by Danny Macks
Lauren nodded to Chad and smiled thinly, his eyes still concentrating on something unknown, before waving over the apprentice. "Please apologize for the short notice and tell Wes that I would like to move our morning meeting to right now,"
After the apprentice left, he smiled at something on Chad's face. “One of the downsides of reincarnation is that, while it can provide some rather edifying dreams, dreams are no substitute for actual knowledge.”
Chad nodded blearily. After squire training, being told he was some type of eternal champion and the incident with the nimbi, he had sought his bed early. But his nightmares had been bizarre and confusing, not edifying, and he had woken gasping for breath almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.
A short, red-haired man rushed into the library and tossed a water-proof canvas bag on the table before he plopped down next to Lauren.
“Since you are up anyway, I thought I would introduce you to Journeyman Wes. Although he is a journeyman, he is one of the foremost experts on the history of the Winter King and he will be tutoring you on the man’s entire history from the famous Thirty Year Siege of Pious the first, through both of the great winter plagues …”
“Three plagues,” Wes interrupted. “The lime plague was just as valid as the other two.”
The Guild Lord scowled at being interrupted, but nodded. “Three plagues, then. My point is that he is not here to teach you manners or knightly virtues -- that remains my job -- and some of the things he may have to say you may not want to hear, but within his specialty his knowledge is immanent.”
Chad looked back to Wes, impressed. Despite being able to recite the entire roster of the Libros guild after a single reading of the list, Lauren had declared Chad’s memorization trick “barely sufficient”. For the Guild Lord to declare, in public, that a non-lord’s skill was immanent was high praise indeed.
Lauren waved for Wes to take over the meeting and sat back, lacing his fingers over his belly.
Wes nodded and pulled out some notes from the water-proof canvas bag. “Let’s start with some basic questions to gauge what you already know. What was the name of the last Winter King?”
“Pious the seventh,” Chad answered quickly. These questions were easy.
“No, prior to changing his name at his coronation,” Wes said, without looking up from his notes.
“Just Pious?”
Wes looked up from his notes and stared, slightly slack-jawed, at Chad. “You aren't joking, are you?’
Chad shook his head. Wes leafed through his notes, scowling, then set the whole stack aside, leaned his elbows on the table and leaned his mouth against his laced fingers. “Let’s start easier then. What was the current king’s name?”
“I’m guessing the answer you are looking for isn't Oberon the sixth.”
Wes shook his head and Chad shrugged. Both men looked to Lauren, who was grinning.
“If teaching were easy, anyone would do it. I see you both have a lot of learning ahead of you.”
Chad started to reply, but Wes interrupted. “Why me? I’m certain you could have found someone more qualified as a teacher.”
The library doors burst open and a full squad of guards stepped into the library. All three men leapt to their feet.
“Guild Lord Lauren Libros, the king has commanded that you produce the liegeman struck in the library earlier today for questioning,” the squad leader said.
“I don't know where he is.”
“Then the king has ordered that you be placed under arrest until he can be produced.”
Lauren took a deep breath, then sighed, unfastened his sword belt and handed it to Wes. “I have given you your tasks. You are to teach him all of the history that he will need to know in his future endeavors.”
He turned to Chad. “And you are to give up on any youthful ideas of coming to my rescue or in any way interfering with my relationship with his majesty. You are to concentrate on nothing but learning what Journeyman Wes has to teach until my return to King Oberon’s good graces. The king is my personal friend. I'll be fine.” Then Lauren walked out of the library looking more like a lord with bodyguards than a prisoner.
Passing through the library door, Lauren glanced left and paused.
Peeking his head around the door, Chad saw that the tapestry to the left of the door had been taken down and a hidden section of wall stood open. Another squad of men searched the small room behind the door and the stair behind with lanterns.
“What is up that stair?” Wes asked Chad.
“The king’s armory. I think someone stole the King’s Sword.” Lauren continued walking, but with less of a confident stride. Chad started to follow the guard squad but Wes pulled on his shoulder. When he turned to face Wes, Chad’s hand fell to his sword.
“Your father and liege gave us orders,” Wes said, clutching Lauren’s scabbarded sword to his chest with both arms instead of a useful grip. “Why? Who are you?”
“I’m Chad. Before my adoption, my father was …”
“No,” Wes interrupted. He tried to figure out what to do with Lauren’s sword then settled on hanging it on his own waist. He poked Chad in the chest with a finger. “Who are you? Inside.”
“I’m the Winter Champion.”
*****
Jeb woke to the sound of squabbling night birds and the crash of waves at high tide. Moonlight shone down from directly above, illuminating the brambles growing at the entrance of the cave: hoperoot. A particularly tough woody plant with finger-long thorns known for growing very deep roots that were nearly impossible to kill. Jeb had planted a bit of root in a crack when he was six and over the years the tough little plant had somehow widened the crack and flourished. He had never seen a hoperoot plant with berries, they usually spread by creeping roots, but the birds obviously loved them. Bird guano was littered all over the front half of the cave. Had the birds woken him?
Suddenly, all the birds flew away at once and Jeb saw the reflected light of a swaying lantern. He grabbed his sword and wedged his back as far into the little hole as he could go.
“Damn plant!” A familiar voice cursed as the bramble jerked. “Jeb, git this thing out a my way.”
Jeb dropped the sword with a clang, pulled off his brigandine jacket and pressed the armored plates against the bramble until a hole opened. An oil lantern and a familiar canvas bag were shoved through the hole, followed by Harker’s furry, grizzled face. With a lot of grunting and swearing, the rest of Harker slithered into the hole.
“You okay?” Jeb asked.
“I ain't sixteen,” Harker gasped. He raised his head and glanced at the brigandine still draped on the brambles. “Velvet. That what all the fuss is about?”
“And a helmet and sword. I found a secret door and followed my nose. What have you heard?”
“The whole castle‘s stirred up like a hornet’s nest. They ain't sayin’ what for, but they is looking for a black-haired boy with a shiner.” Harker poked Jeb’s tender cheek. “You didn’t show back up at the Goat by evenin’ and the horses started to git concern-ed.”
Jeb smiled, laid his bag on the stone floor, untied a few knots and the whole thing folded out flat. "I found a back way into the king's armory. They probably think I took some of the gold stored there instead of just a few unmarked antiques." He tossed aside some parcels Harker had added and checked interior patches first: two spare knives, hatchet, rabbit jerky dipped in wax, good hemp rope, tinctures and ointments, an oiled canvas cloak and several minor items. He had sewn the thing himself years ago and each pouch was hidden inside when it formed a bag and precisely sized for its contents.
Harker sat up. “Ya always were ready for stuff to go wrong. Looks like it’ll finally do you some good.”
Jeb tied the cords on his kit back together until it again formed a bag with two shoulder straps, then picked up the packages that Harker had added. “Didn’t know that you knew where I stored this. And thanks, by the way.”
Harker glanced away. “Ain
’t much I don’t know about your lazy butt. Naw, that ain’t right. You been a lotta things but lazy ain’t never been one of ‘em.”
A compliment. Jeb wiped a blurry eye clear and sniffed a parcel. Trail bread with dried fruit. He shoved it in the bag. “This is it then?”
“Colt’s gotta git weaned sometime.” Harker wiped sand out of his own eye and pointed. “You might wanna go ahead and open that one.”
A green dress. And makeup.
“No.” It had been more than a decade since someone tried to force him, kicking and screaming, into a dress. He wasn't about to start now.
“People are looking for a boy and a hat ain’t gonna hide than mess on yer face. Makeup will, if I lay it on thick enough and people ain't lookin’ too close.”
“No.”
“It ain't forever. Just until you git outta the city and yer face heals up.”
Jeb sighed and pulled off the gambeson that covered his tunic. ”Some days I hate you.”
“Won’t be the first ta say that, likely won’t be the last. Tunic and trews too.”
“I could wear them under the dress.”
Harker didn't reply and Jeb’s face burned. After a moment, he stripped.
While Jeb stripped, Harker gathered up the brigandine, helmet and gambeson. “Lords are stopping boats and also searchin’ east. Stay inland and head north. Weather’s coolin’ and workers are movin’ south. Ya should be able to git work goin’ the other way. Damn, that’s sharp!”
Jeb’s stomach dropped and he spun around. Harker had his finger in his mouth but looked okay. Jeb picked up the sword but there was no blood on it. Just more of the powdery black stuff on the blade.
Harker spit. “Damn, my whole hand hurts. The cut finger was oozing, but blood wasn't coming out. The stuff foaming out of the wound was black and dry and spreading.
Jeb tossed the sword toward the pile of gear against the wall of the cave. The point sliced through the steel plates of the brigandine like they weren't there and embedded itself more than a foot inside the stone.
Oh, shit. The King's Sword. Jeb clawed at his bag for his hatchet.
Harker started screaming. Jeb shoved the hand under his left armpit and tried to pull Harker’s arm straight, but the bigger man was thrashing and the black hand broke off. Jeb swung for the elbow with his hatchet but he missed on the first try and the second swing hit crumbly black foam. Too late.
A swing at the shoulder outran the black, spurting blood in a high arc and exposing bone, but didn’t take the arm off. Harker’s screams were still echoing, but the thrashing had suddenly stopped as Jeb swung again. The shoulder powdered and the hatchet blade bounced off stone underneath.
The spread of the bubbling black stuff slowed when Harker stopped thrashing, but didn’t stop. A smell started to fill the cave, like charcoal but sweet too. Jeb pulled his friend against his chest and sobbed, rocking back and forth until exhaustion finally claimed him. What remained of Harker slowly fell apart.
*****
The fact that he had struck the stranger who stole the King’s Sword gave Chad a certain notoriety, and people in the castle were eager for him to tell the story. Chad always refused.
From the questions they asked, he knew the noble stories people expected -- that he had somehow sensed the evil intentions of the stranger and responded heroically. Too bad this didn't match up to reality. He had lost his temper and hit someone who didn't deserve the blow. In his heart, Chad worried that the theft of the King's Sword had actually been a revenge for the blow.
And whoever the skinny kid with the black hair had been, Chad had to admit he had guts. Even with gloves, he couldn’t imagine the amount of bravery that touching that unholy blade required.
Whatever his motivations, the blow distanced himself from the the trouble Lauren was in. Wergild was paid for corpses. By demanding that Baron Thesscore pay wergild for his liegeman, he implied that the man was dead. Elevating him from commoner to liegeman doubled the price, but lords were responsible for their liegemen’s behavior. And this liegeman had stolen the King’s Sword. Legally, until the liegeman could be produced, Lauren had stolen it.
The search had two parts. The reigning wisdom was that the boy was part of a coordinated attack and that he was currently either riding east for Tualias City in Cormeum on a fast horse or headed south and around the peninsula by ship. Royal messengers sprinted all directions, hoping to outrun the fleeing boy, but none of the messages said why he was wanted. King Oberon said he didn't want a panic and he trusted that any soldier worth his salt would recognize the real King’s Sword when he saw it. On the same vein, swift boats were conscripted to warn the fleet.
The second, less likely, scenario was that the boy and his co-conspirators were hiding in the city or surrounding countryside. Watch commanders in every city district were roused from their beds and paired with a visiting lord for a thorough search of the city. As the only person, other than Lauren, with a clear memory of what the boy looked like, Chad’s job was to wait at the castle for the other lords to bring back suspects. Prince Pious followed behind him like a little puppy.
The first suspect was skinny and the right height, but he was also blonde and bloody.
“What happened?” Chad asked as he wet a sleeve and tried to wash the blood off well enough to see if the blondness was a disguise and a bruise hid under the new injuries.
“His parents barred the door and refused to come out when ordered, so m’lord Thesscore ordered the house set alight.”
The bastard.
Chad sprinted to the top of the gatehouse wall. The glow of a large, open fire illuminated the darkness a little over a mile away. As Chad watched, a second fire from elsewhere in the same district blossomed, not far from the immense city's eastern wall. Rage blurred his eyes as he ran back down the stairs.
“Wait for me!” Pious yelled as Chad ran down past the climbing boy. Chad turned, grabbed Pious’ arm and yanked him up onto his back, with legs around Chad’s stomach.
“Let the prisoner go!” Chad yelled as he ran past his station near the gatehouse drawbridge and jogged toward the throne room.
In the throne room, a model of the nation had been pulled from storage and placed on legs like a giant table. A second table showed the castle and the surrounding countryside.
The king’s grin shone through his white beard when Chad entered the room. “Found the traitor already, have we? Good job.”
“No, your majesty,” Chad gasped as he set Pious down. “There are fires in the city.”
The king scowled and stared at his map. “Instruct the lords to assist with the fire brigades,” he said to a messenger. “But only after my sword is found.”
Chad should have said something. The king was wrong. When crisis came, peasants needed their lords. It was one of the few things Lauren and his parents agreed on.
Oberon looked back to Chad and Pious. “Close your damn mouths; you are gaping like fish. Thank you for the news, I believe you still have a job to do that is not here. You will learn that it is not an easy thing being king.”
Chad closed his mouth, bowed, and returned to his post inside the gatehouse, Pious silent on his back until they left the inner keep. As they crossed the lawn of the bailey, the salty evening breeze blew from the west, carrying the growing plumes of smoke east and away from the castle.
“Sometimes I dream King Oberon killed me and my entire family,” Pious suddenly said. “The dream is so real that I hate him for it. What do you think it means?”
“I think it means you worry too much for a nine year old.” Chad put a little hop in his step so that Pious started bouncing up and down until he giggled. Chad grinned at the laughter and shoved his nagging worry aside. The big peasant’s revolt had been a little less than ten years ago.
Chapter Six – Supremacy in an Emergency
“I don't want to survive. I'm sick and tired of just surviving. You have to be more than that, Pious.”
Jeb dreamed. He w
as tall -- taller than everyone around him -- and dressed in black royal robes and the woman, also in black, looked like a queen. There was a knot in his chest, a pain so old that it had become meaningless. Background. Always present, but always ignored.
“It is what I do,” Jeb said in words that sounded like he had said them a thousand times before. “People are dying, and I am doing everything that I can to keep as many of them alive as I can. And if that means I'm a little hard-hearted, so be it.”
“You’re a bastard,“ the queen said.
The knot tightened, but Jeb ignored it. “So be it,” Jeb said as he woke.
The setting moon shone through the hoperoot and reflected off the blade of the King’s Sword, still embedded in the cave’s stone wall. Jeb ran his finger along the blade and was surprised when the sharp blade easily slit the tip of his finger. But the blood that oozed from the shallow cut was just blood, not some dry, bubbling, black stuff. He drew a red circle on the flat of the blade, filling in the center in slow spirals.
The sweet, burned charcoal smell of Harker's body lingered in the cave.
Jeb looked back to what was left of Harker. Clothing, hair, nails and the outer layer of his skin, places where blood didn’t flow, were better. The shape of the legs was still visible, but when Harker had stiffened against Jeb's naked chest, Jeb's rocking tore the crumbly black foam in pieces. What was left barely resembled a man. Everything was crisp, blackened bubbles that held its shape if undisturbed, but crunched, delicate as a dragonfly wing, when Jeb touched it with a finger. The knot in his chest tightened, but Jeb ignored it. Survive. The first step to helping others was always to survive.
He packed his tunic and trews in his bag, dusted Harker off his naked body and put on the green dress. There was a white kerchief with the dress and Jeb used it to hold as many of the hoperoot berries as he could pick. He tasted one. It was full of seeds, but sweet. The makeup took several frustrating tries before Jeb gave up and simply slathered the stuff on his bruise, feminine appearances be damned.
