Torturous Alliance

by Kristine Lichtlider

  Suddenly it occurred to her, the culmination of what her planning should be. Perhaps she could not hope to slay Drakken with force of arms, but if she were to sleep in the same chamber, eat the same food...it would not be hard for her to arrange his expedited death.

  Staring at the Roach with a fierce glare in her brown eyes, a trace of a smile came to her face.

  “Perhaps not,” she said “but things can change.”

  “Yes,” said the Roach, a twitch of her mouth indicating some measure of respect for the noble woman “they can at that. I will be in touch after the deed has been done, lady.”

  “When?” said Kate, her mouth twisting with worry.

  “It is perhaps best you know none of the details,” said the Roach, putting her hand on the doorknob “but it will be soon.”

  The door opened silently, and the Roach made her exit. She started to ask if she needed help finding her way out, then realized the banality of the question.

  Even after the Roach left her, and the golden light of dawn was streaming in her window, Kate found that sleep eluded her. Her mind was full of fiery thoughts, centering around different (mostly painful) ways to commit Regicide.

  Chapter 11

  After traveling over wooded, rocky terrain for several days, Hector was glad to have the hooves of his mule back on an actual road. A dirt road, to be sure, and one marred with many deep ruts from wagon wheels, but a road nonetheless.

  They were still many miles from Fort Drakken, and their lives had taken on a kind of routine that the squire found comforting. Wake up at dawn, travel until it was too dark to see, then make camp. Life on the road may have lacked comforts, such as a hot bath or cold spirits, but there was a certain sense of freedom that came with having the sky as your ceiling.

  He had even begun to warm up to the assassin. Crown may have had a heart as black as pitch, but the man could carry his end of a conversation. Hector found him to be witty and charming, with at least a cursory knowledge of a wide variety of topics.

  While Bruno and Aven often rode a bit ahead of them, often discussing plans they considered too important for Crown to hear, Hector found himself thinking more and more of his prisoner as a companion. During one of their moments of relative privacy he remarked as much to Crown.

  “You are a pleasant man to travel with,” said the squire.

  “Why thank you,” said Crown, seemingly honestly flattered. “Civility is the hallmark of good breeding.”

  “And is your breeding good?” said Hector.

  “You think me to be noble?” said Crown, enjoying the double meaning of the word.

  “I don't know,” said Hector “you are obviously educated, and quite knowledgeable about matters the nobility.”

  “Perhaps it is because I ply my trade upon them that I have taken their mannerisms,” said Crown with a chuckle.

  “Perhaps,” said Hector with a laugh “and I know better than to try and get a straight answer out of you.”

  “And your own family?” said Crown “Brandywine is a name that draws a great deal of water in some circles.”

  “Cousins to the king, actually,” said Hector “or should I say, cousin, as I am the last of my line.”

  “I had heard,” said Crown, his expression somber “that the Brandywines had a run of bad luck.”

  “If by bad luck,” said Hector bitterly “you mean the blades of highwaymen, then you are correct.”

  “I see,” said Crown. “So you were taken in as a ward of the Templars-”

  “Taken in?” said Hector incredulously. “Taken in? I had to get on my knees and beg to be a squire!”

  “But you were a lad, all alone-” said Crown.

  “Younger men than I have ruled the noble houses before,” said Hector “no, I petitioned for a place within the Knights.”

  “Can I ask why?” said Crown. “Why give up a life of luxury to be put between sharp pointy things and the place where folk want to stick them? Did you grow up idolizing the knights, wishing a life of adventure for yourself?”

  “Not really,” said Hector “of course, when one is a lad one looks to the knights in their shining armor, at the way the maidens swoon at their merest wave, one wishes to be a knight. In my case, I don't know...perhaps I was simply tired of being alone. Though their training is harsh, and their life even harsher, the Templars gave me a sense of, well, a sense of...community.”

  “I see,” said Crown, his tone carefully neutral. “So, just out of idle curiosity, if the king is corrupt and you must execute the Thirteenth Duty, who is next in line to be crowned?”

  Hector frowned, staring hard at the dirt ahead of them.

  “I do not like to think of such things,” said Hector. “Bruno says the crown shackles you more tightly than any chains, makes you cautious of every breath you draw.”

  “Does not the thought of power thrill you?” said Crown.

  “I am uncertain I want the responsibility of rulership,” said Hector. “Knowing that every decision I make will affect hundreds, perhaps thousands of people...what if I am wrong? What if I give an edict that leads the kingdom to ruin?”

  “Such thoughts are those I would have in the head of my king,” said Crown. “Sadly, the Drakken line would not agree with you. They think the king must have no doubts, that every decision he makes should be made with the utmost certainty that he has made the best possible decision of all possible decisions.”

  “So they are fools, then,” said Hector with irritation, the talk of his heritage not something he was comfortable with. Crown threw back his dark head of hair and laughed heartily.

  “Quite right,” said the assassin.

  “Then why do you serve them?” said Hector “You don't seem to sort to stick a knife in someone for sadistic pleasure.”

  “The answer is simple, my boy,” said Crown “It's all about survival. I survive by making myself useful, and by making sure that my death would be most inconvenient for those who might wish it. I serve Drakken because he has wealth and power, and nothing more.”

  “So you have no loyalty other than to yourself,” said Hector with a scowl. “No ideals, no honor...”

  “I have plenty of ideals, boy,” said Crown, a rare sneer crossing his face “I celebrate loyalty, compassion and mercy as much as the next fellow...perhaps more. But I know the truth about ideals.”

  “And what truth is that?” said Hector.

  “That when an ideal is in your head, it is perfect,” he said “but once you let it out into the real world, it becomes corrupt, twisted by the selfish desires of mankind. Humility is a fine idea, boy but in the real world you may find it a great hindrance.”

  “So what are you saying?” said Hector, waving away a pesky fly. “That I should go about life assuming that I have made the right decisions?”

  “Not at all,” said Crown “I simply think you should know the difference between the idea and putting it into practice.”

  The squire grew silent, mulling over the assassin's words. It had been some time since anyone had talked to Hector like an equal, and Crown seemed to genuinely want him to reach is own conclusion. It was easy to forget, looking at the man's serene, smiling face, that he was a paid killer. One who had attempted to smother the life out of him while he lay helpless.

  His thoughts were invaded by Bruno's hard stare as the knight slowed his mount to allow the other two to catch up. Bruno had made no illusion of his distaste for the burgeoning friendship between his squire and the assassin. Hector swallowed hard and tried to force a smile to his face.

  “The sun seems not so terribly hot today,” he said “and I detect a whiff of rain on the wind. Perhaps it shall cool the dusty ground.”

  “More likely,” said Bruno “it will only cause us more misery by making the air more steamy.”

  “Oh, Sir Cromwell,” said Crown, his voice eager and insistent even as a smile stayed plastered on his lined face.

  “I have nothing I wish to hear from your devious mouth,
killer,” said Bruno crossly.

  “Very well,” said Crown “but I thought that you might be interested to know that we are riding towards an ambush.”

  “What?” said Hector, turning to strain his eyes at the road ahead. The path was winding through the woods, and he saw only a sparrow as it darted from the canopy to shimmer in the sun.

  “Don't stare, my boy,” said Crown “and give us a smile and a laugh, as if I just said something that amuses you.”

  “I see nothing,” said Hector, his voice strained while he attempted to grin as if in mirth.

  “I see them,” said Bruno, dismounting and dropping to one knee in the dirt. He checked his horse's hoof as if he were searching for an errant rock while he subtly scanned an area ahead of them.

  “The king's men?” said Aven, squinting her green eyes intently despite the men's subterfuge.

  “Unlikely,” said Bruno “possibly bandits. The kingdom is plagued with them of late.”

  “Do you want me to get your armor ready?” said Hector, patting the bags slung over his mule's stout back.

  “They shall set upon us if they witness the good knight trying to don it,” said Crown.

  “So?” said Aven, causing all eyes to turn to her. “There are only seven of them.”

  Crown whistled, as Bruno shot her a skeptical glance.

  “I saw but one man,” said the knight.

  “I saw three,” said Crown “but I underestimated the faerie maid once; I'll not do so again. If she says there are seven, then I have no reason to doubt her.”

  “What are we waiting for?” said Aven. “When the bandits see they are dealing with a Templar, and not simple country folk, they will surely turn tail and flee.”

  “Desperate men make for tenacious adversaries, my...Aven,” said Bruno. “We should expect them to fight to the death.”

  “Or they could be more assassins,” said Hector “since Crown's former masters no doubt realize he has failed.”

  “No doubt?” said Crown with a grin. “You must have done many assassinations, young one, to be so knowledgeable on the time frame!”

  “They are making their move,” said Bruno icily. All three turned to look up the road as a man came out of the underbrush. He was wearing a pair of gray trousers that may have once been white and a v necked sack cloth shirt that had likely once been a sack full of potatoes. Greasy, unkempt brown hair hung low over his eyes, which appeared friendly enough as he approached. Bruno noticed no obvious weapons.

  “Hail, strangers,” said the man, who appeared to be a youth not much older than Hector. “I have need of your assistance, should you prove able!”

  He continued to walk towards them, while Crown strode past Bruno with a smile on his face.

  “Well met, stranger,” said the assassin, ignoring Bruno's glare. “I don't know what assistance an old man and his two children might provide; though my sun kissed bodyguard may seem able he is quite the coward and will flee from the slightest raised voice!”

  “Bodyguard?” said Bruno, though it went unnoticed.

  “Not much of a swordsman, eh?” said the youth. “It matters not, for all I require is a pair of strong hands. You see, my brother fell from his horse, and is much too heavy for me to bear back to our homestead. If you could come with me, maybe help rig a litter to bear the poor fellow back home-”

  “Why,” said Crown, shooting a furtive, mocking glance at Bruno “I think this great oaf can assist you, if you provide plenty of encouragement by whipping him when he goes slow.”

  Bruno made a strangled sound deep in his throat, his hands rasping into fists while he struggled to keep his face serene.

  “What are you waiting for?” said Crown. “Hop to it, boy!”

  The assassin slapped his hand firmly across Bruno's rump. It was the stiff breeze that fanned the flames in the knight's belly to an inferno. His hand snapped out and viciously struck Crown in the cheek. The little man went down hard, his face in the dirt.

  The youth began running towards the thick copse that his fellows were hiding themselves in. The trees were close together but the lower trunks were bereft of branches. What Bruno did find when he tore into the thicket, sword naked in his hand, was the youth being pulled up on a hemp line by two ragged looking men. Their eyes were glazed with the madness brought on by long term hunger, their movements spastic and jerky. The boy was up into the branches nearly thirty feet over the knight's head before Bruno had the sense to find cover from the men in the trees. Squatting behind a stout fallen tree nearly half his height, he was joined by Aven and Hector.

  “Keep low,” said Bruno “they may have archers.”

  “Poor tactical decision,” said Hector with a smug smile “they have treed themselves!”

  “This is strange behavior for bandits,” said Aven with a frown “they have greater numbers, why not just set upon us on the road?”

  “We're not climbing up after them without a rope,” said Hector, squinting over the log.

  “Get down, boy,” said Bruno, grabbing the youth by his tunic and dragging him back out of sight.

  A high pitched, wheedling whistle caught all of their attention. Aven was particularly sensitive, gasping in pain and clasping her hands to her ears.

  “What was that?” said Hector. Bruno attended to Aven, who waved off his attempted ministrations.

  “Shhh,” said Bruno, craning his neck. Aven shook her head, her ears still ringing from the whistle.

  “I hear it too,” said Hector, his eyes growing wide “it sounds like hounds!”

  “They will cower in the trees while their hounds tear us to shreds,” said Bruno with a scowl. “Come down and fight us like men, cowards!”

  Snarling, viciously barking dogs could be heard getting closer. Bruno was stunned when he first saw the lead hound, loping easily over thorn bushes as tall as a man. It bore the general shape of a mastiff or other large breed, but instead of sleek fur it had mangy looking patches intermixed with what looked to be oval shaped scales. The thing's face had capable looking jaws that seemed to open much wider than a hound's should have been able too, and only in a dragon or a shark had Bruno seen brutal triangular teeth. It's head seemed a bit malformed and lumpy, with one of its eyes permanently shut due to a large spongy growth that bounced with each stride.

  “These are no mere hounds,” said Bruno.

  “Now I bet you wish we'd got your armor,” said Hector, drawing his own blade.

  “Tomorph,” said Aven, and before their eyes her form shimmered like heat rising off a metal roof. Gone was the beautiful barmaid Allison, replaced with the towering, strange-limbed faerie woman. She grabbed a branch thicker than Bruno's leg with both hands and wrenched it off the fallen tree's trunk amid a shower of splinters. Hector and the knight's jaw's dropped at the display, but they had no time to make further comment, as the first of the hounds were nearly upon them.

  Bruno could count at least two more of the hideous mutants charging through the brush at them. As a boy, he and his foster father had been hunting deer when they crossed into the territory of a great brown bear. The bear had snapped branches and saplings in its wake to charge after them, and only the senior Cromwell's wild blow with a wood hatchet saved them from being mauled. The dogs possessed similar fortitude, and stood as tall as Hector's mule at the shoulder.

  The knight crouched, prepared to receive the beast's charge and skewer it upon his blade. Aven prevented this course of action by stepping up between Bruno and the strange hound with her crude club drawn across her body in a two handed grip. As she stepped down with her leading hoof, she swung the cudgel, connecting solidly on the hound's nose. The beast was knocked to the forest floor, momentarily stunned. Aven brought the branch over the hound's head, splintering nearly a foot off the end of her weapon. She followed it up with repeated blows, as the dog tried pitifully to avoid the savage onslaught. Bruno was taken aback by the wild glee in Aven's green eyes, the Zeal with which she reduced the hound's head to groun
d meat and pulped bone.

  He had no time to muse further, as Hector was being beset by two of the hounds. The squire had managed to slice a portion off the ear of one of them, which had momentarily retreated to assess the harm done to its body. The other was bearing down on his apprentice, and the boy looked small indeed as the great beast lunged at him.

  Bruno drew his dagger from the sheath at his side and charged at the hound bearing down on the squire. He planted the dagger solidly between the shoulder blades of the hound Hector had injured on the way past, then took his blade in a two handed grip. The Heartfire surged through his veins, fueling the strength of his blow as he thrust it forward. The tip speared into the hound, digging in nearly a foot deep. However, the dog's momentum and weight were too much for the even the Templar's strength, and his blade was wrenched from his grasp as the hound barreled into Hector, pinning the boy beneath it even as it shuddered and died.

  Bruno turned upon the other hound, but it was loping away, tail tucked firmly between its legs. Aven had finished her gruesome work with her hound, her club splintered to a fraction of its former size. The knight had seen bloody corpses before, too many times, but the way that shards of wood were thrust into the hound's flesh, their tops flattened smooth by repeated hammering, and he felt a bit squeamish.

  Turning back to Hector, he assisted the boy in extricating himself from the hound's corpse. The squire was none the worse for wear, though his shirt was stained with the hound's blood.

  “What are we to do with them?” said Hector, staring up at the pitiful men and boys trying desperately to conceal themselves behind the foliage. “They attacked a Knight. That is punishable by death.”

  “Bah,” said Bruno “most of them will starve within a week, anyway. We have more pressing matters to attend to.”

  “What manner of beasts are these?” said Hector.

  “Drogs,” said Aven coldly “leftovers from an era before the faeries and Templars drove the sorcerers from the north. Twisted magic crossbred dragons and dogs, with the results you see before you.”