The Ascension of Karrak (Karrak Trilogy Part One)

by Robert J Marsters

  “What are you up to, Hannock?” asked Jared.

  “Me, Sire? Nothing at all, Sire,” and with this statement gave a tug with his secreted arm. A small, wizened old man suddenly appeared before the prince, looking more than a little unnerved.

  “Alfred!” exclaimed Jared, “well I’ll be… I thought you’d retired, my dear fellow.”

  “So did I, Your Highness,” replied the old man, “but your ‘friend’ persuaded me to come out of retirement, just on a temporary basis of course.”

  “Did he now? Well in that case don’t dally on the doorstep dear fellow, come in.”

  Hannock placed the tray on the table in the middle of the room and steered the old man to a chair next to it, “Answer me a question, Alfred, how long were you court physician?”

  “Ninety-eight years, Captain,” came the reply.

  “And in all those years your primary care was that of the royal family was it not?”

  “Yes, Sir, and it was an honour to be chosen for that duty.”

  “Would you ever break a promise to, or a confidence of, a member of the royal household?”

  “I would die first, Sir, on that you have my word.”

  “Good, I’m glad that’s out of the way. Sire, let’s get that armour and shirt off you, shall we?” With Hannock’s help, Jared undressed. The wound on his shoulder had started to fester and the smell from it was enough to turn the strongest of stomachs.

  “Magic!” exclaimed Alfred, “Damn them all and their accursed spells.”

  Jared raised his eyebrows, “My word you’ve not missed a step have you, old man! One look and a diagnosis in a second, very impressive. I take it you’ve seen this type of wound before?”

  “Yes, Sir, I have, and it’s most unpleasant, may I ask when this occurred?”

  Jared and Hannock looked at one another, obviously each hoping that the other would have an exact answer, but neither did. “About five weeks?” Jared said, looking at Hannock for affirmation.

  “That sounds about right, Sire,” nodded Hannock.

  “Good, your armour must have deflected most of the force of the spell. If it hadn’t, you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation, Sire, you’d have died instantly. Now all I have to do is amputate the arm, cauterise the wound with a branding iron and you’ll be fine!”

  A look of horror came across the faces of Jared and Hannock. Alfred looked at them both for a few moments and began to chuckle. The two men stared at him in disbelief as he sat there highly amused at his own ‘little joke’.

  Alfred glared at Hannock, “Drag an old man round by his arm will you, all you had to do was ask.” He then looked to Jared, “Now let’s see about preparing a poultice for that shoulder of yours shall we, Your Highness?”

  With the wound now cleaned and dressed, Alfred bowed as low as he could, not the easiest of tasks for a man of one hundred and thirty-seven, “I shall return tomorrow, Your Highness, to redress the wound. However, should you be in discomfort or need my assistance, please send your ‘errand boy’,” and at this he gave a wry smile to Hannock, “and I shall come immediately.”

  Jared thanked Alfred and walked him to the door, at the same time shaking his hand and placing some gold coins into his palm. Alfred bowed again and left.

  “I do like that man,” said Hannock laughing quietly, “having the cheek to call me an errand boy, now that’s courage.”

  “You do realise that your feelings toward Alfred are not reciprocated don’t you, Hannock?” Jared asked, a smile appearing on his face.

  “You can’t be loved by everyone, Sire.”

  “According to my father, you can.”

  ***

  Now dressed in more suitable attire, Prince Jared made his way to the throne room in search of his father. Courtiers bowed and curtsied before him as he made his way through the halls of the castle. Huge tapestries covered every wall with strategic gaps to accommodate roaring log fires set in deep inglenook fireplaces. The heavy iron cartwheel chandeliers, suspended from beamed ceilings, each holding a hundred candles, were adorned with stones and the reflected light from the flames caused each one to sparkle like a red star, helping to illuminate the huge expanse of these great halls. Heavy woven rugs covered the floors, with only the edges bared to show the pure white marble beneath. No, this was no cold, damp stone fortress it was a palace residing within a castle, comfortable, and safe.

  “Ah there you are, my boy,” King Tamor called, raising his voice to ensure that all courtiers knew of Jared’s presence. “A toast,” he announced, “to the safe return of my son and heir, Prince Jared.” The toast was echoed around the room as various glasses and goblets were raised into the air.

  “Thank you friends. It is good to be back in the bosom of my people,” said Jared, and gave a gracious bow to the room.

  “Come, sit with me, Jared. Tell me of your adventures in the wilds beyond our kingdom,” instructed Tamor.

  Jared crossed the room slowly, nodding and smiling at the various lords and ladies as he went. All wished he would stop and chat with them thus somehow raising their social standing. He had, of course, no interest in conversing with any of them. They bored him. The women, regardless of age, were giggling imbeciles and the men, if they could be called that, wouldn’t know the difference between a sword and a longbow let alone its use. Reaching his father, Jared sat at his right hand, the rightful place for the heir to the throne.

  “Something troubling you, Jared?” asked Tamor.

  “I always long to be home with you, Father, but once I am and I see these prattling peacocks, I wish I were back patrolling in the wilds,” he replied with a heavy sigh.

  “One day my son, you shall be king to these peacocks, so I suggest that you learn how they roost before that day comes.”

  “Perhaps, Father, but that’s a long way off yet. Can I just get drunk and try to ignore them, if only for one night?”

  Tamor laughed, another one of his belly laughs. “You, my son, can do whatever you want for now, for you are a Prince of Borell and House Dunbar.” Tamor grabbed a jug from the maid beside him and sloshed wine into a jewel encrusted goblet. “Here, my boy, drink,” he said.

  Many guests attempted to entice Jared from his father’s side. Jared would make the excuse of fatigue after a long journey and then shoo them away with a wave of his hand, who would be so bold as to be insistent with royalty and refuse to take no for an answer? The evening was becoming easier for Jared, the warmth of the fire and the wine were actually making it quite bearable. Occasionally, he would look around the room at the women present, pausing for a second on the most attractive, but only for a second, making eye contact may mean he’d have to speak to one of them, fat chance.

  Now, it was customary to have the royal guard present at all times and this evening was no exception. It was deemed a great honour to join these ranks and only the absolute elite were accepted. Once enlisted, each member was presented with a royal blue velvet cloak, a badge of honour that stood out amongst the red cloaks of the regulars. The ultimate goal, however, was to earn the purple cloak, of which there was only one. The only person to have the honour of wearing this was the captain of the guard, an honour held by Hannock. He alone had passed every test put before him. From combat, armed or unarmed, to battle strategies, he had never been bested. Hannock’s rank also had its privileges, and not just the obvious ones such as money and respect, it also excused him from having to attend social gatherings, such as the one Jared was, by duty, attending this evening.

  ***

  Hannock was no ordinary man. He and Jared were the same age and had, more or less, been raised together. Hannock’s father had also been in the royal guard but, unlike his son, had never risen to the rank of captain. As boys, the two were inseparable and usually up to mischief, being discovered in places they should not have been, or interfering with things they ought not to. One such occasion resulted in the pronounced scar on Hannock’s cheek.

  Amongst their childho
od escapades, or ‘adventures’ as they referred to them, was the time they decided to sneak into the armoury. By slipping past guards and dodging in and out of shadows, they had achieved their goal. Once there they stood in awe, eyes wide at the array of weapons before them. Swords, shields, pikestaffs, bows and armour, all highly polished and in pristine condition. They had approached these, slightly hesitant, but also full of excitement.

  “When I’m older I shall be in the royal guard and fight for the kingdom,” Hannock had said, “I’ll protect your castle for you, Jared.”

  No formalities existed between the two boys as yet. They were far too young to be concerned with such nonsense, no, they were more interested in having adventures, imagined yes, but to them, no less exciting.

  “Wow, look at that one, Hannock.”

  Jared was pointing at the far wall which Hannock now turned to face. Hanging on a golden plaque in its centre was a crossbow. Now the boys were no strangers to crossbows, they saw them every day, but none like this one. This one was magnificent. Not just dull clunky pieces of iron and wood, crude but effective, this weapon was made with a skill that was more love than craft. A solid piece of rosewood had been carved and polished to form the stock and was as smooth as glass. Runes were carved into it and every piece of metalwork, that would normally be iron, had instead been forged from pure gold that shimmered in the light of the torches that burned either side of it. Even the bowstring was wound from gold thread.

  Jared reached for it.

  “I don’t think you should touch that,” Hannock said giving his friend a slightly nervous look.

  “I’m a prince, I can do what I like,” whispered Jared, not forgetting that they were somewhere they shouldn’t be. But as the boys looked at each other they had to stifle their giggles by putting their hands to their mouths. Again, Jared reached toward the crossbow, but this time he grasped it firmly and lifted it from its plaque. He was caught unawares, he had not realised just how heavy the weapon would be and barely caught himself, and the crossbow, before it hit the ground. A look of relief came across the boys’ faces, if it had hit the ground they would have been surrounded by guards within seconds.

  “That was a close one,” Hannock said, “put it back before you damage it.”

  “In a minute, prince, remember?” Jared replied with a cheeky smile. He raised the crossbow and pointed it at Hannock.

  “What are you doing, Jared? Put it down.”

  But the prince was having too much fun, for some reason he felt powerful, as if this weapon had projected him into premature adulthood. “Hold cur, you shall not invade my lands, I will defend them to my dying breath, if you and your…”

  Jared never got to finish the sentence. Without realising, his index finger had moved to the trigger, the slightest pressure had released the golden bolt and it flew through the air, glancing across his friend’s left cheek and embedding itself in the wall. Hannock spun and fell to the floor screaming, as any child would, his hands and face now covered in blood. As the boys had feared, it only took a few seconds before the guard appeared. Jared stood, petrified, not by the arrival of the guard but because he had wounded his best friend in the world.

  Guards began calling for the court physician to be summoned and, worst of all, the king was informed of the incident.

  Tamor swept into the room his golden robes flowing behind him. He quickened his pace to reach the wounded boy and, after exchanging a few words with the court physician who had arrived a few moments before, turned to face Jared.

  Jared wanted to speak, wanted to explain, wanted to apologise, but found he could not utter a single word as he stood in his father’s glare, a solitary tear running down his cheek.

  Tamor stormed toward him, Jared never flinched. His father was a good man and had never beaten either of his sons, believing that words and common sense were far better tools of learning. Prevention rather than cure was his way and proved to be accurate, until now. The king grabbed Jared by the shoulder of his tunic and marched him from the room, not allowing him time to speak to his wounded friend.

  ***

  A few days after the events in the armoury, both Jared and Hannock were summoned to appear before the king. They had not seen or spoken to one another since the accident, for they both knew that’s all it had been, an unfortunate accident. How to explain it to the king, however, was something completely different. They also had to justify their presence in the armoury in the first place, which was off limits to all except military personnel and the king himself.

  There was a knock at the door of Jared’s chambers. Two guards entered, ready to escort the prince. Reaching the throne room the guards took their positions, one ahead of him the other behind, and marched him in. Jared tried his best to keep in step with the guard in front, but failed dismally as his legs were much shorter. He never saw it as a childish game, he was trying to show his father, the king, the utmost respect.

  Hannock was already standing before the king. A large dressing was wrapped around his cheek and Jared could see slight traces of blood still showing on it, causing a pang of guilt to shoot through him. He was positioned beside his friend but neither dared look at the other, their eyes focussed on Tamor. Jared bowed to his father without speaking.

  “Well at least you have not forgotten your manners,” said Tamor, “such a shame that your memory fails you when you need it most, Jared. Hannock, how is your health today? Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes Your Majesty, much better thank you,” replied Hannock, looking at the floor.

  “Do you like the rug, Hannock? My eyes are in my head boy, not on the floor, look at me when you speak.”

  “Yes Your Majesty, my apologies Your Majesty,” he replied and raised his head.

  “And how is my firstborn today? Are you well today, Jared?”

  “Thank you, Sir, I am quite well.”

  “Now,” began Tamor, “this unfortunate incident in the armoury. It cannot be ignored or go unpunished. I understand from Hannock’s statement that this was just a game, an accident. However, there are very few accidental trespasses into restricted areas that are patrolled by my guards, guards who have already been punished for dereliction of duty. Can you now see that the consequences of your actions are suffered not only by you, but also by others around you?”

  The boys looked at each other for the first time, and then back to the king.

  “Yes Your Majesty,” they replied almost simultaneously.

  “So, you like to play with weapons,” said Tamor. “Well, who am I to stand in your way? Tomorrow you shall report to the Master at Arms at dawn where you shall begin your weapons training. Be under no illusion, you will be given no preferential treatment. No quarter shall be given, even if you are a prince of the realm or his best friend. You shall not complain and will be subject to the same punishment as any other should you disobey orders; do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “Oh and just a word of advice boys, you may want to steer clear of the guards you slipped past the other night, just for a few days. I heard that cleaning out the cesspits is not the most pleasant of duties,” at this he gave a loud laugh. “Dismissed.”

  ***

  The friends, as instructed, reported for duty the following day. Standing in the courtyard, the pouring rain dripped from their noses they faced the Master at Arms.

  “Bloody hell, I know I’m good but what the hell am I supposed to do with you two? I don’t think we have any dresses that need mending, and my men help themselves to ale so we don’t need bar wenches either. Alright, I suppose you’d better follow me,” he instructed. “Your word is my command, King Tamor,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

  The boys were taken to a large hut in the corner of the courtyard. Here they were issued uniforms. Not an easy job, as even the smallest size was still far too big for them, but with pins and belts they were kitted out as a temporary measure.

  Thus began their military e
ducation. The most amusing thing, more so than their ill-fitting uniforms, was the look on their faces when they were handed wooden swords with which to begin their fencing lessons.

  “Don’t want you little ladies cutting yourselves now do we?” said the Master at Arms. “Well not just yet anyway.”

  The training was much harder than the boys could have ever imagined. The king spoke the truth when he told them that they would be treated the same as all raw recruits in his army.

  Days turned into weeks, weeks into months and things got easier for them as both their strength and stamina increased. Hannock however, had to suffer a little more than Jared, for even though the king had said otherwise, the disgruntled guards were a little wary of treating Jared too badly. He was, after all, a prince, and none would risk incurring the wrath of the king just to get a little payback. Poor Hannock received many a clip round the ear and kick in the backside, but was proving to be very resilient as he endured this punishment and persevered.

  ***

  One morning they both reported for duty as usual.

  “Time to step up the game a little today, ladies,” said the sword master. “So far you’ve been pitted against other non-entities such as yourselves, today however, you’ll be training with some of the regulars.”

  The boys’ eyes grew wide at the thought. Was this the vengeance that the guards had sought all along? Did they mean to kill them and make the excuse that it was an accident, as the one in the armoury had been?

  Before sheer panic could set in, and it was approaching rapidly, the sword master spoke again. “I think we’ll start with you, Prince Jared.”

  Jared’s heart sank. Why him? Why not start with Hannock? He was the better swordsman, after all, he thought.

  Not giving him time to think, the sword master nodded toward one of the guards and raising his voice just slightly, instructed them to take their places.