Death of a King

by Robert Evert

  “When we first met,” Magnus said, “you looked at my hand. The twisted one. But you didn’t seem repulsed like everybody else. Why was that?”

  Lord Fairhill blew a series of smoke rings and watched them dissipate. “Why do you think?”

  Magnus coughed on the growing cloud around them. The pipe smoke smelled worse than the sawdust. “I don’t rightly know. Not many people are able to look at it and show no reaction. It makes even my friends, Allyn and Syntharin, uncomfortable. And they’ve known me for years.”

  “How did Sir Edris and the woman who ran his shop react when they noticed your left appendage?”

  “My what?”

  “Your arm. How did they react when they noticed your left arm?”

  “They looked at my hand like, like…like it was exactly what they expected. Almost like they knew I’d have something wrong with me.”

  Sir Fairhill sat up. “Not wrong with you. Don’t believe that. There’s nothing wrong with you, Magnus. In fact, I am inclined to believe there’s a great deal right with you, as I have indicated. But you are near the mark, if not on it. You see, Sir Edris often uses street urchins for various jobs, such as collecting information and relaying messages. It is kind of a code among these adventurers. They see it as doing a good deed for people less fortunate than themselves. Helping others is also supposed to bring them luck, or some such nonsense.”

  The aching in Magnus’s head grew worse, though whether it was the pitcher of beer he’d consumed or the lord’s pipe smoke causing it, he couldn’t tell. “We’re expendable. That’s all.”

  Lord Fairhill laughed, disturbing somebody across the room.

  “Quiet down!” the man yelled.

  Lord Fairhill tipped a hat that wasn’t there. “Your pardon, sir.” He brought his cot closer to Magnus’s. “Well said, Master Magnus. I’m glad you can see that. But I want you to understand”—he waited for Magnus to look over at him—“no friend of mine is expendable. Keep doing good work for me and you’ll never be homeless or at a disadvantage again. I promise you that.”

  Magnus knew what was coming next. No lord ever did a commoner a favor without expecting something in return, and the price of payment was often more than a commoner could afford.

  “You want me to do something else, don’t you?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Magnus climbed from his horse. He’d long ago decided he hated the damned beast. Yesterday, he had ridden a mile out of his way because the blasted animal refused to go the right direction. Then there were the two miles where the accursed thing galloped as fast as it could for no reason at all. It was all Magnus could do but to cling to the horse’s neck and pray he didn’t get thrown. Man, how his ass hurt.

  And his face.

  Somewhere along the way, as his horse was galloping out of control, he’d lost his hat. It had gone flying off in the wind, never to be seen again. Now his face was sunburnt. He couldn’t move his lips without his cheeks feeling like they were splitting open. His nose felt like it was glowing.

  Magnus hitched his worthless asshole of a horse to a post and arched his spine. It cracked several times. He glanced about.

  He was in a small city called Winros Minor, located in the middle of some vast, treeless plains a couple hundred miles south of the Angle.

  What a hell hole. It was flat as could be, and the wind never stopped. It kept blowing and blowing and blowing! Long strands of silver bells hung by everybody’s door. They were calming at first, but after a few minutes, they drove him crazy.

  At least he didn’t have to ride any farther. He was sick of traveling. What adventurers saw in the ordeal was beyond him.

  His horse whinnied as though laughing at him.

  He wondered what horses tasted like. Probably like saddles. The blasted beasts.

  The wind whipped and snapped his cloak to one side.

  Hoisting his pack onto a shoulder, Magnus waited for a wagon to rumble by and then limped across the street to an inn named The Maggie.

  He considered the building—five stories of colorfully painted hand-carved wood.

  The inn was exquisite. He’d give it that. And most likely outrageously expensive. Still, this is where Lord Fairhill told him to stay. Sir Edris was going to be here, and Magnus needed to be close by to make the switch.

  Stealing Sir Edris’s bag of slimy medicine and replacing it with something that smelled bad was funny. Magnus giggled every time he thought of the fat ass putting on the smelly grease. He pictured people around the knight crinkling their noses and wondering what stank.

  What did Lord Fairhill say the knight used the slimy stuff for? He couldn’t recall. Something about wounds or burns or protection from the wind.

  Wind…

  Didn’t the damn wind ever stop here? And those bells! They better take them in at night. So help them if they didn’t. He wanted to sleep. In fact, he was going to sleep the night away and most of the morning. Hell, he’d spend the entire next day in bed. He deserved to relax.

  After his task was done, he was going home. He was going home to Eryn Mas and…well, he didn’t know what he was going to do. But he was going to sleep in his own bed and then sleep some more. He might even soak in a hot bath for a couple days.

  He knocked on the door to The Maggie.

  It sprang open, revealing a cheerful, well-dressed boy a couple years younger than himself. “Hello, sir. Welcome to The Maggie.” He noted Magnus’s horse tied across the street. “Horse need stabling, sir?”

  Magnus grumbled that it did.

  “Sure is a beaut’!” the boy went on. “He’s the most handsome one I’ve seen in a long while.”

  Magnus told him the horse should be made into dog food.

  The boy kept standing there.

  “Oh!” Magnus fished in his pocket and pulled out a silver piece. He wondered whether a silver was too much. It was too late now, the boy had already seen it, his eyes alight with anticipation. Magnus didn’t want to disappoint him. “Here.” He handed the boy the coin.

  “Thank you, sir! I’ll take good care of him. The stable is five buildings up and on the left, in case you need him. Go on in. Master Matthew will get you situated.”

  Magnus watched as the boy walked the horse up the street, marveling that he’d given away a silver piece for something he could have done himself.

  It was being around nobility and adventurers that was doing it to him. The way they threw their money around, it was rubbing off on him. He’d have to be more careful.

  Stupid adventurers. Always insulting people. Calling them puny and threatening to kick their skulls down the street. He’d get back at him, the fat ass. And that Natalie…

  Actually, he still liked her. Sure, she might have socked him in the nose and put his life in danger a couple of times, but she had a kindly smile…that is, when she used it.

  He entered a stunning vestibule with dark wood and stained-glass windows. To his left, in an immaculate common room, extravagantly dressed diners ate off white china and drank from sparkling crystal goblets.

  A man in a long formal coat came into the foyer.

  “Looking for lodging?” he asked, examining Magnus’s clothing.

  Magnus’s pants were caked in mud from the ride; however, even had they been clean, he would’ve been out of place. Everybody around him had silk waistcoats and fur-lined cloaks. Many of the men had broad-brimmed hats with colorful plumes sticking up, like Lord Fairhill. Magnus scanned the crowd to see if Lord Fairhill was watching. He didn’t see him but guessed he was close at hand.

  “Young man?” the innkeeper prodded.

  “What? Yes. I’m sorry. Yes, I am. Looking for lodging. It’s a beautiful inn. Beautiful. A friend recommended it. He said it was beautiful as well. Everybody I’ve talked to says it’s—”

  He decided to stop talking.

  The innkeeper frowned.

  “I have money,” Magnus said. “I know I look young and all. But I work, and my employer, he�
�”

  Magnus froze.

  Oh…shit!

  Directly in front of him, descending a gorgeously carved black walnut stairway, lumbered Sir Edris.

  “What’s the trouble, Matt?” Sir Edris came up to them. He bent forward to examine Magnus’s dirty and sunburnt face. Their noses were inches away from each other. He grimaced. “That looks bad, son. I have a concoction that’ll take care of the sting. Created it myself. Stinks to high heaven, but I never go anywhere without it. Stop by my room tonight, and I’ll fix you up.”

  Sir Edris slapped Magnus on the shoulder, knocking him sideways.

  Don’t panic! He doesn’t know who you are. Keep your head down. Breathe…

  “If you don’t have any space available, Matt,” Sir Edris said to the innkeeper, “the lad can have Reg’s old room.” He turned again to Magnus, still stiff with fear. “You don’t mind a little snoring, do you?” Laughing, he slapped Magnus’s shoulder again. “Go ahead, Matt. Put him in Reg’s quarters.”

  Somebody in the common room caught the knight’s eye. “Row! You scoundrel! You madcap! What the hell are you doing here?”

  A large man in a green cloak came up and shook Sir Edris’s hand. “Ed! How’ve you been? You look good! Damned good, in fact.”

  “I am! Best I’ve ever been.”

  “Glad to hear it,” the newcomer said.

  Expecting Sir Edris to wheel around and rip off his head at any second, Magnus edged closer to the door.

  “Ollie’s in town as well, don’t you know?” Sir Edris’s friend went on. “Saw him this morning!”

  “You don’t say?” Sir Edris laughed so loud everybody in the common room stopped talking. “Where’s the miserable bastard hiding?”

  “He’s at The West Wind. Couldn’t get in here because you’re hogging all the good suites!”

  “Nonsense! The cheapskate can’t afford such a luxurious place!” He slapped the innkeeper on the back and pointed to Magnus, who was trying to hide his burning face. “I’m serious, Matt. Give the lad here Reg’s room. My treat.” Turning to his comrade, he said, “Let’s go kidnap the lout. First and second rounds are on him.”

  With that, the two enormous men marched out of the inn, their laughter continuing to be heard well after they disappeared from view.

  Magnus finally managed to exhale. He looked at the innkeeper.

  “Very well, young man,” the innkeeper said, stiffly. “You’ll be on the top floor, first room on the right. Let me go get you the key.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Magnus tossed his pack onto one of the mahogany chairs in his room at The Maggie. He took off his weather-stained cloak and threw it at his pack. He missed, the cloak skidding across the polished floor.

  How could Sir Edris not recognize him? Their faces were literally inches apart. You’d think he’d remember a short, baby-faced kid with a twisted left arm. How many people does he threaten?

  Magnus frowned and immediately regretted it. His cheeks felt like they were tearing. Damned sunburn. He couldn’t wait until winter. Could people get sunburn in winter?

  He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror.

  Egads!

  His face was beet red and blistering. No wonder the fat ass didn’t recognize him. He appeared as though he’d been set on fire.

  He touched his ears, then flinched in pain. Crap. This was going to hurt worse in the morning. Stupid hat! Next time he’d bring two. No. Three! In fact, right after dinner, he was going to buy an armload of hats. By the gods, he’d never go outside without a hat again!

  Magnus sat on the soft bed and tugged off one of his dirty boots. He thought about Sir Edris again.

  There was more gray in the knight’s beard than Magnus remembered. And there were lines around his eyes and forehead. “Worry lines,” his mother called them.

  And he didn’t exactly race down the steps to the foyer. He kind of…hobbled.

  There was something incredibly heartbreaking about a once-great man living past his prime.

  Magnus snorted.

  Once great…

  What did Sir Edris ever do, really? Sure, he won all of those quests. And, true, he won the famous three-way duel between him and the knights Maurice, Phillip, and Alexander—even after his two friends were severely wounded. Legend had it that Sir Edris finally killed Sir Phillip while binding Sir Roderick’s wounds.

  He probably used Sir Roderick as a shield. Legends were never accurate. Nobody was ever as the stories portrayed them to be. Why, if he ever found his way into tales and songs, Magnus would be the size of a small mountain with two perfectly good arms of bulging muscle.

  Then again, Sir Edris was the size of a small mountain, and his muscles certainly bulged.

  Magnus felt the pouch of brownish grease Lord Fairhill had given him. It was a stupid practical joke. Sure, it’d make Sir Edris smell bad, but—

  Oh, damn it.

  He wanted to go home. The knight’s insults hadn’t been that bad. And Magnus was spying. Sir Edris had every right to be royally pissed. Had things been reversed, Magnus would’ve said the same things—or worse. He might have actually followed through on his threats. No. He wouldn’t have killed somebody for listening at the keyhole, not unless they learned something important. But Magnus would’ve roughed up a snooping Sir Edris. Maybe given him a few lumps so he’d think about what he’d done.

  Sir Edris hadn’t touched Magnus. Not really. He was all bluster.

  Magnus had been racing throughout the eastern kingdoms, riding head-strong horses, sleeping on hard ground, getting blistered by the sun and wind—for what?

  He lay on the bed. It was big enough for two people and incredibly soft. He sank at least eight inches.

  “What am I doing?” he asked the angels carved into the bed’s posts. “I need a plan, like Allyn says.” He rubbed his face and cried out. His nose felt like it had been touched by a red-hot poker.

  Damned sun. He should drink some water. Drinking water was supposed to help with sunburns. However, his pack was across the room, and he didn’t feel like moving.

  He thought about his life.

  “What am I going to do? What do I want?”

  He wanted his headache to go away.

  He wanted his ass and face to stop hurting.

  He wanted—

  Magnus put his hands behind his throbbing head. He sniffed. The pillow smelled like lavender. He inhaled deeply and sighed. By the gods, that smelled amazing.

  He wanted a home. Nothing too fancy—four walls that kept out the wind and a ceiling that didn’t leak. Some place comfortable.

  What else?

  A job. Something that would pay consistently enough so he wouldn’t starve. Maybe something with his hands. Well, something with his hand.

  He sniffed the pillow again.

  His scowl eased.

  Now that he thought about it—he had all of those things. He had a place in Eryn Mas. Granted, it was modest, but it was his. And he had good clothes. And he’d gone out and seen a bit of the world. He never thought he’d see anyplace more than a day’s walk from Eryn Mas, and here he was—living it up at a ritzy inn! And, thanks to these crazy lords and adventurers, he had loads of money. He wasn’t as rich as a noble or anything, but he wouldn’t starve anytime soon. In fact, he had enough to buy himself into any guild he desired. He really did have everything he wanted.

  Maybe not everything…he’d love to have somebody to share his life with. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, or whatever the saying was.

  He inhaled deeply again. The lavender soothed his mood and made him think of spring.

  Yes, things were looking up! All he had to do was finish one last job for Lord Fairhill, then he’d collect the rest of his money, return home, and figure out which guild to join.

  Magnus fought his way out of the enormous bed. He grabbed the leather pouch the lord had given him and his lock-picking tools.

  “One last job…”

  Chapter Twent
y-Six

  “A fat—one-eyed—librarian?” Sir Edris asked in disbelief as he refilled Sir Rowan’s goblet with red wine.

  Nine other bottles, all empty, littered their table in the corner of The West Wind, the most exclusive tavern in Winros Minor’s New Quarter. Sir Edris and his friends, Sir Rowan and Sir Oliver, had been drinking all night. In fact, it was so late, the tavern was actually closed—but the tavern owner didn’t dare ask three of the most celebrated adventurers in the lands to leave. The knights were having so much fun telling stories, none of them seemed to realize dawn was rapidly approaching.

  From her end of the table, Natalie watched Sir Edris laugh, a smile broadening across her exhausted face. This was the happiest she’d seen him since word came that Sir Warren had located the Chest of Queen Cassandra and won the latest quest.

  Her thoughts drifted to Reg again. He’d only been gone nine days, but she missed him so much it hurt.

  “You left out stuttering.” Sir Oliver chuckled.

  “No!” Sir Edris said. “You’re both making this up. Rebecca, can you believe these scoundrels?”

  Natalie made sure she reacted to her new name without pause. “They’re cads.”

  “No! No!” Sir Rowan waved his hands, unable to stop laughing. “We’re not lying!”

  “Or exaggerating!”

  Sir Edris considered his friends. “You’re making it all up. You have to be!”

  “We’re not!”

  Sir Rowan mastered himself. “I give you my oath! He was about this tall”—the knight put his hand five feet off the ground—“enormously overweight, and had one eye!”

  Sir Oliver nudged him. “And stuttered!”

  “And stuttered!”

  Sir Edris wasn’t convinced. “The devil you say.”

  Through laughing fits, Sir Rowan wheezed, “On my honor!”

  “So,” Sir Oliver went on, still chuckling, “so, he, he brings the Star of Iliandor to King Lionel…”

  Sir Edris leaned forward eagerly. “The real one? The real Star? I had heard Andy turned it in months earlier.”