by K. E. Walter
“There are two horses tied up just south of here, in the craftsman’s district. We can take them and ride for Fletwod today,” his voice dripped with desperation, but he tried to remain strong.
She looked away momentarily and then returned her eyes to his.
“We will go.”
It took only minutes to gather their things around the castle grounds. Little by little, soldiers were returning from the fighting, battered and bloody.
Around the men they slipped, and out of the front gate of the castle they ran. Not a single eye caught them, as they hurried through the streets for Daniel’s house. Most people of the city had gone just north to survey the battleground that had transformed a university into a bottomless pit of blood and sorrow.
But not them.
Neach and Jenos were headed for their escape route, out of the city and out of the King’s reach. They would ride south from the city gates and for a few hours along the river before they reached Fletwod. He hadn’t heard much about the town, but he hoped it held the answers he was looking for.
As they ran for the house, Neach couldn’t help but think of the reason he left Spleuchan Sonse in the first place: his father. Not Asgall, the father he sought was his blood relative. He had been so blinded by love and curiosity that he had lost his way during the journey. In his mind, he committed himself to finding him, and he would start in Fletwod.
When they arrived, there was no one to be seen inside the house. Neach feared for the worst, but untied Rine and another horse for Jenos. It had a long mane and bleached white hair, but its eyes burned with the passion of a grizzled soldier. He thought of the similarities between the young princess and the horse, but could not dwell on it for long.
With a swift leg swing, he mounted his horse and helped Jenos onto her new steed. They would carry them far, but how far had yet to be seen.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked as a child would their parent when they first teach them to ride.
He nodded silently and spurred Rine on toward the southern gate. They were hurdling fast through the great city, but it remained silent.
All the sound had gone from the once great capital and all the two were left with was their thoughts and the soft clopping of hooves along the stone walkways.
XXIV
The King fumed as he walked back and forth in his war room accompanied by two out of three of his most prominent commanders. Sep had been lost in the battle and the other two were slightly wounded during the ambush.
Henrig himself had escaped with not even a scratch. It was either a testament to his bravery or his stupidity, neither of which could be positively acknowledged.
As he paced, he twiddled his thumbs rhythmically.
“Let me understand you correctly: my daughter and the rebel boy are both gone?” he asked, seeming particularly annoyed.
“Yes, your highness, one of the cooks said they saw her headed for the southern gate with the archer,” the commander spoke quietly as he cleared his throat.
So much violence and an equal amount of bloodshed had been witnessed in the last few days, and the two men were eager not to become a part of it yet again.
“We will dispatch men in the morning to find them; they won’t get far on foot,” the King boomed with his head hung low.
Such a turn of events had truly rung home with the benevolent leader. From celebration to utter agony in a matter of moments, he rubbed his hands together as he contemplated his next move.
“Do we have a final tally of the dead and captured, commander?” he asked in a kinder manner. His sincerity was wearing thin with the abominable deeds the rebels were executing.
“Yes, your highness. We count eighty-seven dead and fourty-two captured,” he spoke with his chest puffed out as a sign of victory. The King appreciated his service, but he knew there would be more violence to come.
“And what of our men, Frederik?” he asked this time with a look of sorrow upon his face. Deep lines were taut into his skin; wrinkles of time and terror carved into his life’s canvas.
“Unfortunately, my lord, nearly two hundred dead of the thousand who were present were killed. Our grand commander Sep was amongst them, as you are aware,” the commander stepped back slightly, fearing an immediate outburst from the King.
“Very well, if you could leave me to myself, it would be much appreciated, gentlemen. The Kingdom sleeps well with you two in charge tonight,” his words were layered in a disingenuous fabric that wrapped around each phrase tight, but the men accepted the sentiments willingly.
He looked down at the map on the table and saw the various headquarters of the House Goedwig marked by X’s across the Kingdom. When one was pillaged, it was covered by his wax seal, which depicted his family crest, and only three bases remained. The King was growing ever closer to eradicating them from the land, but he knew they were only getting stronger.
His mind wandered to his most recent trip to Rulici, the capital of the Eastern kingdoms.
He and his commanders sat at a long table, crafted entirely of gold, as they looked on at the fat king. Somehow, he had fallen into possession of the two separate kingdoms of the east and molded them into one unified body, something that hadn’t been done for thousands of years. Henrig knew if he didn’t approach them now, they would ultimately venture west and pillage the lands, as they had done in the past.
It was late winter, and though the snows were only beginning to thaw in Duncairn, the grounds of Rulici were rife with flowers and other premature buds. The sun beat down upon his skin with vigor when he first landed, and he distinctly remembered removing various layers of clothing upon his arrival.
“So you wish to ally yourself with the great Kingdom of Floritola. I must admit, nothing like this has ever happened between our two sides of the world,” he had laughed a womanly laugh as he slipped a grape into his mouth.
“What is it that we will get out of our little arrangement?” he had asked, more serious this time.
“You will gain a claim to the most prized lands in the Western Kingdoms if you assist me in taking care of our little… problem,” the King had smirked devilishly, much to the pleasure of the King of Floritola, who laughed giddily at the proposition.
“Lejman and Shirla hold plentiful resources and beautiful women, both of which I could help you procure,” Henrig’s face turned shades darker as he spoke.
“I believe we have many things in common, Davi, if I may call you by first name,” the King of Duncairn bellowed. I assure you, if you are to help us in our endeavors, we can surely be of assistance to you,” he sat back in his chair as the fat king contemplated his offer.
“Very well, I will send two riggibirds with men to scout these lands you speak of. You will have an answer when the summer reaches its hottest point in your end of our great and expansive world,” again he laughed as he snapped his fingers. Without notice, King Henrig had been gently eased out of his seat and directed toward the door.
King Davi of Floritola was a childish man, but he held technology and means that no one in the Western Kingdoms had ever seen before. The riggibird was a massive glided bird, which could hold ten men on its back as it travelled long distances. The people of Floritola rode these birds as those in Duncairn rode horses, and it amazed Henrig to see them in action throughout Rulici.
In a flash, he was back in his war room in Leirwold, pacing back and forth yet again.
Out in the courtyard, a man was being beaten and interrogated by one of the King’s commanders.
“Stand down, Frederik. We do not want to kill the boy yet,” his words were met by a glare from the royal commander.
“Well, well, boy. What name shall I have the pleasure of calling you during your stay in our lovely castle?” the King smirked as he spoke to the boy would was cut above the eye and lightly on the cheek.
“T-tyrin,” he spat out, his mouth bruising from the beating he had been receiving.
“Well, Tyrin, you and I will be getting
to know each other very well in the near future,” with a kick to the stomach, the King walked away and Tyrin was dragged to his cell.
Early evening had fallen over the southern road, and the sun was beginning to sink low in the sky. In the south of the Kingdom, vision wasn’t impeded, as the lands were primarily low. No mountain ranges blocked the sky from view and on a clear day, one could see for miles on end without disruption.
Neither had spoken much since they had left Leirwold a few hours earlier. It was Neach who broke the silence first.
“When we arrive in Fletwod, we are not to tell anyone our names,” he began,
“Just as you cannot trust your father, I am not sure who I can trust, as well,” he concluded, as Jenos sighed audibly.
“I understand, Neach. Where is it that we are going exactly?” she asked calmly, far removed from the blinding anger that had overcome her earlier.
“We are going to visit a friend of mine who lives there. I would say he won’t be expecting us, but then again, I have a feeling he may be,” his words were met with confusion by the princess who contemplated their meaning momentarily before tossing it to the wind.
Their horses trotted along at a fairly brisk pace, as they wove their way through the southern countryside. The road followed the path of the river for the most part, and on the left side, pastures with sheep and foxes could be seen in abundance. She secretly loved every second of the journey. For all of the regality of her youth, she had never experienced true adventure. Perhaps that was why she had fallen so hard for the mysterious boy from the small western village. He offered a new sense of discovery, of a different life, in a different place.
As she looked at him riding, she found herself admiring him again. The frail, clean shaven boy she had met during the festival months ago was gone, taken over by a lightly bearded man whose arms threatened to tear the sleeves of his shirt. He had grown in the last few months and assumed his responsibilities as a man, something she admired.
Rolling hills passed, and the river remained a steady constant to their right, as they passed through an unfamiliar part of the Kingdom. It seemed the wildlife was more prominent in this area, perhaps a result of the winding stream. Nevertheless, as darkness consumed the whole of Duncairn, their horses galloped into Fletwod. The first candles were being lit in windows by wary citizens, but the village gave off a glowing air for a different reason.
People looked on at them with smiles upon their faces, and their kindness radiated from their souls into the evening air. The summer humidity had taken its hold of the south, and Neach wiped sweat from his brow, as they approached a small hut on the outskirts of the village.
The King lay in bed, restless and wide awake. Though he tossed and turned, he found no respite beneath the covers of his linens.
He stared at the ceiling and the grand mural he had ordered painted when he first assumed power in the Kingdom.
Good versus evil, he thought, if only it were that simple.
As he turned toward the windowsill, he noticed something flying toward him in the moonlight.
Its wingspan was immense, but it looked as if it were one of the hawks he kept in the aviary. The hawk landed with a soft crash onto the windowsill, and around its ankle was a piece of paper that had been tied twice over.
The King reached over in confusion and untied the paper from its ankle, as he watched it fly away into the night again.
He opened the paper and read its contents a few times before he fully comprehended its meaning.
For all that you have given us; we will give you just as much.
Is this some sort of riddle? He thought to himself as he sat up in his bed.
But then he remembered his meeting in Rulici. The summer had been going on for quite some time, and the humidity hung thick in the air around the capital, as if it were a hex put on its borders to prevent men from breathing properly.
Immediately, he realized its meaning. Davi had sent his riggibirds, and they had found their prize to be desirable. It would only be weeks before the Eastern troops arrived on the shores of Duncairn.
His “palace” was not as impressive as Neach had hoped. Though he remembered the tale, he had wondered whether the project he had embarked on as a young man had ever been completed. Evidently, it had not.
“Whose house is this, Neach?” Jenos asked with a yawn. The night had grown old, and they stood outside in the summer heat which was progressively getting cooler.
“Just give me a moment,” he pleaded with her as he approached the door.
With a swift three knocks, he demanded the attention of whoever happened to be residing inside. From inside the home, a grumbling could be heard and Jenos looked at Neach curiously.
The door swung open with a fury, and a man was standing there in his night clothes, with a sword aimed at Neach.
“I’m sorry to have showed up unannounced, sir,” Neach said, “But I had thought you wouldn’t mind,” he finished with a smile.
“Of course not Coinneach,” the old man spoke, “But when you enter my home, you must only call me Fenris.”
