by K. C. Herbel
Billy shook his head and offered the King’s Champion his hand. “How could I not?” he asked. He noticed Hugh’s reluctance to take his hand and opened his shirt to reveal the scars left by the dragon’s claws. “Consider it a mere gesture of kindness.”
Hugh took his friend’s hand and painfully got to his feet. Then staring into his face, he said, “How can treachery beget honor? Forgive me . . .”
At that moment, flames shot up and forced them to retreat. Hugh pointed to the three passengers who still remained tethered across the deck. “We’ve got to help them,” he said.
Billy stepped forward, and the flames roared again. He looked frantically for a way to get around them, but there was none. The passengers, trapped on the other side, cried out for help.
Billy decided that, by using a tumbling trick Malcolm had taught him, he could dive over the flames. He hoped that his wet clothing and quickness would keep him from harm in the event that he slipped up.
Billy split the flames, appearing on the other side unscathed. He immediately went to the aid of the terrified passengers still tethered to the railing. If only they had tied their ropes to the mast, he thought, the fire would have freed them by now.
Billy went to the first passenger as Hugh ran through the flames, wrapped in a wet cloth. Billy tried to untie the rope around the man’s waist, but he was hysterical and beat Billy away. Hugh grabbed the man and tried to calm him as Billy ran to the rail, but the rope was hopelessly knotted and wet. He examined the other two tethers and saw that they were all in the same state.
Quickly, Billy’s brain sought a way to free the men. The assassin’s dagger abruptly appeared in his mind, and he scanned the jostling deck. The weapon lay in some baggage near the fire, where Hugh had knocked it from Don Miguel’s grip.
Billy quickly retrieved the dagger and returned. Then he hastily sawed through the first man’s rope.
“He was the assassin,” Billy shouted to Hugh.
Hugh released the man and gave Billy a puzzled expression. “What? Who?” he asked.
“Don Miguel killed Kathryn and Gaelyn!”
Billy cut the second and third man free. Without a word, they ran to the back of the ship and huddled with the other passengers.
Hugh’s visage went from confused, to shocked, to enlightened in a single breath. Rain streamed down his face as he stared across at Billy.
“There’s more,” said Billy.
“What more?”
Billy took the satchel containing Sir Sedgemore’s journal from his back and held it out to Hugh. “This is your father’s journal.”
Hugh stared at the satchel. Embossed into the weathered oilskin was the emblem of Sir Sedgemore.
Hugh reached out and took it from Billy. “Where did you get this?”
“Your father died saving the life of Queen Eleanor’s child.”
“The missing heir . . .” muttered Hugh.
A wave crashed into the ship, forcing Hugh back across the deck. He quickly regained his footing and started back to Billy.
“You knew about that?” said Billy.
“Until now,” said Hugh, examining the satchel, “I only knew it as rumor.”
Billy swallowed. “Hugh . . . I’ve got to tell you. I know this will be hard for you to believe, but . . .”
“What? What is it?” asked Hugh.
Billy reached out and touched Hugh’s hand. He felt the warrior’s cold, wet skin, in contrast to the warmth coming from his mother’s ring, and he knew Hugh’s heart would accept the truth. “Hugh, I am that missing child.”
Hugh stared hard into Billy’s face, through the smoke and rain. Without warning, he was looking into the eyes of his king. He had to step back to steady himself. The odd familiarity he had felt when looking upon Billy was finally illuminated, and he knew the truth.
Hugh wanted to ask a thousand questions all at once. His lips parted, but nothing came. The only thing that felt right was to bow.
At that moment, the deck between them collapsed, and Billy could see below. Steam and smoke rose out of the pit as flames licked its jagged edge.
There was a low, grinding sound that vibrated throughout the ship. Then the center mast started to lean.
Camion immediately appeared before the mast. He straddled the gaping deck and hugged the gigantic spar in an attempt to hold it in place. Hugh numbly stared at Billy then slung his father’s journal over his shoulder and went to the giant’s aid.
For a moment, their efforts were successful. However, the tossing of the ship was simply too much and the mast too heavy. With a thunderous crack, the mast broke free and fell to the aft of the ship. It threw Camion into the fiery hold and smashed the small poop deck, killing the captain and the helpless passengers hiding there.
The collapse of the mast threw Hugh across the deck. As he scrambled to his feet, he saw Billy standing alone by the opposite railing. The aft mast creaked in sympathy with its fallen mate and shifted forward.
“Billy!” cried Hugh. “Get out of the way!” Then he frantically waved for Billy to run for the bow.
Billy glanced at the teetering aft mast and ran for the front of the ship, but it was too late. Before he could take three steps on the slippery, heaving deck, the aft mast gave way. Billy heard it over his shoulder and tried desperately to outrun it.
Hugh watched in horror as the mast slammed down on Billy’s position, smiting that portion of the ship. At once, the entire hull shuddered and then exploded. Wood splinters, hot embers, water, and debris shot up into the air as the vessel broke. Hugh was catapulted from the side of the ship into the turbulent sea. As he resurfaced, he saw the remains of the Gyldan Mene surrender to the steadfast waves.
Hugh struggled to stay afloat. Finally he found a piece of the ship’s deck floating by and dragged himself onto it.
“Billy!” shouted Hugh over the crashing sea. “Billy!”
For hours the waves pounded Hugh, making him fight just to stay atop his makeshift raft. He searched for Billy, calling his name into the darkness, but the only response came from the thunder and waves.
When Hugh had almost given up hope, he spotted something in the water. Desperately, he paddled to the object. It appeared to be a scrap of mast with a body lashed to it. As Hugh approached, he saw that it was the giant, Camion, holding the body of his captain on his chest. Camion himself was atop a portion of the deck, which was held under the water by his weight.
“Ho there!” shouted Hugh hoarsely.
Camion tilted his head up and stared at Hugh. His blackened face wore a frown as he clung to his captain’s body like a child who’s been told he must give up a beloved doll.
Hugh managed to tie their rafts together. The giant said nothing and never moved again. He only stared at the sky as they drifted with the current.
By dawn, the storm had passed, and the sea was calm. Hugh was exhausted but continued to search for Billy. He found bits and pieces of the ship and the body of one passenger, but nothing more.
Midmorning, Hugh spotted land to the south and reluctantly gave up his search. After pestering, coaxing, and finally pleading with Camion, he enlisted the giant’s help in maneuvering their joint craft towards the land. However, Camion insisted on “burying” his master first.
“From sea he come,” said the giant as he let the captain’s body slip into the water, “to sea he goes.”
It was afternoon before Hugh felt the pleasure of solid ground beneath him. He scanned the coastline, where he and Camion had landed, for any landmarks. Finding none, they decided to march eastward along the coast.
Just before nightfall, Mershore, a small fishing village on the northern shores of Lyonesse, had visitors: a morose giant and a mirthless knight.
Chapter XXIX
Death of a King
Sir Hugh entered Castle Orgulous, a man unrecognizable to those who knew him. He was not the proud, splendid champion of the king who so often sallied forth from its gates. Neither was he the wrathful, h
otheaded warrior who had recently assailed the keep in search of vengeance. Instead, he looked sullen and lowly. He still wore the dirty, torn disguise he had traded for in Dyven and rode a scruffy draft horse.
Two guards attempted to stop Hugh at the gate. He pushed back his hood and rebuked them with a no-nonsense glare. Though Hugh carried no weapons, the guardsmen fearfully backed away to let him pass.
It was much the same with everyone he met on his way to the donjon. Those who would have normally delayed Sir Hugh with some irksome question or request saw his face and suddenly remembered tasks that required their immediate presence elsewhere. This even included those who had dared to confront him on his last arrival. They scurried away before him, giving him the wide berth granted to rabid dogs. He did not appear outwardly hostile, but his most unusual appearance made them extremely wary.
Hugh rode his mount right up the steps of the main keep and dismounted. He entered the donjon and trod directly to the king’s great hall. When he arrived, there were a great many nobles present. Ergyfel resided over them from the king’s dais.
“And we have not found your wife, Gryff . . .” said the magister, “but we will. As for your children . . .” Ergyfel stopped short when he saw the raged form of Sir Hugh emerge from the shadowy rear of the hall. “Take the prisoner to his cell,” he ordered.
As Hugh continued his approach, the room became gravely quiet. All his countrymen eyed him with expressions of fear or contempt. They too parted to avoid Hugh as he marched across the floor. The king’s new heir rose from his throne to greet Hugh as Gryff was dragged away by two guards.
“Sir Hugh?” said Ergyfel. “Why I hardly recognized you. Welcome!”
“Why have you arrested the cook?” asked Hugh, watching after Gryff. “Did he burn your eggs?”
“He is a confessed traitor!”
“Where is the king?” demanded Hugh.
“Noble champion, the king is quite ill, and I . . .”
“I must see the king! His bloody task is finished.”
Ergyfel gaped at Hugh. Slowly his lips curled upward, in a satisfied smirk. “Very well,” he said, “then you shall see the king.”
The King’s First Counselor nodded to his right, and Hugh followed his eyes. Ergyfel’s half brother Sygeon and another man stood near the doorway. They bowed to the magister and left the hall. Hugh started across the floor to follow them.
“Sir Hugh,” said Ergyfel still beaming, “King William will be brought here.”
“But you said he was ill . . .”
“I think he’ll want everyone to hear what you have to say,” stated Ergyfel. “After all, your quest was of concern to all the people of Lyonesse.”
Hugh took a deep breath and nodded. The room began to buzz in anticipation of the king’s arrival. Hugh scanned the court, looking from face to face. He wanted to know who would be present for his report—his confession. Most of the men present were minor lords, and only a few had any reputation for battle. The warrior lords of the realm were still away preparing for war or already embroiled in it. The thought perturbed Hugh.
So these are to be Ergyfel’s court parrots, thought Hugh, one big, black bird, and a flock of colorful weaklings. They’ll bring the kingdom to ruin. He stared at Ergyfel, his emotions churning up hateful thoughts. If only I had . . .
The king arrived, and the hall became quiet again. Six guards carried King William on a well-padded stretcher to the center of the hall. His nurse and new physician escorted him.
Hugh glared at Ergyfel. You’ll have to wait, he thought. Then he stepped forward and knelt before the king. “Sire.”
Hugh inhaled sharply when his eyes beheld the king’s face. His Majesty already appeared dead. He was motionless, until Hugh spoke to him a second time, and his eyes fluttered open.
“Hugh,” croaked the king softly.
“Yes, My King.”
“What news?” asked King William. “Is the battle won?”
“Battle, Sire?” said Hugh curiously. “I have completed your quest.”
“Quest . . .” said the king before he fell into a weak coughing fit.
The sight of his king tore the last shred of Hugh’s hope from him. He remembered what a fine man the king had been, when he had viewed His Majesty with boyish admiration. He had been strong and fearless . . . back in the days of Queen Eleanor.
How could such a man have killed his beloved wife? thought Hugh. She was his entire world! Father must have been wrong. It has to be a mistake! I know King William’s heart.
A tear ran down the face of the King’s Champion as he gazed upon his dying master.
“Sire,” began Hugh, girding his strength to give his report. “The boy . . . Billy, is dead.”
The king looked at Hugh. “What?” he said.
“I caught up to him on a ship headed for Erin. There was a storm, and the ship went down. I and one other survived.”
“And Billy?” asked Ergyfel. “How did Billy die?”
“He was struck by a falling mast,” stated Hugh solemnly. “If that didn’t kill him . . . then he was drowned by the sea.”
The king started to cough again. “The body fails . . .” he wheezed to Hugh between coughs. “I’m tired . . .”
The king leaned back into his pillow and closed his eyes. The new physician leaned forward and listened to his chest. The king’s eyes snapped opened, and he swatted the doctor’s head.
“I’m not dead yet, you vulture!” spat King William before resuming his position.
“Sire,” said Hugh, as another tear found its way down his cheek, “I have more news. I have discovered a terrible secret, which doubly compounds my sorrow.”
Hugh bowed his head, unable to look at his king. The tears began to stream from his eyes. Suddenly he felt the king’s hand on his head, and he looked up.
Behind King William, on one side, stood his nurse and physician, their arms crossed, their faces scowling at Hugh. On the other side stood Ergyfel, his usual unaffected expression creased only by a thin grin and raised eyebrow.
Hugh turned his attention back to King William.
“What is it, my boy?” said the king.
“Your Majesty, though it pains me greatly to tell you, I must. Billy—William of the Valley of the Yew—was your and Queen Eleanor’s son.”
Hugh collapsed on the floor as the hall erupted in shouts from the assembled lords. He lay on the cold, stone floor unable to flex a single muscle in his body. It was as if his own words had slain him.
“My son?” exclaimed King William.
“Sir Hugh, can you confirm this?” Ergyfel shouted over the din. “Can you prove it?”
Hugh felt his father’s journal resting beneath his chest. “Yes,” he said, although the hall was far too loud for anyone to hear him.
The king frowned at his First Counselor then shouted in a surprisingly strong voice. “You told me he was dead, years ago!”
The lords became still. Every eye trained on the King’s First Counselor.
“Well, Your Majesty . . .” said Ergyfel.
“You told me, your brother caught up with the kidnappers, but found my son was already dead!”
“But, Your Majesty . . .”
“Who the hell did we bury with my wife?”
The king fell into another coughing fit, the lords began to chatter, and, for an instant, Ergyfel appeared panicked, but then abruptly he regained his composure.
“Sir Hugh!” Ergyfel shouted. “Sir Hugh!” The lords quieted, and Ergyfel continued. “Sir Hugh, can you prove it?”
Hugh dragged himself up and pulled his father’s journal from its protective case. He then handed it to a nearby steward and said, “This is my father’s journal. It tells how my father and Lady Enaid, under instructions from Queen Eleanor, took the baby in order to protect him. They themselves were killed, but the boy survived and was raised in the Valley of the Yew.”
“This is most distressing news, Your Majesty,” said the magister, re
ading the journal over the steward’s shoulder, “but I can explain.”
“This I’ve got to hear,” said Hugh, forcing himself to sit upright.
Ergyfel glared at the King’s Champion. “You see,” he began, “we could not find your son, though we looked high and low.”
“That’s right, Your Majesty,” added Sygeon. “We looked everywhere.”
“So,” continued Ergyfel, “we presumed he was dead. The child we buried was a substitute, to avoid any future . . . entanglements.”
“Impostors . . . civil war . . .” spouted Sygeon.
Ergyfel frowned at his brother then continued his explanation. “I thought it would be better, Your Majesty . . . for the kingdom. I also wanted to save you any prolonged anguish. I see now I may have been mistaken.”
The king sat up and, shaking his fist at Ergyfel, said, “May have been! May have be . . .”
The king suddenly clutched his chest and fell back onto the stretcher. His body convulsed as he gasped for breath. Hugh and the physician sprang to his side. The physician forced a powder into King William’s mouth, while Hugh clasped his hand.
“Your Majesty,” pleaded Hugh. “Your Majesty!”
A moment later, the king was still. His physician listened to his chest then smiled reassuringly to Hugh.
“He will be fine now,” said the doctor. “He just needs rest.”
The nurse nodded to the guards, and they lifted the king’s stretcher back to their shoulders. Slowly the tiny procession left the great hall, leaving behind a quiet assembly.
Hugh wandered to the back of the great hall as the lords argued amongst themselves. He glanced back at the door through which the king had been carried. His eye caught Ergyfel, standing on the first step of the dais, surrounded by his flock, staring over their heads at the same door.
The magister’s gaze slowly shifted until it fell upon Hugh. The two adversaries locked eyes, and a silent message passed between them. It read the same, both ways: be warned!
Hugh turned to leave the great hall. Ergyfel clapped his hands, and the lords fell silent.
“So where is the ring?” asked Ergyfel, breaking the silence.