Brehan staggered slowly to his feet with a mangled and completely crimson-covered face. He walked over and picked up his sword. It was still attached to his combatant’s blade, creating a V at the top near the points of the blades. Gasps and shrieks from the crowd and Lord Ichibod were followed by shouts of warning to the Grizzly Bear, but the excruciating pain seemed to drown out the volume of the voices. The giant man went to his knees as he hopelessly clawed at the knife. Brehan approached the Grizzly Bear while trying to steady the heavy, uneven weapons. All the frantic screaming for their champion meant nothing as Brehan held both sword grips firmly and made a quick thrust forward with the connected blades. The Grizzly Bear’s head hit the dirt before his body collapsed entirely.
The silent and stunned audience couldn’t believe what they had just witnessed. Brehan picked up the head by the knife handle.
He held the head up high and screamed, “Here he is. The man you cheer for. Here he is.” He spun around and heaved the head into the stands, warm blood streaks trailing like an angry red comet. The battered victor turned to the queen. Brehan dropped to one knee and said, “My queen, I swear my life and sword to protect you. From this day until my last…” The mutilated Brehan Castaway crumpled to the ground and the few counts in attendance slowly made their way over to help.
Elisa screamed at the younger Count Elroy, “Run. Go now. Go get poppy powder. Fast.”
ALI-TERSEN
The King of Donegal had nodded off in the meeting again. Sir Oliver Wedgeword placed his perspiration-soaked hand on the King’s shoulder and shook him awake. As Ali-Tersen Wamhoff woke up, his main henchman’s touch transported him back to the night he had almost leaped from the Dragon’s Keep. Sir Oliver had yanked Ali-Tersen back from the ledge and forcefully led him to safety inside the castle. He stared with bleary eyes at the rolled parchments at the other end of the table, hoping one piece of good news had arrived today. The Albino King couldn’t stand to even glance at his main advisor after seeing him naked with his son, and his Falconer too avoided eye contact with Ali-Tersen and only spoke when spoken to by the King. To avoid possible discovery of the buggery, he had sent Neron back to Cloverfoot. He had recently realized that his son needed increased responsibilities and thought some time without his parents would be beneficial for the young man. At least that’s what he had finally decided after ruminating over the matter for several sleepless nights. The only positive aspect of his life was that the supernatural visions of his bloody predecessor had dwindled over the past few days, but even so, the incessant problems of the realm always reared their heinous heads to haunt the King.
“If our scouts and spies are correct, Jon Colbert marches from the south. Lord Ichibod Ellsworth marches from the east. Warrior Queen Leimur of Goldenfield marches from the west and the bastard usurper from the north. We are not even equipped for a one-front war, let alone trained armies attacking from all directions,” said the Falconer.
Two council members had already fled the Capitol in fear. The district of Falconhurst wasn’t in a position to stave off a large offense, especially around the Capitol. From smallfolk to nobility, the population had started to thin out as citizens scattered to different compass points to seek the best chance at protection. Everyone took heed of the harbinger of war and knew what the inevitable dark outcome would be. The King’s call-to-arms for all able-bodied men had backfired and served as a notification for the people to get as far from the King’s Castle as their legs or horses would carry them. A scant number of knights and soldiers chose to risk their lives for the pariah known as King Ali-Tersen Wamhoff. The only members of society interested in fighting were untrained commoners looking to jump several stations in life by defending their King and Capitol.
Conversely, numerous new bands of dissident revolutionaries seemed to form daily. These newly formed groups carried standards hanging from wooden posts that still dripped sap from their recent construction, and staked the most ludicrous claims to the throne. Just the previous day, Ali-Tersen had heard a preposterous rumor about a man who had the audacity to claim he was born in the heavens and sent by the Gods to serve the people and rectify Donegal. The rebel factions didn’t present any sort of threat in themselves, but when combined with the four major armies closing in, they served as an equally terrible forewarning. As with most ominous portents, ubiquitous death would soon follow.
He hadn’t been winning his battle with insomnia, and kept dozing off while sitting up in well-cushioned chairs at meetings and in court. The King had come to blame his wife for manipulating his fragile emotions. Alvyra had devised all the insidious plans that he had to carry out to become king. Her past arguments had always made sense inside Ali-Tersen’s fragile head. She kept reminding him over and over that they hadn’t killed anyone, only his guards had, but those words rang empty now. The King of Donegal was drowning in a filthy gutter of compunction. His wife’s rationalization of some great plan by the Gods wasn’t making him feel any better and he only wore the daily crown when necessary.
“Concerning pecuniary matters, the banks of Arpeppi and Nowa Basha are threatening to crash our shores and violently plunder what they are owed,” Derich Bonsfogger said.
“Let them try. They won’t make it near the Capitol before they get all their due,” Ali-Tersen replied with a coy, unnatural smile.
“We cannot name ourselves a legitimate kingdom if we allow our borders to be attacked. Marauders of all sorts will never stop until we are utterly destroyed,” Derich remonstrated.
Ali-Tersen snapped, “It never stops, don’t you see. Nothing ever stops. Nothing. Every blasted meeting is doom and gloom. Not even one singular upbeat item to discuss. Everything…everything is downright horrendous, so maybe it’s time the rest of the realm gets a taste of misery. Most of them sound like rebellious traitors from the reports, ready to attack the Capitol as we speak. Let those men defend the kingdom they so desperately dream to usurp. Let their dreams turn to nightmares before their very eyes. If there are at least four large armies in every direction, let’s coerce the banks to go through them to get to us. Finally, yes, this could almost work as a ring of protection until we get back on our feet. It may just buy us enough time to stem the tide of this rough river were drowning in.”
“We can’t knowingly destroy our own kingdom,” Derich argued but with much less fervor than before.
Ali-Tersen shook his head. “You damned fool, listen already. Our kingdom already is destroyed thanks to you and those who helped rule before me. I’m quite positive all those who depleted the royal treasury have also stacked enough personal coin to reach the sky in the process,” the King scolded, almost looking fierce with angry red eyes.
The meeting ended and the despondent King retreated to his royal quarters to find his wife knitting an autumn quilt.
“My King, is your head well again?” she asked.
“A bit better, but not entirely,” he responded.
“Alright, my King, what are we to do?” his wife asked.
“Which problem are we speaking of?” he needed to know as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Are we to stay and fight or leave for a while?” she pressed.
“I need to consult a few more lords to make a final decision, but everything looks like an early death if we stay. This isn’t what being king is supposed to be. My family has abandoned me, proving they never loved me in the first place. My closest supporters…they have all fled the city. I’m haunted everyday by reminders of the past and new futile accords to deal with. Why would anyone desire to be king?” Ali-Tersen asked rhetorically.
Alvyra set down the quilt and began to massage the King’s shoulders. They were soft to the touch, just like the rest of his plump but not obese figure. Exercise and physical feats had only tormented Tersen as a youth and his body represented a gluttonous castle dweller which didn’t help his reputation with the citizens.
His consort whispered softly to him as her breath warmed and tickled the fabled
drum of his ear, “Unknot your tense nerves, you will know what needs done. You do understand there have been many known instances when a king has been forced to abdicate his kingdom only to return even stronger and rule again. King Elagon of Teretault and King Ratadon of Murkette had to structure foreign armies to reclaim their royal rights. The Gods only test their strongest warriors, so it’s no fool’s riddle with a surprise at the end that they shall test you the most. You’ve had to fight for everything to get up to your rightful throne. Why should that differ greatly now?”
“I can’t build a foreign army without gold. We have none. I have no military exploits to speak of. I don’t exactly carry a great reputation as a king either,” Ali-Tersen said.
“You have the birthright and you are the chosen heir to the throne of Donegal by the Gods and that is undeniably supported by all laws and rights,” his wife reminded him.
“And that means nothing to a man from Teredez. Why would he fight for a land he has never seen?” the angered albino posed.
“My King and lord, you need to find the warriors who will fight for land and titles. You promise men tangible items and then fill the realm with those who were loyal to your cause, if need should make it so. You need to lie down and rest now. I had the goose feathers fluffed to provide my King with his maximum comforts. The Gods have scripted a plan for you, I’ve told you many times. There are moments in life when you need to surrender and trust that the Gods have a special destiny for you and they know what’s best for us. I’ve already spoken to Sir Oliver and he will provide steadfast service in whatever decision we have to make. He should be considered a practical travel companion in this type of situation, I would like to think,” Alvyra said.
Ali-Tersen blurted out, “I’ve failed you as a Queen, my Queen. You should be hosting balls, attending tourneys and traveling your realm and beyond. Instead, you have to endlessly torture yourself about the rotten dealings of a falling realm. My father and brother didn’t give me a chance to be triumphant as king. All they did was borrow huge sums of money from new banks to make smaller payments to the banks they already owed. My father called it funny money and said it was part of the game of ruling a kingdom. He said it would never run out.”
Alvyra cut him off by putting her finger over his chapped and cracking lips. “Your father was a fool. Your brother, also a fool. You did your best to eradicate their mistakes but you simply could not in only a month. By the way, you should never feel sorry for me. Being a queen by my King’s side is enough for me. I knew ruling wouldn’t be filled with only sniffing exotic flowers or sorting through gowns and jewels and dresses. Take some time to mark this decision, but understand we can always come back.”
The King smelled the scent of another man’s love stink clinging to the chilly air before it could escape through the open door of his balcony. I know she cheats on me, but with whom?
“How close is Neron to being back?” he asked.
“I believe he is about a week away. I told you not to send him back to Cloverfoot,” Alvyra scolded her husband, showing true motherly concern for their only child.
“The boy needs to grow up at some point in time. If he is to rule after me, he needs to toughen up and marry the right bride for the advancement of the family. The same as I had to…” he stopped.
“Don’t worry about offending me, my King. I know you were only performing your family obligation to marry a noble woman below your pure royal blood,” she said.
“That wasn’t how I felt about the matter. You know my family can be quite predatory to outsiders or even their own for that matter. If not for my loving mother, I wouldn’t have even survived after birth. Now, if we do decide to leave, it will have to be sooner than a week. Had I known Lord Ellsworth, that pestilent eunuch, would be moving so fast, I wouldn’t have sent Neron to Cloverfoot,” the King explained.
Ali-Tersen’s spies had spun a web of ears and eyes around the Capitol to monitor the actions of his son constantly, and found out that Neron had numerous sexual partners. He was surprised to discover how many nobles, knights, castle workers and even hucksters took part in the illegal amorous activities that were punishable by death in Donegal. The widely detested King couldn’t chance rumors of a badling Prince circulating throughout the kingdom. He couldn’t handle that being thrown on top of the vast compost pile of problems that mounted higher every day. Ali-Tersen also planned to have all the offenders rounded up and beheaded so Neron wouldn’t be tempted to return to this perverse behavior when he came back to the Capitol.
I wish Sir Oliver had let me jump from the Dragon’s Keep. There can’t be this many problems in the heavens.
He understood why his father and brother had resorted to their tactics under the immense pressure and scrutiny of being king. Ali-Tersen’s main problem was he couldn’t use any of the former kings’ monetary schemes anymore.
If I leave, whoever takes this throne is in for quite a shock. They might leave before even sitting down. I wish I had never done it. What is it all for?
“Isn’t it so?” Alvyra asked.
“What?” he hadn’t been paying attention.
“I asked if you have given thought about where we can go to escape this mess,” she clarified.
“No, I don’t think any house will welcome an expelled king and take that risk,” he replied.
“I’ll talk to Sir Oliver and find out if he knows a way to escape the kingdom. If we do exercise this measure, it will only be but a sentence in the royal account of King Ali-Tersen Wamhoff, the greatest king to ever rule,” Alvyra said encouragingly. Recently, her words had seemingly changed from silk to sandpaper and did little to soothe Ali-Tersen these days.
Sure, I’ll be the greatest king to never rule. You need coin and soldiers to rule and I have neither.
“Was there a man in here?” the King finally snapped, pointing a bony finger in his wife’s face. For a husky man, the King’s long, slender fingers were out of place.
“No, don’t be foolish. Sir Oliver stepped in to escort me to the flower gardens so I could see them before fall sets in and they disappear. My King needs to rest. I shall go to Lady Renbart’s quarters and leave you with your thoughts, my King,” she curtsied and left the room.
Ali-Tersen went out on the balcony just before the dark of night swallowed up the last bits of a sunny day. The pumpkin sky and pallid clouds seemed to melt into the horizon as stars began to appear out of nowhere like giant lightning bugs. A stiff breeze prompted the King to close the top two buttons of his vermillion overcoat. He rubbed the stitched argent fox over his left breast and decided to go down to the bight on the Royal River. The sound of cascading water always had a calming effect on the King. He turned away a dozen guards’ offers of protection on his way toward the river.
For a few moments the water did have a positive impact and his problems began to slip away. In the gathering gloom, his eyes focused on a ripple. He couldn’t figure out what was causing it to resist the powerful current. The tide should have easily disrupted this anomaly. The circular ripple entranced the King who couldn’t tear his eyes away from the mesmerizing swirling.
The whirlpool became illuminated by the emerging moon and changed color from aquamarine to burnt black to deep mulberry until settling on a bright crimson. The rest of the river remained its normal color which made the King wonder if he was suffering from insanity. Then, a perfectly round, translucent red bubble sprouted from the water with an unidentifiable object in the center. The blood-like bubble popped and the hidden item proved to be a levitating skull, hovering a foot above the water. The moon seemed to magically siphon some bright sun light and temporarily turned night back to day. As the floating deadhead reached the riverbank, the King’s bowels threatened evacuation and a sick feeling attacked his midsection. He clenched his buttocks and watched entangled human bones washing ashore and settling near the skull. Seven arrows shot down from the sky and penetrated the moist soil, surrounding the mess of moving human remains. The
dull white bones began to do the dance of the dead and assemble themselves into a complete upright skeleton. Flesh began to appear over his toes. The transformation started at the feet and slowly flowed upward like a liquid, instantly solidifying to create a male body and reveal a face. The naked Ali-Ster Wamhoff became magically covered in an aketon and woolen breeches. After that, the red and white patterned armor with gold inlay he had worn in the mini-tourney attached itself to his body. The scintillating colors had diminished and the suit showed a good bit of wear. Ali-Tersen saw the judging eyes of his nephew through the dented battle helm shaped like a fox’s head.
“Don’t worry, uncle, I haven’t come to kill you, or perhaps I will? I haven’t yet decided,” Ali-Ster chuckled. The former king’s voice sounded guttural, like a wire brush slowly scraping against the stone castle walls. It sent a chill up and down every one of Ali-Tersen’s bones. However, his nephew physically looked exactly the same as in life. He even retained the healed scars of his death injuries.
“Let’s you and me…let’s take a little walk,” Ali-Ster said. As he passed the King, he slapped Ali-Tersen on the back of the head with tremendous power. The ghost had never so much as grazed him with a finger before and the King became so petrified, a yellow stain began to spread down his thighs and soak his bright white breeches. He hurried to keep up with the determined pace set by his nephew. The brilliant moon returned to normalcy and disappeared behind a streaming cloud as Ali-Tersen fell. He popped up quickly as Ali-Ster led the reigning King to the west wall of the castle near the kitchens. The former king began ramming his shoulder into the thick stone wall of the castle. After a half-dozen plough-like thrusts, the wall started to crumble and after twelve tries, a huge mouth opened up. Ali-Tersen stood in awe of the feat of incredible strength.
Six Heads One Crown (The Pearl of Wisdom Saga Book 3) Page 5
