The Broken Reign

by Jeremy Michelson

  Lord Fortune stifled a sneeze from the wet dog smell in the room. “Your Majesty, I have captured the red-haired man as you have commanded,” he said.

  “Bullshit,” the King said, “He had you tied up like a pig for roasting. If I hadn’t come along, you’d still be his property.”

  Fortune kept his head bowed. His body was protesting kneeling on the floor. He noticed the flagstones were poorly cut and uneven. It only made him mourn his lost Bramblevine all the more.

  “Of course, Sire,” he said, “And I am grateful for your presence and your timely rescue. The red-haired man is now in your custody, though. I ask that I be released from your court so that I may return to my home and attempt to salvage something of the ruins.”

  “Get up, you idiot,” the King said.

  Fortune rose slowly, gaging the look in Hurdroth’s eyes. It wasn’t good. The King had not fared well in battle with Hemsdell. From the rumors Fortune had gathered from the King’s staff, Hemsdell had come close to killing the King himself.

  The King pulled out a familiar looking wand from his fur coat. “This didn’t work,” he said.

  Fortune swallowed. The sleep wand was powerful magic. If used correctly.

  “I myself crawled through the mud into Hemsdell’s tent. His entire army was snoring around me. I stuffed your stupid plugs in my ears and I activated the wand–as you showed me to. And what do you think happened?”

  Fortune wished he was anywhere else. Even back in the broken hovel, tied up with the vomit and wine stink of Dovd. Anything would be better than this.

  "Your Majesty, I do not know," Fortune stammered.

  The King leaned forward. Fortune felt heat, as if the Kings eyes were capable of shooting flame.

  “They. All. Woke. Up,” the King said.

  Fortune dared not to move. The question on his mind, the King answered.

  “Do you wonder how I escaped?” the King asked.

  Trembling, Fortune fumbled for an appropriate answer.

  “I assume you escaped through your superior strength and wits, your highness,” he said.

  “No,” the King said, his voice a hiss now, “Hemsdell let me go.”

  “What?” Fortune’s mind was reeling. What was happening here?

  “I tried to kill Hemsdell with my blade, but his bodyguards leapt in and held me,” the King said, “He gave me a choice. Would you like to know the choice he gave me?”

  Fortune emphatically did not want to know, but suspected he would hear it anyway.

  “Hemsdell told me I could live and return to my men, if I dressed up like a woman and danced for him and his soldiers,” the King said.

  There were no words to encompass the depths of Fortune’s horror. If running from the room was an option, he would have. Why hadn’t Hemsdell just killed the King? He had the opportunity.

  Because Hemsdell was cruel and decided it would be more satisfying to humiliate the King than killing him.

  “So I did,” said the King. “They dressed me up like a dancing whore. Painted my face. Put bags of sand in my shirt to give me big tits. And do you know how long this went on for?”

  Fortune shook his head.

  “Hours,” the King said softly. “Hours. And when they were done, Hemsdell had all his men line up along the road. He made me run down the line, and all the men slapped my ass as I ran by, still dressed as a woman.”

  At that point, Fortune's horror turned to amusement as he pictured the King's humiliation. His face went hot and he bit his tongue to suppress his laughter. The King was watching him, fingering the double-headed ax in his lap.

  “Go ahead, laugh,” the King said, “I dare you.”

  Fortune did the only thing he could. He got down on his knees and prostrated himself before the King. At least Hurdroth couldn’t see his face.

  “Get the fuck up. Now,” Hurdroth said.

  Fortune did so, certain that his head would soon join Lord Kanreb’s in the corner.

  “Lord Fortune, I want whatever secrets the red-haired man has,” the King said, “And they better be good ones. Because I have a lot of killing to do.”

  Fortune swallowed. Now what he was going to do? He considered the cache of weapons hidden in the forest. If he turned those over to Hurdroth the man would scorch the earth with them in his lust for vengeance. Unless Fortune could get them first.

  “Yes, of course, your Majesty,” he said.

  He bowed and exited the room as fast as he could.

  Fifty-Four

  Lord Fortune

  Fortune rushed to the former gamekeeper's house he had appropriated for his own use. It was more of a shack than a house, built of odds and ends of stone and wood. It was drafty and the roof creaked alarmingly under the weight of the snow on it. The shack stank smelled of rotting meat and the untanned hides hanging from the walls.

  More than ever, he missed Bramblevine.

  Dovd was curled up in a pile of furs near the sputtering fire, a flask of wine in his hand. The sharp stink of wine overpowered the dead animal smell as Fortune approached. Dovd snored and snorted, his legs twitching.

  Fortune kicked him in the ribs. Dovd screamed, shooting up from the furs, slamming back up against the corner. The house shuddered, and snow fluttered down as the roof groaned. Dovd’s eyes were wild and unfocused for a moment. Then they lit on Fortune and he calmed. He noticed the wine flask was still in his hand. He drained the last of the wine and threw the empty flask across the room.

  “Don’t do that,” Dovd said. He looked down at his hands. They trembled and shook. “I can’t get that thing out of my head. I keep seeing it coming for me. Feeling those giant icy fingers around me.”

  Fortune had little sympathy for him. Actually, he had no sympathy. He stepped up and slapped Dovd across the face. Hard. Dovd's head snapped around. He raised his hand to his cheek. Anger bloomed in his eyes.

  “What the–”

  “We need to get moving. Now,” Fortune said. “We need to take the red-haired man and get out of here. The King is going to kill us if he doesn’t get something from the red-haired man.”

  Dovd rubbed his cheek. “So? What do I care?”

  Fortune grabbed Dovd's stinking, vomit-stained shirt and shook him. "Because if the King gets his hands on those weapons, he's going to kill everyone and everything on this blessed world. That includes your precious forest."

  Dovd shrugged. “I’m not fit to rule to forest,” he said, “I shouldn’t have killed Anta Vin.”

  Fortune released him, pushing him back against the wall. The wall creaked and more snow drifted down. Fortune didn’t care.

  “Fine. You stay here and drink yourself to death,” he said, “I’ll convince Vazsa to lead me through the forest to the weapons cache. She’s obviously more capable than you are.”

  Dovd’s face twisted. “That bitch? She doesn’t know the forest like I do.”

  Fortune quirked an eyebrow at him. “Really? Well, she’s locked up with the red-haired man. Maybe you’d like to tell her yourself how much of a man you are. Or would you rather stay here and suck your thumb?”

  Dovd glared at him, then shoved off from the wall. “All right you bastard, let’s go,” he said, “But this is it. If we don’t find those weapons, I’m going to kill you myself.”

  “You’ll have to get in line,” Fortune said.

  Fifty-Five

  Joshua

  “Earth? We’re on Earth?” Joshua said.

  He pulled at the cold chain around his neck. How could this be Earth? His eyes caught the movement of a rat scurrying across the thin band of light on the straw-covered cell floor.

  “Oh, it’s definitely Earth,” Lou said, “That rat there–common Norway rat. It’s not some alien thing with green fur and antennas.”

  For a moment Joshua forgot the heavy chain on the neck, the cold wall at his back, the smell of piss and crap in the room. Earth. The world was earth. Horses, rats, pine trees, giant redwoods, people who spoke English. The next l
ogical question was–

  “When are we then?” Joshua asked, “What era is this? Is this medieval times, or something else?”

  Lou shook his head, rattling the chain around his neck. Beside him, Vazsa was listening intently.

  “It’s definitely not medieval Europe,” Lou said, “They spoke English–in parts of it, but not modern English. We’d hardly be able to understand them if that was the case. The eggheads figured out from the alignment of the stars that this is approximately the same era as where you and I came from.”

  “That can’t be,” Joshua said, “This is nothing like Earth from my time.”

  “Mine, either,” Lou said, “The eggheads are better at explaining it, but it’s basically one of those science fiction alternate world things.”

  “You mean like we’re in a parallel universe or something?”

  Lou shrugged. “Could be. We don’t really know. All we know is those portal things are the only way back home. And all we want to do is get out of this crazy place and go home.”

  Joshua looked at Vazsa. She was staring hard at Lou.

  “Vazsa,” Joshua said, “When did my Grams–Amaya–come to this world?”

  From the hateful look she gave him, he thought she wasn’t going to answer. She turned away.

  “Amaya didn’t exactly announce her arrival,” Vazsa said, “There were stories of a red headed woman warrior years before she started exerting control. It wasn’t until the wars started touching everything that she made herself known. And displayed her power. Took control of her world, as she told us.”

  Joshua thought it over. Could Grams have just been a tourist at first? Wandering around, having fun? What changed? Did it stop being fun? Did she start caring about the people here? How had she found this world in the first place?

  He tried to remember the stories about the painting in Gram’s bedroom. His mom had said it was from when Grams was a model. Mom said she used to pose for paintings for fantasy artists. One of the artists had given Grams the painting after the magazine he made it for rejected it.

  That, or versions of it, were most of what he remembered. But there was another story, slightly different, that came from mom's brother Bill. He recalled being at Gram's house one day for a family get together. Uncle Bill was getting tipsy from a seemingly bottomless cooler filled with bottles of Coors Light. Joshua had run into him coming out of Grams and Gramps bedroom. He was shaking and pale.

  I forgot about that fucking painting, Uncle Bill said, Jesus Christ, that thing gives me the creeps. I remember when I was a little kid that thing scared the hell out of me. There was one night when went I into the bedroom and I thought mom stepped out of the painting. It was like a blurred image for a second. I mean, there she was, standing there like there was two of them. One of them was that crazy witch from the painting in her black armor, smelling like smoke and blood. The other was my mom standing in her polka dot nightshirt. They kind of vibrated apart, and then it was just mom standing there. Scared the living crap out of me. She picked me up and took me back to bed. Sang me a little song and I was out.

  Uncle Bill took a long gulp from his can of Coors. He turned his head back toward the darkened bedroom. Had nightmares about it for years. Shit. Probably will again now that I’ve seen that fucking thing. I’d like to burn it.

  Uncle Bill took hold of Joshua’s arm and bent down. Joshua tried not to wrinkle his nose at Uncle Bill’s beery breath. Listen kid, someday the old lady is gonna be dead. If you’re the only family left, burn that painting. Burn it, then bury the ashes deep.

  His uncle stood, letting out a long, burbling belch. I think I need to go puke.

  Fifty-Six

  Joshua

  Joshua shook his head, rattling the chains around his neck. He shifted on the cold, stone floor. He remembered now how what Uncle Bill said made him even more scared of the painting. Even as an adult, the thing had scared him.

  With good reason.

  It’s dangerous, after all.

  Gram’s words came to him. She was about to tell him the real story just before the earthquake hit. Had the painting decided to call her back? If it had, then it was much more than a door.

  Her world.

  Something thudded outside the door to their cell. Joshua looked up, then glanced at his two companions. They both looked angry. Lou moved, getting into a crouching position. Vazsa did the same. Joshua reluctantly moved. His bruised body protested. Your world is kicking the crap out of me Grams.

  A key scraped in the lock, turning with a screech and a heavy thunk as the bolt slid away. Slowly the door opened on creaking hinges. Lou rose from his crouch.

  “What the hell?”

  In the doorway stood a tall woman dressed in a white coat and white leggings. Her hair was pale blonde and her eyes startling blue. In her hand was a bloody dagger, and at her feet lay the bearded body of their guard.

  “Joshua, are you ready to leave?” Kojanza asked.

  Fifty-Seven

  Lord Fortune

  Lord Fortune gripped the short sword in his sweaty palm. The stairs to the dungeon were slick with patches of ice. Dovd moved ahead of him, dagger in one hand, flickering torch in the other. A foul stench of mold and human waste pervaded the stairwell. Fortune felt less sorry for the late, departed Lord of the castle, Kanreb. The man didn’t have high standards for cleanliness.

  “Are you sure there’s only one guard?” Dovd whispered.

  “I’m sure,” Fortune said, “I was down earlier to check. All three of them are in the same cell.”

  “I’m surprised Hurdroth hasn’t called Vazsa back to his harem,” Dovd said.

  Fortune said nothing. He wasn’t so sure the King was interested in harems at the moment.

  They reached the floor of the dungeon. Down a long hallway, orange light flickered. Two rats scuttled across their path. Dovd held his nose.

  “Does the latrine empty to this place?” he asked.

  Fortune didn’t answer. The stink of human waste was almost overpowering. He urged Dovd on. Moving with caution they went to the end of the corridor. Dovd looked around the corner. He stood still for a moment, then stood, giving Fortune a look. He lowered his dagger and walked into the other corridor.

  Fortune followed. “What? What is–”

  He stopped. The guard lay on the floor, blood pooled around him. Rats scurried away as he and Dovd approached. The door the man lay in front of was open. Dovd thrust his torch into the room. Fortune could clearly see it was empty, except for the rats. Dovd turned to him.

  “Let me guess, this was where they were at, right?”

  Fortune nodded. He put his hand to his face. How could this have happened? He leaned against the wall.

  "We are ruined," Fortune said, "Without the red-haired man, we'll never be able to access the weapons cache."

  Dovd put his dagger back in his belt. He kicked the dead guard. “How did they do it?”

  Did it matter? At every turn, Fortune's fortunes had been thwarted. He hadn't asked to be involved in any of this. He had just been sitting on his beloved Bramblevine throne and then...the world had shifted. As it had before, so many years ago.

  “RRRRowlf!”

  Fortune’s head snapped up. Could it be?

  “Yord?” he said.

  “Yip! My Lord! Rowlf!”

  Fortune looked back and forth. Dovd gave him a puzzled look. “Yord! Where are you!”

  Yord started barking. Fortune raced down the corridor. At another heavy wooden door, someone was scratching. Fortune pulled at the door. Locked. Of course it was locked. It was a dungeon. Doors were supposed to be locked. The guard! He would have the keys.

  Fortune turned to race back down the corridor. He stopped. Dovd was walking toward him, keys swinging on his finger.

  “You want these?” he asked.

  Fortune snatched them and started putting keys in. Yord scratched and whined on the other side. Finally, Fortune found the correct key. He pulled the door open and
his brother bounded out and started licking his face.

  Fortune pushed him away. He smelled terrible. “Yord! How did you get locked in Kanreb’s dungeon!”

  Yord had been missing for months. Fortune assumed the King’s men had run into him in the forest and killed him. But here he was, thin, fur matted and dirty, but alive.

  “Ch-ch-Yip!–chased a rabbit too far. R-r-r-rowlf! Kanreb’s gamekeeper–grrrrrrr–caught me. Kanreb stuck me–Bark!–here.”

  Cold fury washed over Fortune. Kanreb was aware of who Yord was. Fortune had thought relations were cordial with his neighbor. Apparently not. If the man’s head wasn’t already on a pike...

  “I hate to break up the family reunion,” Dovd said, “But shouldn’t we start running? Hurdroth’s going to find out his prisoners are gone soon.”

  Fortune sighed. "What's the point? Without the red-haired man, we can't get into the cache. And I drew him a map of how to get there, remember?"

  “So, we steal a couple horses and catch up with them,” Dovd said, “I’d rather not wait around here for Hurdroth to unleash his wrath. We can at least hide out in the forest and hope this blows over.”

  “Bark! I can smell them,” Yord said.

  They both looked at him. Yord sniffed loudly. Of course! Yord had the sensitive nose of a hound. He could track them. But...

  "They are three warriors," Fortune said, "And we are an old man, a drunken warrior, and a dog."

  Yord whined and Dovd scowled. Fortune bowed his head. There had to be a solution. He could easily command a hundred of Hurdroth's men to go after them. As he had when he first captured the red-haired man. But now the idea was to not involve Hurdroth or his men in any way.

  “Get me a bow and some arrows, and I can take care of all of them before they ever see us,” Dovd said.