The Winds of Crowns and Wolves

by K. E. Walter

“Why not kill him, to make an example?” Jenos asked, her voice quivering as she cried, the sarcasm thick in her tone, “Surely one more head lost at the swing of your sword wouldn’t cause you less sleep, your Highness,” Neach was frozen in fear, but couldn’t help but smile at her audacity.

  And then came another swift sound, the sound of flesh on flesh.

  He crept around the corner, enough to have a line of sight, and saw the King standing over his daughter as she held her face. Henrig had hit his daughter in response to her dissidence.

  “I warn you not to defy me, my daughter. If we are to survive the coming war, our family’s best interest can only be served through cooperation,” his words hissed like a field snake in the weeds, and Neach’s face boiled red with anger and drunkenness.

  With every ounce of energy in his body, he fought against the initial reaction. Nothing would have pleased him more than to confront the King, then and there, and fight for the respect and dignity of the girl he had fallen in love with.

  As he crept in the shadows, the King began to walk toward him. He crept into the crevice behind him, and disappeared into darkness. Blinded by anger or fooled by Neach’s stealth, Henrig walked past Neach and didn’t react in the slightest.

  Following close behind was Jenos. Neach wanted to jump out and embrace her, and wipe the tears from beneath her eyes, but he remained hidden, knowing that exposing himself now would result in his imminent demise. When she passed, he walked out slowly, peering around the corners as he went. The alcohol had struck him with full force, and he struggled mightily to reach his seat in the courtyard.

  When he reached the open space where the crowd was still gathered, he saw Jenos waiting for him at his seat.

  “Where have you been?” he asked innocently, knowing the truth of her disappearance.

  He hoped she would tell him of her father’s plan, and beg him to run, but he knew better than that. She would remain silent for the sake of the King’s safety and the safety of the Kingdom.

  “I was meeting with the daughter of the Duke of Jorwel. She’s a lovely girl, in town for the festivities,” the words dripped with falsity, but Neach mustered the strength to believe her.

  “Is it normal for the other members of royalty to come to Leirwold?” he asked, his question innocent enough. He only wanted to move onto a different topic, there would be no sense in brewing on it any longer.

  “Most years no, but this year, it is special. Father believes the only way to maintain a unified Kingdom is to make the nobility seen by the rest of the population,” her words singed with disdain for her father. Though she obeyed him, she seethed at the mention of his pompous faux royalty.

  As she spoke, a clamor arose from within the crowd. Murmurs rose and retreated like the tides of the ocean. Jenos stood tall, as she peered over the expanse of people.

  In front of the large group, a wooden pillar was being raised and placed deep within the castle soil. It stood nearly twice the height of a man, and was wide enough to have been a support beam for any building in the capital. When the wood was raised in its entirety, a procession emerged from the darkness beyond the secondary ring of the castle.

  Jenos’ hands rose to her mouth and she gasped so loud that it made the hairs on Neach’s neck stand up.

  “There’s going to be an execution.”

  XXI

  The boy’s hair was shoulder length and fair and his eyes were as blue as the clearest river tide in spring.

  Dirk.

  Spearheading the group of people, was the boy he knew as Dirk, whom he had met at Daniel’s only a short while earlier. He looked as he had when he came to visit Neach the day prior, but his eyes were surrounded by deep purple rings, and his face was cut in multiple places.

  His heart sank to the floor, as he was led to the wooden pillar by the King’s faithful executioners. Dirk tried to remain stoic and resolved, but tears flowed down his face, as they tied his arms behind him and his legs flush to the wood.

  The King followed behind the group of people and came to the front of the wooden pillar to make a speech.

  “Brothers, sisters, as you know, the Kingdom of Duncairn is under attack from ruthless heathens who claim to have a righteous cause, in comparison to that of my own. They mercilessly slaughter innocent civilians in their quest of ‘good’, and they cannot be allowed to maintain a grip of fear over the subjects of this Kingdom any longer,” his words rung out as if they were inside of a heavy brass bell, struck with the utmost force allowed before it would break.

  “This boy that you see before you is a member of this House which feels they are responsible for taking the King’s law into their own hands. Just yesterday, I discovered him dressed as a market worker, sneaking into the castle,” as the King spoke, Neach’s stomach plummeted. Dirk had been giving Neach vital information, and now he would pay for it with his life.

  “For the crime of treason, the most dubious of actions, this boy will pay with his life. If there is anybody who wishes to enact the policy of mercy on him, speak now,” the crowd fell wholly silent except for the ever growing sobs of Dirk as he hung there on the wood.

  “Very well; burn him,” the King’s words sliced like a sword into an open wound as Neach sat frozen to his seat and watched as his brother writhed in agony.

  The executioners doused the pillar in oil and lit it with their torches. In seconds, the wood and boy were reduced to immolating pikes, ablaze in the early summer evening.

  Neach looked away, but returned his gaze to Dirk with tears in his eyes. He couldn’t let him die like this, without giving him the proper respect. His screams lasted a few minutes before they ceased, snuffed by the flame in a bid to make dissidents quiet perpetually.

  A somber silence hung over the crowd who had gathered initially for celebration, but were now faced with the very cold reality of death and treason. Dirk’s body was removed from the premises and Neach fought back sobs of fear as he sat next to Jenos. After all, it was possible it could be him burning in front of the masses soon enough. He wondered why the King had let him live so long already, if he knew of his affiliation with the House.

  His thoughts were not left unattended to for long.

  “What are you thinking of?”

  The silence was broken by a forceful whisper from Jenos. Her gaze remained steadfast and forward and the side of her face had turned a bright red color. She rubbed it with her hand as she spoke calmly.

  Neach stared at the ground as he responded.

  “How is it that man’s life is valued so little, but man’s impact valued so much?”

  His words rang profound in the aimless murmurs that had filled the courtyard.

  “We hope to make grand changes, to have a profound influence on our chosen field of expertise, yet we kill and die on such whimsical notions,” he spoke softly, the death affecting his ability to speak.

  Jenos bowed her head and for a moment they were in unison.

  “I do not know why man acts the way it does, I only have faith that it will ultimately prove to be the decisions of man which ensure our survival.”

  Neach raised his head to look on at the crowd. A normal execution would have seen as much celebration as any birth, but on this day they remained silent. The killing had obviously worked in the way the King intended; Dirk was made an example, and he hoped word of the repercussions of treasons would permeate throughout the Kingdom.

  For now, all Neach could think of was the boy he had only just met. Burned alive, tortured at the hands of the King he was meant to take down. A boy who reluctantly fought against his King, now free of the chains his troubled life had wrapped him in.

  “Come, Coinneach, my father will be awaiting us in the war room,” the words held an ominous tone to them, even as she spoke so elegantly.

  She rose from her seat and grabbed Neach’s hand to guide him forward. He was reluctant at first, but stood and followed her as she wished. The young man was no match for a beautiful woman, especially one wit
h wit as sharp as hers.

  They left the courtyard, and Neach felt more at peace after leaving the site of the execution. Velvet rugs were hung around the walls of the halls, as the preparations for the celebration moved along swiftly. They were red with golden animals encrusted into their skin, and golden ropes tied around the borders. Each one embraced Neach, as he walked past them and gave him hope that his feral ancestors were walking with him, through the cold halls of Castle Leirwold.

  He knew not what awaited him in the war room, but part of him hoped the King would reveal what he knew. Unsure of how much longer he could keep it silent, Neach nearly welcomed condemnation by the King; it was the least he could pay for Dirk’s death.

  When they arrived, Neach was surprised to see only the King hovering over a collection of maps which were spread out across a large oak table.

  “Come in, son,” he called without looking up.

  “Leave us for a few minutes, my dear,” his words were directed to Jenos, and she seemed to understand immediately.

  She walked briskly out the door, and left Neach to deal with her father on his own.

  When he turned to look at the King, he was staring directly at him.

  “Do you know what I’m looking at here, Neach?” he questioned calmly.

  Afraid to look ignorant, Neach simply shook his head and walked over to Henrig.

  “These are maps of our great Kingdom, son. The red “X’s” denote enemy strongholds within the Kingdom. There are a few groups of note, but none are as threatening as the House Goedwig. You know of them, but let me show you why it is so important to me that they are crushed,” the King’s voice rose louder as he spoke more. One of the most glaring things to Neach, was the fact that Daniel’s house was not marked on Henrig’s map. He found minimal solace in the fact that his brothers and sisters would be safe in the shadow of the Castle.

  Pulling a larger map from beneath the table, the King’s face lit up in a devious form of illumination, as he looked down upon the elegant cartography.

  “This map details the Kingdom of Duncairn nearly four hundred years ago, when our first King reigned. King Wrelnor unified all of the cities of Duncairn, and maintained power over his subjects for nearly twenty years. They were happy! You see, Neach? Life was better, then!” the King seemed to be losing his sanity, slowly, as the two men spoke in the room full of armaments and maps.

  “Alas, after those twenty years, a group was formed based on some insane tales, and they brought down the burgeoning Kingdom in a ball of flames. For hundreds of years, the Kingdom toiled in poverty and violence, a direct result of the House Goedwig. And now, they threaten to do so again, something I will not allow to happen; I will kill a few hundred people if it means preventing the past from happening again,” fire burned in his eyes, as his fist pounded the table.

  His diatribe ended, as his fists came to rest atop the table for a final time. Tears were building in his eyes, as Neach spoke with trepidation.

  “Surely there’s another way to fix this?” he treaded lightly as if on broken glass, hoping not to set the King off further.

  Henrig looked to Neach, with a wild passion in his eyes, and whispered ominously.

  “I have seen the things they can do Neach, they harbor dark spirits within them and torture men relentlessly,” he shook as he stood in place.

  “All will be consumed by their evil, if not now, then at some point in the near future,” with that, he released Neach’s arms from his grips, and stood up straight. In moments, the man who he believed to be a shell of himself was restored to a stoic man of reason and logic. Adorned with his family crest atop his breastplate, Henrig stood glistening in the crackling firelight, returned to his posture of days passed.

  It was as if the words he spoke to Neach were a burden being lifted off of his shoulders. The more he had spoken, the more he returned to his normal self. He had sentenced a young man to death to make a statement, and Neach wondered whether he was capable of coming to grips with the reality of the situation. For all of the King’s fervor and anger, he rarely seemed a violent type. All other options must have been exasperated for him to be blinded by his fury.

  He strolled toward the fireplace, and looked into the hearth with disdain. Its flames licked at his deep brown eyes as he stared into the distance. Far beyond the limits of the stone foundation, the King looked into the soul of the Kingdom he controlled. Years of service to a nation of his people, his subjects, on the verge of collapse, because of a rebel force that threatened to destroy the fabrics of civilized life in Duncairn.

  “Have I told you how my father died, Neach?” the King asked warily, as his eyes teared from the smoke that slid out of the grasps of his chimney.

  Speaking to the back of King Henrig, Neach denied hearing this one of his anecdotes.

  “It was nearly five years ago, now. My family lived in the village of Balthusom before we ascended to the throne. As a boy, my father worked in the mines of Balthusom, harvesting iron ore, and would take me fishing on the Northern shore of Duncairn, after the work week was over. We caught large bluefish, sea robins, and the occasional cold water ling. His escape was his fishing; it allowed him to escape the smoke and soot of the mines. When I won the throne, my father refused to leave Balthusom, and he lived in my childhood home until his death. On a cold winter’s day, nearly five years ago, my father sat on the rocks near his boat and watched the ocean go by in front of him, pulling in and out with various tides. As he sat in his leisure, an assailant slit his throat from behind and threw him into the ground beneath him, killing him instantly. The assassin fought under the flag of the House Goedwig, and was attempting to hold power over me as I sat atop the throne. They are ruthless, and they do not appreciate loyalty Neach. If it is up to them, each man and woman will die until they are the only remaining bloodline,” he took a breath after his longwinded speech, and looked at Neach.

  “And that is why they must die. Every last one of them must die, eventually,” his voice trailed away, as he looked back into the fire.

  Neach stood in awe, as the King spoke his feelings to him in such honesty. Unfortunately, the King was unaware of the accidental surveillance that Neach had done earlier in his drunken state. Though the alcohol had worn off, he felt inebriated by the weight of the punishment which the King said would ultimately await him. He felt drowsy, as he sat in a chair near to the table. Before he could control himself, he was careening toward the floor, headfirst.

  With a crash, his head collided with the marble and his world turned to darkness. Everything which had appeared so clear around him earlier faded gradually to black until his eyes closed, trapping his mind in their smoky encasement.

  Sleep, it seemed, came in many forms.

  XXII

  A red velvet tablecloth was sprawled across the table, its fringes frosted blue. The fringes were completed with dark green tassels, which hung down far from the table and brushed against the knees of the men, who sat at around its borders.

  Outside, a heavy snow fell, as it seemed to do perpetually.

  Snow banks had drifted to the windows of the old hall, and in some spots it was nearly twelve feet deep. The people who lived here were used to the conditions, however, as it never warmed up. Winter was simply a way of describing the year; cold, dark, and relentless.

  The head of the table was occupied by a man with a large white beard that had been carved exquisitely, a telling sign of his wealth and prominence. He wore a long black cloak with a faded blue breastplate. The breastplate was gilded around the edges of a scene, which depicted two wolves facing each other.

  To his right sat a man who also wore a long black cloak, but his breastplate was green with gold trim. His scene depicted a large cat with its paw raised. On his left, another man with a breastplate, this time of bronze, with a golden trimmed footprint carved into the metal. The three men sat around the table and looked out the window, as the man at the head rose to his feet.