Death of a King

by Robert Evert

  At least that gave him some sense of pride. Since he’d paid for the entire winter up front, the landlady gave him the room for basically nothing. He also found some good used clothes that’d keep him warmer than he’d ever been.

  “So stop complaining,” he thought. “Everything is finally looking up!

  Magnus’s gaze followed the southern road until it disappeared around wooded hills, the trees covered in yellow and orange leaves. Somebody once told him that road went on for a thousand miles until it was swallowed by the sea. He frequently wondered what the sea looked like. He imagined it would be a big lake with something called “seaweed” growing in it.

  His thoughts returned to his struggle to survive.

  When would it all end? When could he finally have a place of his own? He wasn’t hoping for a castle—just a decent room or two with a small fireplace and a comfortable chair, and maybe a pet. The idea of sitting by a warm fire with a purring cat curled up in his lap eased his aching heart.

  He felt the coins in his pocket again. They felt lighter already.

  Maybe the crazy shop lady could help him. Maybe she could give him a full-time job dusting the knickknacks or guarding the store at night.

  The crazy shop lady…

  There was something about her that seemed off. What was it?

  She’d certainly been kind to him. Kinder than anybody he’d ever met. He couldn’t deny that. Yet, as the saying went, something good always had to be paid for in the end.

  He peered behind him. The sun was setting in a violet cloud behind the gray hills. Even from a mile away, he could see the colorful flags flapping from Eryn Mas’s massive embattlements and watchtowers.

  What did those flags symbolize again? The noble families of Aninore? Geez, there were hundreds of them, maybe more. Magnus couldn’t believe there were so many nobles on the entire continent, let alone in the kingdom. Then again—they did breed like vermin.

  The rhythmic pounding of a galloping horse came from behind him as a rider rapidly approached the city. Magnus stepped off the road and let the horse thunder by, a colorful train of autumn leaves following its wake.

  Oh, what he wouldn’t do to have a horse. With a horse, he’d be able to go anywhere he wanted and see things nobody else had seen. He’d finally be free.

  With a growing sense of dread, Magnus eyed the great stone bridge arching over the Eryn River and the path on the other side that wound through the lower country. He had to take it. From time to time, fate forced him to be a thief, but he still knew what was right.

  Giving the roads to the north and south one last fleeting glance, Magnus headed east over the river and into the farmlands, where the last of the season’s corn lined the path like golden walls rustling in the breeze.

  Magnus sniffed the cool evening air as he trudged along, hands in the pockets of his new jacket. Winter was coming early. Thankfully he’d be out of the cold this year. Not that his room was going to be warm. There was no stove to heat it, and the cracked window rattled in the wind. But it beat sleeping outside.

  He kicked a small black stone as he walked and watched it bounce into the deepening shadows below the cornstalks. A farmer standing by the road eyed him, making sure he didn’t take any of his crops. Magnus smiled, but the farmer didn’t appear reassured.

  Magnus continued plodding along, thinking about the crazy shop lady.

  Who was she really? She was rich. That was for sure. She had to be if she were willing to give him three silver for returning some ratty book she could’ve returned herself.

  Three silver! Add that to what he had hidden under a loose floorboard in his room and he might be able to buy his way into a guild. Maybe then he could find some sort of regular work and support himself. He wouldn’t have to worry about starving or freezing to death. The way he figured it, if he was careful, three silver would postpone his returning to the streets for another couple of months. Maybe more—if he ate every other day.

  A spasm of guilt twitched in his stomach. He had promised the crazy shop lady he’d put her book back that night. She seemed to think it was important. But how urgent could it be? Tonight? Tomorrow? The next day? It was an old book with brown pages reeking of dust. Why would anybody want it anyway? And why didn’t she return it herself?

  The path curved round the shoulder of a green hill. In the pasture below, a herdsman and two young boys were bringing in their cows for the night. Judging by the mooing erupting throughout the herd, the cows weren’t too anxious to go.

  Magnus had tried to be a herdsman once. The damned cows never went anywhere he wanted. He’d give them a good whack on the rear with a stick and they’d stand there, munching away on the grass. Or he’d get some of the cows to move in the right direction and the rest would move the opposite way.

  He descended the other side of the hill. More than once, his boots slipped on the steep decline.

  He thought about the crazy shop lady again. It seemed impossible not to do so nowadays.

  Maybe he should come up with an alias, like her. After all, he couldn’t get blamed for anything if nobody knew who he was.

  Stars appeared in the east over the rolling farmlands. Soon, the entire sky would be ablaze with twinkling white lights.

  So what should his new name be? It needed to be something powerful. Something that would strike fear into people’s hearts. Something like—Grothrog the Bloodthirsty. Or Harvig the Horrible. Or Tim. He always liked the name Tim. Short. Friendly. Nobody would want to beat the snot out of a Tim.

  The path turned and came out of a thicket of beech trees. He halted, his spirit falling as he stared into a broad valley divided by a muddy, brown stream.

  There it was—Riverton.

  It was barely a village. A handful of one-room houses clustered around two intersecting dirt roads. There weren’t even any guards. Hell, there weren’t any gates or walls. People could waltz in and out anytime they liked. Once, Magnus actually saw a black bear roaming the street late at night. That had kept him from sneaking out of the house for a few days. Bears ate people. At least, the big ones did.

  He considered going back to Eryn Mas, and then faced the dreary valley again.

  Might as well get it over with.

  With a sigh, he entered the town.

  A handful of people were out and about, heading home now that the fields and livestock had been tended to. A few noticed him, including a store owner who had once whipped Magnus for stealing fruit. Thankfully nobody recognized who he was. Haircuts did wonders. Shame he hadn’t realized that ten years ago.

  Hair…

  The crazy shop lady dyed her hair. He could tell. Most of her hair was a dark chestnut brown, while her roots were a slightly lighter shade. Why would she do that? She was young. She couldn’t have any gray. Women and their bizarre ways.

  Magnus kept walking along the street, passing familiar haunts that hadn’t changed a lick since he was a child—a general store that never had anything to sell other than a few used tools and a barrel of rusty nails; the remains of a mill that burnt down twenty years earlier, its derelict paddle wheel lying on its side in the shallow stream, half covered with weeds; a blacksmith’s shop.

  Maybe he could dye his hair.

  He wondered if having black hair would make him appear older—or red. Bright red hair might make him seem tougher. Then again, people with bright red hair always seemed mentally unhinged. Still, hooligans left lunatics alone.

  Passing the shack that had belonged to the Jorgensens, Magnus brightened, remembering their oldest daughter, Hilde. Now she was a beauty. Long black hair. A perky nose. A devil-may-care attitude. For a copper piece, she used to let boys touch her breasts. That was money well spent. He wondered what happened to her.

  The second-to-last house on the left loomed before him in the gloaming.

  It was smaller than he remembered but just as hostile. The narrow windows sneered at him. One was broken. It’d been that way for as long as he could remember. Honestly,
how hard would it be to fix a stinking window?

  Fixing things cost money.

  He felt his pocket again. The merry tinkle of coins made him feel worse.

  Maybe he wasn’t home. Maybe he was in some tavern.

  Magnus climbed the uneven steps to the front porch, careful not to step on his old nemesis—the third one. How many times did he get a beating because of its creaking? It was like a never-sleeping sentry; whenever he had tried to sneak out in the middle of the night and have a little fun, his father would hear it.

  One or two silver?

  Do what’s right.

  He stood in front of the warped door, took a deep breath and knocked twice, praying nobody would answer.

  The door popped open almost immediately, a short plump woman squealing, “Magnus!”

  Magnus thrust his left hand in his pocket. “Hey, Ma.”

  “What happened?” She reached to touch the yellowish bruises on his forehead, but Magnus pulled away. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine, Ma. I wanted to—”

  A powerfully built man stripped to the waist appeared in the doorway behind her. “We ain’t got nothing for you here, boy. You best go to wherever you were.”

  “Oh, Hamish!” the woman admonished.

  The heads of two little girls appeared from around his mother’s dirty skirt. Magnus wiggled his fingers at them, but they only cowered. They evidently didn’t even remember who he was. All the better for them, he supposed. He couldn’t teach them how to throw a punch or anything else worthwhile.

  “Where’s Richie and Ben?” asked Magnus.

  “They’re working for the Michelsens, hauling wood and earning their keep,” Magnus’s father said. “As I said, we don’t have nothing here for you, so you best head to whatever hole you call home.”

  “Oh, stop it, Hamish. Be pleasant.” She spread her arms wide. “Give me a hug!”

  Magnus hugged his mother, the two little girls tightening their grip around her leg.

  “How’ve you been, sweetie?” she asked, touching his cheek. “Everything okay?”

  “He’s been fighting, by the looks of it.” His father scoffed. “And not winning as usual, judging by what I see. Why, at fifteen, I was a head and a half taller than him and three times as heavy. Nobody could best me in a fight, fair or not.”

  “Maybe,” Magnus said, “your parents gave you more food to eat. That’s why you were so fat.”

  Magnus’s father stepped closer, a fist cocked, but his mother got in between them.

  “Now, now. Let’s all behave.” She smoothed out Magnus’s unkempt hair, but the curls sprang back as they were. “Are you hungry?”

  “I said—” his father bellowed.

  “Oh, shut it already!” Magnus shouted. “I’m going.” He held out all the coins he had in his pocket and said to his mother, “I figured you could use this.”

  His mother gasped. “Oh, Magnus!” She took the coins and hugged him again. “Where did you get these?”

  “Steal somebody’s hard-earned possessions?” His father snorted. “I should turn you in.”

  “But you won’t.” Magnus snorted louder. “You want the money to buy drinks for your no-good friends instead of providing for your family.” Then he added to his mother. “I got a job.”

  His father laughed. “Sure you did. Doing what? Acting like a baby? Crying whenever somebody hit you too hard?”

  “I’ve been sleeping in some stables, making sure nobody steals the horses.”

  “Nobody is going to pay you five shitting silver for that,” his father said.

  “I also muck out the stalls, feed the horses, and do odd jobs,” Magnus shouted. “And they don’t pay me five shitting silver all at once, you pig. I saved it.”

  “You?” Hamish laughed. “Mucking out stables? How do you do that one-handed, you little cripple?”

  “Ham,” his mother interjected. “Go inside. I’ll be in in a bit. Go on. And take the girls. It’s almost their bedtime.”

  “Now don’t go believing anything this thief says, Mae. Once a liar, always a liar.” Magnus’s father took the two girls by their hands and led them inside, grumbling. He slammed the door, rattling the porch.

  Magnus’s mother smiled.

  “Are you hungry, sweetie? Are you doing okay? You look too thin.” She caressed his bruised forehead. “Who did this to you?”

  “I’m fine, Ma.” Magnus pushed her hand away. “Things good with Richie, Ben, and the others?”

  “Richie is going to go work for a mason up in Stillwater next spring. He won’t get nothing but food and a spot by the fire to sleep, but after a while, he’ll be able earn his way.”

  Magnus kicked at the porch’s loose railing. “Good for him. Masons can make a lot of money.”

  His mother rubbed his shoulder. “You know, maybe you can get on with a tinker or somebody.”

  “Yeah, I’ll check into that.” He watched the chickens strut through the weeds in the front yard, looking for insects. “Good idea, Ma.”

  She handed him two of the silver pieces. He tried to protest, but she wouldn’t hear of it. “You’ll need warm clothes and boots. Winter will come early this year, and it’s as cold in the city as it is here.” She studied him. “You haven’t been getting sick again, have you?”

  “You know me—I’m perfect.”

  “There’s more to a good life than being big and strong.”

  “Tell that to Father.”

  “Now, don’t go worrying about him.” She hugged him a third time. “You take care of yourself, you understand?”

  Magnus slipped the two silver pieces she’d given him into her pocket. “You too, Ma. I’ll see you soon.”

  Chapter Seven

  Natalie waited in the darkness of a doorway a couple of buildings from Eryn Mas’s Lower Library. It was well past midnight, and Magnus was late.

  She didn’t think she needed to spy on him. Sure, he was flighty. In fact, he reminded her of a squirrel shuttling from one nut to another, unable to hold both at the same time. But he was resourceful enough to pull off his first mission. And breaking into the library shouldn’t present any problems. After all, she’d done it a hundred times. However, Sir Edris insisted she keep a close eye on him, and Natalie wanted to assuage the knight’s growing apprehension with a firsthand report of Magnus’s activities.

  A yawning city guard ambled by, his breath appearing in the chilly darkness. He continued unenthusiastically about his rounds, checking the occasional door to make sure it was locked and searching the alleys for vagrants.

  A moment later, a drunk staggered out of a closing tavern a couple blocks away, singing to himself. After a few wobbly strides, he doubled over and threw up, the mostly liquid contents of his stomach splattering in the gutter. Natalie watched him from a distance. If he made it home with all of his valuables, he’d be a lucky man.

  Minutes dragged by as the full moon rose higher over the city’s embattlements.

  Natalie stuck her head out of the shadows to get a better view of the street. She was alone and, with the exception of a dog barking from somewhere in the third level of the city above her, all was quiet.

  Where was he?

  She checked the moon again. He was definitely late.

  Could she have missed him? She had an unobstructed view of the window he was supposed to use. He couldn’t have gotten in without her seeing him. Could he?

  She blew into her cupped hands, then put them under her armpits.

  How long should she wait? In a couple hours it’d be dawn, and the streets would be filled with people.

  Damn.

  A feral cat prowled in an alleyway across from Natalie. It crept closer to a pile of refuse littering the street. Looking toward the library, it stopped. Soundlessly, it slipped into the blackness.

  Somebody was coming.

  Natalie followed the cat’s example and returned to the shadows.

  Sure enough, boots crunched on gritty c
obblestones as a figure appeared from around the corner of the library. Natalie relaxed.

  Finally!

  The figure trotted up the broad stone steps to the library’s main doors.

  Why is he going—?

  It wasn’t Magnus. The stranger was tall and broad and armed with a longsword. Magnus was barely big enough to lift a longsword, let alone wield one.

  Carefully, Natalie inched closer to get a better view.

  Was that—?

  Within seconds, the figure had the locks picked. He disappeared into the library.

  Crap. This wasn’t good.

  She had to find Sir Edris.

  Chapter Eight

  Magnus collapsed onto his musty cot in the room he had rented for the winter. The eleven-mile walk to his parents’ house and back to Eryn Mas had exhausted him, but he couldn’t sleep. He lay awake, staring up at the rafters, his legs aching.

  For good or for ill, a sizable chunk of his money was now gone. His father was likely in a tavern at that very moment, spending it all.

  Why did he go there? Why did he bother trying? He knew exactly what would happen. Well, he was through trying to make amends. His father wouldn’t forget what he’d done, so he’d move on and forget about him.

  Move on…

  By the gods, that sounded wonderful. It felt as though he were finally able to breathe.

  Why not? Sure, every time he’d thought about leaving, something always stopped him. But not this time. This time was different. He was going to leave and start over. He was going to change his name and find a new place where he’d finally be happy. In the spring, he’d go. The question was: Where to?

  Maybe Havendor. He could finally see the sea. Or maybe Green Hill. They had tons of horses there. Maybe he really could find a job taking care of them. He was good with animals. The stray dogs roaming the city rarely bit him. How hard could feeding a horse be? Or he could be a cleaning boy at some eatery. After all, he’d done that for a couple hours. If he hadn’t busted all those dishes, he’d still have a job. Then again, cleaning boys didn’t get paid much. They mainly got scraps of food.