Quill laughed in haughty reply. “Pretender prince, indeed. That one you cast into the tank and showed before the masses was no trueborn son of Nattie’s, nor the king’s either. He were a pretender for you though, I grant you that.”
Darius looked to Malik. “What say you to this, Blackfin?”
Malik’s lip curled. “You think to doubt me over this savage who sired a bastard with your wife? I say your most hated enemy spits more lies at you.”
Quill sneered at that. “I sired no bastard,” he claimed. “The love that Nattie and I shared was true, Blackfin. And I’ll warrant my soul that the king’s son, Prince Jun, still lives. If his guardians heeded my advice after I found them ashore, the boy was no doubt secreted away to whatever place Nattie’s people deemed him safely tucked away from the likes of your ilk and his father too.”
“Who then to secret him away, savage?” Malik laughed. “All the queen’s people are here.”
Quill smirked. “Not all of them,” he said. “From those I saw that were locked in your cages, Blackfin, I counted two, at least, from Nattie’s zoo not among your prisoners. For all the speed and strength of your seawolves, it would seem to me you were all outsmarted by an older, wiser Merrow.”
Wilda! Sydney thought then, the elderly Merrow the only friendly face she could not remember seeing among the prisoners from home. Could Jun be with Wilda?! Both of them alive and safe?
The Blackfin was unmoved by Quill’s claim. “I presented both the boy and his guardian’s remains as the proof of my claim. If the prince is alive as you swear him to be, then let you produce him before us now, savage.”
Quill smiled, his gaze flickering from the Blackfin to the king instead. “I Salted your son myself, Darius. Hear me when I tell you that the dolphin tail produced by that act was a Longbeak in twin match of yours. In truth, I meant to kill your son then and there at the proof of his lineage. Fortunately for all, a wiser mind rightfully swayed me from it and stayed my hand.” Quill shook his head. “Still, I know what it is to suffer with the same knowledge. The wound you burden yourself with now – that your lady and love was shared by another. Unlike you, however, I have made my peace with it for the true love that I will always bear Nattie.”
“And my love for her is lesser in your eyes, is it?” Darius chirped. “You think my affections pale in compare to yours?”
“I think you have known that since the day you laid eyes on her and wanted,” said Quill. “Aye, and for every time that you took her anyway, despite what was forbidden to you.”
“And yet it was my actions that both saved the queen today and kept your daughter safe,” said Darius.
“One cannot claim victory and righteousness when it was their actions and choices to place the ones they saved in harm’s way, Darius,” said Quill. “Had I any love for you, I would name it a shame that you cannot see those same choices have led you to your end today.”
Darius laughed. “Even now, you remain the fool I always knew you for, Quill. The arrogance of youth and the desire to witness your lingering torment led me to err when having you thrown into the oubliette to suffer for such folly before. I won’t make that same mistake again.” He glanced at the one beside him. “Blackfin . . . bring me his head.”
Sydney paled at the command, her gaze flitting between them both . . . but the Orc leader did not move.
“Blackfin?” Darius asked. “Did you not hear me? I said bring me his head!”
Again, Malik did not stir. “I heard you the first time, Your Grace.” He shrugged. “Shouting it over and again won’t change my actions now.”
Sydney’s eyes widened when Darius’s grip upon her lessened.
The king cleared his throat, then looked to the Orcinian’s second-in-command. “Solomon,” he said sternly. “Kill these traitors for me . . . kill them, and I shall name you the Pod Father in the Blackfin’s stead.”
Sydney’s throat ran dry when neither Solomon or any other Orc dared to heed the king. What is this? She wondered as the king turned from them, looking to the lone other living Merrow inside the tunnel.
“Bowrider?” The king’s voice was soft in question.
Sydney looked to the Merrow lord and her former friend too, finding that Rupert stood resolute in likewise denial.
The Blackfin started forward, his armor clanking. “It would seem you are beset by enemies on all sides, Your Grace.” He bent over to pick up a sword from one of Rupert’s fallen soldiers. “Then again, a true king needs no subjects to carry out his orders. No,” he said, returning to face Darius. “A true king knows his worth, through and through. It does not matter to him what those beneath him think or do. A true king does more than act the part.” Malik offered up the sword. “He lives it . . . even to his last breath.”
Darius refused acceptance of the sword. “You expect me to fight him?” he squeaked.
Malik glanced over his shoulder at Quill, already kneeling to take up his sword anew. “If you would have the savage’s head, Your Grace,” said Malik, turning back to the king. “I see no other way but you go and take it from him.”
Even in the king’s grip, Sydney felt Darius tremble.
“I am no fighter though,” the king quietly admitted.
“No,” said Malik. “But then you’ve never been a true king either . . .” He cast the blade at Darius’s feet. “So, let us see if you are at least capable of playing at one, Your Grace. Pick up your sword and give this savage a fight, at least . . . or stand there and be killed for cowardice.”
Sydney startled when Malik’s left hand shot forward to clamp hold of the king’s wrist.
Malik twisted then, tugging away at the grip Darius held over Sydney and then twisting to the point that the king dropped the dagger he held hovered over her throat. With his free hand, Malik guided Sydney away from the king. “Come away with me, Princess,” he purred, taking her to stand among the other Orcs. “It would seem all the fireworks have not yet ended today.”
Sydney looked on the king with little pity in her eyes.
Darius rubbed the back of his wrist, then knelt to pitch up the blade cast at his feet.
“Come on then, Your Grace,” Malik crowed, backing away with Sydney to give more room between the king and Quill awaiting him. “Make a fight of it, will you? Show this savage what a real, Merrow king is made of!”
It won’t be a fight. Sydney knew when Quill closed the space between himself and Darius. Her true father’s blade was raised, but did not fall, however, not even once Quill was within striking distance. It’ll be a slaughter.
Darius nearly tripped over himself when attempting to circle around Quill. “C-Come on, then,” the king stuttered, whipping his blade to bear and swinging at his opponent’s head.
Quill easily parried each move and step from the king, maneuvering away, but not so as to turn his back on Rupert, the Blackfin, or any of the Orcs who stood further off. For every try the king made, Quill’s movements both kept his enemies in front of him and forced Darius to rethink his next step.
Darius roared then, his movements signaling an attack that even Sydney saw coming from far. “Come on and fight me, you coward!”
Again, Quill dodged the blow. Then, in a single, fluid movement, Quill drew near enough to the king to grab him by the nape. He sent Darius flailing and stuttering backward to trip over his cape. The sword clattered on the ground as Darius fell, momentum carrying his legs up and over his head, as if he had meant to perform a failed, backward somersault.
Sydney understood the fight was ended, if ever it had truly begun, when Darius reached for the fallen sword beyond his grasp and Quill stepped upon the king’s hand.
Darius cried out at the pain, his face a blustery red as he relented beneath Quill’s boot. “Do it,” he said. “Kill me and done with it.”
“There was a time I would have done so gladly,” said Quill. “But it would seem all those years trapped in your oubliette taught me some smallest of pities for such weak creatures as you
are. I think offering you the same amount of time down there to reflect on your choices might do you some good also, Your Grace.”
Sydney winced when Quill pulled the king to his feet then, turning him about to face the Blackfin and his Painted Guard.
“You wanted the king, Orc,” said Quill. “I want my daughter.”
“And you shall have her . . .” said Malik, his grip still firm upon Sydney’s bicep. “But my requirement in our arrangement was for the king’s life, I’m afraid. He still looks very much alive to me.”
Quill’s gaze flitted toward Sydney before looking to the Blackfin again. “Did you not claim a king lives his role, Orc?” He shoved Darius toward their shared enemies. “If you would have the king’s mantle, then let you take it yourself, Blackfin. For whatever Sydney may think of him now, she named Darius her father once. I will not kill him in front of her.”
I called him father many times. Sydney thought, unable to comprehend how she had done so after all Darius had subjected her to along with those she truly loved. But no more. She thought, looking from the frightened and whimpering king who had played at fatherhood, and then to the one who her heart warned she had should have recognized for such all along. You’re my dad . . . Sydney thought, her eyes shining as she looked on the stoic gaze of Quill. My real dad.
The Blackfin interrupted her realization by handing the charge of Sydney over to Rupert instead. Then, he drew his broadsword. “What times we live, eh, Your Grace?” He mocked both Darius and Quill, even as he approached the king and looked down on him instead. “A baseborn, savage bastard who refuses to kill a Merrow king when granted the opportunity? I should’ve never thought to see the day.”
To Sydney’s surprise, the king had not moved from his position at the center of all. Yet the longer she watched Darius lingering there, trembling, she understood there was also nowhere for the weakling king to go. The Blackfin and his Orcs blocked one end of the tunnel, and with Quill retreated back to stand guard at the other.
Darius’s eyes were red-stained with tears as Malik knelt beside him, his sword resting upon his shoulder, its sheen glinting in the surrounding torchlight.
Malik chortled as he lay his brawny hand upon the king’s left shoulder. “Any last words, Your Grace? Surely you can manage something better than that loyal servant of the queen’s, the old and loyal crone who shouted her defiance to the end, eh?”
“Is . . . is my son alive?” Darius asked. “Is Jun really alive?”
“I suspect so,” said Malik. “My seawolves have yet to find any trace of your sweetling prince. Then again, I wouldn’t worry, Your Grace. We’ll find the boy soon enough and send him off to meet you in Fiddler’s Green.”
Darius choked at the admission. “Why?” he asked. “Why are you doing this, Blackfin? I welcomed you back into this city with open arms and raised you to your father’s place.”
“My father served you and yours long and well, it’s true,” said Malik. “And yet it’s little secret among my people that Orcin Blacktide often dreamt of climbing that last rung upon the ladder. Of raising our kind to take up the mantled rule of the Ancients as They always meant for us to do.” He chuckled. “No doubt my father smiles upon us even now from Fiddler’s Green, Your Grace. Aye, just as the people will no doubt welcome the reign of Orcs when learning of their weakling king’s demise at the hands of a Nomad assassin.”
Orcish rule . . . and a Nomad assassin? Sydney thought, looking to Quill and finding him silent on the matter. Oh, my God . . . she recognized the deeper meaning of the Blackfin’s words. They’re going to frame you for this, aren’t they, Quill? The Blackfin and his Orcs are going to pin everything from today on you and the Nomads!
Malik released the king a moment, if only to clap Darius upon the shoulder and cause him to yelp. “Rest easy and go to the green waters in peace, Your Grace. The people will never know of the weakness you displayed here today. In truth, I think the greater tragedy is that Lord Bowrider and his Merrows could not protect you from the savage assassin.”
Couldn’t save him? Sydney glanced to Rupert beside her in wonder of the Blackfin’s words.
The puzzled question on Rupert’s face vanished a second later when Sydney heard a quarrel whizzing through the air. Her mouth rounded in silent horror when the loosed quarrel found its new home in Rupert’s unprotected throat. The velocity sent the gurgling Merrow lord stumbling back, his grip bringing Sydney along with him as he tripped over his own feet before collapsing.
Sydney caught herself upon the bloody stones. Her eyes widened at the sight of Rupert strewn beneath her, betrayal and fear in his eyes, his mouth working open and closed in choked attempt to breathe through the fountain of blood gushing free of his wound and pooling around him. As suddenly as he fell, the Merrow lord ceased moving, his eyes growing still and dull.
Sydney moaned and wheeled around to find Malik’s second-in-command, Solomon, lowering his crossbow. She thought to rage against him too, and might have done too, had she not also seen the Blackfin motion to his fellow Orcs. Sydney estimated the other seawolves would come to restrain her again, then. Before any could, she fled across the tunnel toward Quill.
Sydney careened into her true father, drinking in the scent of his leather jerkin and the safety of his sinewy arms. When his hand brushed against her skin, she thought he meant to take her and leave.
Quill did not flee, however, his right hand guiding Sydney to move behind him whilst his left was already bringing his sword to bear once more for any who might come against them.
None did, the focus of each and every Orc upon their leader at the center and the trembling Merrow king still within his grasp.
“Foolish lad, that Bowrider boy,” Malik said to Darius. “But, one can always trust the young to follow their heart, rather than their head. Who knows that better than you though, my king, eh?” He laughed. “Still, I hope young Bowrider would have taken some solace in knowing there will be songs to sing about him. A handsome, tragic hero taken far too early from us, and all thanks to the noble sacrifice he made to protect his king and realm. No doubt the people and his father will mourn him for a valiant, final stand. A true warrior, loyal to his king unto the bitter end.” Malik smiled as he glanced in Quill and Sydney’s direction. “And with a family reputation for finning Nomads, I shudder to think what young Rupert’s famous father will do when receiving word that his son was slain by a Nomad assassin.”
Sydney seethed for every word the Blackfin spoke. Again, she looked up to see Quill’s steely gaze suggesting he too well understood the Blackfin’s implications. In her true father’s eyes though, she recognized that Quill would accept the consequences all the same.
Malik turned back to the king. “You will pass along my condolences to young Master Bowrider when you meet him in Fiddler’s Green, won’t you, Your Grace? That is, if the green waters truly exist.” He drew a dagger from his belt. “Then again, there is that other place you might be sent. The dark and deepest of hells from which there is no escape, nor hope of light.”
Sydney gasped when the Blackfin sheathed the blade in Darius’s ribs. Despite herself and all that she had been through at the king’s orders, Sydney could not stop the tears from falling upon her cheeks at witnessing the fear and hurt in the one she had so often named father before learning the truth of him.
The Blackfin endured the king’s pawing at his armor and neck. “Peace, my king,” he said, shushing his victim as Darius’s strength waned. “Sleep well and know that your kingdoms will live on, safe in the hands of a stronger ruler who will stop at nothing to raise this once valiant city to its former glory.”
In his final moments, the king seemed to have little regard for the Blackfin and his betrayal. As the light in Darius’s once bright and shimmering eyes began to dim, his gaze turned from his killer, finding Sydney instead. “N-Nattie . . .” he wept, gasping his final breaths. “F-Forgive . . . forgive me.”
How could she? Sydney wondered. Still, she we
pt when the king breathed his last, his blue eyes holding on hers until the light in them too was gone.
The Blackfin removed his dagger from Darius’s side, then cleaned the bloodied blade with the king’s own robe. Standing, Malik kept the weapon handy as he faced Sydney and her true father. “You’re still here,” he said, grinning once more. “I would have thought you should’ve tucked tail and run off with your daughter by now, savage.”
“It appears you thought wrongly of me, at least, then,” said Quill.
Malik chuckled. “Afraid me and my seawolves will chase after you, eh?” He shrugged and sheathed his blade in his belt. “You’re not wrong. In fact, I’d say you could expect us to begin our hunt for you and the princess by nightfall. Think that would be enough time for you to at least give us a chance at recapturing you? I’d rather you make a fair run of it, you understand. No real glory to be had without a worthy opponent.”
Quill ushered Sydney step behind him, then drew his sword. “Or we could end this now.”
Malik smirked at the challenge. He glanced over his shoulder at Solomon and the other Orcs with him. “It would seem you are outnumbered, my friend,” he said. “And you’ve only just got your daughter back. It would be a shame to have me throw Sydney back into the cells once more without the king to safeguard her. Besides her title, I have little, true need of her now. Are you so keen to meet the same end as I gave your father and sister too?”
“I have faced worse odds and lived,” said Quill. “And I’ll be damned if I turn my back to the likes of you.”
Malik sneered. “You are damned no matter what you do, savage. The same as both your sister and father learned when they dared to take arms against me.”
“And yet here I stand,” said Quill.
Malik chuckled. “Keep your vengeful thoughts awhile longer, then. Let them stew, for now, and save your daughter instead. I swear that you will not receive such a grant from me again.”
“Why make the offer now, then?” Quill replied. “If you mean to hunt and kill us anyway, then let you come and try it now.”
Salt Storm: The Salted Series: Episodes #31-35 Page 46