by Rachel Aaron
"Sir Townsend," the king said, turning to the Royal Knight beside him. "This was where Malakai's player containment camp was, correct? What happened to it?"
"It was decommissioned, my king," the knight replied, keeping his eyes carefully away from James. "Captain Malakai deemed its resources necessary for the counterattack on the player rebellion. All the players held here were moved to the mines instead to await trial."
The king's shoulders slumped in relief at that, but James gripped his reins tighter. "That's convenient," he said, moving his horse around to glare at the old knight before turning back to the king. "You should ask him what was done with the bodies. There had to be hundreds of them. They made that giant bloodstain over there."
He pointed at an absolutely massive stain that was so layered on, it had turned the stones black. The king winced and turned back to his knight, but Sir Townsend only shrugged.
"The reports said nothing of body disposal, my lord, but there could not have been that many." The knight's eyes slid over to James. "If I may be so bold, perhaps your player guide has been exaggerating out of desperation to save his sister."
James's ears went flat at that, and King Gregory sighed. "I can't pretend I'm not relieved to discover the front of my castle isn't a charnel house," he said, flicking his reins to start his giant horse moving again. "But this does not bode well for you, James. I pray to the Sun that you have not lied to me as well."
"I have told you nothing but the truth," James said fiercely, shooting the old knight a murderous look. "If you want proof, we should go to Founder's Square. I doubt anyone has had the time or manpower to clean that up."
Gregory cast a longing look down the Royal Mile toward the south. "It's a bit out of our way..." He thought a moment longer, then he shook his head. "I must know," he said, turning his horse off the wide road toward the narrower street that led to Founder's Square. "Let's go quickly, though I must admit, I hope that you are wrong."
James said nothing. He just followed the king into the shadowed canyon-like road between the tall, burned-out buildings that he and Tina had followed just a few days before on their trek to the palace. As they went, James couldn't help but notice how empty the city felt now. There were no more knight patrols, no people at all. Even the rats were gone, leaving the streets uncannily still as they rode in silence toward the square.
"I can't believe how much destruction there is," the king muttered, his face pale as he stared up at the blackened buildings. "Who started these fires?"
"Players did, my lord," Sir Townsend said at once. "I heard that the knights and guards in the city tried to extinguish the flames, but they had to focus on getting the people to safety, and they were under constant attack from the players."
The king glanced back at James, clearly expecting him to contradict this, but James could only shake his head. "I was in the savanna zone during the first three days, so I don't know--"
"I was here," Flameboyant said suddenly.
The king turned to look at him, and the elf flinched on his saddle, but he didn't stop.
"He's not wrong that players did some awful stuff, Your, um, Your Kingship. But if I can speak plainly, everyone was being a dick. Knights were killing players, players were killing knights, normal people were just trying to get out, and meanwhile, the whole city was going up in smoke. It was hell, plain and simple. Nothing else to call it."
Ar'Bati looked mortally offended at Flameboyant's use of crude language in the presence of royalty, but Gregory just looked sadder than ever, staring bleakly at the once-beautiful buildings of Bastion's most expensive quarter, which were now slumping piles of rubble. Most of the bodies had been cleaned off the street, but the bloodstains still remained, as did the smell of death. The stench was inescapable, hanging like an oppressive cloud in the warm, still morning air. It got so bad, James ended up putting his shirt over his face to protect his sensitive nose. Ar'Bati did the same, but the king seemed to be in too much shock to notice. He just sat on his horse, eyes wide as he took in block after block after block of destruction.
"How did it come to this?" he whispered at last, reaching out to touch the burned stump of what had been an old-growth decorative palm tree. "I saw all the reports, but they just said things like 'abandoned bakery' and 'fire-damaged fountain.' I didn't know, didn't realize that it could be..." He stopped, fists tightening on his reins. "I should have known," he said angrily. "I should have been there for my people, been out here helping. But I wasn't. I was sitting safe in my castle, reading sterilized reports in blissful ignorance while my kingdom burned down around me. I came out here to save Bastion, but what of Bastion is left to save? I could empty my coffers to the floors, and it wouldn't be enough to repair even the blocks we've passed. How am I going to make this right? Who will live in this desolation?"
"You don't have to fix it all yourself," James said, riding up beside him. "The monarchy didn't build every building in Bastion, and it won't rebuild them, either. This is your people's city. All you need to do is be there to help them."
"My efforts are always the opposite of help," Gregory said, looking furious with himself. "Raffestain was the one who set up a safe zone for people in the Diplomatic Quarter, and Captain Hightower of the City Guard is the one who's kept it safe."
"Because those are their jobs," James said quickly. "Not yours. The king can't do everything."
"But I did nothing!" Gregory cried, shamefaced. "You know what my big plan was? I wanted to throw an end-of-the-Nightmare celebration. I thought it would put people in a good mood and help improve morale. My advisers humored me, but I could tell they thought it was stupid. Now, I see how right they were."
"You weren't stupid," James said. "You didn't know because no one told you. It's not your fault your advisers hid vital--"
"It is my fault," Gregory said. "My fault for being a fool. My fault for being the sort of person they didn't believe could handle the truth. Had I been better, braver, anything but what I am, everything might have been different."
Before James could answer that, a noise broke the stillness, shaking the heavy air with a distant roar. As loud as it was, though, James was having trouble placing it. It almost sounded like a storm or maybe an avalanche, some sort of enormous disaster. James was flicking his ears to try to pin it down when Ar'Bati spoke. "It's the sound of battle," he said gravely, pointing south toward Trainers' Hall. "The fighting has begun."
"Then we have no more time to waste," the king said angrily, kicking his horse. "I will not fail my knights as I failed my people. I must go to the front lines myself and--"
"Wait, please!" James cried. "Please, Your Majesty, you must see Founder's Square! It will prove I'm telling the truth!"
"There is no time," the king said desperately. "My men are dying as we speak. They need their king! I'm Bastion's only five-skull raid boss. Instead of cowering in my rooms, I should be down there using the power the Nightmare gave me to do some good for once." He smiled at James. "Even if there's been no evidence of your claims, I still have reason to thank you. Your words were what spurred me to action. If not for you, I'd still be hiding in the palace, and for that I will be forever grateful, even if you did falsely claim that my knights were--"
"It's not false!" James cried. "I wasn't lying, Your Majesty, and I can prove it! If you'll just follow me one more block to--"
He cut off with a choke as Sir Townsend moved his horse between him and the king. "Remember your place, player," he snarled. "You will not speak to the Holy King in such a familiar fashion."
"I'm sorry, James," King Gregory said. "But I have to go support my knights. I've let all of this go much too far. Malakai and my people have had to shoulder far too much. Hopefully Roxxy has the sense to surrender, but even if I must fight her myself, I will end this with my own hands before any more of my subjects get hurt, as a king should."
He turned away as he finished, sitting tall and straight on his giant horse. He was lifting his heels to kick off into
a gallop when James lurched forward. "If you're going to fight the players, then start with me!"
The king whirled around in his saddle. Ar'Bati and Flameboyant jumped too, but James didn't dare look away from the king. "I was the one who told you Malakai's sins littered the city," he said desperately, moving his horse closer to the king's. "If you think that's a lie, then cut off my head. Execute me for misleading you, because there's no other way I'm letting you leave before I've shown you the truth."
The king jerked back so fast, he nearly fell off his horse. "No!" he said, horrified. "I'm not going to--"
"Then come with me to Founder's Square," James growled, leaning forward in his saddle until he was staring the king down.
"I just told you there's no time," King Gregory said, growing angry. "Even if you were exaggerating Captain Malakai's involvement, you were right about everything else. I can't afford to waste any more--"
"We didn't risk everything trying to save Bastion so you could put it in even greater danger!"
That was not the way one spoke to a king. Ar'Bati gasped behind him, and Sir Townsend drew his blade, but the king just looked shocked, and James took his opening before someone called his bluff and really did cut his head off.
"I'm relieved you're finally ready to fight for your kingdom, Your Majesty," he said, politely this time. "But you've drawn the wrong conclusion. Captain Malakai didn't go to the player camp to fight for Bastion. He's fighting for himself. You heard him in the war meeting. He and his knights are hell-bent on revenge. I've seen proof of their madness with my own eyes. Ride one block farther, and you'll see it for yourself. I'm not saying the players are innocent, but I am saying that you owe it to your people--all of your people, not just your knights--to learn the whole truth of what happened when the Nightmare broke. If Founder's Square is empty, I will let Sir Townsend kill me for misleading you. I won't even fight back."
"James!" Ar'Bati hissed.
"No," James said fiercely, reaching out to grab the king's massive arm. "This is worth my life. That's how much I believe in it. If you go down there and fight at Malakai's side, you won't just be killing players. You'll be killing Bastion's best chance at survival. If we let hate and misunderstanding turn us against each other, we might as well open the portal ourselves and let the undead come. That's why I can't let go. I refuse to let you do the Once King's killing for him. I will not let you doom this world."
That was a touch overdramatic, but if there was ever a time for drama, it was now. James was clutching the king's armored arm with all his strength, grabbing the warm sun metal so hard his fingers ached. Not that that would matter if the king decided to leave--as a five-skull, Gregory could flick him into a building without breaking a sweat--but James was ready to bet that no one had dared to manhandle a king, and he needed the edge that shock gave him. If nothing else, at least he knew the king was listening. James just hoped his gamble paid off, because Gregory's knights were already moving in. Sir Townsend especially looked eager to hold James to his promises. But as the old knight lifted his sword to cut James's hand off the king's arm, Gregory put up his hands.
"Enough," he said, his voice slightly panicked as he motioned his knights away from James. "You win, James. I'll ride one more block. Just please stop this."
Shaking with relief, James pried his hand off Gregory's arm. "One more block is all I ask."
Still eying James as if he were insane, the king turned his horse back toward Founder's Square again. His knights moved into tight formation around him, leaving James to Ar'Bati, who smacked him upside the head.
"What were you thinking?" Fangs demanded. "You could have gotten yourself killed!"
"If I was worried about being killed, I wouldn't have jumped through a window onto the king's conference table," James reminded him, urging his horse after the king's. "Death before dishonor."
"You almost had both!" his brother snarled, riding after him with a pale-faced Flameboyant in tow. "Any one of those rude sentences could have been your last! Do you not have kings in your world?"
"Not where I'm from."
Ar'Bati dragged a hand over his face, muttering under his breath about eternal shame, but James couldn't stick around to listen. Gregory was nearly to the crossroads where the street they'd been following met Founder's Square. He held his breath as the king turned the corner, terrified that Malakai had worked a miracle and somehow managed to hide the proof of his crimes, but he needn't have worried. By the time he caught up with the king--who'd gone stone still on his horse--the stench had already told him everything he needed to know.
Aside from two more days spent rotting in the hot Bastion sun, the scene at Founder's Square was exactly as James remembered. The once-lovely plaza was still a mass grave with corpses piled high. The air was thick with flies and the chatter of scavengers, and the smell was so bad James had to fight not to vomit. Even the king's veteran knights were forced to look away lest they lose their stomachs. The only one who didn't turn was Gregory himself. He just sat on top of his giant horse, staring at the scene in the square as though he hoped it would vanish if he just looked at it hard enough.
"By the Sun..." he said at last, closing his eyes. "This was done by my knights?"
"Yes," James answered quietly, swallowing against the bile that wouldn't stay out of his throat. "My sister's raid stumbled on this scene two days ago when they first arrived in Bastion. When we investigated, we found torn cloth from the Royal Knights' tabards clutched in the victims' hands. Witnesses rescued from that building there"--James pointed at the ripped-open inn where the only survivors had been hiding--"confirmed that the Royal Knights slit the higher-level players' throats while everyone was still incapacitated post-Nightmare. The lower-level ones were captured, beaten, and taken to the camp in front of the castle for execution without trial. This was the scene my sister saw, and it's why she decided to fight the knights."
Gregory took a shaky breath. "I still..." He paused to swallow. "I've seen your proof now, James," he said, striving for calm. "But this is still hard to believe. You must understand. I've known Malakai since I was young. He simply isn't the sort of man who would do something like this. I would have said that none of my knights were, but the Nightmare did terrible things to us all. Still, even if some were driven mad, surely Malakai would not have hidden the truth from me." His face brightened. "Maybe he didn't know. He was in the palace with me when the Nightmare broke. Founder's Square is a good distance from there. Maybe he was unaware of the full extent of--"
"Oh, he knew," Flameboyant said angrily, tearing his eyes away from the dead to glare at the king. "I was here on day zero. I was scavenging for food when I spotted Captain Malakai at the Room of Arrivals. There's no way to get to the portals from the palace without riding through here. Hell, he would have had to have ridden over the bodies to get there. So yeah, he saw all of this. He just chose not to tell you."
The king turned to his knights. "Is this true?"
Sir Townsend shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. "I did not know of this, my king," he said at last. "I knew the captain and his knights had killed many players, but I was told as you were that it was in self-defense."
"Self-defense?" Flameboyant cried, stabbing his finger at a dead Sorcerer who looked very much like him. "Their throats were cut while they were unconscious!"
"If wrong was done, it would have been Malakai's job to handle it," Sir Townsend snapped back. "Disciplining the knights is the captain's duty! He would have been right to handle it internally and not burden His Majesty."
"He wasn't 'handling it internally,'" James said angrily. "He was covering it up because he was part of it!" He turned back to the king. "You have to believe us. These things did happen. Why else would my sister--who's done nothing but fight the undead in Bastion's name--turn on Bastion? It just doesn't make sense unless Malakai turned on her first."
"You can't turn on a demon," Sir Townsend snarled. "This is player propaganda, Your Majesty. He is saying anythi
ng he can to protect his rebel of a sister. Give me the word, and I will silence him at once."
"No," King Gregory said, closing his eyes with a deep breath. When he opened them again, he fixed them on James. "I have seen what you asked, but it is still not proof. All we have here is a field of dead and your word that my knights are the ones who killed them. Such an accusation goes against everything the knighthood stands for, but I cannot ignore that someone killed all of these people. It is clear there was no battle here. These people did not fight back, and since players always fight back, I have to believe they were killed while they could not."
He thought about that for a moment, and his face grew grim. "Since players were the only ones incapacitated by the Nightmare's end, that means these murders could only have been done by someone from our world." His eyes flicked back to the copious dead. "A lot of someones, acting in coordination. Since the Royal Knights were in charge of policing Founder's Square, that corroborates your story, but I still can't..." He shook his head. "It's not enough. I cannot turn on my own Knight Captain for this alone. I must have the story from Malakai himself before I condemn him."
That wasn't the complete turnaround James had been hoping for, but considering the king had been ready to ride to Malakai's aid just three minutes ago, he was ready to take it. "That's fair enough, Your Majesty," he said. "Everyone deserves the chance to defend themselves, but I am confident he cannot. If you talk to the players, you'll find hundreds whose stories match ours. Malakai wasn't secretive. We all saw what he did. If you question your own knights, I'm sure you'll find men there who'll back us up as well, because we're telling you the truth."
"We will see," the king said tiredly, turning his horse away from the carnage in the square. "I've never wished so hard that I was being played for a fool, but we will see."
With that, he kicked his horse into a gallop. His veterans fell into formation around him a few seconds later, spurring their mounts to catch up with their king. With a final worried look at Ar'Bati and Flameboyant, James scrambled after him, clinging to his horse as they charged south down the empty streets toward the growing roar of battle.
