by CW Thomas
Khalous leaned toward him. “Watch your tongue, boy.”
“Oh, it’s all right,” Proditous said. “Our culture must seem very strange at times.” He downed a generous gulp of wine and belched. “Scientifically, women are inferior to men, that is to say, naturally, unalterably inferior. Women are, in other words, the second sex in the fullest sense. Deformed males. Intellectually they simply lack the capacity to make their reasoning powers, such as they are, authoritative. There is nothing wrong with treating them this way. It is simply how it is.”
Brayden watched Preston fidget in his seat, his face reddening.
He cast his eyes toward the young woman whom Proditous had walked in with. She seemed uninterested in anything except the food she was picking at with her fork.
“If this is true of all women, as you suggest,” Preston began, “how is it that the women of Krebberfall, for example, are considered equal to men? In Krebberfall, the king does not rule with a queen by his side, rather the two of them rule together. Some even say the women there rule over the men folk.”
Brayden noticed a male server standing behind him. The close proximity of the man took him by surprise. The server noticed his discomfort and took a small step back. “Pardon me, my lord.”
Beggar moaned for more food. Proditous tossed him a bread roll and said, “The women of Krebberfall suffer from a besetting sin innate to all women, which is the lack of self-discipline and self-control. The history of the Krebber culture is rife with women wallowing in every sort of luxury, aided by their complaisant, uxorious husbands.”
Proditous reached over and stroked the bare shoulder of the woman sitting next to him. He smiled as though satisfied by something he hadn’t verbalized. “Men do well to tame their women,” he said, kissing her hand.
Preston’s chair scraped obscenely as he got to his feet, disgust in his eyes. Brayden could see the guests around them listening eagerly for what he had to say. Instead, the young man wiped his mouth with his napkin and cleared his throat. “Pardon me, my lords. I must relieve myself.” Without waiting for permission to leave the table, he stormed off.
“It seems we have unsettled our guest,” Proditous said. A few of the people dining nearest to them chuckled in response.
Brayden noticed an unusual number of menservants gathering around the table. They stood at the backs of their guests, hands clasped behind them, eyes staring forward.
Unsettled by their close proximity, he scooted his chair back and stood. “I think I shall join him,” he said to Proditous. “With your permission of course, my lord.”
Beggar snarled on the floor by Brayden’s feet and clamped his jaws onto the heel of his boot. The attacked startled him and he jumped back. A few guests burst out laughing, but Proditous was not amused. He sent a hand down across the wretch’s face that knocked him flat onto his pillow.
“Dog!” he shouted. “How dare you insult my guests!”
Brayden looked down as the poor man lifted a pair of sad eyes to him. He saw only a shred of humanity in the dark orbs staring up at him, pieces of a man lost amongst a more feral nature.
“Forgive him, master Brayden,” Proditous said. He waved an open palm toward the exit. “Please.”
Brayden left the table. He exhaled long and deep, releasing himself of the tension that had accumulated in the air.
He caught up with Preston near the front entrance of the dining hall.
“Don’t let him offend you,” Brayden said. “Their ways are very different here.”
“The fat swine keeps a human torso as a pet,” Preston said quietly. “Their ways aren’t different. They’re inhumane.”
Brayden didn’t disagree.
A large number of guards had gathered to obstruct the front entrance.
“Something’s wrong,” Preston said.
“The fall of a great empire began three and a half years ago,” came the resounding voice of Proditous. Brayden turned to see the herus standing at the end of the table, his hands open to the crowd of quieting guests. “Our brothers and sisters on Edhen were overcome by a powerful high king. The western most kingdom of Perth was the first to fall, but the soldiers of the city stood their ground for seven days. Ultimately, regrettably, the invading king prevailed.” He picked up his goblet of wine. “Tonight we drink to the men of the west, those fallen heroes who were the first to give their lives in the resistance of High King Orkrash Mahl.”
Brayden shivered at the mention of the high king’s true name. Edhen’s rebels preferred the more derogatory term “Black King,” which Orkrash himself was said to despise. Black vipers would kill anyone they heard using the name.
Likewise, they had been known to kill those who spoke the rallying cry of Edhen’s rebel movement, an ode to the brave soldiers of the west.
Proditous lifted his goblet. “A drink to our fallen friends in the west.”
“For the west!” Khalous said, in his native tongue.
Brayden chilled. Something wasn’t right.
“For the west!” echoed Stoneman.
The hands of the servers moved toward their concealed blades.
Broderick and the other boys at the table with Khalous, along with many other guests, raised their glasses in respect to Edhen’s honored dead: “For the west!”
One of the servers right in front of Brayden reached around the neck of a wealthy old woman who had just raised her glass in salute. Before she’d had a chance to take a single sip, however, the server plunged the blade into her heart.
The screams of startled and horrified guests flowed through the hall like the rush of a river; a mere trickle at first until the ruckus surged into a tidal wave of panic.
In the back of the dining hall, the doors flew open. Soldiers of the high king of Edhen flowed out, fully armored in black and silver metal with weapons drawn.
Stoneman lifted one of the menservants and tossed him into a crowd at the next table.
Khalous stole one of the servers’ curved blades and began fighting. Brayden had never see the Old Warhorse in such wild combat before. There was fire in his eyes, something fierce and confident, like a warrior king of old. The power of his presence expanded as he tore into his foes.
“He’s one of them!” came a shout to Brayden’s left. He looked and saw two black vipers, disguised as servers, hurrying toward him, swords at the ready.
Brayden grabbed a flagpole, swung its base in a wide arch, and slammed one of the soldiers in the head. The pole broke in half as the man went tumbling.
The second soldier engaged him in a series of strikes and counterstrikes until Brayden managed to wrestle him to the floor. He shoved the broken staff through the solder’s neck, and then tore his sword from his grasp. Adrenaline coursed through him, pushing him to the edge of control, making him do things that both frightened and energized him. He brought the sword down into the viper’s body, piercing his heart, then his lungs, then his stomach, and a handful of other places until the soldier went still in a widening puddle of his own blood.
A fist latched onto the back of Brayden’s shirt and hoisted him to his feet. Hands spun him around and showered his body with blows. Amid the pain sparking before his eyes he glimpsed the dark skinned face of the legendary swordsman Decorus Ferrum. The man moved like a snake, sinuous and quick, but with the strength of an ox. His punches sent Brayden’s world spinning out of control. He landed flat on his back, cracking his head against the stone tile.
Stoneman came down upon Decorus like a small mountain. Brayden scrambled out of the way as the two tumbled across the floor. The agile sword master sprang to his feet. Stoneman righted himself and rushed in to strike, but in the time it took him to deliver one blow Decorus had landed six. Stoneman went down like a felled oak.
Brayden managed to push through the dizziness and climb to his feet. Preston appeared at his side, his nose bloody. He offered Brayden a sword.
“We need to get out of here!”
“Go!” shouted Khalous as
he barreled through the throng of war. “Run!” A large flap of flayed skin hung off the side of his jaw.
“Get to the horses!” shouted Stoneman.
“No!” Khalous barked. “There are no horses. Just move your—”
Decorus landed in the middle of them, kicking Khalous in the chest, striking Brayden in the throat, knocking Preston to the ground, and spin-kicking his booted heel into the side of Stoneman’s head. The big warrior was the only one among them who didn’t fall. He staggered, dazed, and took another series of debilitating blows from Decorus’ lethal hands.
Broderick and Nash tumbled out of the hot mess of fists, knives, swords, black vipers, and confused guests. They joined Brayden and Preston and engaged a quartet of enemies. The black vipers were stronger, bigger, and far more experienced, but the young men of Aberdour held their own.
“Khalous!” Stoneman croaked through grit teeth.
When Brayden saw him, he was struggling to break the chokehold of Decorus. His face looked like a piece of raw meat that had just been tenderized. “Get ’em out!” he said. “Get ’em—”
Decorus jerked his arms apart, snapping Stoneman’s neck. A hard shove from his knee threw the giant soldier’s lifeless body to the floor.
Khalous grabbed Brayden by the back of his shirt and yanked him toward the exit, shouting, “Run, damn you!”
They plowed through the line of guards, tearing off limbs and impaling torsos as they went.
Brayden hurried out the front entrance and down the stone steps of the dining hall on the heels of Broderick and Nash. They sprinted across the moonlit plaza, ducking arrows and dodging bystanders.
“Move!” Khalous yelled behind them.
The captain bellowed and fell, his knees twisting and crunching so loud that even Brayden heard them pop. He stopped and whipped around to see an arrow sticking through Khalous’ kneecap.
“Don’t you stop for me, boy!” Khalous snarled, but Brayden ignored him. “Go, you fool!”
He knelt to help him up. Khalous cuffed him on the side of the head. “Run, I said!”
“Shut up! Give me your arm.”
Khalous flopped his arm around Brayden’s neck and the two hobbled away on three legs.
Brayden heard the impact of the second arrow strike Khalous in the back. He went down with a crash, taking Brayden with him.
“Get up! Get up!”
Brayden’s eyes darted toward the wave of enemy soldiers pouring out of the dining hall as peasants in the plaza ran screaming for safety.
Brayden gasped when Khalous grabbed him by the collar and shook him. “Listen to me, you stupid boy! You are the last son of Aberdour, heir to your father’s throne, now you move your bloody ass out of this place!” He coughed, grimacing, and dribbles of blood appeared on his lips. With a shaking fist he grabbed Brayden’s hand and shoved something small and stringy into his palm. “You need to take this. It belonged to your father.”
Brayden looked at his hand to see a small bone necklace tied to a thin leather strap.
“What is—”
Khalous shoved him away. “Now go!”
Brayden’s throat seized with horror and hot grief
“RUN!”
Arrows whispered overhead as Brayden tore himself away from the captain. With heavy feet and a heavier heart he sprinted across the plaza and down a dark street between a black clapboard shop and a stone tower. He wheeled around the next corner and saw Broderick and Nash waiting for him to catch up. Together they huffed it north through the sprawling streets of Thalmia, ducked down a narrow alleyway, and dropped into a recessed cellar entrance. The boys crouched low in the darkness and waited, heaving for control of their breath.
Brayden closed his eyes, groping for the threads of his shredded composure.
“That sword master killed Stoneman,” Nash blurted. “Did you see him? Decorus just broke his neck. Son of a bitch!”
“Quiet!” Brayden said.
“Did anyone else make it?” Broderick whispered.
Nash was shaking his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” He clutched his head. “Just killed him, Brayden. Just killed him. Just broke his neck.”
“Calm down,” Brayden said. He took a deep breath. “Just… let’s just think for a moment.”
He glanced around the dark alleyway. There were no other places to hide, and no other streets to escape to. They could only return to the plaza, or continue heading north, which, as far as he knew, took them no closer to safety.
“We need to get out of the city,” Broderick said, leaning on a sword he had stolen from a black viper. Brayden could smell the blood on the steel and it made his stomach squirm. He tried not to imagine what the black vipers were doing to Khalous.
“We need our weapons,” Nash said. “Our armor, provisions. They’ve got it all.”
“There’s no going back,” Brayden said.
“Proditous took us for a bunch of fools,” Nash said. “He disarmed us. He made us vulnerable. He was stalling just to stab us in the back as hard as he could.”
“SONS OF EDHEN!” Proditous’ voice boomed through the night, a much different tone from the boyish chirping they’d heard from him before. He sounded menacing now, primal and vicious.
The three of them quieted as they strained to listen.
“You will come out from the shadows, or we will hunt you down!”
“Fat pig,” Nash muttered.
The echoes of shouting and tortured screams drifted over them.
“Khalous!” Brayden blurted.
He rushed from his hiding spot and raced back toward the plaza. He was about to break free of the shadows and burst into the open when Broderick grabbed him and wrestled him behind an empty wagon cart.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Broderick whispered. “Are you mad?”
“They’re going to kill him,” Brayden said.
He looked across the plaza to the pillared façade of the dining hall. A large gathering of armed Thalmian guards and black vipers had surrounded a badly beaten Khalous Marloch. Six of them were struggling to tie his arms and legs to a wagon wheel that lay flat on the ground.
“I know you can hear me,” Proditous shouted. “If you do not come forward your captain is a dead man.”
Proditous seemed to shrink as a tall viper commander in black armor strode out from the mass of soldiers at his back. He took a few steps out onto the plaza, a long black cape edged with white swishing behind him. Upon his head flowed a mop of ginger hair that hung in tangles over his stubbly face.
“Enemies of Orkrash Mahl. My name is Lord Marshal William Rushwater. In the name of the high king I order you to surrender yourselves peacefully. Do so and your lives will be spared.”
“There’s a lie if I ever heard one,” Broderick whispered.
“The lord marshal?” Nash said, astonished.
“Do it not and your lives are forfeit,” William continued. “No soldier of any rank will ever offer you mercy again. You will be hunted down, arrested, and taken back to Edhen to face your high king’s justice.” The lord marshal gestured toward Khalous. “If not for yourselves, surrender for your beloved captain.”
Khalous was tied spread-eagle across the surface of the wagon wheel.
“And if he dies here tonight, so shall be his blood!” the lord marshal concluded.
“We should leave,” Broderick said.
“Shut up you heartless dog!” Nash snapped. “We have to do something.”
The gruff roar of Khalous overpowered Nash’s voice: “No surrender! Don’t you dare give in to these cowardly sons of whores!”
William looked at Proditous and nodded his head.
The herus snapped his fingers and a Thalmian guard emerged from the ranks carrying a mighty battleaxe. He strode up to the wagon wheel and lowered the blade to Khalous’ outstretched arm. After a second nod from William the Thalmian guard brought the axe down through Khalous’ right arm, lopping it off above the elbow. The captain sc
reamed and thrashed against the ropes.
“See?” William yelled into the night. “His life can still be spared if you just surrender now. Your high king is a merciful king. He will grant you your lives if you come forward.”
Brayden fought down his sick unease, moistened his lips, and managed to say, “Don’t listen to him. It’s a lie. Orkrash wants us dead!”
“But what about Khalous?” Nash asked, his bottom lip quivering.
Brayden refocused his eyes on the scene, his teeth clenched in frustration, confusion, and rage. He wanted nothing more than to charge across the public square with his friends and fight for their captain, but he knew that would mean the death of them all.
He looked down at the bone necklace that sat in his clammy palm. He couldn’t imagine what significance it contained.
“Run!” Khalous shouted again. “Return to Edhen! Show everyone that the bastard king there is nothing but a dickless swine!”
“Again!” Proditous ordered.
The guard hoisted his battleaxe into the air a second time.
“And when you do,” Khalous continued, his voice growing in strength, “tell him Khalous Marloch, son of Darthous Marloch, is waiting to stick him again in hell!”
As the viper brought the blade down through Khalous’ other arm, the brave captain bellowed, “No surrender! No surrender! No surrender!” His words ended in a babbling scream.
“Again!”
Brayden flinched and squeezed his eyes shut as the axe cut through Khalous’ leg. He wrestled down the urge to give himself up and spare his captain from further pain.
“All the hells,” Nash muttered in wide-eyed disbelief.
Broderick’s hand touched Brayden’s shoulder. His voice quivered when he spoke. “We need to go.”
Lord Marshal William Rushwater continued yelling at them as the boys slunk out from under the wagon and retreated down the nighttime streets of Thalmia.
“Again!” came the distant shout of the herus.
Tears rushed to Brayden’s eyes as he heard the thump of the ax again. This time, however, Khalous was silent.
Brayden stopped, leaning against a wall for support. A feeling of sick hopelessness churned in his stomach as his mind took him back to Aberdour, back to his father lying dead in the street. He shut his eyes, seeing the pool of red expand from under his father’s corpse. He imagined the same thing happening in the plaza right now beneath Khalous.