Fayroll [04] Gong and Chalice

by Andrey Vasilyev

  I stood in the second and final row, one which was about to become the first. The only people behind me were Anna; the four insurgents, who realized there was nothing for them to do in the slaughter taking place; both financiers; and a few of Vitold’s clerks there to cover their boss and the rest of the group. Warriors on both sides of the conflict were cut down and collapsed on the floor, making the going harder for everyone else.

  “Knights, form up and push the right flank!” Adalard yelled, realizing the battle was about to turn into a melee that would serve only to eat up human resources and time. I wasn’t sure which of those was more important for us.

  The group of Knights Templar, unfortunately, had already thinned, and they weren’t quite in time to form up and present the palace guard with a united front. Still, they attracted attention away from the rest of our group, and we were able to mostly build a wall of shields between us and the guards. That left them under attack from both sides.

  “Hit the left flank, damn it!” we heard Adalard shout. “We can’t hold out!”

  Our blood boiling, we threw ourselves at the remnants of the left flank, driving them backward with our bodies. A clerk from the Academy of Wisdom dropped next to me with a croak, and I drove my sword into the throat his killer had left open when he jumped in to attack. There was none of the elegance or finer points one might expect from a duel; there you got one or two shots in and watched the bodies hitting the ground around you.

  I fought off a few blows and let a few others through, and, though they were critical, my health only dipped lower. A short guard froze when my sword pierced his ribcage, and…

  …and then I noticed that the battle was just about over. There were only ten guards still on their feet, and not many more of us—fifteen, perhaps. We stood across from each other covered in blood (which wasn’t supposed to be there…), breathing hard, and staring at each other with hatred in our eyes. A knight moved at the feet of the guards. He looked to be deafened, and his helmet had flown off his head, but he was alive. He lifted his head slowly; it was von Ostin. A guard next to him snorted, thrust his sword downward through von Ostin’s body and armor, and pinned him to the floor like a butterfly. That’s a shame, young knight. You barely got any time with the fairy.

  “What are you waiting for?” Gaynor called out in a hoarse voice. “Finish them!”

  “You got it,” I grunted, infuriated by the loss of von Ostin, and jumped forward. The rest of our remainder followed me in. Swords again clashed, armor buckled and broke under my attack, something warm and pungent splashed over my face and into my eyes (that was taking things a bit too far), and someone next to me bellowed in pain.

  I jumped backward, held my sword at the ready in front of me, and wiped my eyes with my sleeve. The battle was almost done. All that was left in the hall, which was covered in bodies, were the ones who had stayed out of the battle, me, two other warriors, and Gaynor. He was wounded and bathed in blood. The last of Yur’s guard fell at his hand, though it was clear that he was barely hanging on. He collapsed onto one knee, leaned on his sword’s wavy blade, and tried to get back up.

  “Finish him,” Vitold said laconically, glancing quickly at Brother Yur as he gave the order. Gaynor looked at him with a sneer on his face.

  Vitold’s people didn’t move, and neither did the guerrillas. I glanced at Brother Yur in confusion, though he looked away.

  “Warriors, was I not clear? Finish him!” Vitold more squealed than yelled.

  I made a show of pulling a rag out of my pocket and wiping down my sword. There was no way I was turning into a butcher for some treasurer, even if he was close to the crown.

  The only two warriors left were Vitold’s men, as the Knights of the Temple apparently hadn’t been as well-prepared for the type of battle we’d just been through—they and the old drunk Adalard were dead to a man. The warriors glanced at each other, ran over to Gaynor, and swung their swords at him. The brave knight was able to block the first blow, though the second slashed into his back. The rest was simple.

  It was a horrible sight. The hall was littered with bodies left resting in awkward poses, the whole spectacle was covered in blood, and silence reigned. The coup’s masterminds were quiet over by the entrance, Federik had frozen into a mute pillar of salt with the candle in his hand, and, for convenience or beauty, torches along the walls were burning that hadn’t been at the beginning. Or maybe they just make it easier to see the whole thing on the big screen? For effect…

  “What d-did you think would happen, y-young man?” Brother Yur asked calmly. “Th-this is what happens during coups. And it’s why I-I planned it all this way. No popular u-uprisings, a-as few casualties as possible, and a-as little b-bloodshed as we could manage. But these warriors…there’s n-no getting around it.”

  “But Gaynor, he’s…” I muttered. I didn’t know him, though he’d caught my fancy right from the get-go as someone who was clearly just and honorable.

  “He’s the kind of person who would never give up or betray his king, even if that king is a worthless bag,” Vitold explained. “If we’d let him keep his life, we would have had to deal with a guerilla war and a constant threat to Queen Anna’s throne.”

  I knew he was right, but still… It didn’t sit right with me.

  “What do you mean, Queen Anna?” Federik called over, suddenly coming to his senses. “The whore who had her runt out of wedlock? She’s going to be taking my throne?”

  “Hey, you’re talking about my mother!” Vaylerius said, frowning and shooting an unpleasant look at Federik.

  “Hold on,” Vitold said to the mage, who was raising his staff. “We need him alive.”

  Danoot and Yasmuga looked at each other.

  “Federik, you’re getting your spittle on everything,” Anna said. “Yes, you figured it all out. You’re a worthless peacock and cynic, but you catch on fast when it comes to your own skin.”

  “Conditions?” the king asked in a falsetto.

  “What do you want?” Vitold squinted back.

  “Money—a million gold—and a ticket out of here.” Federik shivered slightly.

  “Of course,” Vitold rubbed his hands. “A million is overboard, but we’ll give you half a million. We’ll even take you to the border, though you have to abdicate the throne.”

  One of the clerks walked over to the king holding some papers Anna had pulled out of her bag.

  “She still won’t last long; she isn’t from a royal family,” Federik chuckled evilly. “I, at least, have a right to the throne. But her? Nothing!”

  “That’s not your problem,” Anna replied. “Also, you know very well what blood flows through my veins.”

  “Oh, and another thing.” The king took the quill offered to him without paying the least attention to what Anna was saying. “Before I sign this, I want an oath that nobody will harm me. From all of you.”

  “An oath?” Vitold snorted. “What are we, children?”

  “It’s better than nothing,” the former king snorted back. Well, the just-about-former king.

  “Vaylerius and you, girl,” Vitold said softly, “go get the supreme sage from the Academy. He needs to witness to the legality of the abdication and ascension to the throne.”

  “I haven’t been to the Academy in forever,” Vaylerius replied, dropping his gaze. “I don’t remember who’s where over there.”

  “Drig will show you everything.” Vitold waved to one of his people. “Explain the political situation to the sage, and let him know how things are going to play out—how it will affect the rest of his life…or his death, if he balks.”

  “Will he listen to me?” the young mage asked dubiously.

  “Of course, he will,” Vitold assured him. “I’ve already had a chat with him, and the old rascal picked up on the hints I was giving him. We all remember your mom, too, and his memory works a lot better than he looks. He gives kids a run for their money.”

  A portal flashed, and Vaylerius and Xant
ria walked through it.

  “Well, d-done writing?” Yur studied Federik. “Let’s go, n-no sense drawing this out.”

  “Yes, yes, I’m done,” the king responded querulously, waving the parchment so the ink would dry faster. “I’m getting as far away from the West as I can. I’ll sit somewhere on the Crisna fishing and minding my own business, I think.”

  Vitold snapped his fingers, and one of his clerks took the parchment from Federik and brought it over. Three heads immediately bent over it.

  “Well, e-everything looks good,” Brother Yur said with a satisfied smile. “N-no questions from me. The supreme s-sage will be coming soon, and we’ll wrap things up so you can go f-fishing.”

  “The oath. You forgot the oath,” Federik reminded him, tapping his leg on the foot of the throne nervously.

  “Ah, right. I swear by the e-eternal heavens that I will not p-personally harm you, and will take no steps in the future s-such that someone else will.”

  “And now the rest of you.” The king looked around at the group.

  We all repeated after him, some of us taking it more seriously than others. Just as Anna was saying the words, a portal popped open to disgorge a gray-bearded old man wearing miniature glasses and leaning on a staff. He had a nightgown draped over him and shuffled along in house slippers.

  “Oh, boy,” he said, noticing the carnage in the hall. “Does nobody have anything better to do than all this?”

  “It isn’t us; it’s the times,” Vitold replied cynically. “We needed to quickly replace the king. Federik already wrote up his abdication papers, so all that’s left are the formalities.”

  “Formalities?” the old man grated. “What basis does the princess have for her rule? That oaf at least had letters going back to the time of the White Prince confirming his birthright, and Anna has nothing. She can’t take the throne like that.”

  “Hagen, go a-ahead,” Brother Yur said.

  You sneaky, sneaky treasurer. He’d had the whole thing worked out from the beginning. But nobody knew it was his plan and execution. Who officially led the new queen to her place on the throne? A guy named Hagen. We were just over in the corner somewhere. And if another power shift happened, my head would be the one rolling or drowning. Only the queen would remember him the next day, when it came time to settle their accounts. Bravo…

  “My queen, your symbol of power.” I pulled the White Prince Crown out of my bag and was surprised to see white and red sparks flashing dully around it. Doing my best to avoid stepping on the corpses, I walked over to Anna. “Take it and rule your kingdom justly and fairly.”

  Anna took the crown in her hands, and a bright, crimson-and-white star glowed above it.

  “An artifact from the prince himself!” the supreme sage gasped. “The crown that was lost!”

  “Well, old man?” Anna asked threateningly, having, I thought, grown a little and become much more imperious. “Do I have a right to the throne?”

  “I, supreme sage of the Academy of Wisdom Erasmus dar Fronbach, do solemnly witness that the throne of the Western Mark has been legally abdicated and just as legally occupied. May your days be endless, fair Queen Anna. Take the crown of the West from the hands of the former king.”

  Something shuddered beneath the floor, and I thought I could smell something.

  Queen Anna majestically stepped toward the thrown, Vitold winked at his men, and they quickly slipped the crown off Federik’s head and dropped it into his hands. A whisper in his ear was enough to ensure that he did what he was supposed to do.

  Once Anna got to Federik, he shoved the coveted crown at her before loudly asking a question to the group. “There. Can I go?”

  The only answer he got was a jab in the ribs that pushed him away from the throne.

  Anna hoisted the crown onto her head, settled onto the throne, and smiled.

  “There we go. I accept the crown of the West and swear to rule fairly, justly, and mercifully.”

  “Hail to the queen!” roared Vitold.

  “Hail!” resounded throughout the hall, with only Federik and the supreme sage holding their silence.

  I had to doubt how merciful she would be. Heads are going to roll, mark my words.

  “If that’s it, fair Queen, would you permit me to leave the palace?” Erasmus asked Anna. “I’m old and tired, and I want to go home.”

  “Of course,” Anna nodded. “Son, take the honorable supreme sage back to where he lives and stay there with him until the morning. I’ll have something I need you to do at the Academy. Take your girlfriend with you as well; it’ll be good for her.”

  Vaylerius pursed his lips unhappily, though he opened a portal and walked through it with Erasmus and Xantria.

  “We’re good now?” Federik asked unhurriedly.

  “Almost,” Anna said, nodding again. “How do I get to the treasury?”

  “The passage is right there in the corner, right behind the throne. The crown will recognize you, so you can go in there whenever you want, and the door will close behind you,” Federik explained peevishly. “Nobody besides you can get in unless you officially appoint someone and give them the authority to go in.”

  How simple. There’s the door, here’s the crown. Magic…

  “Excellent,” Anna replied, rubbing her hands. “I think I’ll head in there and drop off the prince’s crown. It’s the kind of thing you want to always have under lock and key.”

  She got up from the throne and walked over to the door leading to the treasury.

  “Queen!” I yelled after her, “can you grab my chalice while you’re in there? You’ll be busy tomorrow, and I’m running out of time.”

  Brother Yur shook his head, obviously not approving of the hurry I was in, while Vitold smiled.

  “Okay, if I see it, I’ll bring it out,” she replied, turning back toward me. “But I’m not promising anything.”

  “I don’t need a promise,” I replied sharply. “Don’t promise anything; just find it.”

  “Well, Anna, don’t you have wonderful subjects,” Federik laughed. “You’ll go far with them!”

  Anna turned around one more time, looked at Vitold, and nodded to him ever so slightly. His lips curled back into a snarl, and he waited until the door to the treasury had closed behind the queen before winking at Yasmuga. The latter quickly slipped a rawhide cord around the former king’s neck, crisscrossing it in the back. He pulled back on one end, leaving the other for Danoot.

  “You gave me an oa-a-a…” Federik clawed at the cord, while Yasmuga bent him over. The king collapsed on the ground, his feet scrabbling against the floor, his tongue jutting out of his mouth.

  “Oaths given to the ruling class are no oaths at all,” Yasmuga explained to Federik as he watched Federik’s eyes pop out. He bit down on his pipe and pulled harder at the cord.

  “Are you going to die or not?” yelled Danoot.

  Federik flopped around for another thirty seconds before giving up the ghost.

  “Finally.” A satisfied Danoot got up and brushed off his knees. “That was the first time I ever got to kill a king.”

  “And you really shouldn’t have started,” Vitold responded gently.

  Danoot looked at him in confusion and grimaced sharply from an unexpected pain: one dagger slashed deep into his liver, while another slipped between his ribs. Vitold’s clerks knew what they were doing.

  Two others gave Yasmuga the same treatment, though he was unusually tenacious and tried to defend himself even after he’d taken seven cuts from their daggers. It was all to no avail, however, and two more bodies were added to the carnage on the ground.

  “Vitold, y-you don’t think it might have been b-better to k-kill them after they did wh-what we needed them to do? We s-still have to tell the people about the ch-change in power. You h-haven’t forgotten, have you?”

  “I don’t want to draw things out, Yur. Those two knew how Federik actually died, and they might have blabbed to someone. You know what
kind of people they were; that’s probably how it would have happened. Also, they found out that killing kings is just as easy as killing anyone else. They got a taste for royal blood. Why do we need people like that around? And if you’re thinking about their people, Vaylerius and his lover are still around, and they can do everything without these two.”

  “Plus, that’s why we brought them in here with us,” Anna chimed in. “Their job is done, so what did we need them for? It’s just a shame we couldn’t kill that slob Xantria. My son likes her too much, so we can’t dump her in the same pit we throw these guys into. She’s pregnant, too, and that’s still an heir. Even if it is a bastard.”

  “Don’t worry, she’ll have the child, feed it for six months, and then we’ll poison her. We’ll make sure nobody has any idea,” Vitold consoled her.

  A barely visible grimace flitted across Yur’s face. It didn’t look like he was a fan of that type of conversation. “We n-need to have a good reason f-for why Federik died,” he said. “Something r-realistic.”

  “Hemorrhoidal colic,” Vitold said quickly. “Sounds good; nobody knows what it means…”

  “B-but that’s the problem; nobody kn-knows what it means.” Brother Yur frowned again. “The rabble n-need to understand that the king died of something u-understandable and c-common.”

  “The clap?” I suggested.

  “What’s that?” Vitold even scratched the back of his head.

  I didn’t say anything, as I wasn’t exactly sure myself. Something simple people would know, that’s all…

  “Okay, here,” the queen said. “He died from a lung disease he’s been suffering from for a while. One day he just up and died. Everyone will take that as they will, and if anyone has any questions, they’re welcome to come ask me. The executioner and I will be happy to explain. We’ll leave the body out for one day so the people can pay their respects, and then we’ll lock it up in a tomb somewhere.”

  You completed a quest: Overthrow