by Timothy Ray
Chapter 9
Crowns & Swords
I
He had come full circle; he was back in the forest he’d been hunting in only two days prior. Being there once more, after all that happened, felt too surreal in his jumbled brain. So much of his world had changed since then—it had been thrown into complete chaos.
As the morning light twinkled through the canopy, he wondered why he had been so dissatisfied with his life? Why had he despaired about the quiet life he’d led and the motions of marriage; the taking his place as Bordin’s heir? Because now, he’d give anything to be back there; living his mundane life. Which now seemed heaven compared to what his life had become; no sleep in days, on the run, and constantly under attack.
It was not what he was accustomed too and he never thought he would be.
They had paused in their flight, the cover of the woods providing enough shelter from their pursuers that Merlin had finally called a halt. Their horses were stressed and tired, heads down, as they lapped up water from the stream slowly. It’d be a few before they were up to moderate travel. He was tempted to nap and restore just a bit of his own depleted strength.
The other party members milled about as they took advantage of the brief respite as well.
Merlin took a large bundle from the rear of his horse, as well as a clothed bundle suspiciously in the shape of a weapon. The mage walked his way, head lowered, as if considering how best to broach a subject. What would make the man nervous about talking to him? He hadn’t said a word since they left camp.
He motioned for Willow to join them, she was currently at the stream splashing water on her face. She gave him a curious glance, but he only shrugged; he had no idea either. She got there at the same time as Merlin and paused by the grim look on the man’s face. “What’s up?”
“Tristan. I can’t think of any way to tell you this, and I’m not sure that we’ll have an opportunity later, but your father died early this morning,” Merlin confessed with a pained face.
His breath went out of him in a rush.
“Excuse me?” he stammered, grief welling up inside.
“By the Gods, no,” Willow moaned, coming to stand by his side and putting an arm around his shoulders. He leaned into her, feeling unsteady on his feet.
“How’d it happen?” he managed. His fiancé was beginning to cry and he wondered if he should try holding her instead.
Merlin put the large bundle on the ground, but still held the other in his offhand. “He was poisoned last night. He held on far longer than expected, but just passed away a couple of hours ago.”
Preik and Windel had stepped closer to them and he saw the outrage on their faces. “Who would commit such a cowardly act?” Windel intruded.
The mage didn’t turn to address the furious elf. “We knew from the assassination attempt on you yesterday that someone close to the family was working for the Phoenix. The flintlock wasn’t only stolen, the assassin was given the means to use it. Gunpowder is an unknown in this time; the man couldn’t have figured it out on his own. Knowledge like that had to come from the Phoenix herself. No one else in this time would have a clue what to use otherwise.”
“Your death was meant to be. The fact that you survived left a void that had to be filled. You cannot divert the timeline that drastically without there being consequences. When the agent in the palace could no longer locate you, he went with his secondary target; your father. I’m sorry, there was nothing I could do; a death was owed. You can’t cheat death, only misdirect it. Your father knew this and accepted what it meant,” the mage finished, waiting for what he knew would come next.
“Of course you knew,” Willow spat. “And you did nothing to prevent it?”
He felt a sense of déjà vu.
He was busy processing everything Merlin was saying; about a debt being owed. That couldn’t be true, there had to be a way to dodge such a grisly fate? “You told my father, didn’t you? And he didn’t do anything to stop it?”
Merlin paused, giving the two encroaching Guardians a curious glance. They seemed edgy, not sure of how to react; he sympathized. Should he be angry? Grieving? He wasn’t sure which. As his heart was breaking; his mind was reeling.
“I told him while you were resting. That you were supposed to die, that by saving you we had cheated death, and the reaper would come to claim another in his place. More than likely your father. He took it calmly, said that he had lived a long full life, and that he had failed you as a father. That maybe, by making this one sacrifice, he could make up for all the wrong he had done by you. Neither of us knew how he’d die, only that the agent would try again. His only hope was that the assassin would be revealed and that John would kill the cowardly son of a bitch. That didn’t work. The assassin is still free and moving about the castle.”
“Who is it?” Preik broke in, eyes narrowing. What was he going to do, return to the castle and kill whoever it was? Actually, that wasn’t that bad of an idea.
“I don’t know,” the mage said over his shoulder, eyes still on the two of them. “He’s shrouded from my sight; shielded by the Phoenix’s evil. What I can tell you is that they must be close to John, because as of this morning I am wanted for the murder of your father. And the two of you are my accomplices.”
“You’ve got to be joking,” Willow blurted with astonishment.
What kind of ludicrous reasoning would John have for suspecting him of his father’s death? “John would never,” he muttered in disbelief. He and John had their differences from time to time, but nothing very serious. They fought like any other brothers would, but they always forgave one another. To think that his brother thought him capable—
“Oh, he believes the two of you have been coerced, that I am the one to blame. It seems like my meeting with your father didn’t go unnoticed. Someone must have seen and recognized me. They told him that the four of us were in your chambers, that your father refused to let you come with me, and that I must have poisoned him to hide our escape,” Merlin relayed.
Willow’s grip tightened on his shoulders. Was she trying to suffocate him? “That’s not true, we can attest otherwise. Our word has to count for something!” She looked to him, but he only shook his head; he was still working it through himself. She rounded on Merlin, her brow furrowed. “If this person is shrouded by the Phoenix, then how do you even know what was said?”
“Jared overheard one of the scouts we were avoiding. They were just in range of his telepathy, and he managed to steer them away, but got a whiff of the man’s thoughts as he was doing so. They were told to bring us back alive, and there’s been talk of public hangings,” Merlin answered. The others had begun to draw closer; the conversation hard to miss.
He shook his head. “John couldn’t, wouldn’t, harm me. I know him. He would never allow such a travesty to occur. He’s reasonable and will listen to the truth. When we tell him—.”
Merlin shook his head, the corner of his mouth pulling lower in a deeper frown. “He’s not himself right now. Your father was just murdered; he watched him die. And a silver-tongued devil is whispering lies into his ears, filling him with unfounded vengeance. He cannot think clearly. If he doesn’t pull out of it in time, I’m not sure he’ll be able to command effectively once the horde arrives.”
“I have to go back,” he stated, but the look on the Guardian’s faces told him that even they realized the truth of the situation before he did. “Damn it!”
Merlin continued on despite his declaration. “There is nothing you can do for him. In his mind, he’s already convicted us. Look at the facts. He’s not going to believe some mysterious agent is lurking about the castle. Not when he considers the fact that a strange man was in the palace meeting with his father shortly before his death. Then there’s the fact that both of you are gone; that’s an admission of guilt in his eyes. The only thing we can do is carry on and hope that the agent slips up, that John sees him for what he is, and rallies himself in time; or Lancaster is
truly lost.”
He understood everything the mage was saying, but still his heart insisted he needed to go home; to pay respects to his fallen father, to somehow set things right with his brother. There had to be a way, didn’t there? The truth was on their side.
“Those weren’t enemy scouts we were dodging this morning, were they?” Willow pushed, already knowing the answer.
Merlin’s silence said all that they needed to hear.
Windel and Preik were still standing nearby, but the slump of their shoulders showed that they understood the futility in returning as well; even they would be suspect. His father had known about the Guardians’ departure, but they had left under the veil of secrecy. Proper channels would have alerted others to the fact that he and will were leaving; something his father had not been willing to risk. With him gone, no one other than those gathered here knew that they’d gone with the King’s blessing, and would appear just as guilty as the rest of them.
“That’s why my father was so loving and apologetic when I woke up; he knew his time was up. He kept making references—saying he wished there was more time. I just thought he meant my approaching wedding or his failing health. He knew otherwise and he didn’t want to tell me,” he groaned with understanding.
“He couldn’t; you wouldn’t have left. He gave me this,” Merlin said, retrieving a scroll from his pocket bearing his father’s seal and handed it over to him. “As well as armor that he had made as your wedding present. It’s light, so as to not weigh you down, and should serve you adequately until you fill out some.”
That must have been the large bundle at the mage’s feet.
“He also gave me this,” the mage continued, unwrapping the clothed object he’d been holding. From within the folds came a shimmer of steel and his heart stopped when he realized it was his father’s sword. It had a hand and a half hilt, meant to be used with either two hands or one hand and a shield. Inlaid at the base was a blue gem, the lion crest carved onto the stone’s surface. Words were written along the blade in Elven, as it had been a gift from Bordin at his father’s coronation. The long sword was well polished and beautiful to look at. Constantine had named the sword Seeker; intending to pierce his brother’s heart for killing his own father.
Ironic then that it now came to him after the death of his.
“It should’ve gone to John,” he spoke softly, the grief beginning to swell further than his fragile control could handle.
“He told me to give it to you, to remind you of his blessing and support, a symbol of hope in the darkness ahead. He’d given John so much and you so little, that he saw this as a way to attest to that which really mattered and you always doubted; that he loved you.”
He reached out and took his father’s sword, the hilt rough but comfortable in his hand. His arm trembled and he nearly dropped it as he fell to one knee. His emotions were overriding his self-control and tears were flowing freely from his eyes. Vision blurred, he felt, rather than saw Willow before him, her arms wrapping around him and pulling him close.
“Let’s give them some room,” Merlin told the others and he heard the soft padding of their feet as they withdrew from the grieving couple.
“I can heal a lot of things, but not this. I wish I could—I loved him too. I’m so sorry,” she whispered in his ear, tightening her embrace.
Overridden by grief, he let himself go, and sobbed heavily into her shoulder. “I loved you too, Dad.”
II
In truth, the mourning period should’ve last seven days, as the Kingdom and friends traveled to the castle to remember and honor his father. As the High King of the southern regions, the Lords and Ladies of those kingdoms had sworn fealty to his father, and were compelled to attend and swear to him as well. But with an army approaching, there was no time for tradition; no way to truly pay respect to the fallen King, nor pledge allegiance to his son.
He looked upon the assembled populace that come to witness his coronation and felt the sting of regret. This was not how he wanted to become King. Had his father passed naturally, then he would be able to mourn and accept that it was his turn to rule; but to be assassinated? And possibly with his brother’s involvement? It was just too much. He’d spent the morning drinking wine and sobbing into his pillow. He had a bit of a headache when the drapes were ripped open by one of his aides and a cleric was called to help clear his head. Jenna hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, and he let her rest while he went about preparing for what came next.
She had been conflicted with the disappearances of her sister and his brother. It was not like them to just take off like that, especially under these kinds of circumstances. She refused to even talk about it; ignoring the evidence presented and just shaking her head with pursed lips. She refused to believe that Willow intentionally hurt Constantine, but neither could be sure what their true involvement was, and it wasn’t like they could just ask them.
He sympathized with her stance.
Though his mind told him that Tristan had been somehow involved with the death of their father; his heart told him there had to be another explanation. Maybe they had been kidnapped? Or maybe the assassination attempt earlier that afternoon had scared them enough to travel to Griedlok and seek Bordin’s protection. How did it happen that Tristan was shot by an assassin that afternoon, then fled after the murder of his father that evening? Were the two related? The first assassin was dead, so was this the work of a conspiracy?
He couldn’t let it go. His mind couldn’t wrap around the circumstances leading up to his walking into his father’s chambers; the timeline for events was just too—it just didn’t make sense. It was completely out of character for the both of them and he knew that he was missing something—crucial.
Once he bathed and cleaned himself up, he had walked out of his bathroom to find an aide waiting for him with news of the search for Tristan. There had been no trace of his brother found; even the trackers were dumfounded. They did, however, sense magic was at work and believed that it had obscured his path; not only out of the castle, but out into the world beyond. They couldn’t even be sure which way they went. There was just no information whatsoever and too many possibilities to consider.
The only thing odd to report was that a dwarf had been found camping near the lake. They’d warned him off about the approaching horde and he had thanked them profusely, telling them he’d be on his way instantly. He couldn’t remember any dwarves that openly traveled outside of the western forest, much less in a more leisurely compacity. Several lived within the walls of Lancaster, but it wasn’t the same as an aimless wanderer just roaming the countryside. What was he doing so far from home?
He sighed as he half-listened to the clerics as they went through the traditional speeches before the crowning. John was dressed in his finest dress robes, a heavy royal cloak upon his back. He looked to the left at his beautiful wife. Her fine bright blonde hair was half way to her waist and was lying flat against her flowing, silk white dress. He watched as she knelt before the elder cleric Joshua, the man that had attended his father the night before. He placed a golden jeweled crown on her head and when she rose, she became the new Queen of Lancaster.
“I present to you your Queen; Jenna of Griedlok is no more. Now and forever to be called Jenna of Lancaster. Long live the Queen!” the cleric proclaimed to all those assembled.
They roared in response, hands applauding their pregnant matriarch. Aaron stood by her side, holding onto her right leg, the tears he’d been shedding were staining the poor boy’s face. He had been close to his grandfather and almost didn’t come to the ceremony. Aaron had refused to allow them to crown him as the new heir, having not removed his face from his mother’s robes since the ceremony started.
He sympathized, he wished he could do the same thing.
Joshua had come to stand before him, taking a larger, pointed golden crown from a pillow another cleric presented him. There were multiple gems adorning the outside of his father’s
crown; his crown now. A large blue gem; the color of their house, was inlaid in the center. Taking a knee, he felt dread begin within, not the satisfaction he’d always imagined. The weight of responsibility was placed on his head and his shoulders were heavy when he rose once more.
The crown fit perfectly, a reminder of how similar he and his father had been. He hoped that he also had his father’s strength and good judgment as well. He didn’t hear what the cleric said, but the crowd roaring “Long live King John!” snapped him back from his inner turmoil. It was a forced bellow his people gave, they were mourning their fallen King as well.
No one knew their pain better than their new monarch and he bowed his head in sorrow; acknowledging the fealty sworn in his name.
“Time for the receiving line, my Lord,” announced Clint, his new aide. Though he had his faults, he had to give the man credit for his quick actions the night before. He had taken charge of the search parties and had personally seen to the investigation of his father’s death. An early discussion earlier had revealed that his father had sent a carrier pigeon to Griedlok, but as to its content? No one knew. What had the old man be up to? Jenna had sent another that morning, explaining the disappearance of her sister; he was not looking forward to the response. Bordin had also been alerted to the approaching army; so the marching of his army would more than likely have happened anyways. He would just pretend that his father-in-law came to give them aid; not because they’d lost his youngest daughter when they were responsible for her well-being.
On the other front; they had to find and deal with the villain responsible for his father’s death. If the mage hadn’t been behind it, then there could still be an assassin hiding within the confines of the palace. Who knew where he’d strike next?
The guards had reported that no one had entered the King’s chambers after he had turned in for the night. That meant either the assassin could appear and disappear at will through locked doors, or someone put it in his water before he turned in for the night.
