Dragon King Charlie

by Scott Baron

  “Well, I hadn’t really thought of it like that,” Clay admitted.

  “But that’s why we’re asking your input now, Clay,” Charlie joined in. “You’re a smart man, and you know this part of a king’s business.”

  “Aye, but ye didn’t force tha people ta pay if they couldn’t, Sire.”

  “But that’s me, Clay. What would the old king have done? Or the one before him? Or Horgund, now that he’s seized the throne?”

  The enforcer-turned-farmer mulled it over a long while. “Yer right, Sire. He’ll likely start overtaxing just as soon as people’s emotions stop running so high.”

  “Precisely. And while those emotions are high, we must arm those who are willing to fight to keep what’s theirs, if necessary. Now, Bob and I sincerely hope to end this without requiring farmers to fight, but if our plans are not enough, that time may come.”

  Clay nodded his assent. “I’ll speak with tha others.”

  After that, Charlie and Bawb spent the day planning out an elaborate ruse involving their remaining loyal troops still hiding in farms and the woods around the kingdom. The spy network had done their job admirably, and at Bawb’s urging, they’d stealthily connected a small network of loyal men, able to mobilize their forces on no more than a day’s notice. When the time came, give them twenty-four hours and they’d be ready. Ready to fight, and even die, in the name of their king.

  It was enough to make Charlie well up with pride. He was a stranger to this land, but after his rather startling arrival, he had finally been accepted. At least by many. And now, in just a few days, they would all fight together.

  “Sire! Sire!” Clay hissed outside the hovel door a few hours before evening fell.

  “Get inside before someone sees you,” Bawb ordered, ushering him inside. “We aren’t to reconvene until the morning. What are you doing out here? You should be with the others, it’s nearly dinner time.”

  “I know, but they’re finishing up in the eastern fields, out of sight.”

  “But why are you here?”

  “Because a rider just came to the house. He came for me.”

  “Oh, shit. What happened?” Charlie asked.

  “Happened? He gave me this,” he replied, handing over a tightly-wrapped roll of parchment.

  Charlie read it quickly, then handed it to Bawb, who likewise took in the hastily-jotted words.

  “It seems we have a dilemma,” he said.

  “Yeah, no shit, Bob.” The king turned to the messenger. “This isn’t your usual arrangement, Clay. You said messages were always left for you behind a stone in the wall.”

  “They are. But tha horseman said it were urgent, then handed me this an’ left. It’s the same as the others. I know the man’s hand, and this is his.”

  “But no one would risk direct contact with you unless it was either incredibly urgent, or a trap,” Charlie noted.

  “Agreed,” Bawb said. “I would presume this to be a trap, if not for the fact they could have just surrounded the farm and taken us, if they knew we were here.”

  A long pause hung in the air, the silence growing more uncomfortable by the second as the men mulled over the situation.

  “Unless they didn’t actually know our location, only who brought us the news,” Charlie said, hurrying to the shuttered window.

  He peered out the gap in the slats, but all appeared calm outside. “Bob, do you sense anything?”

  “No, I do not. But hold for a moment,” he said, picking up his wand from where it sat soaking in the day’s sunshine, freshly recharged, though he was still unsure exactly how much.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A wand,” Charlie said, abandoning all subterfuge.

  “Wait, your aide is a wizard?” he asked, eyes going wide.

  “What? No, Bob’s not a wizard. He just...knows a few wizard tricks, is all, right Bob?”

  “Oh. Yes, quite correct,” Bawb said.

  “And hopefully this little trick might just save our skins, so hush, now.”

  Bawb quietly cast his spell, probing the surrounding woods for any signs of hostiles. The spell wasn’t precise, but it would give you a rough idea of the forces you were facing. For an assassin, it was often enough to make the difference between success and failure.

  “Nothing,” he finally said, lowering the wand. “We are still alone here.”

  “Then maybe this isn’t a trap.”

  “I shall reserve judgment, for now,” Bawb said, sheathing his wand and strapping on his weapons.

  “So, we’re going, then?”

  “I think given what we just learned, we have no choice.”

  Clay watched the two, utterly confused at what was happening. “Wait, so are we going to battle? Do I need to tell the others?”

  Charlie felt a flush of pride in his chest. The man who had hated his guts not so long ago was now arguably one of his most trusted followers. If they survived this ordeal, he’d be sure to find a suitable way of rewarding him for his service. But for now, they had a task.

  “There’s no time, Clay. Come morning, pass the word and tell them to keep their ears open and be ready for a call to arms. But, for now, they must carry on as normal. But Bob and I have something we must do.”

  He joined his assassin friend in strapping on his weapons and gathering his set of stolen armor. Baloo was watching with great curiosity, his massive tail slowly swishing side-to-side. It gave Charlie an idea.

  “Clay, can you send a message to your contact?”

  “I-I think so, Sire. If I can catch up to tha man who delivered his note on tha road. He only left a short while ago.”

  “Excellent. And could you get us a cart? One large enough to hide Baloo and our armor in?”

  “Aye, but it may raise a few questions.”

  “We’ll have to risk it. Pull it to the far west end of the farm, next to the road. We’ll be out to collect it shortly.”

  “They might see you, Sire.”

  “We’ll stick to the woods and go the long way around. Trust me, we’re good at being stealthy when we want to be.”

  Clay headed for the door, a man on a mission.

  “Clay, wait,” Charlie called after him. He strode to the man and clasped his hand in a firm grip. “Thank you, my friend. For all you have done, you forever have my gratitude.”

  The large man was glad the lighting was dim, lest his king see him blush from the praise. He nodded once, then stepped out into the late afternoon sun.

  Bawb looked at Charlie with a curious expression on his face. “The timing seems a bit, suspicious, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yeah, but you saw the note. And you said it yourself, if they knew we were here, they would have just come for us.” He unrolled the parchment and read the words again. “If Horgund’s mistress truly has been in labor all day, then by now the household must be in utter chaos. And Horgund and his guards will all be tired and stressed.”

  “Agreed. The pending birth of the king’s heir will lead to great distraction within the castle walls. But once the child is born, and the household returns to normal, the opportunity will be lost.”

  “So we hurry,” Charlie said as he tucked the note back into his pocket and picked up his gear, donning a ragged cloak. “We’ll have to keep our pace slow enough to not draw attention, but we should reach the castle just after nightfall.”

  “If not slightly before.”

  “Well, then. So much for our carefully thought out diversion,” Charlie said with a laugh. “As they say, ‘The best laid plans of mice and men oft go awry.’”

  Bawb smiled his pointy-toothed grin. “I like that one. But you are neither mouse, nor man. You are king. And the time has come to reclaim what is yours.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Rumbling along the bumpy road, two peasant farmers made their way along the outskirts of the forest surrounding the castle’s vast grounds. Piled in the back of their cart was a mound of hay, along with a small collection of goods
for market, covered with a dirty tarpaulin.

  They had passed several of the king’s men as they led the tired pony down the road, but with the buzz of the goings on in the castle in the air, they had been largely ignored. The king’s mistress was giving birth, and the castle was in a frenzy.

  Naturally, word spread quickly, and this new bit of chatter now quickly passed from the lips of the king’s men. Would things calm once the child was born? Would he at long last marry the lady and make her his official queen? What was to happen to the endless searching for the escaped, rogue king?

  The peasants they passed were particularly interested in that last question, but if the pair were successful in their infiltration of the castle, the king and his aide would no longer need to walk the realm in disguise.

  They parked the cart off into the woods less than a mile from the castle and piled branches and leaves against it, hiding it from casual view, though a more thorough search would find it relatively easy. But the sky was darkening, and once night had fully fallen, it would be invisible right up until you stumbled into it.

  Charlie flung back the tarp and moved aside the produce covering their stolen armor. “Time to gear up,” he said, strapping on the metal skin.

  They’d selected the lighter armor used by the guard on patrol. It was less protective than full battle armor, but it also allowed a far greater range of motion, and would let the men run if need be.

  Baloo poked his head from the pile of hay and sniffed the air.

  “That’s right, boy. We’re home,” Charlie said, affectionately scratching that sweet spot behind his ears. “Now listen. We’re going to get Hunze and Leila, but we need you to stay here and guard our escape path.”

  Baloo’s tail began wagging at the mention of his Mama’s name.

  “Stay out of sight, Baloo. And don’t eat anyone. At least not until we get them out of the castle. Is that clear?”

  The massive canine rubbed his muzzle on Charlie’s hand, then licked it.

  “I believe he understands the task at hand,” Bawb said.

  “So, this is it,” Charlie said, starting off down the path.

  Bawb cocked his head, straining his ears. “I’ll follow a few minutes behind you.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “Likely not, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

  The screams of pain rang out across the castle, hanging in the air like an invisible warning to stay away or die. Someone was not having a good time of it

  King Horgund paced the ante chamber while his mistress’s lady-in-waiting helped the nursemaid tend her lady. The swollen bellied woman’s water had broken many hours prior, but she had been slow to dilate, and as a result, the baby was taking its time in coming.

  The contractions were unlike any pain she had ever endured, and she swore she would kill the bastard who had done this to her. Had the king heard her words, he would have taken them for the pained rants of childbirth. And maybe they were, but for a moment, when the nursemaid saw the raging look in the woman’s eyes, she had her doubts.

  It had been nearly fourteen hours since she began the process when the king’s heir finally slipped out into the world, his lungs filling with his first breath of air, then crying out mightily. The staff in attendance quickly headed off to spread the word, while the two women at her bedside cleaned the infant and handed him to his mother.

  She took the bundle and looked at it with exhausted eyes. There was no joy on her face in that moment of unguarded honesty. But she had cemented her bond with the king, and that was what mattered.

  With weary arms, she raised the child to her breast and allowed it to suckle for the first time while the final contractions expelled the placenta.

  “It is done, my lady,” her loyal aide said.

  “Good. I’ve been confined to this bed for too long,” she said, trying to rise.

  The nursemaid put her hand on her shoulder, only to find it snatched away most painfully by the icy-eyed lady-in-waiting.

  “But she’s weak,” she managed to squeak. “You must rest!”

  “Weak?” the new mother scoffed. “I assure you, I am not weak.”

  She slid her legs to the edge of the bed and tried to stand, only to fall back onto the bed. Shock hit her as she realized that no matter how stubbornly strong her mind might be, the rest of her was utterly drained, just as the nursemaid had said. It seemed she was indeed weak, and incapacitated to a disconcerting degree.

  “Very well,” she relented, reclining on the bed once more. “I shall rest a bit longer.” She looked up at her aide. “Bring in the king. He’ll want to meet his new son.”

  Chapter Fifty

  Charlie dashed through the woods, his Wampeh friend following not far behind. The shimmer-guarded door was just across the small clearing at the side of the castle, and it was a clear shot. Charlie paused at the edge of the treeline and scanned the dusk-lit area.

  Not a soul, he was pleased to note. Perfect.

  Crouching as low as his stolen castle guard’s armor allowed, he darted to what seemed to be an ordinary section of stone wall, the multiple layers of shimmer camouflaging the secret door. He took one last look around, ensuring no one was watching, then slipped into the castle, leaving the door cracked open behind him.

  It would still be invisible unless you stumbled right upon it. More importantly, it would save Bawb precious seconds, should he need them. Charlie had learned plenty under the assassin’s tutelage. Including just how close he sometimes came to capture or death. Seconds could make the difference between success and failure.

  Charlie was banking on the chaos of the pending birth within the castle’s walls to help mask his presence. The new king’s guards would be afoot, but most of the old staff––those who knew him on sight––should hopefully be in their chambers or off performing their jobs. He knew the path he had to take, and if the stars aligned, he should be able to pass unnoted.

  All he needed was to make it to the little storage closet up the stairs from the kitchen. There he would wait until Clay’s insider made contact. From that point, it would be a quick dash to rescue the queen and hopefully recover one of their caches of magical weapons in the process. Now all he needed to do was make it there unseen.

  As if the universe had been listening, and thought he needed more of a challenge, a pair of guards rounded the corner at that moment, walking straight toward him.

  Shit. Eyes forward, Charlie. Act normal, he reminded himself. Just keep walking.

  “You, there. What are you doing in this area? You’re in perimeter guard’s attire,” the nearest man called out as they neared.

  “Uh, I was told to go to the kitchen and get some, uh, wine.”

  “You don’t come into this part of the castle,” the man said, eyeing him curiously. “I don’t know you. What’s your name?”

  “Smith, sir. John Smith. I’m not from your kingdom. I was brought on to the ranks here when that horrible King Charlie fled like a coward.”

  Laying it on a bit thick, Charlie.

  The man’s expression softened a bit.

  “Ah, a local smithee’s son, eh? Then you’re ignorant of how things work here now that a real king is on the throne. I’m glad to hear you appreciate the difference between our honorable King Horgund and that yellow coward.”

  Or not too thick, apparently.

  “Oh yes. King Horgund is such an improvement, long may he rule. But I really should get that wine.”

  “No perimeter guard has the authority to request such a thing. Especially not from the king’s cellars. What fool sent you on this task?”

  “Uh, I’m sorry, I don’t remember his name.”

  A suspicious look crept back into the man’s eye. Charlie’s mind raced.

  “He was a really short fellow,” he blurted. “I believe he was the former king’s tax collector.”

  The soldier relaxed, a look of exasperation flashing across his face. “Oh, that one.”

  “Y
ou know him, then?”

  “Yes. The king’s mistress’ new favorite. He helped them find that blonde bitch that was hiding in the kitchen.”

  “Oh? I hadn’t heard,” Charlie said, a flush of adrenaline leaking into his veins.

  “She’s been handled. Locked away in the tower now. But that obnoxious little man is to have whatever he wants. Apparently, he has earned the lady’s favor, and thus, the king’s,” he said, stepping aside. “Off with you, then. You’d best do as you were bade.”

  “Thank you, sir. I will, straightaway. And a good evening to you,” Charlie said, hurrying on his way.

  He covered the rest of the way with no further incidents, moving a few sacks of flour into a makeshift seat, settling in to the closet to wait. He just hoped things were as uneventful for his Wampeh friend.

  Bawb slashed and stabbed, dispatching the king’s guards who had stumbled upon him just as he neared the castle with great violence. His cloak’s hood had fallen back, and his fierce, pale visage struck terror in the hearts of the men he fought. Until his blade pierced said vital organ before moving on to the next man.

  The ambient lighting was dim, but not full night. As such, the dozen men could quite clearly see what was befalling their comrades. The pale assassin was giving a master class in death and power.

  The poor men falling at the ends of his blades stared in dying shock as their skills––which they had formerly thought were rather impressive––were bypassed with the slightest of effort by the deadly man in their midst. They had felt cocky and sure when they first drew steel on the man, possessing a great numerical advantage. But very quickly they realized they were not at an advantage at all.

  Three of the poor men had held back, standing clear of the fray, watching with eyes wide as the other nine were slaughtered wholesale before their eyes. The Wampeh’s blades finished the others and turned on them, but stopped just short, blood dripping from the metal as the fierce assassin stared hard at the trio.