The Kingmaker Contest

by Troy Clem

“Yeah.”

  “Do ya suddenly wanna be scared fer the rest of yer life?”

  “I don’t wanna be scared, Tessie.”

  “I know its ‘ard, but ya can do it. Yer twice as big and twice as strong as any of ‘em, and we’ve practiced fer years. Ya ‘ave nuttin’ ta be scareda.”

  “But Tessie—”

  “Don’t worry, I'll be with ya,” Tess interrupted. She started walking down the dirt road again. “But we gotta get movin’.”

  “Yeah,” said Pasqual, standing up and slouching after her.

  “Get fired up!” Tess cheered, spinning around and walking backward. “If we expect the priest ta test ya we’re gonna ‘aveta show ‘im yer the best.” Pasqual was looking down at the ground as he walked. “The best, Squally! Push past the fear.”

  “I know.”

  “Do ya even wanna be king?”

  “I wanna be.”

  “They don’t jus ‘and out titles. It’s ‘ard work, but I know ya got what it takes ta do this.”

  “Should we be bowing before the new king?” mocked a familiar voice from the doorway of one of the least-collapsing homes. Tess tried to spin back around but tripped over her feet. She lifted her face from the dirt to see Nickson laughing hard as he walked fully out of the doorway followed by a cacophony of laughter from several of his sycophant friends as they flowed out behind him.

  “We don’t want anythin’ ta do wit ya or yer ashie buddies,” said Tess as Pasqual helped her up.

  “Perhaps this is just some tragedy you’re rehearsing,” mocked Nickson. “Don’t tell me how it ends—I’d hate to spoil the show.” Nickson spun to face his friends and laughed. Over his coat he was wearing a cloak with a stitching of House Kale’s crest on the back: a man slaying a lion with a spear. His friends quickly joined in his derisive laughter.

  “Thinkin’ a’ movin’, Nick-o,” Tess shot back, “or’d ya mommy just get tired of ridin’ royals for room an’ board?”

  “Mother did miss you, Little Treasure,” Nickson said as he turned back around. “But then… she got a dog.” His buddies erupted with laughter and Tess’s blood boiled. Nickson brushed his cloak and coat aside to rest his hand on the pistol holstered on his hip.

  “Is she back there?” Tess sneered, pretending to try and catch a glimpse of Nickson’s mother through the dilapidated doorway, but she was caught off guard when another Koy-boy crony exited the house at that very moment.

  “Check out what I found,” said the excited Koy-boy, but he quickly hid the rusted sword behind his back when he saw Tess and Pasqual.

  “Bring it here,” Nickson said. “Don’t worry about them. They’re nothing.” The sword’s blade was rusted and chipped, but the hilt was magnificent. Its gold had lost its luster and the silver had tarnished, but its warm leather grip had clearly been oiled regularly. As ready for battle as the grip of any sword Tess had seen in the armory. Nickson was turned slightly toward his sycophants but spoke intentionally loud enough for Tess to hear. “Mother would like this, don’t you think? She always hates to see what these wretched people do to their pretty things.”

  “What’s yer problem?” Tess took a few steps toward Nickson; she wanted an excuse to fight. “That means nothin’ ta ya and everythin’ ta someone else.”

  “It means more to me than to whomever left it in this tragic mess,” replied Nickson.

  “Did ya not ‘ear me?” Tess said. “I said put it back, Koy-boy.”

  “Why do you even care?” Nickson scoffed. “Oh wait, is this yours?” He laughed, and, when his gang didn’t immediately join in, he threw a quick glare; they understood the cue and cackled along.

  “I ‘ave empathy fer others I guess,” said Tess.

  Nickson swung the sword around with great skill, putting on a miniature display of his talents before stabbing it straight down into the ground, burying the blade about halfway. He put the heel of his boot on the end of the hilt and slowly put his weight on it until the entire blade was in the soil, and the top of the crossguard left an impression on the surface. “This is a royal artifact and it deserves to be with a descendant.”

  “If ya care so much ‘bout it, why are ya destroyin’ it?” Tess asked.

  “I don’t have to answer to you. My family has a long history of taking in old garbage,” Nickson taunted. “But you know all about that, huh, Little Treasure.”

  Tess inched closer to Nickson, but Pasqual put his hand on her shoulder. “No, Tessie.”

  Nickson gripped his gun in its holster. “Listen to your dog.” Nickson’s gang laughed uproariously. “You don’t want to test me.”

  “Ya afraid of me? Need ta ‘ide behind a one-shot do ya, Nick-o?”

  Nickson whipped out his gun like he was trying to out-draw someone in a duel, and pointed it at Pasqual. “Maybe it should be for him.”

  “Ya ‘ear that, Squally? He’s afraid of ya. Pissin’ ‘imself ‘e is.”

  “Neither of you are really worth it,” Nickson replied, holstering his gun. “Why waste a bullet? He’s going to die tomorrow anyway and you—”

  “‘E’ll be standin’ over yer corpse.”

  “He doesn't stand a chance. He’s not a fighter.” Nickson stomped down, at an angle, on the hilt of the sword that was still in the ground, and it snapped off from the rusted blade. “He's fodder.”

  “Squally’s got skills that ya couldn’t believe.”

  “He may have trained.” Nickson slid the hilt behind him with his boot, and one of his lackeys quickly put it in a bag. “He might even be good with a sword, although I doubt it,” He looked Pasqual up and down, walking slowly closer. “But he doesn’t have the fighter’s instinct.” Nickson suddenly leapt forward and grabbed Tess by the collar of her coat. “It’s just not in your family’s blood to win.”

  Nickson’s friends must have seen some silent signal, and they acted just as quickly. Before Pasqual could react, some Koy-boys attacked him with punches and kicks, while others attempted to pull the giant to the ground. He knocked a few boys down, but there were about a dozen of them, and they kept getting back up.

  Nickson held Tess’s collar with one hand. “You see this?” he challenged as he pulled down the collar of his own shirt with his other hand to expose a triangle-shaped birthmark over his heart.

  “I get it,” said Tess, rolling her eyes. “Yer great cuz ya were born with a defect.”

  “I have the mark,” Nickson spat, “I am better than you!”

  Tess slipped out of her coat and onto her hands and knees. She spun around with her leg out, and swept Nickson off his feet. Her momentum kept her spinning, and, as Nickson fell, she grabbed her coat from his hand and popped up in one swift movement. “Not by the looks of it,” she mocked.

  Nickson jumped up immediately with great athleticism and whipped out his gun, pointing it just inches from Tess’s face.

  “No!” shouted Pasqual. The other boys had pinned him to the ground on his belly and he couldn’t break free, but it took every one of them to keep him from running to Tess. “No,” he repeated over and over. “No! No! No!”

  “Shut him up,” Nickson ordered. “I don’t want to have to kill him before the contest.”

  The others pushed Pasqual’s head into the dirt, muffling his screams. “Let ‘im breathe!” Tess yelled, ignoring the dangerous end of Nickson’s gun and turning to her cousin.

  “You have more important things to worry about,” said Nickson, cocking the hammer of the pistol.

  “Either shoot me or put the gun down and fight,” Tess replied. “Either way jus’ get it over with.”

  “Why would I fight you?” asked Nickson. “I only fight for money and glory, and if I simply wanted you dead... I could have killed you while you were sleeping years ago.” He released the hammer and holstered the gun. “I want you to watch your cousin die tomorrow. After I win, anything you do to retaliate against me will be treason.”

  Tess heard horses galloping in the distance. The Royal Guard were chargin
g down the same road that they were fighting in, but no one else seemed to notice. Tess quickly threw a punch at Nickson: a poor jab, but surprising enough that it connected with his cheek for a glancing blow. She simultaneously managed to knock herself off balance with her poor strike, and fell into Nickson.

  Nickson laughed, pushed Tess away, and gave her a return punch that launched her flat on her back. “Stupid girl.” He spat on her.

  Pasqual went into a rage and thrashed. The others struggled to contain him, and, after the first two fell off, he was able to throw the others off easily. Pasqual charged Nickson. “Stop!” Tess yelled as she got to her feet. Pasqual obeyed and walked to her, seething but not attacking. “Get ready for a free ride,” Tess whispered. Pasqual’s eyebrows raised and his anger faded. He started to turn his head. “No,” Tess said, and Pasqual stopped moving. “Don’t look.”

  The horse-drawn carriers were closing in on them when Nickson and his cronies finally heard the galloping of the horses. The Koy-boys and Nickson jumped out of the way to avoid being trampled. Six armored horses pulled each of the three large wooden carriages that had panels of armor strategically attached. Tess and Pasqual moved just barely out of the way to avoid being trampled, but stayed close enough to quickly clamber up onto a small lip on the back of the last carriage. With Pasqual’s height, he easily grabbed onto the top of the carriage while standing on the narrow lip. Tess had to jump and was barely able to grip the slick edge, her feet dangling above the narrow lip.

  “Alright, Tessie?” Pasqual shouted.

  Tess dangled with one hand and discreetly pulled her cloak aside to show Pasqual the prize she had tucked into her belt: Nickson’s gun. “Worth the black eye!” Tess smiled.

  The Loyal of Onqul

  Dak had not stopped running, and the constant bouncing wasn’t helping Theo’s pain. Theo felt Dak’s shoulders against his ribs and hip with every little step. Theo wiggled when he felt another rough patch, in hopes of finding a slightly more comfortable position, but the change knocked Dak off balance. Dak tripped and Theo went flying into a tree. Theo could feel every part of himself in pain all at once—a radiating that started in his chest and spread to his extremities. He went to chew, but must have spit the mass out accidentally during the incident.

  Nagima ran to Theo, and the golden eagle landed on her shoulder. “Alive?”

  “I’m breathing,” Theo moaned. “But I’m in agony and I jettisoned the chew.”

  “Dak!” Nagima yelled without turning away from Theo. “Alive?”

  “Fine,” Dak mumbled as he stood. In frustration, he punched a tree with the stump of his long left arm.

  “Arms causing failure frustrates him,” Nagima said to Theo. “Complains never, but… hard he is on himself.”

  “I was responsible for us falling,” Theo said, eyes on Dak.

  Dak joined Theo and Nagima with his head down. “Dropped you I shouldn’t have done. Happen again it will not.”

  “Back on,” Nagima said.

  “No,” Theo protested. “I can’t bound around anymore. I’m in far too much pain.”

  “Make it we must,” said Nagima.

  “I won’t survive at this rate.”

  Nagima sent the golden eagle into the air. “Make chew I will. Lookout Burk will keep.” Nagima went foraging for ingredients.

  Dak sat down near Theo. “You’ve been educated well. I didn’t know the Empire taught its people so much.”

  “I wouldn’t know how the Empire is taught,” said Theo. “I have a very sequestered life.”

  “You sound like you’ve traveled.”

  “I have a large vocabulary if that’s what you mean,” said Theo. “But everything I know is from books.”

  “You must have read a lot of books.”

  “Thousands, but I’ve never encountered anyone like her.”

  “Nagima?” asked Dak his brow furrowed in confusion. “You must have met Sigandar before?”

  “I’ve never met a Sigandar. As I said, the library in Rigol is the only place I’ve met anyone at all. I’ve read about the clans of the mountains…” Theo looked towards Nagima in distance between the trees, clearly deep in thought. “The way her bird seemed to understand some silent command, I’ve never even read anything on that subject.”

  Dak was nodding along. “Only a small fraction of Sigandar can communicate with birds the way Nagima can. It is an amazing bond.”

  Theo was astonished by these new observations; it made for a great distraction from the pain, but only for a short while. When he shifted, he felt the pain radiate, and he remembered their dire circumstances. “Why are we running from other Sigandar?” he asked, wincing.

  “There are people within the clan that don’t agree with Nagima,” Dak said.

  “On what subject?”

  “The will of the Mother,” Dak said.

  “Are we not heading to this mother, now? Will she not just express her will to us?”

  “The Mother doesn’t communicate with words,” Dak explained. “Her visions can be hard to interpret for some, and that can lead to…” Dak thought for a second, choosing his words carefully. “Conflicting ideas.”

  “What ensures Nagima’s interpretations are correct?”

  Nagima returned with the chew ingredients in her arms, oblivious to Theo and Dak’s conversation as she knelt down and began to work.

  “I’ve only seen Nagima voice her opinion a handful of times,” Dak responded in a low voice. “She has never been wrong.” Dak stood and walked closer to Nagima. “You Danaje believed in. Well did she understand that when you spoke you were certain.” He touched Nagima’s shoulder as she prepared the chew. “Believe in you the Mother does. Believe in you I do.”

  “Done I am,” Nagima said, standing with the chew in her palm and walking around Dak toward Theo. She popped it in Theo’s mouth. “Move we must.”

  “Why don’t the others trust you?” Theo asked Nagima. “If your interpretations have been proven correct without exception…”

  “Afraid of you they are, Theo,” Nagima replied.

  “Don’t deflect the matter,” said Theo.

  “Truth I tell you. Trust me they do not, because of you.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Know who you are they do,” Nagima replied. “Know we all.”

  “Tell me,” said Theo. “I’d love to know who I am.”

  “The son of the leader of Rigol.”

  “I’m just his ward.”

  “Heard your name discussed we have,” Nagima said.

  Theo eyes widened in shock. “Who could have been talking about me? I’m really nobody. I have a simple dream to be a Royal Guard and serve my King.”

  “Know I do not,” replied Nagima. “The clan not wanting you to see the Mother: that I know. Dangerous they think you are.”

  “And you don’t believe I’m dangerous?” asked Theo.

  Nagima took a moment to think over Theo’s question before responding. “Dangerous you are,” stated Nagima. “But of you my first vision was. Golden eagle circled body of boy. The will of the Mother I could feel. Wanted that boy she did.” Nagima put her arm out and her enormous golden eagle floated down from the canopy, landing on her leather arm guard. “Egg of Burk I found under fallen tree on forest floor the next day. Burk brought me to you this morning.” She fed Burk from a pouch within her cloak before pushing him back into the air. “No matter what it takes, we go to the Mother now. Leading to this has everything been.”

  Theo was in agony as he was moved onto Dak’s shoulders. He mashed the substance with his teeth but it didn’t help much. The transition was worst, but once he was in place the chew did start to help a little—any amount of help was better than nothing. Dak took a more methodical path and ran at a slightly slower pace than before, trying his best not to bounce Theo. It wasn’t perfect, but Theo felt like he could make it, at least for a while.

  Theo kept chewing the mass of tar in his mouth, but the tingling sensation it
once gave was gone. Either it was weaker than the previous chew or Theo’s pain had grown substantially. The act of chewing was all Theo could do to distract himself from the growing pain in every fiber of his being. Dak was breathing heavily, and his pace had slowed considerably. Theo didn’t mind at first—having a slow pace was easier on him—but, as the pain became unbearable, Theo only wanted Dak to get to this mother faster.

  “Faster make the pace,” said Nagima to Dak. Dak was too tired to respond, but his unchanged pace was communication enough. “Care if we make it do you?”

  Dak kept his head down and pushed forward, ignoring Nagima’s frustrations. Suddenly, an arrow hit Dak in the calf. He screamed out in pain and started tumbling forward. He focused on getting Theo carefully down to the ground. Dak managed to keep his balance—mostly—and fell only to his knees, keeping Theo on his shoulders until he could lay him down as gently as possible. Nagima ran to Theo’s aid.

  A young Sigandar woman, about Nagima’s age but taller, walked out of the trees with her bow in one hand and her other tucked behind her back. She had curly strawberry-blond hair that filled the hood of a cloak made of dark bird feathers. Her eyes were blue with a hint of green, and her face was dotted lightly with freckles. Under her cloak, she was dressed in the same red leather as the other Sigandar warriors that sat behind her in waiting, obscured by the trees.

  Theo heard Nagima take a sharp breath and whisper almost involuntarily, “Jaina,” her full lips becoming thin as she clenched her jaw.

  Nagima wondered why Burk had not warned her of the others, but Jaina answered Nagima’s unasked question by revealing what was behind her back. Burk had been bound around his talons, his body, and his beak.

  Jaina flipped her bow onto her shoulder and produced a bilum sack from her cloak. Burk started to shriek—although muffled by his bindings—and tossed violently as she lowered the majestic beast into the bag; Nagima worried that he would injure himself. “Better the arrow always will be,” Jaina announced, spinning her bow from her shoulder back into her hand with nothing more than a quick shrug.

  Nagima stood up. “Hurting innocent animals your nature is not. Necessity torture never is. Stop, Jaina.”