Merek's Ascendance

by Andrew Lashway

  “Really?” Merek asked with a look at the fallen man as the poacher chief drew his ax.

  “I never get tired of seeing him jump around,” the chief shrugged.

  Merek shrugged again. It was rather amusing.

  The two began to circle, neither one caring about the struggle happening only feet away. The chief stared at him, eyes narrowed, and his thoughts were impossible to read.

  Merek was having enough trouble reading his own.

  It hit him suddenly, like an icy punch from a gale. Every other battle, it had been quick. The bandits, the poachers, everything. No time to think, no time to question. He just jumped into the thick of battle. But here, now…

  He had walked into this one on purpose. This was no training match, no one who would pull up at the last second to spare him injury. These weapons were real. This fight was real.

  He kept his face perfectly poised, though it took most of his effort to do so. He couldn’t let the poacher chief see the absolute terror that was crawling through his guts, making him want to turn around and run.

  That didn’t stop him from feeling it.

  Merek was scared, more scared than he could ever remember being. Not under his parent’s rule, not at the mercy of the elements. They kept circling, Merek losing his nerve with every step. He was out of his league. What was he thinking, trying to…

  Shut up.

  He unconsciously shook his head, chasing away the train of thought. The bears needed help. His friends had followed him in, and he wasn’t about to abandon them.

  His grip on his sword tightened, and his gaze focused.

  Fight!

  Merek charged forward, and the chief met him. He swept with his ax, aiming to cut off Merek’s head, but Merek ducked at the last moment and jammed his blade forward. The chief barely dodged aside, the blade scraping against his armor.

  The two separated and circled once more before meeting again, ax and sword connecting with a mighty clang. They separated again as they sized up each other.

  “Are you dancing or fighting?” Thorald laughed, still deep in battle with the woman who seemed to be completely uninterested in what she was doing.

  “Do I make fun of how you fight?” Merek replied without taking his eyes off of the chief.

  “Of course not. Because there’s nothing to make fun of!”

  Merek rolled his eyes, spinning his sword once to refocus his mind fully.

  This time it was the chief who charged first, bringing the ax down with renewed ferocity. Merek dodged to the side, swinging his sword at the chief’s flank, but the chief raised an armored arm and blocked it. The counterattack missed by an inch, and it forced Merek to his back. The chief swung the ax straight down, aiming to bury it in Merek’s chest, but Merek wasn’t there when the ax came down.

  His roll away from harm carried him several feet away, and he kicked to his feet quickly. It was a good thing too, because the chief was all over him. Ax and sword met twice, each blow forcing Merek back. He gave the ground willingly. It was okay. He had a plan.

  He sidestepped the next vertical strike, striking back with a flurry of strikes. None of them was enough to pierce the armor, but he could see several dents and scratches start to appear. Though which would give first, armor or armament, was impossible to guess.

  Merek had no interest in finding out.

  Sword in one hand, he gripped his cloak in the other. When the chief lunged again, Merek dodged to the right and threw his cloak in the path. The ax ripped into it, getting lodged in the cloth. The momentum pulled Merek around, just as he expected.

  The added momentum was all he needed and more to bury his blade in the chief’s side between the steel plates of front and back. It burst through to the other side, spraying blood on the floor.

  “Huh,” was all the chief said.

  Merek pulled his blade free, and the body fell to the ground.

  There was only a slight chill of revulsion that ran down his spine.

  Thorald was still battling the raven haired woman, though it was less a battle and more the woman beating on his sword with her mace and Thorald laughing.

  Merek watched, not wanting to jump in on his friend’s fight, but then something caught his eye that he hadn’t noticed before.

  The woman looked… familiar.

  He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but she seemed to dress like someone who had only heard what bandits dress like. Nothing she wore was nice, but it didn’t look cobbled together, like everyone else’s garb looked.

  His suspicion piqued, Merek quietly walked up behind the battling pair. Then, before the woman even noticed he was there, he kicked one of her legs from behind and draped his sword across her neck.

  “I’d drop the mace, if I were you.”

  For several moments, Merek was sure she was going to refuse. But with a deep sigh forced through clenched teeth, she eventually dropped her weapon.

  “Oh come on. I had her on the ropes!” Thorald said, sweat pouring down his face.

  “Yeah, she looked really terrified. Don’t even think about it,” he said to the woman as her hand twitched, perhaps thinking of escape. “Find some rope, would you?” he asked Thorald, who nodded and walked off. A few moments later he returned, rope in hand, and they bound her hands. They had enough rope left over to bind the final poacher when he woke up.

  Merek then turned his attention to his bears, only to find they weren’t in their cages. Looking around, he found them at the top of the stairs. Julia was standing over them, looking both a little scared and a little amused.

  “You were fighting,” Julia said, shrugging as she spoke to the steps, “so I… I figured I’d take the opportunity and got them out.”

  “I know,” Merek said before Thorald could speak, “my fourth child too.”

  “Goodness,” Thorald laughed, “how many children do you plan on having?”

  “The way today is going? It looks like I’ll be at a round dozen before nightfall.”

  “Speaking of which, we’d better get moving if we want to make it back before then. Long trip ahead.”

  Merek shrugged as they mounted the stairs. “I’ve had longer,” he said with a smile. Then he looked back and noticed the poacher he’d let live twice now.

  “This is your last chance,” he said, “once more and I’ll have no choice.”

  The man looked worried, maybe more for the prospect of an honest living than he was of Merek’s blade. Merek couldn’t tell.

  Only time would.

  Chapter Twelve: Insurrection

  The moment they were in the open air, the mother bear literally hugged him goodbye and ran into the forest without a backwards glance, looking and hopefully finding her lost son. Merek smiled as they ran off, knowing he’d probably never see them again. That was okay. At least they’d be happy and free now that the poachers had been dealt with.

  The archer had expired before they could reach him, though Merek didn’t particularly consider it any great loss. He simply pulled the daggers from his back and left him where he lay.

  It took them relatively no time at all to retrace their steps to Tules, and then board a cart that took them back to the castle. Their prisoners made no attempt to escape, though Thorald showed Merek what ‘frisking’ was and searched them both. The woman had two small knives on her, while the man had nothing.

  Merek figured their arrival at the castle, with two prisoners in tow, would be met with cheers. For the most part, he was correct.

  Then there was the part where he was not.

  The two poachers were put into irons and led away, where they would be dealt with later, according to the guard.

  The three of them, however, would be dealt with immediately.

  Merek tensed as the guard spoke, wondering if he should draw his blade. Julia looked just as wrong-footed as he felt, looking at both him and Thorald with worry.

  Thorald, however, looked crestfallen and angry all at once, his eyes glossed over as he loo
ked at the floor, but his lips had scrunched up and partially pulled off of his teeth.

  “Thorald?” Merek asked, “What’s going on?”

  “C’mon. I have a feeling we’re due for an audience.”

  “An audience?” Merek asked. Thorald refused to elaborate further, and they followed Thorald through the castle to somewhere Merek had yet to be.

  The throne room.

  It was more elaborate than Merek was expecting, yet not elaborate at all. The hall was carpeted in red, with purple curtains hanging from the tall windows. There were weapon racks on the walls, displaying swords and axes of multiple styles and forging materials.

  There were also paintings of landscapes and the stars, notes written from the people proudly displayed for all who entered to see.

  And, of course, there was the king himself.

  High King Tyrigg, seated in this throne, looked about as angry as Merek would even have expected the older man to look. He stared down at them with raised eyebrows, his lips scrunched together in the exact same fashion as Thorald’s.

  “Son,” was all he said. But the word was crackling with fire, and Merek knew they were in a great deal of trouble.

  “Father,” Thorald replied, staring his father in the eyes.

  “Where have you been?” He didn’t ask angrily, or even unkindly. Merek could hear the worry in his voice.

  For some reason he couldn’t quite explain, he felt a tug of pain somewhere near his gut.

  “I was hunting poachers outside of Tules.”

  “Alone?”

  “No, Father, I had Merek and Julia with me.”

  “And that was all. No guards, no other knights. Just those two?”

  “We… we figured…” Thorald stammered, trying to find the words.

  Merek, however, knew exactly where this conversation was going and he wouldn’t allow Thorald to take the blame for his folly.

  “Pardon me, Your Highness,” Merek said, stepping forward. “Your son and Julia only came along to back me up. They simply wanted to protect me. It was my idea to go into the forest. It was my plan to fight.”

  Tyrigg nodded, though his expression didn’t change. “Do you think that makes my son any less responsible for his actions?”

  Merek could think of no other response save, “no sir.”

  “All of us are responsible for what we do. Now, do not mistake my anger. I’m not upset with any of you for what you did today. If you say you were hunting poachers, than I am glad you rid our lands of their filth.

  “What I am upset about was how foolish you three were going about it. There were guards who would have volunteered to go with you. Other knight-errants. I do believe Milly and John would have leapt at the chance. It was foolish for only three of you to go in to the forest when a few more numbers wouldn’t have slowed you down.”

  Merek lowered his head, ashamed. He hadn’t even thought about them, so wrapped up in his own worries about covering his tracks with his father.

  “I am very relieved that you are safe. All of you. And I do absolutely believe you did the right thing. But, next time – because I can tell there will be a next time – would you please promise me you will use your brains, not just your blades?”

  “Yes sir,” Merek said, and for some reason he couldn’t understand, he could feel tears welling in his eyes. Refusing to give them his attention, he forced away the sudden upsurge of emotion.

  “I’m sorry, Father,” Thorald said, “We should have thought this out more.”

  “You all are safe, and that is what is important. Now, what prisoners do we have?”

  Thorald turned to Merek, motioning for him to speak.

  “Well, one, the man, he doesn’t want to be a poacher. Or a bandit. I don’t think he wants that life. Of course, I could be completely wrong, but maybe with the right push he can be better than he was before.”

  “And the other?”

  “The other, a woman… Something is not right about her,” Merek said, his eyebrows pressing closer together as he thought. “She wasn’t dressed like a bandit would normally dress, and her demeanor… Something just struck me as wrong about her.”

  “Well, then I suppose we should find out what that is. But for now, you’ve done well, and you three deserve rest. But first – Miss Julia, how did you defend yourself out there? I assume you must have, with those two fools as your chaperones.”

  Merek said nothing at the jab, smirking at Thorald. He matched the smile.

  “Oh, I’m not bad at… throwing daggers, Your Majesty.”

  Tyrigg said nothing else, but he nodded his approval with a smile of respect.

  The three of them left the throne room, but Merek wasn’t finished getting yelled at yet.

  “You went to fight bandits without us!” Milly said the moment they left the room. “You left! And fought! And had fun!”

  “Milly, we…”

  “And! You! Left! Us! Hear!” She punctuated every word with a slap to Merek’s arm, and Merek raised his arm defensively.

  John, for his part, didn’t look angry. He more looked sullen, with his eyes downcast. It was a mark of how upset he was that he wasn’t even trying to rein Milly in.

  “You’re right,” Merek said, and Milly stopped slapping him immediately.

  “Things were moving far too fast, I didn’t stop and think like I should have. I should have thought about it, I should have made sure you were with us. This was absolutely my fault, and I am sorry, my friends.”

  Milly stamped her foot, as if angry that she couldn’t be angry anymore. John perked up instantly, his normal rakish smile falling back into place.

  “Just don’t you forget us next time!” Milly said, slapping his arm again for good measure.

  “Yeah,” John said, “wouldn’t want to miss out on the action.”

  “You have my word,” Merek smiled.

  “Well,” Thorald said, “now that people are done yelling at us, I have a rather attractive barmaid to flirt with. I was making excellent progress last night, and I shouldn’t leave her wondering.”

  “The next time I read a book and the word ‘shameless’ comes up, I’m going to think of you,” Merek said.

  “You wound me!” Thorald said, placing a hand over his heart, “I merely enjoy giving the world the gift of me.”

  The whole party laughed as Thorald started cackling at the last word.

  “I almost made it through,” Thorald chuckled.

  “So close,” Merek laughed as Thorald bowed his head and walked away.

  “Well, we must be off too. Some of us still have training to do.”

  “Oh no,” Merek said, his good mood evaporating, “the Trainer.”

  “He probably won’t kill you,” John said. “Probably. You did kill some bandits. Always a good way to keep him happier.”

  “Not happy,” Milly interjected.

  “Oh no. But happier.”

  Laughing, the two of them walked off, leaving Julia and Merek alone.

  “So,” Merek said, trying to keep up his bravery even though there was no one else there to save him from… well, himself. “As it seems this may be the last time you see me with all of my limbs attached, care to go for a walk?”

  “I’d love to,” Julia replied, and this time neither of them avoided the other’s gaze.

  So Merek’s life went for months. He trained (after the Trainer got done figuratively and literally beating him into the ground) in swordplay, in strategy, in archery and everything in between. The Trainer actually (once) complimented his progress.

  “You master in a few weeks what it takes people months to learn. You have the best work ethic I’ve ever seen. Now go run five laps.”

  He met Thorald in the library often, and the two would read and swap stories of Thorald’s exploits with barmaids and Merek’s nighttime walks with Julia. Each one seemed a bit envious of the other.

  “I do get credit, yes, for finding you such a lovely and kind woman?”

  �
��Of course, my friend,” Merek replied, “though I almost wish it hadn’t been so soon. That way I’d have a bit more experience under my belt.”

  Then Thorald laughed heartily, confusing Merek until he realized his own joke.

  Julia came to the castle often, and they spoke of blacksmithing and fencing and the weather and anything else that seemed worthwhile to talk about. This included the difference between crabs and lobsters.

  “One has a harder shell,” Julia said, “I think it’s the crab.”

  “I don’t know,” Merek replied, “but I’d like to find out. They live by beaches, right?”

  “Usually. Though I don’t know if any of them live on any beach near here.”

  “We should find out.”

  Then there was Merek’s father. He came by every few weeks, looking for more money. Merek was careful not to let anyone see the two of them together, dutifully paying his father what he asked. Each time they parted, his father made sure Merek knew his place.

  “Your mother says she’s happy you’re finally doing what you’re told. Maybe one day you’ll actually be a son worth talking about.”

  Merek never had a single reply.

  The five of them went out often, hunting bandits and criminals and occasionally repelling would-be invaders from Grevoria. Though the neighboring country did not own up to the attacks, Thorald was certain. But without proof, they had nothing to go on. They told the High King nonetheless, but he was more than hesitant to jump into a war.

  “I will not risk our citizens’ lives if it can be avoided. And we can’t merely declare war on Grevoria. Without proof…”

  “It will look like we are the aggressors,” Merek supplied, nodding. The three of them met often to discuss strategy, and Thorald came to respect Merek’s judgment.

  And still, no one save Julia questioned Merek’s lineage. He lied to her, of course, ashamed of both his parentage and his having to lie to her, but if anyone found out… his life was over. Perhaps literally.

  “Tell me about your father,” Julia said one day as they walked hand in hand down a riverbank.

  “Not much to tell. He did his duty in the morning. He came home in the evening. Mother cooked him dinner. He went to sleep. That’s it.”