Death of a King

by Robert Evert

  The big man was snoring within seconds.

  Magnus sprinted up the hill’s steep slope, slipping on wet rocks and fir needles. All around him, thousands of unseen crickets chirped in the soggy blackness.

  Five gold! Five gold! How the hell did he sleep away five damned gold?

  He got to the top of the hill and scanned the other side.

  As Natalie had indicated, there was a camp in a small clearing perhaps half a mile away. He could smell the smoke from their campfire. However, from what he could see in the moonlight, there were three large tents—not the two she’d predicted.

  Three tents. Two tents. What did it matter? Hopefully, they were still sleeping.

  Latching onto the wet trees to stop himself from falling, Magnus half-stalked, half-slid down the other side of the hill, desperately trying not to make any noise. He didn’t want to startle the horses—not yet, at any rate.

  He made it to the clearing and peeked into the camp. There were no horses.

  Where were they?

  According to Natalie, there should’ve been horses. Then again, she also said there were going to be two tents.

  Magnus retreated to higher ground and scanned the woods.

  Was there another camp?

  He didn’t see any.

  She’d told him to go to the fir woods between the three hills east of the road, a day’s ride north from Eryn Mas.

  He glanced up the slopes.

  Three hills, like she said. He looked at the trees. Those were fir trees. This was a fir wood. They were east of the road.

  Crap. Now what?

  He examined the camp again. The three tents were in a line, their openings facing what used to be a large bonfire but was now a shifting mass of blackened logs on top of a pile of smoking orange coals. Next to it were four pairs of waterlogged boots.

  So there were at least four of them. Not two.

  Did he have the wrong camp?

  He couldn’t have.

  Five gold…

  Natalie instructed him to come here and “interfere” so the people he found couldn’t travel far. This was the only camp. He needed the money, so he might as well do what he was told.

  But how?

  Originally, Magnus was going to stampede their horses in different directions. That’d delay them for a good day at the least, if not more. But there weren’t any horses to stampede. So how could he—?

  The boots!

  Magnus smiled. Spooking horses could be considered stealing, and horse thieves were hanged. That’s why he was getting paid five gold pieces. He was risking his life. Stealing a few boots might get him whipped, but for five gold pieces, it was worth it. The question was: Would stealing the boots cause a big enough delay for him to get the money?

  Magnus examined the ground. It was rocky and covered with a thick carpet of squishy pine needles. People couldn’t travel fast in stocking feet. The needles in particular would make walking uncomfortable. Plus, they’d most likely search for their boots. That’d delay them as much as stampeding horses.

  It was a brilliant plan! He took a step toward the dying fire. All he had to do was—

  Somebody in one of the tents stirred.

  Immediately, Magnus ducked behind a fir tree as a man six and a half feet tall tossed aside the tent’s flap and staggered outside.

  Geez! First, that fellow in the alley behind Natalie’s shop, and now this one. Where did all these giants come from? And how did they get that big?

  The man tottered toward Magnus, his eyes closed.

  Crap!

  What now?

  Run or hide!

  Which?

  Hurry!

  Magnus pivoted, shifting his weight to run, when all of a sudden, the figure dropped his pants and began urinating on the tree behind which Magnus was hiding.

  What the—?

  Seeing the man’s little pecker, Magnus burst out laughing.

  The peeing man’s eyes popped open. He saw Magnus immediately.

  “Oh, shit!” Magnus stumbled backwards.

  “Who the blazes—?” The peeing man reached for a sword that wasn’t there.

  Get out of here!

  No! Five gold! Five fucking gold!

  Magnus darted past the peeing man and into the sleeping camp, grabbing as many boots as he could.

  “Leave those—” The peeing man lunged for Magnus and fell sprawling on the ground, his pants still draped around his knees. “Thief! Thief!”

  Three other men surged out of the tents, swords glinting in the moonlight. Shouting and cursing, they raced to their companion on the ground, trying to determine what was going on. The man on the ground pointed up the slope, but Magnus had already disappeared into the fir wood, laughing as he ran.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Magnus sprinted through the dripping woods and burst into camp. He stopped short. Syntharin was still asleep, lying on his back, his mouth open, and making sounds like a grunting pig. But Allyn was awake, his belongings packed and ready to go.

  “Where have you been?” he demanded.

  Magnus shrugged, hands thrust into his pockets. “Who? Me? I was, uh—” He wanted to say he’d spent the last hour climbing fir trees and hiding the boots of somebody with an extremely small pecker—but didn’t. He rubbed his sticky hands, trying to get the sap off. “That is, you see, I was…lost.”

  “Lost? How do you get—? Oh, never mind. Let’s get going! I want to get to Green Hill by tonight, and we have a long road ahead of us.”

  There was nothing Magnus wanted to do more than to leave. The men on the other side of the hill were maybe a mile away, but that wouldn’t prevent them from wrapping blankets around their tender feet and looking for the laughing thief who’d stolen their boots. However, if he seemed too eager, Allyn would suspect something.

  “Now?” Magnus whined. “It’s not even dawn yet. And I haven’t had anything to eat since last night!”

  “None of that! Remember, I’m the leader of this expedition. Here.” Allyn tossed him an apple. “Eat this. We’ll have lunch as soon as we get to that river you mentioned. The one we have to cross.”

  “The Lesser Green?” Magnus’s shoulders sagged. “Man! That’s—like—twenty miles away!”

  “Then the sooner we set out, the sooner we’ll get there.” Allyn waved an irritated hand at Syntharin, sprawled across the ground. “And wake him. I couldn’t get him to budge.”

  Magnus picked up a large rock.

  “Not like that!” Allyn said.

  “Fine!” Kneeling next to the sleeping Syntharin, Magnus covered the big man’s mouth and pinched his nose shut. Syntharin twitched and then sat up, gasping for breath. “Rise and shine, Syn!”

  “What—?” Syntharin coughed and sputtered. “What happened?”

  “Nothing that would’ve killed you.” Then Magnus added, slyly, “Unless, of course, I wanted you dead!”

  “Oh, shut up. You wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Allyn tossed the startled Syntharin an apple. “Here. We can eat and walk.”

  Syntharin looked at Magnus, his sleepy eyes trying to focus. “I dreamt I was drowning!”

  “And now you’re awake.” Magnus took Syntharin’s hand and heaved him to his feet. “Allyn wants to get going. We better do what he says. You know how he gets.”

  Allyn hoisted his pack. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Magnus grabbed Syntharin’s blanket. “Nothing! If you want to get to the Lesser Green by midday, we’ll have to hightail it.” He shoved the blanket into Syntharin’s pack and tossed it to him. “Which reminds me, I think we should all use aliases. From now on, I want to be called Tim.”

  “I’m not calling you Tim,” Allyn said.

  Magnus untied his oilskin, still damp from the night’s rain. He folded it into a tight bundle. “Why not?”

  “Because your name’s Magnus!”

  “But we don’t want anybody knowing that,” Magnus said. “We’re on an adventure, remember?”

&n
bsp; “Oh, you’re cracked.” Allyn watched Magnus stomp on the remains of their long-dead fire. “What are you doing?”

  Magnus kicked the ashes in all directions. “This is what adventurers do to their campfire when they leave. They hide all evidence they were ever there.”

  “What? Never mind. Come on. Let’s go.”

  Distant shouts and calls arose from the other side of the hill. They were getting closer.

  “Who’s making all that racket?” Allyn asked.

  Magnus hefted his pack onto his small shoulders and stared curiously up the incline with Allyn. “I don’t know. Maybe they have news about goblin sightings in this area! Want me to go ask them?”

  “Don’t be a fool. They have nothing to do with us. Leave them be.” He pushed through the dark woods, rain still dripping from the branches. “Come on. We have a long way to go today.”

  Syntharin yawned as he followed them toward the road. “Seriously. I thought I was drowning.”

  • • •

  By the time they trudged within sight of the city of Green Hill, the sun was sinking below the wooded ridge to the west, the trees awash in color as autumn leaves fluttered in the warm breeze. In the east, stars shimmered in the indigo sky. Allyn had made them walk throughout the day with only a five-minute break for lunch. Even Syntharin was footsore.

  They passed the makeshift tents and one-room shacks built outside of the city’s weed-covered earthen walls. Grubby children wearing little more than rags ran up to them, filthy hands outstretched for coins or bread. Allyn shooed them away, but Magnus handed out what food he had left in his pack. The children ran away without so much as a thank you.

  Syntharin looked at him funny.

  “Why do you keep doing that?” Magnus snapped.

  “Doing what?”

  “Staring at me like I have two heads.”

  “You gave food to those kids.”

  “So? What of it? I can get more.” Magnus followed Allyn to the broken-down drawbridge that once spanned Green Hill’s moat. The moat was only a couple of feet deep and filled with waist-high grass.

  “It was kind, that’s all,” Syntharin said. “You’ve changed a lot over the past couple of months. I never would’ve thought you’d give away food, let alone leave Eryn Mas.”

  Magnus snorted. “Fat lot you know about me, then. I’ve been dreaming about leaving Eryn Mas ever since I arrived.”

  “And now you’ve done it. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Grumbling, Magnus unslung his pack. It wasn’t heavy, but the straps dug into his shoulders, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He dragged it behind him. “Let’s find some hot food, good beer, and a soft bed—in that order.”

  They came to a man wearing a torn tabard bearing the emblem of Lord Leo the One-Eyed—a crescent moon rising over a fortress on top of a green hill. He got off his stool and stood in front of the rusted gates.

  “Three bronze pieces,” the gatekeeper said, holding out a small wooden box. “Each.”

  They reached into their pouches and deposited the coins with a series of clinks.

  “There you go, my good sir!” said Allyn. “Good night to you.”

  Allyn tried to enter the city, but the gatekeeper blocked his path with a spear—its wooden handle cracked toward the end.

  “State your name and business,” the gatekeeper said formally.

  “I,” said Allyn, as though he were a prince who should’ve been recognized immediately, “am Allyn of Eryn Mas. I’m a minstrel hired to entertain and delight the fortunate patrons of The Gilded Lily. And these—” He motioned to Magnus and Syntharin.

  “The Lily?” the gatekeeper asked. “They hired a minstrel?”

  “Indeed,” Allyn replied proudly. “The owner has heard about me all the way from—”

  “From Eryn Mas, yeah I get it. Why in the gods’ names would they have a minstrel at The Lily?”

  At this, Magnus stepped in. “And we are his bodyguards. This is Syntharin the Bloodthirsty. I am Tim the Quick-Footed.” He bowed low.

  The gatekeeper laughed. “Jesters more like it. Ah, very well. Personally, I think having you at The Lily is asinine. It isn’t as if anybody will be paying attention to the likes of you three.”

  Allyn huffed. “We’ll see about that! Where is The Lily? I’m going to be the best minstrel they’ve ever—”

  “About blasted time, Bert,” the gatekeeper called over Magnus’s head.

  Magnus, Syntharin, and Allyn turned to find a fat man waddling toward them. He, too, had a tabard on—his in worse shape than the gatekeeper questioning them.

  “Sorry I’m late,” the fat man said, huffing as he hurried up the dirt ramp to the drawbridge. “Any trouble?”

  “Naw,” the gatekeeper said, handing the newcomer the damaged spear. He picked up an empty food bag and wine skin next to the stool he’d been sitting on. “But you owe me a half hour.”

  “Fair ’nough.” Bert stabbed a thumb toward Allyn, Syntharin, and Magnus. “They comin’ or goin’?”

  The first gatekeeper prepared to leave. “They’re coming. Traveling minstrels. Playing at The Lily, from what they say.”

  “The Lily? Not sure if anybody will be paying them no mind. Not unless they grew a pair, you know what I’m saying?” Chuckling, he nudged the gatekeeper with his elbow.

  “That’s what I said, but I suppose girls like music and all.”

  “Dancing,” Bert muttered. “Could be interesting to watch.”

  “It might at that, now that I think of it.”

  Allyn patted his lute case. “I can assure you, the ladies will love my music. Now, if you’d be so kind as to steer me in the direction of The Lily?”

  “Hey Allyn…” Magnus interjected earnestly, but Allyn hushed him.

  The departing gatekeeper faced the open gates. “See this here road?”

  Allyn nodded as he studied the dirt track running between a cluster of ramshackle shacks and into the city. People from the poorer classes milled about, talking and enjoying the unseasonably warm autumn evening.

  “Follow it until it forks three ways,” the gatekeeper went on. “One fork goes around the hills to the right, the other to the left, the other goes straight to the lord’s palace up yonder.”

  He directed their attention to a small stone castle on top of the largest hill. It needed as much repair as the rest of the city.

  “How high up the hill is it?” Allyn asked, not liking anything he was seeing.

  The first gatekeeper shook his head. “Ain’t on any of the hills, it’s around back. In the Old Quarter by the river.”

  “Old Quarter?” Allyn asked apprehensively.

  “I’m sure it’s great,” Syntharin told him. “It’s probably in a historic section of town.”

  Bert chortled. “You can call it that.”

  “All right,” the first gatekeeper said, taking the nine bronze pieces out of the box and putting them in his pouch. He handed the box to his replacement. “I stand relieved.”

  Bert sat on the vacated stool. “Good night to you and your family. Give Bella my best.”

  “Will do. And mine to yours.”

  They watched the first gatekeeper walk away.

  “Can we go now?” Magnus asked. “I’m famished.”

  “By all means.” Bert held out the wooden box. “But first, three bronze pieces each, if you’d be so kind.”

  “What the—?” Allyn cried. “But we already paid the other guy!”

  Magnus searched his pocket. “Here, let me take care of this.” He dropped a series of bronze pieces into the box. Then he showed the new gatekeeper a fistful of other coins. “Tell me where the best food is and I’ll give you another.”

  Bert thought for a moment. “Can’t go wrong at The Haystack. Terrific beef. Go up this road, and to the right when you reach the hills. Midway up the southern slope.”

  Magnus dropped a coin in the box.

  “Best beer?”

  “Ah! That’d be Th
e Lily,” said Bert. “No question. But it’ll cost you.”

  Allyn brightened.

  Magnus deposited a couple more coins.

  “Best place to sleep?”

  “The Wayward. Straight ahead where the road forks. Big blue building. Can’t miss it.”

  Magnus dumped the rest of bronze coins into the box. “Much obliged.” He staggered into the city, still dragging his pack in the dirt. “Come on, guys. First beer is on me.”

  Allyn pushed past him.

  “Where you going?” Magnus asked.

  “To The Gilded Lily, of course!”

  “Like that? Okay. You know best. Come on, Syntharin, let’s see if we can find this Haystack. Beef sounds good to me. Of course, anything that hasn’t been burnt over a campfire would be fantastic. Did he say it was on the left hill?”

  “The right,” Syntharin said, following Magnus. “Halfway up on the southern slope.”

  Allyn stopped them. “Wait! What do you mean, ‘Like that?’ Like what?”

  Magnus exhaled dramatically. “Look, I don’t know a damned thing about music or musicians, but it seems you’d, you know, want to make a good first impression. Get cleaned up. Put on some fresh clothes. But what do I know?” He waved for Syntharin to follow him. “Right hill it is. Onward to the best beef in town.”

  Allyn inspected his mud-splattered pants. “You might be on to something.”

  “And then there’s you showing up now…”

  “What do you mean?”

  Magnus shook his head as though Allyn was being thick. “Again, I don’t know anything about any of this stuff. But aren’t they expecting you tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. What of it? I want to show them I’m dependable. More than dependable—I’m the best musician they’ve ever hired!”

  “Then do that with your playing. You show up a day early and you’ll look desperate.” Judging from Allyn’s expression, Magnus knew he’d hit a nerve. He pressed his advantage. “The owner would be wondering whether you’re trying to get an extra night’s pay out of him. You know what I mean? But, hell, what do I know?” He motioned for Syntharin to follow him again. “Come on, Syn. Our dead cows await.”

  “Hold on!” Allyn said, stopping them again. “You’re right. I’d look desperate.”