The Death Wish

by Jules Marks

  Akimba rode on as a man possessed…in spite of the fact that it was obvious he was in pain from his wounds. Having examined him the previous evening, I felt certain he had two broken ribs, and our hard ride could only be exacerbating an already painful condition. He often held a hand to his thigh as we galloped, and though he uttered no sound or complaint, I noticed how he grit his teeth now and again, as if he were holding back a groan.

  We saw the crows before we spotted the men. When we found them, there were seven in all: five of our knights and two Upland warriors. (The Uplanders wore no headdress, and were not attired or painted as the wolf/commanders had been.) It had been a horribly violent assault. Limbs were hacked away; entrails exposed; faces bludgeoned. Again, their bodies had been there several hours. Our mission seemed all the more urgent. This time we couldn’t take the time to build a cairn. Instead, we turned the dead knights face down on the ground and covered their heads with shields. It might discourage the crows…or it might not. Either way, we assumed (and hoped) the living needed our help more than the dead. If the scout had been correct with his numbers, it was now down to four against three…if there were no Uplanders at the cave. We continued on our way, dreading what next we might find.

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  We didn’t find them. They found us…or rather, they sought us out: it certainly wasn’t accidental. We’d almost reached the cliffs, and were traveling downhill on that rocky moor, when we saw two riders heading towards us. One led the other’s horse, and he held a white parley flag. (Actually, it was the sleeve of a knight’s tunic, but it served.)

  The appeal to parley was a shock in itself, and when we drew close enough to see the men, our surprise was even greater. The man on the lead horse was one of the Upland warriors, sans wolf headdress, and the horse he led was one of ours, being ridden by Garn, one of Akimba’s knights. Garn was gagged, bound, and bloody. As they moved closer, the Uplander pulled Garn’s horse beside his own, and he pulled a knife and held it near Garn’s throat.

  We drew up within a few paces of them.

  The Uplander’s young face was drawn and pale. He looked as if he, too, had suffered injury…that, or he was inconceivably weary. (I actually felt a glimmer of sympathy for the man when I considered that the Uplanders, as a defeated people, must be experiencing grief beyond my reckoning.) He bowed his head slightly in Akimba’s direction, and, in halting tongue, he began his speech:

  “Hear me, Dark Lord, for I come to meet you in parley to offer you terms…”

  “Terms? You offer me terms?” asked an impatient Akimba.

  “Yes, Dark Lord. My master, King Lukos, bids me offer you terms.” He closed his eyes briefly, inhaled and exhaled, as if every word took a great deal of effort. I looked more closely at his countenance, and realized that he must surely be suffering. Beneath the bloodstained skins he wore, I could see a piece of leather hide bound around his midsection. He obviously had an injury, and wore that makeshift bandage to stop his bleeding.

  The Uplander continued: “Our leaders are few, and you are yet many. I bring this knight to you as a gift and a promise. If you swear to leave us alone, we will give you one other knight to make our peace.”

  Akimba held up a hand to stop him. “Wait…you said one. There should be three others.”

  The young man shook his head. “One of the three is dead; we will give you another; the last we will keep with us to…” He closed his eyes, winced, and tilted his head back as he bit his lower lip. I didn’t know if it was the pain, or his inability to remember the words he’d been charged to speak.

  “…To, uhhh, to be certain you keep your trust and leave us in peace.” Finished with his difficult speech, he sighed, and allowed his shoulders to sag forward a bit. He still held the knife pointed at Garn’s throat.

  Akimba seemed about to argue, but then gestured towards Garn. “I need to speak to this knight.”

  The Uplander shook his head. “We are in parley; he is not to speak.” He seemed confused, as if the situation was not unfolding as he’d been told it would. He pressed the blade closer. One false move by either man or beast could make that move fatal.

  Akimba sought to reassure the man; it was obvious that the Uplander was at sea with regard to the acknowledged rules of parley. All Akimba had to do was sound convincing. He held up a conciliatory hand and spoke in low, soothing tones. “All is well; you have nothing to fear. You have come to us in truce, and by our laws, we will do nothing to harm you…unless you break the truce by hurting this knight, and if that happens, you will be hacked to pieces.” He continued on as if he’d said nothing the least bit threatening. “Now…do no harm. Allow him to speak; you need not fear our swords.”

  Still uncertain, the Uplander looked all around him, at the massed group of armed soldiers just a few short paces away. With what seemed a degree of reluctance, he shifted the knife enough that he was able to use his fingers to pull down Garn’s gag, and then he settled back to allow his prisoner to speak.

  Garn scowled at the man, and then leaned over and spit blood onto the ground. He looked up and addressed Akimba.

  “He tells you truly, Lord Akimba. Only three of us still draw breath…” He saw that Akimba was about to interrupt, and he answered the unspoken question. “The Lady Rebeccah yet lives, as does Andrus.” He stopped long enough to cast a hateful glare at the Uplander. “Nonetheless, we have lost another: this lot ate Sir Hector’s heart for breakfast this morning…” When he saw the Uplander return his glare, he amended his statement. “This one didn’t partake; at least he doesn’t eat the flesh of men.”

  The Uplander seemed satisfied to be exonerated; he transferred his gaze to his horse’s mane.

  “They cooked Hector?…you watched them do it?” asked an incredulous Akimba.

  Garn seemed to take Akimba’s question as a challenge. “Forgive me, my lord, I was tied up; there was nothing I could do.”

  “Of course there was nothing you might do…” Akimba’s expression was sick, horrified. “They cooked Hector?” he muttered once more.

  We all sat there and imagined the scene. Every man’s face showed his dismay; the memory of the burned scouts was fresh. It was one thing to have found those anonymous skeletons, but quite another when the victim was a comrade, a friend.

  “How is it with the Lady Rebeccah?” asked Akimba.

  The man’s gaze shifted; he didn’t meet Akimba’s eyes. “We are all injured, my lord. The Uplanders keep her separate; but when last I saw her, the lady was no worse than the rest of us.”

  Akimba wasn’t satisfied; he directed his question to the Uplander. “You there…how does the lady fare?”

  The Uplander did meet his gaze. (I was actually beginning to feel for the poor fellow.) “She has suffered no injury that will not heal.” He paused, and then asked a question of his own: “Is the she-warrior the Dark Lord’s woman?”

  “My sister,” Akimba answered without further explanation.

  The Uplander raised and brow and looked skeptical, but he asked no other question.

  “Garn, how many Uplanders are there at camp?”

  “There’s that damned King Lukos, two more of the wolf-soldiers, and four more of this sort.” He tipped his head in the direction of his captor, who was glaring at him with such venom that Garn instinctively leaned away from him.

  For his part, the Uplander didn’t seem to like the way the conversation was leading. (In truth, he’d allowed his prisoner to reveal too much information.) He once again placed his knife near Garn’s throat, and then addressed Akimba.

  “Enough of this exchange. You haven’t given your answer, Dark Lord. Do you agree to King Lukos’ terms?”

  Akimba scowled and shook his head. “There are no terms he could give that I would agree to. I will not make peace with this wolf-devil. Hear me: I will send him on his way to Hell…or die in the effort.”

  The Uplander seemed sorely dismayed, as if he knew not how to answer or respond. He looked into Akimba’s black
eyes, and made an unexpected appeal. “Then what am I to do?” He glanced at Garn, as if he was wondering if he was now supposed to kill him. “What comes next in parley?” he asked, his young voice cracking with fatigue and pain.

  Akimba’s response wasn’t what any of us expected. He looked at the Uplander, and sighed. “Do you have a family…a home?” he asked.

  The Uplander’s response was a silent nod.

  “Why don’t you return to it…to them? Just turn your horse around and ride away?”

  The Uplander looked away. “But King Lukos…”

  Akimba held up a palm to stop him, and then he gestured at the party of men surrounding him. “King Lukos will be dead before this day is done. Go home…back to your family…” Akimba gestured towards the Uplander’s bandaged midsection. “Let them see to your wounds.” He put his hand to his own chest. “Listen to your heart, and ponder this: a man who lets others do his fighting, a man who eats the flesh of others…that is not a king worth dying for.”

  The two warriors stared into one another’s eyes for a few drawn-out moments, and then the Uplander looked away, to Garn.

  “You fought bravely,” he said to him.

  “As did you,” replied Garn. He leaned forward, and lowered his voice. “You’ve seen enough fighting now. Go home. Kiss your wife and baby. Count yourself lucky that you met Lord Akimba in parley…and not in battle.”

  The Uplander nodded…and looked immeasurably sad. He took the reins of his horse, turned around, and rode away…back in the direction of the caves.

  We watched him ride back. I think all of us were moved by his foolish bravery. Still, when he suddenly turned his horse and began galloping east, away from the caves, I felt a surge of gladness in my heart, as did several of the others: I saw more than one man shake his fist and murmur “Yes…yes!”

  Akimba wasn’t the only warrior with us who had a generous heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I had attended to Garn’s wounds, and we’d left him with a soldier to watch over him until we could return. Still mounted, Akimba met in brief consultation with three other knights, and gave them orders to pass along to the other men. Then he surprised me by beckoning me come closer.

  “Gael…a word, if you please.”

  “Yes, Lord Akimba?”

  He looked uneasy, as if he knew not what to he’d called me for. He took off his gauntlet, and pulled a ring from his little finger. “Gael, if something happens to me…” He saw that I was about to protest, and he shook his head. “I said ‘if’ something happens to me, I would like to have you give this ring to Larkin…as a token of my affection for her.” He must have taken note of my look of confusion. “Rebeccah and I have grown so fond of her…and of you…” he hurriedly added, even as he bit his lower lip. “I simply wanted her to have something of mine to remember me by. I cannot explain…” He looked into my eyes for just a moment, and then looked away.

  I took the ring from his outstretched hand, feeling like an old fool even as I did so. (‘Hero worship’ indeed! I was not only a fool; I was a blind old fool.) I tried to reassure him:

  “I’ll be happy to keep it while we fight, but I am certain she would rather have you give it to her personally.”

  Akimba again met my gaze, and I suppose he could see my pleasure at his gesture. He smiled. “I would prefer that, as well.” He dipped his head and gestured towards the ring in my hand. “Just keep it safe ‘til then, Gael.”

  “As you wish, my lord.”

  One of the Upland sentries met us as we came near the face of the cliffs. He seemed unsure of what to do; he’d probably expected a report on our ‘parley,’ and when the Uplander sent to bring this about failed to return, he was unprepared to take on the job himself. He held up a club as a warning for us to stop, but he left the next move to Akimba.

  “I come to challenge your King Lukos.”

  This statement was not what the Uplander expected. He stared at Akimba for a moment, and then looked back over his shoulder, as if he hoped someone might turn up to make a decision for him.

  Fortunately for him, someone did just that. One of the wolf/commanders materialized at the entrance of the main cavern. He shouted something to the sentry in a harsh, guttural language that I did not understand, and then he turned, and yelled also into the tunnel of the cave. We could not hear a response, but something must have been said, for he reentered the cave.

  “Do you know what he said?” I whispered to Den, who was next to me.

  “Something about the ‘dark one’ I think. ‘The Dark One cometh’ perhaps.” Den grimaced. “Whatever it was, he doesn’t seem too worried. I wish I knew what they were up to.”

  “Don’t we all?” I agreed.

  The sentry still did not speak, but he beckoned us move in, to the base of the cliffs. We dismounted, and kept our arms at ready as we waited for the wolf/commander to reappear.

  He soon did that very thing, and with him came another commander and two common Upland warriors. Those two held between them a bound knight—I supposed it was Andrus—and without further ado, they dumped him over the lip of the ledge to tumble down the slope. He landed in a heap, but he was up and limping towards us within seconds, and though his hands were tied, he pulled at his bloodied gag to address Akimba. “They killed Hector! They ate his heart!” He was practically shrieking; his voice was so full of anguish and pain.

  Two of our soldiers took him in hand, and lowered him to a seated position on the ground. Akimba beckoned for me to move forward and give him aid. I hurriedly began unrolling my medical bundle. Akimba then leaned over the unnerved man to address him.

  “We know about Hector—Garn told us—and we know that there was nothing you could do to save him. Never fear, we will not tarry here over long; you will soon be safely returned to Beckman.” He paused long enough to pat Andrus on his shoulder. “How fares my Lady Rebeccah?” he asked.

  Andrus looked into Akimba’s eyes, and his mouth hinted at a smile. In a steadier voice, he answered: “Though sorely hurt, she remains defiant, Lord. She is brave, even in the face of yon dread wolf king. I…” He stopped, because one of the wolf/commanders above us began to speak.

  “Go!” He waved his arms in a gesture of dismissal, as if all had been decided and agreed upon. “Go, now, and leave us in peace. We want no more warring. Our soldiers have had enough killing.”

  Even if they had released Rebeccah, I knew Akimba wouldn’t leave the wolf king to live. Not one of our men would expect him to, even if they died in the bargain.

  Akimba stood up and answered. “First release your prisoner to us. After that, bring King Lukos hither, and we two shall fight. Then, no matter which of us wins, the warring will end, and my troops will leave you in peace.”

  The two wolf/commanders looked at one another, as if what Akimba had said might not be a bad idea. But they seemed to know better than to make such decisions by themselves; instead, they reentered the cavern.

  It wasn’t long before one came back.

  “King Lukos says he will kill the she-warrior if you do not leave.”

  Akimba didn’t even blink. “He will kill her, regardless,” was his blithe response. He gestured with a lowered hand to Andrus, and sent him a look that clearly told him to hold his tongue. “This knight tells me she may already be dead. If that is true, there is nothing to stop us from slaughtering every one of you. We will put fire into the cave, and kill you as you exit.” He looked at the men on each side, and then again addressed the Uplander. “Perhaps we will eat your hearts,” he threatened. (We all knew that wouldn’t happen, but the Uplanders didn’t.)

  The wolf/commander immediately protested. “The she-warrior is not dead…and he knows this!” He stabbed a finger towards Andrus.

  Akimba shook his head. “I believe that you lie.”

  The wolf/commander threw up his hands, and reentered the darkness. He was back within moments.

  “Come and see for yourself that she lives,” he s
aid.

  “And allow you to cut off my head as I enter?” countered Akimba. “I think not; I’ve been in that dread place before. She surely must be dead, or you would bring her hither.”

  The wolf commander did an odd thing: he stroked at the wolf-head nose for a moment, as if he was scratching at his own chin. “I cannot bring her out.”

  Akimba looked to his own troops, and somehow managed to act indifferent. “You see…I told you she was dead.”