The Immortal King: Part One of the Godyear Saga

by Jason Malone

  There was confusion along the whole column, with men shouting and warriors rushing back and forth, unsure of what to do or where to go. Panic had struck this army.

  As I reached the rear of the column, some soldiers were rushing to fight off the attackers, raiders mounted on horseback wearing black cloaks and hoods to conceal their identity. There were perhaps only a few dozen, but they struck hard and fast and in the confusion managed to slay twice their number. Help had come too late.

  I pulled the reins and reared Brand, pausing momentarily to assess my surroundings. His hooves skidded through the mud. Many of the raiders were already fleeing now that the army was coming to its senses, but some remained. I saw William and his oathmen cutting down those that stayed behind, and Cubert fought with them.

  Eleni’s carriage had a broken wheel, and its horses had broken free and escaped. The driver was pinned to the carriage with a spear through his chest. The dozen or so men that guarded the carriage were either dead or wounded, and amongst the mess lay Eleni.

  Almost without thinking, I turned Brand sharply to the left and lifted my sword, parrying an incoming blow from the raider that chose to attack me. A poor choice. Brand butted the raider’s horse with his head, and it reared back with a cry. I turned my horse further and with one sideways cut opened my assailant’s chest. He died screaming and gurgling as he slid from his horse and landed on the muddy road with a splash.

  I turned back around in time to notice Dughlas thrust his blade through another of the raiders who had made an attempt to strike my rear. I gave him a quick nod. The rest of the raiders realised that they would only die if they continued to fight, so they too rode off to join their comrades, but William was not going to show mercy so easily. His wife had been assaulted, and he wanted vengeance, so he raced after the raiders to ride them down.

  “Go with them,” I shouted to Dughlas. He nodded and rode off to join William in his chase. I threw myself down from my horse and ran over to Eleni. She was unconscious, so I lifted her, propping her up against the carriage’s good wheel.

  She groaned. It appeared there was no permanent damage. A nasty gash in her forehead was bleeding down her face, and she only opened one eye when I said her name. Her lip was also broken, and her nose bled.

  “William?” she said.

  “No, it’s Edward,” I said. I knelt down and looked Eleni in the eye, and she slowly opened her other one. Her eyeball was red.

  “Edward,” she mumbled. “They came out of nowhere.”

  “Where is Matilda?” I snapped.

  She winced. “They took her. And Philip too. I tried to stop them, but… I cannot fight.”

  With those words, utter despair fell over me. I was a fool. I knew there would be danger on this journey, but against reason I brought Matilda and Philip along anyway. I sat there, and the world seemed to freeze.

  Eleni put her arms around me and kept saying she was sorry over and over again, but I just ignored her. I knew who those men were. I recognised their black cloaks and their noble dress. They were no ordinary bandits, and they had attacked the wagons for one purpose. Robbers would have targeted gold and material wealth, but this was personal.

  Matilda and Philip would become bait and I, honour-bound to stay true to the oath I swore to Liviu and the promise I had made to Matilda, would have no choice but to walk into the trap that was set for me.

  My enemy had won.

  11

  Captive

  Once Eleni was safe, I raced as hard as I could to catch up to William and his men. I was too late, however. I met them as they returned, unsuccessful, having slain some of the raiders, but many had escaped. Philip had not been saved.

  Fortunately, Matilda had been rescued. She rode with Dughlas as the warriors returned from their chase, jumped down from his horse, and ran to embrace me.

  “The daring lass managed to wriggle free, though not before showing her captor how hard a lady can bite,” Dughlas explained.

  Matilda nodded with tears in her eyes. “I went for a bit of a tumble, but I am all right.” She smiled and looked down at her muddy dress.

  William sped to his wife’s aid and helped tend to her head wound. She was only dazed; after a few days rest she would be well again. Other soldiers and the healers were now coming to help the wounded while I spoke to Dughlas and Cubert about our next move.

  “It was Hakon. I know it. I want to go after them,” I said.

  “He’ll want you to do that. You’re safer with his brother’s army,” said Dughlas.

  “No. I swore an oath to Philip’s father, Livi. I swore that he would be safe as long as he is apprenticed to me. I am sure Brendan would do the same.”

  Dughlas nodded and then turned as William approached us. “Edward, my friend, I am sorry. Your apprentice…”

  “I need to find him. Forgive me, but we must part ways.”

  William understood well enough and offered us advice. He told us where he had chased them and the direction in which they fled, and he insisted we accept his aid. I would not take his men, but I gladly accepted his offer of food and provisions. I also had Dughlas find Matilda a change of clothes, something more suitable for travelling than the dresses she had brought with her from Oldford.

  We bid farewell to William and Eleni, and they thanked me once again for helping them with the mara. I introduced Matilda to William and asked if she was the girl the tormentor appeared as the previous night. He insisted that although they looked similar, Matilda was not the girl. That made me at least somewhat relieved — but if it was not Matilda, then who? My question would have to remain unanswered.

  As soon as we were able, we went off on our way. We followed the tracks of a number of horses through the countryside and the empty meadows and grasslands to the east of the royal road. This area of the kingdom was miserable. It rained frequently; in the wet months it was often flooded, and the ground was always muddy.

  The fields were grim, with no crops and few livestock. The grass was grey and the trees twisted and bare. In the distance we could see tall hills lining the horizon to the east at the edge of that flat, wet land — but only barely, for there was a constant shroud of mist in that country. William told us that if we rode northeast for about a week from the place we were attacked, we would arrive in Tillysburg, but the tracks we followed appeared to be taking us eastwards, so eastwards we went.

  “Hakon knows you care for Philip and Matilda,” Cubert said to me as we rode.

  “How?”

  “Egil. He and I didn’t think it’d matter, but I guess Hakon has made use of that knowledge.”

  “What else did you or Egil tell him about me?”

  “Not much else, lord.”

  I did not blame Cubert. This was my fault, and I should have known better. I should have kept my friends safe. There was only one course of action now. We would hunt down Hakon’s men, rescue Philip, and if Hakon was with them, I would kill him. Even if I had sworn no oath to Livi, I would still have followed Philip’s captors because I had grown fond of the boy. He reminded me of myself.

  The air was still as we travelled. There was no wind, and our voices echoed. This was a dreary land. Folk called it the Mireland, and I could see why, though it once had a different name, now forgotten. In the days before the Unification, the Mireland was home to a petty kingdom, but all memory of it had faded into its mists. It was now home to a dejected and neglected people who made a living scraping whatever crops they could from the boggy earth.

  Just before nightfall, we found a small village, ironically called Greensted, and decided it would be a good idea to rest and continue our search the next day. I wanted to keep going through the night, but the others convinced me we needed our rest, and we would barely be able to see the tracks in the dark anyway. The owner of the inn reassured us that we were right to stay there, since vampires and dead men wandered the fields of this country at night. Perhaps that was true, or perhaps it was just a lie to attract more patrons. We re
nted the last two vacant rooms, and I retired immediately. The others stayed downstairs for a drink and some food.

  The room was small, but it was better than sleeping outside in the cold. The floorboards creaked, and there was a small hole in the corner by the roof, letting in a draft. On the wall opposite the door was a window, and there was a bed on each side. An armchair sat beneath the window beside a small end table, on which sat a single candle.

  I lit the candle and opened the shutters to let the moonlight in then sat down in the chair and stared outside. The window faced towards the east, and I could make out the silhouettes of tall hills against the starry sky. I suspected that was where Philip was being taken. Hakon’s men could lose us in those hills, so we had to catch them while we still followed on low, flat land. I prayed they would not harm him.

  “Edward?” Matilda poked her head into the room. She opened the door slowly and then entered and sat on the bed opposite me. She held a tankard in one hand and a steaming bowl in the other. “Mushroom soup and warm wine,” she said, placing the food and drink on the end table. I ignored it. “Dughlas and Cubert are sharing the other room, so that means we are together tonight.” I nodded, said nothing, and kept staring into the night. “Edward, I am sorry.”

  I turned my head slowly to look at her, and for a few moments I stared into her big blue eyes. They were wet. “I feel so useless,” I mumbled before looking back out the window. I rested an arm on the table, and I felt Matilda’s gentle hand rest on mine. She squeezed it.

  “It is not your fault. We will find him,” she assured me. I nodded and clenched my jaw. It was very dark with the room only lit by the candle and the dim moonlight. The flickering flame made Matilda’s eyes glisten.

  “You’ve stuck by me through all of this, when you could have easily returned home. Why?” I asked.

  “You promised me an adventure when you stole me away from Henton.”

  “I remember,” I said.

  Matilda pulled something from under her shirt, and it shimmered like a star as moonlight shone faintly through the window. “Do you remember giving me this on the night we left?”

  I could not help but smile. “The moth pendant. You wear it.”

  “Of course I do. It reminds me of the promise you made me.”

  “It seems so long ago that I first met you, but it really wasn’t.”

  “A lot has happened since. And what an adventure it has been.”

  “Do you remember how close we were to being caught by your father’s guards?”

  “Yes! If we had been a few moments too slow, they would have seen us for sure.”

  “And your mother — my heart almost stopped for good when she appeared.”

  Matilda laughed. I turned my attention to the food she had brought me. I did not realise how hungry I was, but now it hit me, and it felt like my stomach was tied in a knot. I had not eaten all day.

  “Edward…” Matilda began. She looked away.

  “What is it?”

  “I noticed, when we were in Oldford, you were quite close with Ecwyn. She said you two are just friends, but I was wondering about it. Are you…?”

  “Am I what?”

  “Do you love her?”

  I laughed and shook my head. “No, Ecwyn is right. We became close while I stayed in Oldford with my master, many years ago.”

  “Oh. Good.”

  “Good?”

  “It is quite beautiful out there, if you think about it.” Matilda looked out at the fields surrounding Greensted. It was indeed beautiful.

  We spent the rest of the night chatting about trivial, pointless things, distracting ourselves from the reality of our situation, and I admit for a few hours I almost forgot my despair over Philip and just enjoyed Matilda’s company, as if nothing else mattered.

  A harpist played a soft, melancholy tune downstairs, and the melody floating up to our room filled me with wistful sadness. We could hear the occasional cow lowing in the distance, its deep, sad sound echoing across the hills and pastures. Sometimes another cow responded, as if they were speaking to one another. I liked to think they were, and I wondered what, in the dead of the night, cows would talk about.

  The harpist continued to play. His songs were all sorrowful. Sometimes he sang in a strange but pretty tongue, though that just made the songs more beautiful.

  “What language is that?” Matilda asked.

  I pointed out the window. “There is a land to the east beyond the mountains on the borders of our kingdom. It is full of hills and lakes and rivers, and the spirits are almost as numerous as the people. The harpist is singing in the language of those people.”

  “Have you ever been there?”

  “No, but I have heard it is beautiful, and legend says the land was created by the elves. Dughlas was born there, did you know?”

  “I think he mentioned it once or twice. Can you understand the harpist?”

  I nodded. “A little. He sings of the tragedy of Erian and Erianwen.”

  “I do not know that tale.”

  “Really? It is a legend from Lakeland,” I explained. “In days long past, a girl named Erianwen disappeared one night, taken while dancing in a grotto with some fairies. Her twin brother, Erian, set out into the woods to rescue her. He journeyed into the Otherworld and faced the Fairy-King, all so he might see his sister once again.”

  “And did he? See his sister?”

  I smiled. “He did. He found Erianwen dancing with the fairies and had to overcome three trials to save her. But it was all for naught. Erianwen died before they could leave the Otherworld, slain by Erian’s own blade. ‘And it is said, as poor Wen bled, her brother rose seas with the tears he shed. Though not for her end did he lament, which all mortals must face once we’re spent, but for the passing of his twin’s sweet smile as she sailed for the fairy-folk’s isle. Hence her warm laughter Erian would ne’er hear ’mongst the oaks and birches again. And sing by the ancient grotto she’d ne’er, for the fair Erianwen does dance, dance, dance with the fairies forever.’” I looked towards the east, to the far-off homeland of the ill-fated twins.

  “What happened to Erian?” Matilda asked.

  I shrugged. “Who can say? Some suggest he still wanders the Otherworld, unable to leave his sister behind. Others say he found his way out but that upon his return to this world, millennia had passed and all that Erian knew and loved was gone.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “I believe he is still out there. Alone. Afraid. A doomed man till the very end.”

  We listened as the harpist finished his song. It was indeed a sad tune. After a while, Matilda asked me once more about my travels and the lands I had seen. I told her some more, trying to recall the stories I had already told her in the past. I told her about my adventures in the south and in the north beyond the Northern Alps, and about the time I went across the sea to the Glacier Cape — a land full of dwarves and ice and headlands made of rock as pale as snow. Matilda loved to hear of my adventures; the lands beyond her home fascinated her. I told her that although new lands are beautiful and full of wonder, my travels had only strengthened my love for my homeland.

  After our conversation died we sat in silence for a few moments before Matilda sighed. “It is not fair,” she said.

  “What is not fair?”

  “I was thinking about Lilly, and the danger I have put her in. Do you regret killing horses in battle?”

  I smiled. “Yes, but we do what we must in the heat of combat. If challenged by a rider with shield, mail, and helm, one must find his weakness. Often, that weakness is the horse.”

  “I understand.” Matilda stared out into the night. “The world is cruel, sometimes.”

  I said nothing. Matilda began to doze off at around midnight, so we went to bed. She fell into a deep sleep almost as soon as I blew out the candle, but I left the shutters open, and in the moonlight I could just make out Matilda’s face. I lay on my side, watching her sleep. She looked so peaceful
, and from across the room I could hear her mumbling in her dreams. I struggled to sleep, as I did most nights, and after several hours I lay on my back and wondered if I would get any rest before sunrise. At that moment, I heard a soft patter on the windowsill. I looked up to see a very large, white moth staring straight at me.

  “Hello,” I whispered. It fluttered across the room and landed on the shelf by the door. It stared at me, and I stared back, and I began to drift into a dreamless sleep. I do not know how long the moth stayed, but I had a strange feeling it sat on that shelf watching me until dawn.

  My despair had almost vanished the next day. I was now determined — vengeful, even — but confident we would find Philip. After a night’s rest and a big breakfast, my mood had lifted.

  That is, until we realised we had lost the tracks. It had rained while we slept, and that rain had turned the ground into sludge. The tracks were gone, and I wondered how we would find Philip now.

  We decided to ask around the village to determine if anyone had seen horsemen wearing black passing through with a young boy. We split up and spent about an hour finding whatever information we could. No one seemed to have seen Hakon’s men come through this way, and I began to lose hope once more, not to mention the fact that I struggled even speaking to the peasants at all, for the superstitious folk of the countryside feared people like me. We often show up where Shadow dwells, and some see this darkness as a result of our presence, rather than our presence as a result of the darkness. It was not always like this, my master once said.

  Matilda had better luck. “Edward, I found them,” she shouted. She came to a stop and paused for a moment to catch her breath. “I found them.”

  “Where?”

  Matilda pointed eastwards. “A farmer I spoke to said that last night a company of horsemen dressed in black, with a southerner, came to his home asking for a place to stay. He said the boy barely spoke except to say ‘yes’ and ‘no,’ and it made the farmer uneasy. He let them stay in his barn, and during the night he went to spy on them.”