by Scott Baron
“I know you,” he said through clenched teeth, the points of his fangs showing, extending as they so often did when he was in battle. “You served in the king’s guards before Horgund came to our lands.”
“Aye, we did,” the one man still capable of speech replied.
The others remained silent, and a whiff of the air made it clear at least one appeared to have soiled himself in fear.
“And are you with the king?” Bawb asked. “The rightful king. Do not lie to me. I will know.”
It was clear what would befall a wrong answer.
“Aye, we still support King Charlie. But we were absorbed into Horgund’s ranks, demoted and forced into foot patrol.”
Bawb had been in the death business a long time, and as an assassin, he’d heard many at the point of his blades tell tales in hopes of saving their skin. As such, he had become quite proficient in reading men. These, he saw, were true to their word. At least, the word of the one still in possession of faculties enough to speak.
“Very well,” he said, sheathing his blades.
The men continued to stare in disbelief. The king’s aide, the meek and soft-spoken man they’d ignored as no more than a hanger on had been playing possum the entire time, hiding his true nature. Their king was a formidable fighter, capable of besting any in the realm. And now it was clear, his pale friend was even better.
“Close your mouths, lest you ingest a fly,” Bawb said with a wicked grin.
He was actually enjoying the moment. It was exceedingly rare for anyone to witness his true skills, and if they did, even by accident, he almost never left them alive to tell of it. But here, in this time and place, the fast-spreading rumors would serve them well.
“I need you to come with me,” he said to the man still capable of speech. “You two have a different task. Are you with me?” he asked.
At that moment, a soldier who had hidden himself beneath a fallen comrade pushed the body from atop himself and took off toward the castle at a full run. He was out of knife throw reach, and a chase would put his secrecy at risk. Without hesitation, Bawb drew his wand, aimed, and cast a smiting spell, the man exploding in a red mist.
It was excessive, and far more power than he wished to expend, but the impression it made on the men was worth it. The king was retaking his throne, and he had a deadly wizard backing him. If there had been any lingering doubt as to their loyalties, they were erased in that instant.
“Aye, we’re with you. What do you need of us?”
Bawb turned to the silent pair. “You two, spread word among the people, get notice to your other comrades hiding in the ranks. King Charlie is back, and we are retaking the kingdom, starting tonight.”
The two nodded their understanding, then took off into the night to spread the word.
“And me, sir?”
“What’s your name?”
“Simon, sir.”
“Well, Simon. You shall help me rescue my friend.”
“But the king? The queen?”
Bawb smiled. “Do not worry, friend. That is being taken care of.”
Chapter Fifty-One
Charlie’s ass was beginning to fall asleep. Sitting on compressed sacks of grain, it turned out, was not the most ergonomic or comfortable of positions to be in. A cushy lounge chair, it most certainly was not.
He’d been waiting there for quite a while. Or at least it felt like it. Stuck in a dark closet, it was kind of hard to tell exactly how much time had passed. Like that isolation tank he’d once floated in on a whim, only minus the saline, pitch darkness, and tranquility.
Funny, I used to like spending afternoons in here, getting some quiet time. A nice respite from all that king business, he mused with a wry grin. Look at me now.
The closet door rattled without warning, then abruptly flew open. Standing there in the doorway, towering over the seated king, stood Captain Sheeran.
Charlie leapt to his feet, ignoring his numb buttocks, and moved to draw his sword in the tight space.
“Sire, wait! Clay sent me,” Sheeran blurted, hands held out in front of him, open and without weapons.
Charlie hesitated, his blade halfway out of its sheath. “You’re the insider? But you can’t stand me. I thought you––“
“You’re a good man, Sire. And, despite my initial concerns, you have proven to be a good king. It was difficult to admit my error in judgment, but you care deeply for the people. And despite having only just arrived to this realm, you have taken the position seriously and placed its people under your protection and care.”
“You say this, but you’re still a captain in Horgund’s ranks. You flipped, Sheeran. And you tried to stop the men from engaging during the duel.”
“Aye, and I would do so again, given the same circumstances. An agreement was made, and to intervene would sully the honor of our men,” he said. “As well as yours, Sire.”
“Even if I died.”
“Yes. Even if you died. Those were the terms agreed upon. For the good of the men. Of the people. But as you fought, it was also clear to all watching that something was wrong. Only I had no way to prove it.”
“I was poisoned. Damn near killed me, too. One of Horgund’s lackeys infiltrated my staff and laced my water skin.”
“Ah, that would explain it, then. I’ve been at the receiving end of your sword––though in training––and knew there was no way you would lose to Horgund unless foul play was afoot.”
“But as I said, you serve him now.”
“To draw close to our enemy, yes. Men have died because of my choice that day, but the greater good was at stake.” He paused, reflecting on the dead weighing on his soul. “I was forced to make some unsavory choices, Sire. But as I said, I would do it again if I had to.”
“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few,” Charlie said.
“Well put, Sire,” he agreed. “And the many need their king.”
“And their queen.”
“Yes. the next order of business,” Captain Sheeran said. “Are you ready, Sire?”
“Ready as ever,” Charlie replied, reaching out and clasping the captain’s forearm in a firm shake. “Thank you, captain.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Sire. We have a hard fight ahead of us, but you have many loyal men within the ranks, all of them waiting my word. We are outnumbered, yes. But this is our soil. Our castle. Our home.”
Charlie felt a surge of pride in his chest. They’d had their disagreements, yes, but the Captain had always been a man of honor. Now it was clear just how deep-seated that honor was. That, and he gave a pretty darn good pep talk.
“But that battle is yet to begin. For now, you must fetch your queen,” Sheeran continued. “She is being held in the dungeon. The smaller chamber, to the far end once you reach the bottom of the stairs.”
“Wait, you’re not coming with me?”
“No, Sire. I must rally the men. They will only respond to my word directly. There are turncoats in our midst and caution is required. But do not fear, I have assistance ready.” He gave a low whistle.
Owen jogged down the hall from where he’d been standing watch at the top of the stairs, covering Captain Sheeran’s back should they be disturbed.
“Sire,” he said, bowing slightly.
“You too?” Charlie asked? “You’re with me?”
“Aye. To the death, Sire,” he replied, standing tall with readiness.
Another man Charlie had thought hated his guts, now proving to be one of his most loyal followers. Again, that feeling. He was proud of his men. And if they survived this ordeal, there would be some changes around this place. Promotions for one. He’d think of more later.
If they lived, of course.
“Well, then,” Charlie said. “Let’s go get the queen.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
The revelation that Hunze was being held in the castle’s tower had not deterred Bawb from his goal. He would free her at all cost, no matter how difficult the ta
sk may be.
Simon followed the pale man as he approached the tower wall. It was a tall, smooth surface of interlocked stones rising up four stories above the ground. It was in the window of the topmost level that Hunze had been spotted.
Unfortunately, Bawb knew full well just how difficult access to that chamber would be. The lone staircase spiraling upward was easy to defend, those guarding the topmost levels able to launch projectiles down upon any who tried to ascend without their permission. What he needed was another way in.
Fortunately, a fear of heights was not one of his shortcomings.
After seeing Hunze in the high window the prior evening, Bawb had set to work on a backup plan to reach her, and now it seemed that plan’s time had come. The devices he had cobbled together were crude, but he felt they should be effective enough for his purposes.
Strapped to each boot he wore a pair of small straps with short metal claws on the tips. They wouldn’t provide much of a grip on the stone face, but for the Geist, he didn’t require much.
He just needed to get close enough to the window to call to his friend and have her lower herself down to the treetop he’d attached a crude tether to. From there they would descend via the tree’s branches until they were safe on the ground.
Bawb made quick time up the lower trunk of the tree, easily sliding between the well-spaced branches. It was only toward the topmost that the going got tough, the proximity of the limbs hindering his progress until, finally, he was at the last that could support his weight.
From there he tied off his short rope, securing one end to the tree, the other to his waist. He then edged out on the branch until his hands met the stone face.
“Are you okay up there?” Simon whispered up to him.
“Yes. Now keep your eyes peeled for patrols?”
“What? Ice peels?”
“No. Your eyes peeled,” he repeated, a bit louder.
“Ah. I understand,” the man on the ground called back up.
Bawb dug his fingertips into the small gaps in the stone and began the slow ascent. In another world, he’d have had his entire kit at his disposal, including sticky-soled, flexible-toed boots that allowed him to cling to the smallest of irregularities in an otherwise smooth face. But this was not that world, and he was forced to make do with what was at hand. It was slow work, dragging his feet up until he could find purchase with one of the metal tips, then push his body higher until he could find another finger hold.
Simon watched the man scale the building with awe. The king’s aide was so much more than any of them had previously imagined. And now he was literally climbing a sheer face to rescue the poor maiden in distress.
“Hunze!” Bawb hissed toward the open window a good six meters above him. “Hunze!”
A shadow passed across the window, then the golden-haired woman leaned out, a confused look on her face. She could have sworn she’d just heard her name, but she was in a tower, several levels up from the ground.”
“Hunze, down here!”
“Bawb? What are you doing?”
“Coming to rescue you. Do you have sheets in your room?”
“Yes. But why?”
“I want you to tie them together and rappel down to me.”
“You want me to what?”
“Rappel, Hunze. Climb down to me.”
Far below, Simon strained his ears to catch the exchange. It sounded like the king’s aide was calling the blonde woman, but he couldn’t quite make out the rest.
“Bawb, the sheets aren’t long enough to reach you.”
“Try!”
“No, I’m sure of it. But wait, I have an idea. Hold fast, I’ll be right back,” she said, disappearing back into the window.
“Not as though I have anywhere to go,” he muttered, clinging to the rock face.
A braided, golden rope fluttered down to him from above.
“What in the worlds––?” he wondered, then realized what she had done. “This is your hair, Hunze.”
“Obviously,” he heard her call out from inside her room. “I’ve braced myself as best I can. Climb up to me.”
“It’s your hair.”
“Yes, and it is far stronger than it looks. Now come on.”
“You’re far up, Hunze.”
“What?”
“I said you are far up, Hunze,” he repeated, amazed at the length of her hair. He had never before seen it fully unraveled. An entire lifetime of growth––nearly three decades worth––braided and hanging for him to climb, gleaming brightly against the gray stone.
“Just do it,” she ordered.
Bawb, surprised by the firm tone of her voice, obeyed, grabbing the braid and quickly scaling to her window. It was an unbelievable sight to see, but one that had only been witnessed by one man.
Simon had seen and heard the exchange from far below. Well, he’d seen it. His hearing, however, was questionable.
“What did he say?” he mused. “Rap something? Was it, ‘Rapunzel’? Was that it? Whatever he said, the woman threw down her golden hair to him, and he climbed right up, just like it was some kind of golden stair.”
It was an extraordinary thing he’s seen. “Wait ’til I tell the wife,” he mused. “And the kids! They’ll be amazed.”
And so they would. And the story would pass from them to his children’s children, and theirs as well. Generations upon generations, spreading the tale of what Simon had seen that one night. The night when Rapunzel lowered her golden stair to her noble suitor, come to rescue her from the high tower she’d been imprisoned in.
That was as far as his version of the tale would go, but his heirs would add to it, in their own time. Bawb and Hunze, however, did not have the luxury of waiting generations. They had to escape, and now.
No sooner had Bawb’s feet cleared the window sill than the golden-haired woman wrapped him up in a fierce embrace, hugging him tightly, her hair laying in a coil on the floor. Unsure exactly how to react, Bawb gently returned the embrace, holding her close, her warmth radiating into him even through his clothes.
After a long, silent moment, they both loosened their grips, stepping back to take in the sight of each other.
“You are alive,” she said, tears of joy in her eyes as she wrapped her lengthy braids around her body and secured them in place once more.
“As are you,” Bawb said, a little flush now coloring his pale cheeks. “Did they mistreat you?” he asked, a brief glimpse of the man known as the Geist flashing through his eyes. “If they did, they will suffer. Immensely.”
“No, I am unharmed,” she said, taking him by the hands. “You came for me. You climbed a tower for me.”
“I would climb far greater heights than these, if need be,” he replied, allowing himself to be caught up in the moment. But a moment was all he could spare. “Come. Time is short. We will have to make our way down the tower.”
Fortunately, the guards would never hear him coming. Their attention was always focused on attacks from below. Never would they expect their demise to rain down on them from above.
Bawb knew their rough number and positions. This would be almost comically easy after all they’d been through.
He moved to the door, Hunze’s hand in his.
“Wait.”
“What is it, Hunze? We must hurry.”
“I know. But it’s the king’s mistress. There’s something you should know.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Charlie raced down the familiar hallways of the castle, following Owen as he quickly scanned the way for guards, then gestured for him to move ahead. Despite the speed with which they moved in this unusual, but necessary, way, Charlie was antsy. He needed to get to the dungeon, and fast. Captain Sheeran was quietly rallying the men for a fight. He just had to get Leila the hell out of there before it erupted.
Owen, for his part was making good time, his keen eyes scouring for potential confrontations well before he motioned for the king to join him. The odds of their
running into staff who knew the king at that particular time in that particular place was slim, but prudence was almost always the best course of action.
Charlie knew the thick stone walls would hide the sounds of fighting, but best save that for the dungeons where he could easily hide bodies, rather than the hallways. They finally reached the heavy door to the dungeons and pulled it open, closing it behind them as they descended to the muffling depths of the subterranean chambers.
Unlike the halls above, the dungeon had several of King Horgund’s men standing guard over the captive queen. From what Charlie could see, it looked like close to ten of them. Were he with Bawb, it would be easy odds, but with a novice at his side, he knew it was going to be a tough fight.
“Hey, you can’t be down here,” one of the guards called out.
“Oh, but we were told to report to the dungeon,” Owen said.
“You’re one of Sheeran’s men, aren’t you?”
“Aye.”
“Well get out of here. Only Horgund’s guards are allowed.”
Charlie kept walking.
“Didn’t you hear me?” the guard growled.
“You ready?” Charlie asked Owen, his hand drifting to the pommel of his short sword.
“I am, Sire.”
“And you remember the new moves I showed you?”
“Been practicing every day since you’ve been gone.”
“Good man. I’ll be grading you after,” Charlie said with a wink, then drew steel and dove into battle. The first two guards didn’t even have time to react before they lay bleeding out on the stone floor
The young man at his side showed no hesitation, joining him in the fray, and in moments, both of their blades were flashing in the torchlight of the dungeon. The guards reacted with a bit more urgency when they saw their comrades fall to the ground, and in no time the fight had erupted to full force.
