by Chris Ward
Jycob was on his knees, hands tightly bound behind his back. It was still early morning and yet word had travelled fast throughout the city; a throng of eager onlookers jostled for position behind the solid wall of King’s Guards arrayed to keep order and add a grim solemnity to the proceedings. Lord Petros Luminos was on his public throne, and beside him stood the much feared Zelfos. Behind, in the deep shadows cast by the massive roof and walls of the stone hall which formed the court precinct were two, perhaps three, large and evil creatures, themselves part shadow, part darkness. They were almost not there, and yet they were. The city folk of Ramos had never known anything like them, and whilst they were hard to define in the gloom, their presence heightened the fear which hung in the air so that it became palpable. A public execution always had its own following.
The executioner stood to one side. He was masked by royal decree, not one part of his head was visible, so complete was the hood he wore. Two small eye-holes and several smaller ones for the nose were the only openings. His identity was a well kept secret, although the rumours abounded, especially after a death sentence was carried out. He was not tall, but his girth was huge and his bare torso muscular and hairy, and clearly that of an older man. Tight fitting leather breeches covered him from the waist down to his boots, also leather and well worn. His gloves shone from the liberal animal fat he used to keep the leather supple. They were tight fitting, and he had the unnerving habit of regularly stretching his fingers and cracking his knuckles loudly in a grim display, which seemed to say, look at me and be afraid, for I am death. He never spoke, for he had no need. Jycob saw him, and knew what his presence meant, and his stomach churned. He vomited noisily onto the ground, covering the smooth flagstones and his dirty tunic with bile.
The King raised his hand and nodded to the huge guard who stood behind the prisoner. Silence suddenly gripped the throng, their nervous conversations replaced by an eager anticipation which hung heavily in the air.
‘Stand!’ It was a command followed with a kick. Jycob struggled to his feet and stood swaying slightly before his king. A court official suddenly appeared and read loudly from a new parchment, in a voice which was well rehearsed and seemingly expert in such proceedings, for the delivery was quick, coldly emotionless, and without a pause from beginning to end.
‘Jycob Menin bearer of the King’s Medallion and consequently confidant to his majesty you are charged with treason in that you have harboured within your walls a criminal whose sole purpose is known to be the death of his majesty and overthrow of the Kingdom what do you say to this charge speak loudly for all to hear.’
The prisoner shook his head as though trying to absorb the words which still echoed chillingly from the walls. The guard gave another impatient kick. ‘Answer prisoner!’
‘Your majesty,’ Jycob started, ‘I had no idea...’
‘You did indeed,’ Lord Petros interrupted thunderously, ‘for this enemy of us all is cousin to your wife, who we now understand has fled with him. Surely you know who comes and goes to your house, and if you don’t you should. Your wife does not rule you. You are in charge. I have trusted you and I have been betrayed.’ The King’s voice grew ever louder, and several in the crowd who were taking bets on the proceedings smiled broadly.
‘I have served you loyally desire, I had no idea that my wife had turned against us.’ Jycob spoke in a small voice, not daring to look up.
‘You cannot blame your wife wretched man, this is weakness!’ The evil Zelfos spoke for the first time, and it was his arrogantly dismissive voice which wrought a remarkable change in the prisoner. Jycob knew that he would die, that the public trial was merely for show, an act which would help perpetuate the fearful rule of the king he had served so carefully. He had been beaten and tortured from well before sunrise and had willingly told all he could, for he only wanted to put things right, to have his king see that he was deceived like everyone else. In the end it had been hopeless. Someone had to pay. He’d always hated Zelfos, and he knew of no one who would say a good word about him. People feared the king’s advisor; it was the only emotion which was possible. But now at the end of his hope, Jycob tried to get his King to see, to see what so many others could see, but were too afraid to say. Zelfos’ hated voice suddenly gave him a courage he never knew he possessed.
‘Desire,’ he now looked directly and boldly at Lord Petros, ignoring the bald-headed Zelfos, and he spoke in a new voice, standing as tall as his battered body would allow. ‘I know that you will have me die ...’ The king’s eye’s narrowed, for he did like to be told what would happen by his subjects, but he felt a sudden respect for the hapless man before him, and he nodded once, indicating that things were as they had been stated. At this Jycob relaxed visibly, knowing that his end was near and he had little more to fear, for he was beyond it. The only power which remained with him was to see that his death was quick and not at the hands of the executioner who loved to draw death out. Perhaps he could achieve this last thing. He continued...
‘...desire you once were a man of truth, but since this evil creature Zelfos has had your ear you do not rule in your own right. I wonder, as many do just who is Lord in Ramos. I have served you well, I had no idea that a traitor was in our midst. I regret that my house was, unknown to me, his place of refuge. But, I challenge you, if Lord you are, to pass a fair sentence now and show your kingdom that you are not just a puppet to this pathetic creature of evil that stands in your shadow, indeed casts his shadow over you.’
The words were out before even Zelfos could react, for they were so unexpected. The crowd shivered as one. Who would dare to speak so boldly in the face of death? The king’s eyes narrowed in anger for he felt the insult keenly, and yet he knew there was a truth before him; but it was Zelfos who moved. In a flash of anger he reacted, gesturing threateningly with both hands, fingers splayed towards the prisoner, and in an instant a fearsome light poured from his fingertips, a blue-white light which hit Jycob in the chest and engulfed him. In that instant he was dead, transformed to a grotesque and quivering corpse twitching on the flagstones before a horrified crowd. An evil silence descended upon them all. Shortly after, the executioner stormed off, cheated of his chance to practise his own deathly skills, and a few within the crowd started muttering about it being the king’s duty to pass sentence, and what place did such sorcery have in Revelyn? The King and Zelfos stared angrily at each other, at the crowd, and then at the dead merchant, finally still at their feet.
Only the court official who had read the charge seemed to know what to do, and had the courage to speak.
‘Clear the court!’ he called officiously, ‘clear the court!’ And with that the King’s Guard came to life and in a moment the giant hall was empty except for the King, Zelfos and the Captain of the Night Guard. Even the fearsome shadow creatures had disappeared without anyone noticing. Two burly servants of the court hastily but silently removed the still warm and charred body of Jycob Menin. As their receding footsteps echoed for the final time from the stone abutments, the king spoke in a dark fury.
‘You had no right Zelfos. I am the king, I decide on sentence. I am the Lord of Revelyn. You have humiliated me before my people.’ The Captain of the Guard stood to attention and stared ahead. He had heard it before and knew that Zelfos feared no one, not even the king. Zelfos however seemed to want to avoid a confrontation.
‘You are right my Lord. I acted in haste. The prisoner of course was talking nonsense, trying to upset you, and me...
‘Clearly he upset you Zelfos, for you lost control.’ Lord Petros cut him off.
‘True my Lord, but nevertheless I stilled his tongue. Who knows what further lies he would have put forth? We did not need such things spread about. Perhaps we can order the captain here to let it be known that I have apologised for my rash action. And we both know he was to die. I just hastened it a little.’ Zelfos gave a disarming smile and bowed before the King.
Lord Petros paced about for a time calming himsel
f, and somewhat surprised that Zelfos had apologised. And before the Captain!
‘I will accept your apology, Zelfos, but never do that again.’ He went and sat on his throne, once more Lord of the realm.
Only the Captain of the Night Guard saw the stony and emotionless face Zelfos wore when a moment later he stood behind the throne as the King addressed him.
‘Captain, let it be known that this matter has been resolved by my advisor Zelfos apologising without reservation,’ The Captain saw Zelfos’ eyes narrow and his jaw harden. Clearly he was humiliated. ‘Also let it be known that my decision was to have been that the merchant Jycob Menin was to have been executed for treason, so there has been no miscarriage of the Royal decree. Only an issue of protocol.’ The Captain scoffed inwardly, but gave no sign.
‘Yes Desire, it will be done.’ The Captain gave the expected response. Personally he held both men in contempt, but he had benefited from their bickering in the past, so he hid his feelings and did his job.
The King changed the subject abruptly.
‘Captain, what news of the pursuit of the two riders?’
‘Perhaps I could answer that,’ Zelfos broke in quickly. ‘I dispatched a hunter of my own, knowing that speed was crucial. They are faster than anything the Captain could send.’ He stopped and smiled, knowing that he was right, and that his hunters had unnerved the king since they had mysteriously appeared at the Palace. Lord Petros grimaced, but wanted no more arguments. He needed to sort out the deadly threats which he knew stood against him.
‘So what news Zelfos?’
‘They were a decoy my Lord. They are dead. My hunter caught up with them less than a day’s ride to the north. They were not expecting such a quick pursuit. They died painfully, but revealed nothing. In any event, our common enemy did not leave the city on horseback, as we were led to believe.’
‘He could still be here in the city?’ Lord Petros looked nervously about. The matter of the dead Wolver had caused him another sleepless night.
‘My Lord,’ the Captain spoke, ‘he might be, but we feel that he has left. The woman, his cousin is with him, and she would know that any search here would eventually be successful. Her resources have been largely eliminated. Besides we know that this enemy must be concerned for the fate of his woman, the one Sylvion Greyfeld. He knows she is being held prisoner. Your plan to lure him away north to the fortress Vault will most likely be successful.’
‘But he cannot be far. What options does he have? If this Bowman has fled, how? By horse, by ship, what can we do to find him?’ He fled before and that was a ruse. He returned as we know. Does he have no fear?’
The Captain continued carefully. ‘My Lord, we interrogated Jycob Menin on this. He was eager to assist. What he said was true. He had no idea that his wife had turned traitor, or that Rema Bowman was using his house. Of course he is a merchant and as such has many contacts which might prove useful to his wife in their escape. He mentioned several ships which he uses to import goods. One, the Scoria left the harbour late on the night the Wolver died. This is unusual. Jycob stated that his wife Serenna loathed the captain and would not have gone anywhere near the boat. I am not so sure. I have sent orders by carriave to the harbour master at Rhyversend to search the ship when it arrives at the river mouth and before it is allowed to cross the bar and leave Revelyn. Apart from that we are watching all roads, and here the city is being searched in the obvious places. Word has been circulated to all who provide information to us, so there are many on the lookout for the redheaded woman and Bowman.’ The Captain ended his report abruptly and stood avoiding eye contact with the two powerful men who ruled his life, and waited for a reaction. He was surprised by the King’s response, for Lord Petros suddenly stood and paced anxiously back and forwards as though tormented by many thoughts. Zelfos stood watching with a grim and somewhat contemptuous leer. After a time the King gave voice to his fears.
‘Why did he return to Ramos? He fled, killed three Wolvers, three! Never been done, unheard of; and then he sneaks back under our noses. He spends the evening drinking in my Tavern, even makes conversation with one of the Wisden. What did he learn, what was he looking for? Surely he had some reason to risk coming back here, to my city, to Ramos? Kills another Wolver, one of the best. Was it sorcery? Zelfos you saw it, you told me it was strange. An arm burnt off, gone in a flash of light. What power does he have? He is after me. He wants my throne, my kingdom.’ He paused for a moment, and then, seemingly unaware of the other two watching, he screamed in frustration, shaking his fists in the air.
‘You cannot have it Rema Bowman. Do you hear me? I am King in Revelyn.’ Then having vented his deep emotion he returned to the throne and spoke somewhat distantly to his Captain.
‘Do you know anything of these matters soldier?’
‘I believe he returned by the river, desire. Took passage on a barge. I have received a report from a patrol to the southwest. One of their men was injured by an unusual arrow. The patrol saw the man, and chased him into the woods; they believe he somehow escaped on a barge. It is not clear but that is all I can report. As to why this man returned to Ramos; this is beyond me. ’
The King nodded and rubbed his chin thoughtfully, before changing direction once more.
‘What is the state of readiness of my army Captain?’ The Captain blinked hard and sought to recall all he knew. He was aware that both the King and Zelfos watched him closely.
‘We can put a force of three thousand men on the road immediately, plus another six hundred horsemen. We can expect the Underlourdes Arraghant and Halfdon to provide another two thousand, mostly swordsmen and lancers, but that will take several weeks. We have recently dispersed much of the army under your orders desire to many points around the country to enforce new laws, and seek trouble makers and suppress discontent. To recall these forces would require many months.’ He paused for a moment before risking a statement. ‘Desire, I am unaware of any threat to your kingdom or throne by any sizable force.’
The King stared so long and hard at him, that the Captain feared he had gone too far. Zelfos suddenly wore a worried look. Inwardly the soldier cursed them both. Why couldn’t they stop their stupid games and let him know what was going on.’
‘Oh there will be an army Captain. Rest assured we will have a fight on our hands.’ The king spoke quietly as though resigned to a bigger fate than was apparent to the Captain. What really scared him though was Zelfos, who nodded in agreement and then hissed.
‘There is a prophecy Captain, and we seem unable to prevent it thus far. Your king is telling you to prepare the army in all haste. Do you understand Captain? You life may soon be required of you, for a battle is coming, and it will be like no other you have ever known.’
The way he spoke, the look in his eyes, made both the King and his Captain shiver. Suddenly the old soldier realised that they were both staring at him, and he could have sworn the resemblance to two Gnabi vultures waiting to feed on carrion was remarkable. Jolted he spoke.
‘I will send instructions to the Underlourdes and ensure they know what is expected. I will prepare our standing army and await your orders. Might I know to which part of the Kingdom we will march, where this battle will be?’
‘We will march north and east. It will become clear. Just be ready Captain.’ Zelfos could not help himself, and once more spoke in the King’s place. Lord Petros bristled.
The Captain, seeing another storm approaching, wisely saluted, bowed and quickly left the hall, leaving the two Lords to their destructive interactions. But he was a soldier to the core and knew danger when he saw it. This is madness he thought, Revelyn is being ruined by these fools. And I have to see that it happens! As he hurried off however, he felt some deep elation overtake him. In the end, a good and bloody battle made a man a man. It was something to look forward to, some little reward for having to deal with those two. It would be good to have blood on his sword once more, to hear the cries of the dying, to feel the rush of
cheating death. Or perhaps not. So let it be.
He was smiling once more, for Captain Lukas of the King’s elite Night Guard, and Commander of the armies of Revelyn had no fear of death, or of any other man. He was glad however that those vile creatures which served the evil Zelfos would be fighting on their side.
*
The Scoria swung awkwardly at anchor, half a league off the main harbour at Rhyversend, the gateway township for all trade travelling the mighty Luminos river to Ramos. All craft engaged in any trade on the river were under the control of the harbourmaster, a rather nasty creature by the name of Geddy Grech, whose childhood dream of a life at sea in command of an impressive sailing ship, had been quickly ended by a persistent and chronic seasickness, and ever since, he had moved through a range of administrative jobs, all to do with shipping, until his recent appointment as the most powerful man outside of the Royal city. The Rhyversend harbourmaster had huge power; he could search any ship and confiscate cargos, apply fines and take sailors into custody. At his word a ship might be held up for days, or allowed to travel quickly on without filling in the forms and requisitions he required. Grech held the fortunes of businesses in his hands, and he loved it with a passion. Grech was answerable to the king only, and as such was able to wield a corrupt power for which he was locally hated and universally feared. He had always retained a massive sense of inferiority toward anyone who sailed the seas and was able to keep any food down, and so he reveled in making their lives difficult, for it made him feel superior. It did not help that at barely three cubits tall, he was always looking up at the world, and those he persecuted.
On this morning however he was in a particularly good humour, for in his hands he held a cryptic message from the White Palace, only just delivered from the busy carriave post not a stone’s throw from his impressive cliff-top office overlooking the harbour and river mouth.
