The Immortal King: Part One of the Godyear Saga

by Jason Malone

  The pig we sacrificed was brought inside and cooked, and about midway through the feast it was served to the guests and we all took a piece. Adalbert had the first serving, of course, followed by Ecwyn.

  Ecwyn also carried the sacred cup of mead around the hall, passing it to each of Adalbert’s oathmen in turn along with any gifts Adalbert wished to give them. Passing of the cup was a rite typically reserved for the wife of a lord, but since Ecwyn’s mother had died many years ago, that role was filled by Ecwyn herself.

  After finishing my slice of roast pig, I went out to the castle wall for some air, looking out over the town. Lanterns hung from the walls, and a great bonfire roared in the square outside Oldford’s town hall. The city folk would be celebrating Winterlow in their own way.

  “They will be singing down there,” Lodulf said. I turned to see the priest standing behind me. He wore his black wool and fur robes, as befits a priest during Winterlow. “If it were not for this storm, we would be able to hear them.”

  I nodded and looked back out over Oldford. “That bonfire should be outside the temple.”

  “Yes, but this is the way of the world now. We must adapt,” Lodulf said. He came to stand beside me.

  “Must we?”

  We stared at each other for a second, and Lodulf chuckled. “You are young, Edward. I was like you were once. But now…”

  “You think me foolish for loving the old ways.”

  “No, no,” Lodulf laughed. “I think you idealistic. You have the fire of youth, but age will humble you, as it humbles all.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “When I was around your age, still a student at the temple down there, my friends and I were arrested for tossing manure at the mayor’s house. We bought it from a hog farmer just outside town,” Lodulf said. He chuckled. “The Aed had flooded that year, and the high priest petitioned for the mayor to fund a great sacrifice to Brim. Do you know what he did instead?”

  “This is ancient history to me.”

  Lodulf laughed again. “He spent the town’s budget buying a country estate for his wife because the flood dirtied the street at her doorstep.”

  “What is the point of this story, Your Worship?”

  “You are angry and prideful, like I was back then. You think you can save the world. I feel that your efforts to defeat Emrys will do little more to prevent this kingdom’s destruction than the shit I threw at the mayor’s house did to prevent him being elected for another term. Keep the old ways firm in your heart, Edward, but let the world run its course.”

  I had nothing to say. I only nodded and turned back to watch the bonfire in Oldford.

  Lodulf sighed. “War is brewing, Godspeaker. Can you feel it too? Lords have been collecting oaths. For ‘personal defence,’ they say. The forges in the Capital have expanded, and the smiths are making more than nails and horseshoes. Tolls and taxes are increasing. The past eight years of peace have only been the interlude. A brief spot of calm before the storm resumes.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could, Matilda appeared behind us. She curtsied to Lodulf, and he bowed. “I must return to the feast,” he said. “Do not stay out here long, you two. It is cold, and I fear it may snow soon.”

  I bid Lodulf farewell and greeted Matilda with a smile. “Grown tired of feasting, My Lady?”

  Matilda smirked. “No. I just missed you.”

  “You missed me?”

  “I mean I missed your tales and your jokes,” she said. Her speech seemed a little slurred. She shivered.

  “Are you cold?” I asked.

  “Very.” I removed my cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders, and she hugged herself beneath it while staring out at the town beside me. “What is it like? Killing an animal like that.”

  I thought for a moment, not expecting the question. “You feel absolute power,” I said. “But it is also a humbling feeling. Your heart stops for a second as the blade scrapes along bone and you feel the beast’s life force leaving its body. I do not enjoy it.”

  “Is it like killing a man?”

  “No, but I will not speak of that. Forgive me, but I’d rather not be reminded of Osmund.”

  Matilda nodded and stared at the great fire in the town square. “Did your master teach you that? Sacrificing a pig?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Was he a good man?”

  “He made me into everything I am now. I’ll let you decide whether that makes him a good man or not.”

  Matilda smiled. “I think he was a good man. What was his name again?”

  “Brendan.”

  “Brendan.” She repeated the name as if locking it into her memory. She watched the town for a few minutes and seemed to be building up the courage for something. It was the same look I had seen on the faces of men preparing to fight for the first time.

  “Edward, I—” Matilda began, but before she could say anything more, she threw herself forward and emptied her dinner over the castle wall.

  I shook my head and then pulled her hair back away from her face. I waited for her to finish. “Silly girl,” I said.

  “The pig was raw,” she said. She leaned over the wall for another round.

  Once Matilda had thrown up every last bit of food she had eaten and every drop of mead she had drunk, I took her to her room and helped her into bed. I went to find her a bucket, but when I returned she was out cold.

  I left Matilda in bed and returned to the feast, joining in on the song and laughter and the tales and boasts. I had a good night, and as it grew late and the guests began to retire, I too went to bed.

  Once alone in my quarters, I made myself comfortable in bed and shut my eyes. Slowly, I drifted off to sleep and received a series of dreams from the Gods.

  The first dream began with an image of a mountain, and beneath that mountain was a hall. A great, vast hall built by a civilisation long gone. Within that hall stood three thousand horses and three thousand warriors. One of those warriors stepped forward. A grey dog followed him. He was their leader — I do not know how I knew, but I just did, as is the way with dreams. He shook my hand, and the dream changed.

  It was followed by a wild storm, raging and roaring, with fire raining down from the sky and thunder rumbling ceaselessly. Below the rolling clouds was a city, and that city was burning. I did not recognise it, but it had a tall bell tower in the centre that stood out among the rest of the buildings. The man from the first dream emerged from the city with his grey dog, smiled at me, and shook my hand again.

  The dream changed, and now I was shown a grand seat. A throne. I recognised it immediately, for it was the royal throne in Ardonn’s capital city. King Stephan’s throne. On that throne sat a dead man, his flesh shrivelled and rotted away so that only his wrinkled skin, bones, and hair were left. He wore a fine suit of mail, and atop his head was a golden crown.

  A young woman stood beside the throne wearing nothing but a loose coat of mail. Her legs and feet were bare, she was pale and had messy black hair. Blood dripped from her thin fingers and poured from her nose, her open mouth, and her empty eye sockets. She whispered my name, and at once I recognised her voice.

  It was Matilda.

  The man with the dog approached me from behind. I turned, and he was frowning this time. His dog came and stood at my feet, and the man shook my hand. He disappeared, and I awoke to the sound of birdsong. Light filtered through the window in my room.

  I stared up at the ceiling, wondering what it had all meant. These dreams rarely made sense until the events they depict come to pass. But were they showing me the future or showing me what I must do? Perhaps both. Whatever the Gods wished to tell me, one thing was certain: I needed to find the man with the dog. Whoever he was, our fates had clearly been intertwined. I was almost certain he was related to King Emrys, but how?

  I sought out Dughlas that morning. Until now I had kept our purpose from him, letting him believe we were only here until I could repair my home, but I decided now was the
time to reveal the truth and beg his advice.

  I found him in the castle courtyard. The storm from the night before had passed, but a thick layer of snow caked the ground. Dughlas was sparring with Philip using wooden swords, but Philip was almost knee-deep in the snow and could not stop himself from tripping. A few of Adalbert’s men laughed as they watched.

  “Dughlas, the poor lad can’t fight in this,” I said. He turned and laughed, and Philip saw the opportunity to strike the back of his knees, knocking him to the ground. “Well done, Philip. Always wait for the moment your opponent lets his guard down, then strike.”

  “Bastard,” Dughlas said jovially. He threw a handful of snow at Philip, who dodged it.

  “Did you enjoy your first night of Winterlow in Ardonn?” I asked Philip.

  He nodded. “Yes, master. It is very different from Trucilia back home.”

  “You honour the god Truci during this time, yes? You will have to tell me more about it later. Dughlas, I need to speak with you alone.”

  I sent Philip off to find Matilda so he could practice reading, and I took Dughlas over to the stables.

  “Did you see something last night?” he asked. I nodded. “What was it?”

  “I’m not certain. I think a legend is destined to wake from his slumber,” I said.

  Dughlas frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “How much do you know about the legendary King Emrys?”

  He shrugged. “Not much at all, I’m afraid. I’ve heard the name, but that’s it.”

  And so I told Dughlas the legend that I had managed to piece together from my time reading in Oldford’s library, before telling him about the conversation I had with Hakon in Oldford, and about what he wanted. I told him about the prophecy spoken to me by Aelda’s ghost the night before we arrived in Oldford, and the dreams given to me by the Gods. I then revealed that I believed it was Hakon who had attacked my home earlier that winter, seeking my sword. He listened and nodded in thought as I spoke.

  “So the Lady Ecwyn reckons Ward can lead you to Emrys?” Dughlas said.

  “Yes, that seems to be the best lead.”

  “And the Gods have warned you that you are connected to the release of Emrys?”

  “Yes.”

  “So why pursue these leads? If I were you, I would be doing nothing.”

  “Doing nothing?”

  “Yes. Think about it. If you go to Emrys’s tomb, prison, whatever, then you’re bringing the key with you. Isn’t that what this Hakon fellow wants?”

  “I suppose.”

  “If you want to stop Emrys from being released, find the man who wants to release him, not Emrys himself.”

  Dughlas was probably right, as usual. He had a simple mind, but sometimes simple minds come up with simple solutions. Perhaps I was overthinking my role in all this. Perhaps I should have done nothing.

  “I was thinking that if I found Emrys’s tomb, I could find some way to seal it forever or defend it against Hakon,” I said.

  Dughlas thought for a moment and then shook his head. “This is all futile. If Emrys is fated to be freed, as you have said, then that can’t be avoided regardless of what you do,” he said.

  “That’s true. But are the men who struggle against Fate, despite the futility of their struggles, not the most valiant? Even the Gods consider those who struggle, though they have lost all hope, to be of godly stock. And who’s to say men cannot shape the fate of the world?”

  “You sound like Brendan,” said Dughlas. I smiled at that. “If you want to break the chains of Fate, I’ll stand with you, as always. But if you want my advice, I say the best way to stop Hakon freeing Emrys is to kill Hakon, or failing that, destroy Godwin’s sword.”

  I had thought about that. Of course I had. But I could find no trace of any man called Hakon who might be related to the man who had destroyed my home. He dressed well and had horses and men, so he must have had land somewhere. But where? I could ask around, but I would be stabbing in the dark. There were many nobles and even more wealthy free men throughout Ardonn with the name ‘Hakon.’ At least with Emrys I had leads.

  As for destroying the sword, I quickly rejected that idea. If the sword was used to bind Emrys, its destruction could inadvertently unbind him. That was not a risk I was willing to take. Besides, the sword belonged to my master and was one of the few things of his I had left, not to mention the fact its supposed power kept me alive in a fight.

  “I don’t know how to find Hakon,” I admitted.

  “Why not let him come to you? He still needs your sword,” Dughlas said.

  I shook my head. “If I am going to kill Hakon, I need to be the hunter, not the hunted. He has at least enough men to destroy my home and slaughter my people, maybe more. I need to find him before he finds me.” Little did I know Hakon knew exactly where I was.

  “What about Ward?”

  “What about him?”

  “He may have connections to Hakon. How else could Hakon learn so much of Emrys unless he had access to royal secrets?”

  I did not answer but gave the question some thought. Dughlas was right, of course. I needed to find Ward. I could seek to destroy Emrys, or seal him away for good, or simply kill Hakon to prevent his release — at least until some other man decided he would do the same — but regardless of the path I took, it was clear by now that the last Royal Godspeaker held the answers I needed.

  The only problem was that he had supposedly been killed during the siege of the Capital nine years earlier.

  I paced along the castle’s walls, thinking. I knew then what I must do and where I must go. I would go north, to the capital, and begin my search for the late King Edwin’s Godspeaker. That is where Fate was taking me. I gazed northwards. The Royal Way stretched far into the distance, disappearing into the low hills and fields that characterised the rich country around Oldford. I spied a fort on the horizon — one of the ancient ones — sitting atop a tall hill. I do not know why, but once I noticed that fort, a feeling of dread washed over me. Or perhaps that was just the breeze?

  Regardless, I did not simply see a fort, as most would. I saw war on the horizon. I felt it in that moment, deep within my soul. War had begun far beyond those peaceful hills and fields.

  The Gods were demanding more than the blood of pigs this winter.

  7

  Dawn

  The month of Winterlow carried on more or less the same. Every evening, sacrifices were made as they had been done on First Night, and each night we feasted in honour of the dead and the Gods.

  I told Matilda that I needed her help finding Ward, or any trace of him. She spent her days in Adalbert’s library with Ecwyn looking for anything she could find about the last Royal Godspeaker, but they found nothing. I would sometimes come to the library to help or see what they had found, and often their conversations died the moment I entered the room.

  I spent less time in the library than I would have liked during Winterlow, so I could not help much with the hunt for Ward. Although I was eager to find him, I had more immediate matters to attend to. Many of Oldford’s citizens or peasants from the surrounding lands would come to Adalbert’s castle during the day to seek my aid with whatever Otherworldly problems they had. Winterlow is a time when the dead wander this world, and so the common folk were always on edge — any strange sound or sight could spook them.

  I saw about a dozen outside the walls each day who sought advice on a variety of problems: ghosts, revenants, witches, dwarves, odd dreams, and the like. Most of the issues sounded like superstitious nonsense, but I listened to every concern the people had and gave them the help they needed.

  Some days I even went out to nearby homesteads and villages to deal with problems in person. Lodulf and Adalbert usually dealt with these things every Winterlow, but their ability when dealing with the Otherworld was nothing compared to mine. They did not have the Gift. Adalbert tried to convince me to work as his Godspeaker permanently, and although I was tempted, I had to decline
. Fate had other plans for me.

  When I was not dealing with commoners, I would sometimes walk the woods or the castle walls with Lodulf, discussing politics and matters pertaining to the Gods. Philip would sometimes join us on these walks to listen and learn.

  I spent time with Philip, training him in the ways of our trade. He was surprisingly clever for his age, and I was growing fond of the boy. He knew a fair amount about his own gods and the various spirits that inhabit Luria.

  I taught him the words we in Ardonn use for our spirits — elves, dwarves, bogeys, and nixes, among others — and explained to him how they were not too different from the unseen beings that inhabited his homeland. One day, I was walking through the forest behind the castle with him, and he asked me whether our gods were different or the same. I thought about that for a moment.

  “Can they not be both?” I asked. I did not expect an answer. Philip only looked at me, confused, and I chuckled. I would let him dwell on that question, for I felt it was important that he begin to learn that there are many mysteries in the world, and many of them remain forever unanswered. I enjoyed my time teaching Philip and hoped that was how my master felt when I was the boy’s age.

  But as each day passed, that feeling of dread I received atop the castle’s wall on Winterlow’s first day still haunted me, skulking in the back of my mind. I shared it with no one. I grew more and more anxious, and Dughlas noticed that each day I was spending more time up on the wall than I had the day before, staring gloomily to the north. He approached me on Winterlow’s final day.

  “You’re waiting for something,” he said. “I’m smart enough to know I shouldn’t ask, but too curious not to. So, what are you waiting for?”

  “War,” I said.

  Dughlas laughed. “Gods, you’re miserable sometimes.”