Six Heads One Crown (The Pearl of Wisdom Saga Book 3)

by Jason Paul Rice

  Some of the passing men spoke to the queen, “We got them bastards for you, yes we did, ya highness.”

  “Long live our queen.”

  “Here’s to your first battle victory,” one man remarked as he held up a skin of wine.

  Victory? If this is victory I should surely hate to face defeat. We’ve lost thousands of soldiers. I don’t even know if we should press on if there is more of this to follow. The soldiers aren’t just pawns or numbers anymore.

  She went back near the coach and gave Telly a hug and kiss on the cheek. Telly dragged her into the open field and Elisa looked across the blood-stained grass and felt the piercing stare of Green Mamba.

  Elisa knew she had to go talk to the man and excused herself from Telly. He shook his head in disgust as Elisa made her lonely walk, trying to avoid the red splotches.

  He shook his head and spoke as Elisa approached, “You can’t free dead man. You say you free my people, they free now.” Green Mamba pointed around at the piles of dead Prograggers. Elisa didn’t know what to say, but the man with dirt and blood covering his body continued, “The pale man fights with no honor. Attacking when it’s not expected, stabbing men in backs. That’s not battle, that’s disgrace. Pale man push us into each other and attack on horse.”

  Elisa finally gained the courage and said, “I’m sorry. This man gave me his word that we could cross his bridge in peace.”

  Green Mamba said, “Man is only worth his word. I’ll kill this man if I see him.”

  Elisa replied, “I will kill him myself for all the mayhem he has caused.”

  The two awkwardly stared at each other until she said, “I still plan to free all the remaining Prograggers. I can’t give them back their brothers but I will provide plenty of land to live on.”

  Green Mamba just shook his head again and went back to the other Prograggers.

  Elisa saw the Ellsworths outside the coach when she returned.

  She spoke to everyone, “I’m not sure if we should press on.”

  Lord Ichibod immediately retorted, “Whoa, let’s not say anything hasty. This was an unmitigated disaster, there is no denying that, but a strong queen must press on. This is war. These men died defending the highest honor, their queen. They didn’t die in a tavern brawl or getting shivved at the markets by a complete stranger. All men want to die defending their queen or king.”

  Let’s hope you share that sentiment too. I wouldn’t mind if you died while defending me.

  Elisa didn’t have time to press the issue as a small coach slowly pulled up and a man ran over to Lord Ichibod.

  The guard said, “Lord Ichibod, we found him.”

  Ichibod said, “Thank the Gods, we almost lost a key piece of our claim.”

  The guard lowered his head and softly spoke, “We did lose our king, my lord.”

  The lord buried his head in his hands and let out a cacophonous scream. He went to the coach and the rest of the group followed. He pulled open the door and everyone saw the butchered body of Ali-Varis Wamhoff lying in disgrace. He had stab wounds extending from his face and ears right down to his knees. Elisa barely recognized the man she had married a half-year ago. For some reason, she didn’t feel sorry. The ice must have started to reform around her heart. She decided to press on in her attempt to take the throne.

  Tersen

  A bucket of cold urine rushed down over Tersen’s head and body. This had been the normal wake up call for the last few days.

  The toothless torturer asked, “What’s a matta, gettin’ sleepy is we?”

  Tersen wanted to die. He was strapped to a device they called the stretcher. A flat board had four holes with loops of hemp rope coming from them. The tied areas were positioned for a person to hold his hands above his head and legs spread apart. His body had been tied securely in place for about half a day. The torturer looked over the former king in silence. Only three men in the castle had caused physical pain to the former king: Harolg, Kryen and Balsam.

  The latter asked, “What should we do today?”

  Balsam stared at the wall of pain devices. One side had long swords, maces, morningstars, daggers and one-handed war hammers. For more delicate work, Balsam moved to his left. The shelves on the wall contained fine razors, small spikes, metal hooks, steel clamps and metal thread. The sparsely lit room had a soiled dirt floor with moldy stone walls and stunk terribly.

  The portly man with missing teeth took his time looking over the painful devices and a sadistic smile ran across his face.

  “Let’s us go fishin’,” Balsam said. He started to laugh until he noticed Tersen had nodded off. He rushed over and booted the former king right in the crotch. The kick was excruciatingly painful for Tersen because the previous day, Kryen had performed a crude, painful procedure to be certain the Wamhoff name wouldn’t be tarnished further by any offspring of Tersen’s.

  The agony jolted Tersen awake but he could barely stay conscious. He could see Balsam with a long hook coupled with a look of devious intentions.

  The jolly torturer said, “Me said we is goin’ fishin’, yes I did. Now me, I never liked me no albino fish. Bad luck daddy always said. Now me daddy wasn’t never a king or no station like that, but methinks he was right. Ima try me a catch anyhows.”

  Balsam twirled the hook in his left hand before clutching it tight. He drove the cold steel under Tersen’s left nipple and pulled up. Tersen shrieked and pain shot from his chest to the extremities of his body. This intense smarting was different than the constant, life-draining stretching. Tersen had begged all three of the men to kill him, but none were willing to grant his wish. Every time his breathing had almost stopped from the taxing effort, they would let him down to recoup before strapping him back up. The routine had been repeated over the last week and a half. Tersen hung by his limp wrists, rubbed raw and bloody from the harsh hemp rope. He had never experienced even a fraction of this kind of physical pain in his entire sheltered and pampered life.

  Balsam twisted the hook and an angry river of dark blood flowed out of the former king’s ghostly flesh. The piercing gave Tersen a shot of energy and he was fully awake now. The only time he felt truly awake was when the three men were conducting the disfigurement. It seemed that Tersen’s life lay in the tiny hands of a volatile sixteen-year-old high lord. He knew he could be sent to the new king as a gift to gain favor. Right now, that seemed like a better prospect as Balsam removed the hook and moved to the other side of Tersen’s chest and dug in.

  “Me dunno. This don’t look like no keeper to me boys,” Balsam said as he looked around the empty room. “Methinks you’ll get sick and die if you eat the albino fish. Better throw this one back.” Balsam guffawed at an unseen audience. The man wore an old black cloak that had never been cleaned, secured with a wide belt of cracked brown leather that held on for dear life just below his huge gut. He yanked the hook and Tersen passed out again.

  Later that day, Kryen Wamhoff entered the room. He thought Tersen was sleeping so he gently slapped his uncle’s face. That didn’t work so Kryen slapped him harder. When no movement followed again, Kryen unstrapped Tersen’s arms and the body fell to the ground. Kryen tried to gently set his uncle down, but underestimated the man’s girth. He untied Tersen’s feet and pushed him onto his back. Kryen put a finger under the former king’s nose and felt nothing. He looked for any kind of movement of the chest to signal breathing and saw nothing.

  Jon

  “I was worried about my family at first, until she knocked me down. She could have easily killed me. I was lying there with little protection from her sharp axe. Why was I spared?” Jon asked.

  Orian Vangor had already taken on several nicknames from the High Raven or White Raven to the Father of the Poor and the Raven of Light.

  The old man rubbed his bushy eyebrow. “Why is anyone spared? There have been reports of dragon attacks recently. Why did they attack Housemont and Kimberton? Why didn’t they attack the heart of the Capitol, the true center of greed an
d sin in the kingdom? Why were all those dirty souls spared? The Gods, they work in queer ways. Our minds are too fragile to even imagine the reasoning of the Gods. Be joyous in the fact that you still wake every day, and spend less time trying to figure out why. You’ll simply drive yourself mad.”

  Jon tried to let it go and asked, “How is the resurrection coming along?” The resurrection was the name given to the holy reclamation process.

  Orian answered in his normal, drawn out manner, “Slowly, but steadily. We finally flushed most of the waste from Falconhurst, or so I thought. It should happen to seem that some priests who had been ousted for unscrupulous practices are less than happy. A few have been causing problems for our new brothers and sisters. They threatened a woman and me whilst we were simply walking by. Imagine if that was your daughter by my side. If I give over the names, can I depend on you to help with these problems, so king and church can stand united?”

  Jon gave his word, “Give me the names. I will put an end to these trouble makers.”

  The Raven of Light had struck a chord by mentioning his family’s safety. He knew Orian hadn’t just stopped by for a friendly chat. Jon started to realize the White Raven was much shrewder than he ever remembered in Mattingly.

  “Sin needs purged,” the old man said as he whipped his back. The Raven of Light had suffered for his sins for so long, he barely moved when the spiked ends broke the skin. His battered body looked like he had been through many bloody battles.

  Jon had been receiving a large number of complaints over the new practices. The nobles didn’t want to share their churches with the poor, but the new system treated everyone equally. The wealthy members also complained that the new brothers and sisters had stripped the rich decorations from all their churches. They had even removed the cushions from the benches and kneelers. The new leader of the Faith stressed that people needed to get back to upholding the words of the Gods and forget about who had the fanciest church. None of the new policies meshed with the rich citizens who used to be able to buy promised salvation. They now had to pay for their sins on earth before being ready for the trials of death.

  Suddenly, Rick Rosebud busted into Jon’s audience chamber, bowed and stated, “Highness, High Raven.” He looked at Jon and said, “We have him. Lord Undertow will be arriving any moment now.”

  Jon jumped out of his seat and cried, “Bring him to the King’s block in the inner bailey. Fetch my sword from my quarters and meet me out there.”

  Jon’s face turned purple and boiling blood coursed through his body.

  He had forgotten the Raven of Light was still there until the old man said, “What is the meaning of all this?”

  Jon turned and answered, “We’ve caught the traitor who opened the city gates for our enemy and helped sneak her through Fox Chapel.”

  The White Raven started to say, “But who are we to judge? If we have repeated the same actions as others…”

  Jon interrupted him sternly, “No, we’re not doing this. I leave you to dole out punishment for sin as you deem fit and I am helping you to punish the people on that list that you’ve judged as guilty. This man put my family’s life at stake. He put your life at stake. You punish your sinners and I’ll punish my citizens. Good day, High Raven.”

  “Do as you must,” Orian said in a haunted tone as he whipped his left shoulder. One of the spiked ends got stuck in the bruised and bloodied flesh that was visible through his shredded kirtle.

  Jon watched him pry it from his body as he walked out. “Good day, High Raven.”

  He rushed out the door and found the closest steps. Four guards trailed Jon as he moved briskly down another stone staircase. The King tried not to let Orian’s words sway him and thought about when he had been forced to evacuate his only daughter’s wedding and had almost died at the hands of the Queen of Goldenfield. He remembered the looks of terror on his family’s faces as he said goodbye for what could have been the last time. He stood firm in his decision again as he hit the inner bailey. He looked across the grassy yard and saw Lord Wolter Undertow for the first time.

  The upstart lord wore a flamboyant powder blue and magenta themed outfit with gold necklaces and enough silver bracelets to make a princess jealous.

  His dark eyes looked nearly shut as he said, “I am just as much a traitor as you who calls himself our king. I am and always will be loyal to the Wamhoffs.”

  Sir Rick handed Jon his sword and Jon realized he had forgotten his crown on the table in his audience chamber.

  He didn’t need a crown to carry out this sentence and said, “You pledged fealty in a letter because you couldn’t attend the coronation in person.”

  The man with a curled mustache that hung to his stomach, spit on the ground and said, “I never knelt in front of you or kissed any hands. Anyone could have forged that letter. Perhaps one of my scared sons sealed it with my standard.”

  Jon cleared his throat. “Your lies won’t work here, I’m afraid to inform you. You got over a thousand men killed around the gates and more than three thousand killed in total by letting our enemy though.”

  “And I’d do it again if I had the chance,” Lord Undertow said insolently.

  Jon looked him in the eyes. “You will never receive that chance, Lord Wolter.”

  Jon’s guards pushed the bound man to his knees. A square wooden block sat in front of the condemned man.

  “Lord Wolter Undertow, you have been determined to be guilty of treason at the highest level. In the name of King Jon Colbert, first of my name and grand protector of the realm, I sentence you to die. Do you have any last words?” Jon asked.

  “You will die soon enough. All your followers will die soon enough. You have more enemies than you could ever imagine. Fast they rise, fast they fall. See you in the seven hells, you dirty usurper,” Lord Wolter said in an ominous tone and followed it with a demonic laugh.

  The lord placed his head over the edge of the block and the guards pushed it out even further. Jon looked at Green Fury and lined up his stroke with a few practice swipes. The sword rose above the King’s head and the blade caught the shine of the sun before dropping down to end the life of Lord Wolter Undertow. A buzz ran through Jon’s body and he felt justice had been served. He only wondered if the lord was right and more enemies loomed. The two parts of the body were taken away, blood streaming from both. Jon didn’t believe in putting heads on spikes. He thought it was an outdated barbaric activity that didn’t serve any purpose. He finally stopped shaking as he went back into the castle. Jon had expected Lord Wolter to plead for his life, but the smugness of the man surprised the King.

  He walked up to an open door of a storage room and caught sight of something that almost made him ill. The room contained paintings from the previous regime. They had been taken down when Jon captured the castle. He wanted to look at them before burning or disposing of them. He focused on a painting of a duel between a young King Ali-Stanley and his father. The former king stood over his cowering father, ready to deliver the death blow.

  A gentle voice from behind said, “Quite an atrocity, yes I know.”

  He turned to see Count Silzeus. The ancient man with a heavily wrinkled face was hunched forward as usual. Scraggly silver hair and a long matching mustache ran down to his plump belly. The rest of his body was skinny, although hidden under his loose black cloak. The elderly gentleman walked around the castle in pain despite the help of a hickory cane. He was notorious for refusing assistance from anyone.

  “Why don’t we sit down in the next room over there? We haven’t had much of a chance to talk individually since…since I arrived,” Jon suggested.

  He almost said took over but the term takeover didn’t sound right in his head. Jon viewed it as more of a liberation for the good people of the realm.

  They sat on fox fur-edged brown chairs around a circular stone table. The room hadn’t been fully decorated because Jon’s focus had been on other matters.

  Count Silzeus, breathing hea
vily from the brief walk, said, “That business of false paintings was all started by King Ali-Baris at the end of his reign and unfortunately grew even bigger under the next two kings.”

  Jon asked, “If you don’t mind my asking, how old are you, my good man?”

  A slick smile came over the count’s face as he licked his lips. “I am afraid vanity won’t allow me to answer that fully, but I was present for the end of King Ali-Pharell’s rule. They called him the last of the good kings and you shall never hear me argue that. I was spoiled as a young chap into thinking all kings acted like Ali-Pharell. A great man and better king, well respected too. His son Ali-Baris couldn’t have been more different.”

  Jon sprinkled some salt into a cup of water and handed it to the count, who grabbed it with a shaky hand and continued, “Where was I? King Ali-Baris, yes, his reign was synonymous with gluttony and unfortunately he taught King Ali-Baster to rule in the same manner. Schemes and hoodwinks was how they ruled. The banking borrowing game only hurt the kingdom, but they pressed on with the funny money system. As for those paintings, Ali-Baster took false royal propaganda to an unthinkable level.”

  The old man paused a lot and sipped his salted water often to keep his dry lips from sticking together. Jon enjoyed getting an inside viewpoint on the exaggerated history of the Wamhoffs.

  The count continued, “He spent the realm’s coin commissioning the top artists and he had more painters in his court than viable advisors. Ali-Stanley let the practice die down of late with the financial woes of the royal treasury, but he held viewings early in his reign. They would display the paintings by the Walk of Kings. The despicable atrocity you just laid eyes on became one of the main attractions and remained constantly on display. Fifteen guards made certain the thieves didn’t develop impure motives before they were taken down for the day at dusk. Citizens starved just outside the castle walls, while close council meetings centered around propaganda art and buildings to increase the royal reputation, no matter the grand falsities contained within.”