to life in general, but especially to battle.”

  The captain silently studied his new king a moment.

  “May I return to my men, Sire?”

  “Of course.”

  Sheeran turned, then paused. “You are definitely not what you seem, my liege,” he said, then walked away.

  “He seems a bit disgruntled,” Charlie said as Bawb helped him back into his robes.

  “Well, you did just show him up in front of his men. But in so doing, I believe you have won their respect, and with it, I feel they will be more likely to heed your commands in the future. And I mean as a man they respect, not just a stranger who has seized the crown.”

  “I hope so. But I didn’t mean to upset the captain. He’s been here forever, and that’s the kind of man you want on your side.”

  “Well, then. I think, perhaps, you will need to address that further.”

  “Yeah. But after we eat.”

  “Yes, sustenance would be good,” Bawb agreed as they walked back to the king’s reception chamber.

  Many eyes watched as they went, and not all were friendly.

  Chapter Four

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t be better served leaving him alone for a bit? I’d imagine after you so easily dispatched the Captain of the Guard in front of his men, he’d benefit from a little time to stew in his own juices,” Bawb suggested.


  Charlie didn’t slow his pace down the castle’s stone hallway, his footsteps hushed against the floor by the soft soles of his boots. Another trick he’d learned from his assassin friend. One that allowed him a modicum of stealth in the walls where everyone greeted him with “Sire” or “My Liege.” Stealthiness provided him brief respite from the attention and had now become second nature.

  “I’d rather deal with any hard feelings as soon as they arise,” Charlie replied. “When I was lead engineer on the Asbrú project, I had to oversee dozens of often socially-awkward science-brained people. Managing their mood swings was a daily task.”

  “But this is a military man. And a man of some violence, it would appear.”

  “Yes, but it’s best to let people air their grievances and let off steam rather than risk it festering. Trust me, Bob, this is the right move.”

  They arrived outside the thick wooden door to the captain’s quarters.

  “Very well. I shall leave you to it, then.”

  “Thanks, Bob. I’ll meet you in the dungeons afterward.”

  “I look forward to it,” he replied with a mildly unsettling grin.

  Of course, being a space vampire with a penchant for flashing his pointy teeth when he and Charlie were alone––teeth which could be retracted if he really wanted them to be––it was only natural to feel a little discomfort from the gesture.

  Charlie knocked twice on the hefty lumber and waited.

  “What is it? I told you not to disturb me,” Captain Sheeran’s irritated voice said as the door swung open. “Oh, it’s you, Sire. My apologies.”

  “May I come in?”

  “Of course.”

  Charlie had been in the man’s chambers before. He lived a rather Spartan lifestyle, with few creature comforts, but the space was still cozy enough, with the dark wooden furniture and small fire in the hearth. The selection of weapons hanging from the wall would have been merely decorative in any other’s home, but Charlie suspected the captain had put them all to good use over his lengthy career.