The three knights nodded. One of them pulled a lantern out of its sconce and led the way down.
Spywater looked to the rest of his men, saddened to remember some were missing “Alright, follow me. Once we’ve cleared every room, we’ll bathe and feast like milady promised.”
A few knights cheered, “Huzzah!”
Spywater had the same stolid gait as always, but the men following him into the throne room were used to following a billowing blue cloak. Medgard was a stranger without his bascinet. Jax was glad to be rid of that giant canister of a cuirass he had nearly shit himself in. That had been a design of cuirass that wouldn’t endure another decade, especially as one of the last ones had been thrown into the flames of a burning church out of spite. Other knights admitted the new armor supplied more protection. But that’s not why they were wearing it. It had gotten them this far. Now, Prestings’ new helm was the cause of his misery. He pined to have his old sallet back as a burgonet wobbled on his head. The burgonet’s diameter was nearly an inch too big. That was enough to make him cuss every time he turned to see something. Keeping an eye out for hidden murder holes with that thing on was a nightmare. He was glad his fellowmen had been clever enough to hide all their favorite pieces of kit in the saddlebags. Prestings grinned through his torment, knowing well his precious sallet was in the stable waiting for him.
For many of the knights, entering a throne room had never been so ghastly. Like a rill feeding a lake, blood drizzled from a plump hump on the throne to puddle on the dais. Spywater struggled to ignore the sight as he led his men up to it. Ahead of them, the cavernous room reached on. An archway at the end unveiled the stairwell that would take them higher.
Before passing the throne, Spywater stopped and pointed up at a network of tapestries hanging from the vaulted ceiling. “For those of you who don’t know,” he said, quietly, “behind that lovely display of interlacing banners is a narrow chamber in the ceiling where I keep cauldrons, sand, oil and stacks of firewood ready to burn throughout the year. I spent a week in there once. Anyone up there probably doesn’t know we’re standing here yet. All they have is a tiny slit to look through.” He peered back at a particularly leal knight. “You with the pavise, go on up ahead, slowly.”
With a grunt of understanding, the leal knight strode forth to do as he was bid. Holding the pavise over his head, he walked slowly under the tapestries to give anyone watching enough time to dump the cauldrons.
The knight made it across and stopped at the stairwell’s archway to look back at his lord. His lord looked back at him betwixt two steaming streams of black.
The boiling oil colliding with the cold stone sounded near to a cannyn blast. Twin clouds of steam plumed upward, hissing like some phantom from hell. The pouring stopped. A great steaming lake of black settled on the floor, seeping away slowly through drains by the walls.
Spywater turned around. His men were stiff and grateful to be dry. “Let’s wait for it to drain a little.” He had amusement in his voice.
The shieldman on the other side of the steaming lake waited patiently, crouching behind his pavise. The stairwell ahead of him winded up higher into the keep like a serpent. He watched the steps warily and kept his ears open, assuming a crossbowman was right around the bend. It was a relief to hear the padding of feet approach from his rear.
“Thank you, brave sir,” Spywater complimented as he passed the shieldman. “Can I borrow that?” The shield was handed over without complaint.
Now Spywater was the shieldman. He held it high. With his visor peering over the rim, he ascended the stairs slowly. His men followed, stepping as quietly as possible. The stairwell was wide enough to allow four men to climb abreast. It was a train of steel rising.
CHAPTER FIVE: THE CAT
BOB REDMAND HAD never been put into a dungeon cell before, but he could still tell his was more comfortable than most. The dungeon cat Mystery doted him immediately. Within seconds of locking Bob away, the little ratter purred out of the shadows to lick his hand. Bob lifted it for cuddles. The thing was riddled with fleas but that didn’t stop his love. The only other prisoner down there was a young, pretty wench who called herself Lady Lossex. She had been Montese’s prisoner, so no one left alive could say exactly why she was in there. Her attire looked as though it had once been ladylike, but the blabber that poured from her mouth was deemed nonsense by Spywater’s knights. After seeing to Bob’s comfort, Spywater decided to hear Lossex’ story some other time. He kept her in her cell with a moldy loaf of bread.
It had taken Spywater longer than expected to sweep the top of the keep. The remaining archers had forfeited their surrender to make their final stand in the stairwell of the donjon, just like Spywater had expected. With the entire castle now safe under the rule of its rightful lord, four knights were suffering through a six-hour patrol around the ramparts. Spywater’s knights were beyond exhausted, so calling for six-hour turns was supposed to be generous. The men who were next on the roster wolfed a quick meal and went straight to bed without claiming their prize baths.
The sun had lowered by the time Jax walked into a candlelit hall where some knights in comfortable toggery were dining in their cups. Wearing a red aketon and padded chausses, Jax lumbered to sit beside Phillick at the table, tired from several sleepless days of walking, fighting and, now, shoveling. He had volunteered to help the distraught castle servantry bury the dead. A knight offered him a drink. He refused and said he couldn’t wait to feel refreshed again. A good sleep was what everyone in that hall needed, though Medgard, Prestings and Phillick were proud not to share that truth. More drink was what they needed. Rum was the drink they had.
Medgard had been washing his throat for hours now. He finished bellowing a bawdy tavern song and held his cup high to receive his audience’s laughter. Colorful tapestries hung from the wall. One of them depicted a famous battle fought and won by King Kilwinning’s forefathers. That’s the one Medgard glanced at it every time he swallowed from his cup.
Phillick had stuffed himself with bird meat. He sat back in his chair with his eyes closed, a tiny smile on his lips. Prestings was still laughing at Medgard’s carnal lyrics when Spywater strode into the room, wearing his blue cloak over a purple doublet. Prestings choked on his tongue and rose to bow.
“Milord,” Medgard said cheerfully, “we sing to your leadership!” The drunken knight’s bow was overdone but well-meaning. “It was an honor to retake your castle. Your banners will always fly here!”
Spywater wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic. He seated himself at the end of the table and snatched a honeycake. His face was sullen. “Your assistance won’t be forgotten. No words can explain how it feels to have my castle back. My study in the donjon is near to how I left it. I’m very pleased by that, but … I worry. I worry for my participation in this war.”
“Ah, forget your worries!” Medgard was far too drunk to consider any worry. “Drink with us to victory!”
Spywater raised cold eyes. “Sit down, Medgard. I didn’t come to drink.”
Jax said, “Yes, there are things I want to bring up as well.”
Phillick opened his glazed eyes and scratched his neck. “You mean about the ghost girl?”
Spywater grabbed another honeycake, the first one being mush in his stomach. “I think it’s best if we all forget about the ghost girl. Her rage turned the tides for us. That’s all we need to know.”
Jax added, “And there are more important things to discuss.” He looked to Spywater with a serious glare. “Something’s been nagging my mind, milord. I’m not sure if what I heard was a bluff, but it was clearly a boast about the fall of Wittinberry. At the church, before I killed a man who claimed to be Lord Montese, he broached about the capture of Black Blade. He bragged about how the King Spiderwell we killed during The Siege of Wellimgale a fortnight ago was in truth a false king, a nameless man only pretending to be King Spiderwell.” Knights would’ve scoffed at those words if it weren’t for the sober and solemn
look on Jax’ face. “As you all know,” he went on, staring into their eyes, “I was to help defend Wellimgale against you. Instead, I betrayed my fellowmen and refused to take up arms. I’ve been walking Wellimgale’s ramparts ever since I first became a knight. Wellimgale will be my home no matter which king rules it, but I never loved this King Spiderwell.
“As a knight in his service for years, I rarely saw his face. He always where’s that golden spider-mask. When a man wearing that mask returned from Wittinberry in a litter, everyone thought it was him. But now I wonder, was it really King Spiderwell that Black Blade killed? Or is the real King Spiderwell mocking us from the throne of Wittinberry as we speak? I believe King Spiderwell deceived everyone, and Black Blade let him do it. We shouldn’t even be here.” Jax’ sobriety shifted to rage. “We should be in Wellimgale protecting King Kilwinning! I say fuck this measly castle. It was a waste of men coming here. We need to fight the real war! Having eyes in these parts and a few fucking fish is nothing if we’ve lost Wittinberry. Wittinberry is like the capitol of the entire planet!”
Spywater slowly chewed his honeycake, staring at one of the tapestries on the wall. It was a gilt one depicting the sad life of a little girl, a piece of work he had commissioned and hung himself many years ago. “Everything you said is true, Jax.” To those words, gasps filled the room. “Redmand told me everything a few hours ago.”
Medgard had been taking a sip. The rum caught in his throat and came spewing back out all over the table. “Are you fucking serious?”
Spywater nodded coolly. “King Kilwinning most likely received the news a few days after we departed from Wellimgale.” The lord’s blue eyes seemed darker and colder than ever. He closed them for a moment as if to watch a memory in vivid detail. “It was more than a year ago, but I remember the whole day as if it were yesterday. Some of you were with me. We watched from Wittinberry’s ramparts as Spiderwell’s army dismantled their engines and retreated. We all thought he had retreated back to Wellimgale, but now I know the truth. He only sent a look-alike to Wellimgale and hid behind the mountains. For an entire year, Spiderwell hid and watched us while we made our preparations. For an entire year, he had everyone deceived, especially his own people. He must’ve snickered when he finally watched us depart. We left Wittinberry with nothing but the city guard to defend it. The way Bob says it, Wittinberry was taken before we even reached Wellimgale.
“Since then, more than half the lords supporting King Kilwinning have betrayed us to take up The False King’s cause, and I don’t blame them. They know the same thing I know: this war is over. Mine wasn’t the only castle taken this past fortnight. Castles are turning against us in every land. All our king can do now is hide in Wellimgale and pray he’ll die an honorable death when The False King comes with his siege engines. It’ll be The Siege if Wellimgale all over again, except this time it’ll be the rightful king who gets to wait in the Tower of Gills.” He shook his head, unable to raise his eyes from the honeycake in his hand. “I would say the tables have turned, but the truth is … the tables haven’t even been touched. We’ve just been looking at them wrong.” He took a bite.
“Don’t say that.” Prestings couldn’t believe it.
“It’s true.” A tear rolled from Spywater’s eye. He stared at the gilt tapestry again, remembering the day he ordered its commission. “Now I hate to say it, men, but I’ll no longer be supporting King Kilwinning. This war is over.”
Jax pounded his fist on the table. “No! This war is far from over. Only the weak and pathetic lords have betrayed our true king because they fear death. King Kilwinning is still the more powerful!”
Spywater stiffened with a sigh and brought his eyes down to grab one last honeycake. “You’re right, Jax. This war isn’t over for you. You and everyone else in this castle will be packing bags to leave tonight. You’re to go back to Wellimgale and assist King Kilwinning. I’ll be staying here alone.”
“Why do you say this?” Medgard’s head throbbed from uncertainty. He pushed his cup of rum away as if it were the cause of his confusion.
“Redmand shared some other news with me as well,” Spywater explained. “Many nearby lords have been invited to feast at this castle to celebrate The False King’s return from the dead. Tomorrow, hundreds of enemies will arrive here expecting to see Spiderwell’s banners flying upon the turrets. But what they’ll find is a lonely Lord Spywater. And I plan to fight. This castle is mine. To defend my honor, I must go down with it. But I’d never command all of you to go down with me as well. That’s why you must all leave.”
“Fuck the almighty!” Jax rose in fury. Everything on the table jumped when he pounded his fist again. “You speak of defending your pathetic honor? Fuck your honor! Your true duty is to your king, not some fucking castle!”
“For a man who’s just been pardoned,” Spywater noted, staring at Jax grudgingly, “you sure are patriotic. I won’t expect you to stay here and die. I ask that you all leave.”
Phillick was gaping. “We may not stay to defend your honor, milord, but we’re not letting you stay either. Staying to die would be pointless. Even your villagers have betrayed you. If what you said about this feast is true, we should all be gone already.”
Prestings rose to free his concern. “Milord, if you come with us, you could remarry, have a son. This doesn’t have to be the end of your name. King Kilwinning still has a chance. He is the inventor of the cannyn, the one and only true king. Don’t you think your forefathers would rather see you live and defend the rightful king?”
Spywater rose as well, but only to push his chair in. “If I had known all this sooner, I wouldn’t have set patrols or bothered burying the dead. I would’ve sent you all off a lot sooner. King Kilwinning may still have a chance, but that chance dims every time the enemies forge a new cannyn. The technology is no longer secret. Being the inventor means nothing anymore. All those days of easy victories are over. Phillick’s right, you should all be gone already. There’s no telling if some lords will arrive with their retinues a bit early. We could be facing a siege within hours.”
“Are you just going to believe everything Bob says without confirming it?” one of the other knights at the end of the table shared his mind’s woe. “I have served you for decades, milord. I know you are a man of prudence. Why believe Bob so easily? The man has the down for crying out loud. He could’ve made this all up. And that Lord Montese that Jax killed could’ve easily been a mummer.”
Spywater eyed his woeful knight. “If I ignore what Redmand’s told me, I could find myself responsible for your deaths. Now forget trying to dissuade me. I have given you all commands. Go tell all the others. Pack your bags and go back to Wellimgale.” With that said, Spywater turned to leave.
“Wait!” Medgard quickly snatched his cup and raised it above his head. “Spywater, you are one of the best leaders I’ve ever had the pleasure of fighting for. I will take the chance. I will stay to defend your honor no matter what the outcome may be!”
“As will I!” one of the knights at the end of the table yelled, raising a goblet high.
Prestings mumbled, “This is insanity.”
Spywater turned back angrily. “No! You will not stay. Your deaths would only take from the honor that I wish to uphold. Now leave me! If I find any of you here in the morning, I’ll kill you myself. Now go!” Spywater turned for good this time and left the hall.
Jax smashed his fist against his pewter plate, bending it into a crescent. Food went flying. “This is complete fucking madness! Spywater isn’t a lord at all. Come on, men. Let’s leave this miserable cretin to die. He’s betrayed our king.” Jax waited for no reply and set off immediately. Before he left the hall, he concluded, “I’ll see that even the servants come with us! I’ll have them load supplies.”
Phillick quickly slammed back some rum as he noticed Medgard and all the other knights were getting up to leave as well. “What about Bob? Should we bring him, too?”
“Are you trying to
be funny, Phillick?” Medgard snatched a honeycake before he bristled away from the table.
CHAPTER SIX: THE BOAR
CASTLE SPYWATER HAD never been so quiet. After a long morning of moving cannyns around and making preparations, Lord Spywater entered the hall where Medgard and is cronies had feasted the night before. Over a full suit of steel, his white unicorn standard sat emblazoned on a blue surcoat. His blue cloak was fastened around his shoulders by a unicorn brooch at his breast. To his delight, no servants had cleared the table. He sat and ate a honeycake before he finished some dregs of rum. Humming the tune “War is Easy,” he lit a taper from the embers of a hearth and sauntered down to the dungeon. Mystery the ratter hissed at him and scurried to the shadows when he raised the taper high.
Lady Lossex’ bony fingers came hissing out of her cell to snatch his cloak. “I’m hungry and thirsty!” Glistening tears streaked her face.
Spywater brushed her hand away and unlocked her cell. “There’s all the provender you could need upstairs, milady.”
She fell to her knees to thank him and then limped up the dark stairwell.
The dungeon cat rushed past Spywater’s feet. He turned to watch it scurry. The Sundown Boar had doffed his armor to lay it out neatly on his bed. He was sitting on the floor scrubbing rust out of his hauberk with urine. He stopped when the cat jumped onto his lap. Spywater’s flame danced by the bars of the cell and Bob looked up solemnly. “My helm? Can you find me my helm?”
When the cell unlocked, both men were a little confused. Spywater hadn’t expected Bob to just sit there. “Your helm may still be up on the ramparts somewhere. Do you want to find it together? I could use a walk.”
Bob nodded fervently and stood up so fast it made Spywater strafe back. After chuckling a farewell to the ratter, Bob frowned at his armor and followed the lord out of the dungeon with his head down. Bob had grown quite fond of that cat overnight. He had made a promise to it. He had promised to kill the lord of this place and set it free the moment he had the chance. Now that chance walked meekly beside him as he egressed the knights’ hall.
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