by T L Drew
‘–Send someone else.’ The king demanded. ‘I need you here, Nazir.’
Lord Emery Steel fumbled closer to the King of Askavold. ‘I promise you, Your Grace, that my words are true; word fell into my hands a few days before now, and I rode to speak with you as soon as I read the words on the parchment, my king. The man who wrote to me is a most trusted source.’
‘You’re telling me that Reidar Black is dead?’ Andor’s eyes widened – he learned forward on his new throne, elbows digging into his thighs, and his icy skin somehow turned whiter. His thoughts quickly turned to Abigail Black; he knew well that she had a vile temper, and was capable of many cruel things to those who had hurt her, and Andor was uncertain how she would react when news of her father’s death reached her ears. Would she cry? Would she swear an oath to the gods that she’ll have justice for her father? Would she deceive him, leave Tronenpoint and begin some kind of rebellion against the southerners? Or would she be as unpredictable as she always was? What if Andor were to not punish the man who murdered Reidar...would she try to harm him, if Andor got in her way? Abigail was very much like Andor – a loose cannon, ready to fire – and Andor supposed it was why they worked together so well.
‘It must not come as such a surprise, with all due respect, Your Grace,’ Lord Steel said, fumbling with his sweating hands as he stood before the king. ‘Hakon and Kodran were trying to take Balfold for years, to remove a western king and turn the six kingdoms of Askavold into eight...although they never truly threatened Reidar Black with war, merely offers of gold and alliances, the western king never accepted a deal with Lord Hakon and King Kodran. It was my belief that your father never really cared to take Balfold and the Emerald Isles – it was what Lord Hakon wished.’
Andor took a deep breath, and rose from his ebony throne. ‘You believe it was the will of my uncle, to take Balfold? To murder the western king in hopes of taking control?’
‘I do, Your Grace.’
‘What do you know of the fate of Jorgen Black?’ Andor asked – it was the second thought that came to his mind, after Abigail. Andor could see the concern in Nazir’s eyes. Was he dead? Was he alive and riding south for revenge? Did he believe it was Andor’s will to see Solvstone burnt to the ground? Then there were thoughts of the ring Jorgen wore on his finger; what was the fate of the little cursed object that Andor desired to be returned to his family’s possession? What of Hakon’s ring? Had he used its power to his will, to take Solvstone?
‘Jorgen Black’s fate is unknown.’ Lord Steel admitted, rubbing his whiskers with his gloved hand. ‘Solvstone has been burnt to the ground, and Hakon and his men are riding due south once more, destroying villages and taking western women on the ride home. Your Grace, I ask his crimes do not go unpunished. I know what he is to you. I know that he was like a father to you, when your own father was not, but I beg of you to make an example of Lord Hakon before war comes to our lands, a war we cannot win against the westerners, especially if Jorgen Black is alive, and their king. Have Hakon executed before chaos comes, or arrest him and hand him to the westerns when they come looking for his head.’
‘Pardon my intrusion, my king, but war will come.’ Nazir interjected from the king’s side with certainty. ‘If Jorgen Black survived, he will come to take vengeance for what was stolen from him. I know him, well, Your Grace.’
‘As do I.’ Andor admitted, knowing Nazir’s words to be true. ‘He won’t let anything stand in his way of killing my uncle after what Hakon has done.’
‘And if Jakub Krea of the Emerald Isles survived–’
‘–What about the boy?’ Andor asked curiously. Although he had never met Jakub Krea, he had heard his name mentioned from Erik Black’s tongue once or twice. Reidar Black had invited Andor to Erik’s planned wedding before Kodran’s death, the wedding between Erik and Jakub’s sister Elinor, as he rightly thought.
‘Amund Krea, Lord of the Emerald Isles, was murdered beside the King of Balfold, also at the hands of your uncle. The boy has a small fleet and thousands of soldiers at his disposal. If Jorgen Black has survived the attack on Solvstone, and the two of them together decide to ride south...’
‘Then we fare no better than dead men, unless my uncle is punished for what he has done.’ Andor said surely. Even as Andor thought about executing his uncle, he wondered if he ever could. He loved Hakon, despite everything he had done – the man had raised him when Kodran hadn’t been a father to him. He wondered whether the ring on his finger had driven Hakon insane – Andor knew what they were capable of more than any – it was why he wanted one so badly.
Twelve days passed the king by before news reached his ears that the self-proclaimed Crow Slayer had returned to Tronenpoint with a band of mercenaries and cruel soldiers who followed his every order, and Hakon had failed to come before the king, even after Andor Grey had sent a group of men to bring him before the king in the throne room immediately upon Hakon’s return.
Fables had rapidly spread across the six kingdoms Askavold like wildfire, tales of the king’s cruel and unforgiving uncle – rapist, butcherer and killer of children. Many lords from across the sea were quick to bend the knee in fealty to the king after the news had travelled of the Grey’s surprise attack upon the west for their hesitation to bend the knee to their new king. In truth, Hakon Grey had not attacked Balfold for fealty or to insight fear into all who dared oppose Hakon, but for a darker reason, one he could not explain, not even to himself. The ring on his finger had consumed his mind, and the old man could not throw it aside. Many of the lords from across the sea had bent the knee in the belief that Andor Grey had given the order himself, to destroy the west and take it for his own.
However, the dark thoughts that consumed Hakon Grey were about to unfold into something darker, and his thoughts became actions from inside of the confines of the Stone Keep courtyard, where Hakon Grey stood in the lightly falling snow, his thin body swathed in thick crimson liquid. The long winter was gone, but the lands still held promises of war and death.
The old lord stood tall in the courtyard on the snowy morning, his hands slick with blood. Hakon’s face was painted in crimson liquid, splatters of irony blood beading down his gaunt cheek as the sword in his icy hands swung into the neck of a slaver in filthy rags. Yet Hakon Grey wasn’t quite strong enough as the chill bit at his muscles; his arms were thin in his old age, and the ring was void from his skeletal finger. Without the ring, once again he returned to a weak, feeble old man. Even though the ring was not with him, he was still bound to it, listening to it whispering faintly in his ears from the spot he had hidden it, the voice warming his bones. His new blade was too heavy and his body was cold to the bone. The blade sliced into the rear of the man’s neck with little strength, wedging itself into the hard bone, stuck in place like the snow that fell over the city. The slaver’s deafening screams echoed through the courtyard as Hakon pulled the shining blade from the half-severed neck, raised his arms high in the bitter air and swung down again.
For a second time, his sword did not sever the bone.
Hakon’s armoured men watched in a bitter silence. ‘Pathetic attempt, old friend.’ Mercer-One-Eye laughed over the shrieks of agony that resonated through the courtyard. ‘If you’re going to do a job, at least do it right, old man.’
‘Quiet your tongue Mercer, your distractions are not welcomed.’ Hakon spat, his face strained with concentration and the tip of his nose red and numb from the biting cold. The ring on his mind was the only warmth in his life as the wind snapped at his body with ferociousness. The old man was desperate to reach for it, to put it back on his finger, but he knew after what had happened in the western lands, his ring was in danger of being pried from him.
The man’s screams of agony came to a crashing halt as Hakon Grey swung his third and final blow, watching callously as the slaver’s severed head rolled from his torso into the bitter snow, staining it red from his irony blood. In the bitter quiet, the only thing the old man could he
ar were footsteps behind him, boots crunching over the snow. ‘What in oblivion do you think you’re doing?’ Hakon heard his king’s voice bellow across the courtyard, Andor Grey storming through the silence with his guards and Nazir at his side, his worn leather boots sinking into the snow as the cold bit his numbing fingers and clung to his lean body like a parasite. He was struggling to walk on the metal leg. His dark hair held the white dust and his ocean blue eyes were dancing with flames of fury. It was the first time he had laid eyes upon Hakon Grey in months – the old man was without an eye, healed inhumanly fast, and he was skinner than he was when he had left the south, but there was a new look on Hakon’s face, a look that Andor didn’t recognise. He had always been a cruel man, but the man who stood before him was worse. The king didn’t know what was different about him – other than the lack of an eye upon his gaunt face – but it wasn’t the Hakon that he knew standing before him. This man was different, crueller and uglier.
‘I am only doing what is right by you, nephew.’ Hakon Grey smiled at the sound of his nephew’s voice, twisting his head over his shoulder to see Andor marching towards him with anger in fine furs and the crown upon his head. ‘And you have arrived in time, lad; I saved the best man until last, the third richest slaver the south has ever seen. Only one more life shall end tonight, and then the south will see the beginning of the end of slavery. We will apprehend more of them, when we learn where they’re hiding.’
Andor spied the chopping block before his uncle, stained in blood and covered in a fresh sprinkling of snow. Another man – the last of eighteen – had been pushed before it by Hakon’s guards, his knees sinking into the white dust that blanketed Tronenpoint. The slaver’s face was riddled in slashes and bruises, his body tortured and broken.
‘You’ll stop what you’re doing right now Hakon, or I will–’
‘–Do what, Andor?’ Hakon interjected, gazing at his nephew from the corner of his eye.
‘Do not interrupt your king again.’ Nazir took a step towards Hakon Grey with his hand upon his long sword. ‘You forget yourself; he is Your Grace, now.’
‘I apologise, Your Grace,’ Hakon uttered bitterly, his eye rolling.
‘There’s no need of that, uncle.’ Andor was certain, but his voice was angrier than Hakon had ever heard it. ‘However, I demand to know what is the matter with your mind; what are you doing and why? I gave you no such order. The order I gave you – which was to come to the throne room upon your arrival back to the city – was not followed. It has been days since your return, so I have been told.’
‘I am doing what I thought would please my king,’ Hakon assured, listening to the words of the ring whispering sweetly in his ear from where it was hidden from mankind. ‘My beloved nephew despises slavery more than he despised his brother or his deceased father...I am merely putting an end to what displeases you, Your Grace.’
‘No, slavery cannot end like this.’ Andor was certain, his voice laced with venom. ‘We are not better than they are if we kill them. Enough blood has already been shed; there is a way we can end slavery without any more lives being taken.’
‘It’s doubtful.’ Hakon shrugged his shoulders, turning back towards the ragged slaver. ‘I have raked my mind, and so has your ever-so-wise council...and nothing. To ban slavery completely – as you have – is causing the slavers to plot an uprising against you, my dear nephew. To shed their blood is the only way it can end.’ Hakon grinned over his shoulder to his nephew, placing the pointed end of his giant long sword in the snow and leaned his body upon the silver handle, the grin refusing to leave his pallid face, the blood of the slavers rapidly freezing onto the steel of his weapon. Hakon’s pale skin was splattered in the blood of his victims and clung to his face like an incurable disease, the ground stained red with blood around him, body after body lying headless upon the snow, piled on top of one another, and the guards moved closer to Andor Grey as his anger deepened.
‘Have you gone mad?’ Andor asked quietly, taking a step closer to his uncle. ‘This isn’t you. What’s happened to you, Hakon?’
‘My mind is clear, is all, Your Grace.’ The bony man insisted.
Andor took a deep breath and calmed himself. It did not work – he was angrier than he had ever been.
Nazir spoke harshly. ‘He is far from clear; the man has gone mad.’
‘Mad? I have taken control of the west.’ Hakon hissed.
‘You’re mad to even think of such a thing!’ Andor shouted, taking an angry step in the snow towards Hakon. ‘If it is true, that Jorgen Black is dead, then Abigail is the only living Black in this realm, and the lords of the west will look to her. The west is hers. The west will never be yours and they wish to kill you for your betrayal. What were you thinking? What was going through your fucking mind when you disobeyed my orders? I asked for you to negotiate the return of my ring, a ring, and instead you start a damn war? Kill the western king? The lords are demanding that you face the consequences of your actions – they want me to have you killed, and in my best interests, I should bloody well listen to them before thousands of western solders turn up on our doorstep.’
Hakon’s lips turned into a smile. The king then moved forward, closer to his uncle with his eyes lased with fury.
‘You’ll let this man go.’ Andor ordered louder, taking a step away from his uncle when Hakon did not react with nothing but a smile, pointing at the last remaining slaver. ‘You have had your fun with these men but now it is over – is that understood? We will find another way to deal with the slavery in our lands without any more blood being shed.’
‘But I must–’
‘–Condemning these men to death without a trial is a betrayal of their rights as citizens of Askavold, and a betrayal to your gods. I am the king, and you are my adviser, therefore you shall listen to what I tell you; this man will not die today. You shall not execute him. You have disobeyed enough orders, taken enough lives. No more, is that understood?’ Andor ordered, his eyes shooting into Hakon’s. The old man could see the seriousness in Andor’s eyes, but at the same time Hakon Grey knew that Andor loved him too much to take action. Hakon was the father Andor never truly had. It was why Andor had not punished him for the crimes he had committed in the west, for disobeying orders from the king. He was trapped, between what was right, and the love he had for the wicked man.
‘Understood, Your Grace.’ Hakon uttered quietly, lowering his sword.
‘I shall take my leave, and you will come to the throne room and answer for what you have done in the west. You must tell them you are remorseful for what you’ve done, that it was the ring on your finger that compelled you to do what you did…perhaps that might save you, or at least buy us some time.’ Andor said, spinning on his heel in the red stained snow, his body twisting towards the large gates that led inside of the vast castle walls. His personal guards and Nazir turned with him, following behind their commander in grey steel armour as he led them towards the castle, the crunching of the snow under each footstep, and each footstep further and further away from Andor’s possessed uncle.
Andor suddenly stopped in the snow when there was the sound of steel echoing through the silence behind the King of Askavold, a sharp blade cutting through skin and bone. His head whipped around to the source of the sound, his old uncle standing tall with the blooded blade in his hand and a new head rolling across the Tronenpoint snow.
‘You don’t have to worry about the slavers anymore, Your Grace.’ Hakon grinned, sprayed with the man’s blood as it spilled into the snow, the head of the last man removed from his shoulders. ‘I have done you a service, my king. You will understand that soon.’
Similarly to the other corpses of Hakon’s victims, his body was tossed aside in the red stained snow on top of the gruesome pile of slaughtered slavers, devoid of their heads. Andor stared at his uncle, his pale skin tainted red and his eyes flaring with malevolence. Andor Grey pressed his lips closed and turned on his heel.
‘Arrest that
man.’ Andor Grey ordered coldly to Nazir. ‘Take him to the cells.’
Hakon’s pocketed face fell. Mercer bolted into a run, disappearing from the courtyard as soon as the words slipped from Andor’s mouth. Several guards chased the one-eyed mercenary, and others advanced upon the old, skeletal uncle of the king. ‘Andor–’
‘–Quiet,’ Andor was stern, turning his head to face Hakon. Several guards seized him as Mercer-One-Eye disappeared from sight. Hakon’s blade was pried from his callous hands. ‘I sent you west to retrieve my ring. I sent you west to make peace. I did not send you west to kill thousands of men, women and children. I did not send you west to murder the King of Balfold, nor the Lord of the Emerald Isles. I did not send you west to take it from the rightful rulers, and still I was prepared to help you – but you don’t want to help yourself. I can’t keep allowing you to disobey my orders. If you’re not dealt with, my head will roll, and I won’t die for you.’
‘Are you going to execute me?’ Hakon asked frightfully, Andor’s guards restraining the old man in their strong grasps.
‘I have spoken with Abigail; Lady Black wishes to see you tortured and sent to Solitude with Goran. The lords of the south wish to see you hang from your neck until dead. It’s my belief that Jorgen Black is alive and well, and he’s coming for your head, but no, I’m not going to kill you, no yet.’ Andor said with surety, gazing into his uncle’s remaining eye. ‘Killing you won’t be justice enough for all those who died at your hand in the west. You will rot in a cell until you stand trial in front of all those you have wronged.’ His eyes found Nazir before Andor could change his mind. ‘Take him away – I don’t wish to see his face any more.’
‘Andor, wait! Andor!’ Hakon was shouting as Nazir had his men drag Hakon in the snow to the cells. The sound of his pleas were pulling on the strings of the king’s heart, but Andor Grey gritted his teeth, and moved back towards the castle.
