The King's Henchmen: The Henchmen Chronicles - Book 1

by Craig Halloran

  Abraham lifted his eyes. He could see the back sides of King Hector and Lewis. The king was smaller in stature. He had a full head of wavy and curly gray-brown hair and leaned heavily on his left leg. Abraham dropped his eyes the moment the king turned back toward him.

  “I could stand here and gripe about my problems incessantly for a week. Heaven knows that I’ve lost enough sleep.” King Hector sighed again. “But let’s get to the business at hand. Rise, Ruger. Rise and kiss the king’s hand.”

  As if propelled by an unseen force, Abraham did as he was commanded. He looked at King Hector, and his knees wobbled. He fought to steady himself as the king’s soft eyes drew him in. The king’s strong aristocratic features had softened with time. The formerly prominent jawline sagged. His easy smile showed a few crooked teeth. It reminded him of an English gentleman from a movie that he couldn’t readily recall. The king wore a small crown and had a sizeable teardrop-shaped emerald around his neck.

  “Are you well, Ruger? Your back bends like a bow,” the king said.

  Abraham broke out in a cold sweat. New memories were flooding in. He and King Hector went back. Way back. Everything was jumbled together. “I’m sorry, Hector. I—oof!”

  Lewis belted Abraham in the gut, doubling him over. “You mangy cur! You don’t address the king by his first name!”

  “Son, will you calm yourself,” King Hector calmly said. “My servant doesn’t look well. Perhaps it is the sickness from one too many failures. I don’t see the need to quarter him over a slip of the tongue. At least not today. Besides, there is no one else around but us.”

  “Thank you for your mercy, King Hector,” Abraham managed to blurt out.

  Lewis had hit him like a heavyweight boxer. He could punch harder than he looked like he could, and the blow surprised him.

  With a groan, he straightened his back. “I am sorry.”

  “I know you are, and you should be. After all, your last several missions have failed.” The king clasped his hands behind his back. “Come, join me at the overlook.”

  “As you wish, King Hector,” he said.

  They stood at the patio wall together, gazing out over the sea. A sheer drop two hundred feet down led to where the waves crashed against the jagged rocks. Lewis stood behind Abraham’s left shoulder, while the king stood at his right. He was certain Lewis would try to push him over.

  “Look at all of those ships, Ruger,” the king said.

  At least one hundred warships were in the bay.

  “The King’s Fleet. The greatest fleet in all of Titanuus. At least it used to be. There was a time when the King’s Fleet stretched all the way around the continent. Our territory was unlimited. But because of weak leadership, a spreading depravity, and faithless broods of people, Kingsland, once the capital of the entire world, has been pushed down to the bottom of the world like crap stuffed into a boot.” He looked Abraham in the eye. “Dirty rotten scoundrels are taking over the world. My kingdom! We must stop them.” He looked away and rubbed his temples. “Oh, my head hurts thinking about it. Lewis, will you get me something to drink?”

  “Father, I will not leave you alone with this wretch,” Lewis said. “I’ll send a guardian.”

  “You’ll do as I command! Go. I’m not a toddler that needs babysat. Go, son. Go.”

  Lewis gave Abraham a dangerous look and stormed off.

  The king watched him go. “He’s a good son. Loyal. More than I can say for the rest of them.” He turned his attention to Ruger. “Now, tell me. Why is the best swordsman in the world failing me?”

  38

  There was an old saying about Gonds in Kingsland. Never fight a Gond. Run like hell instead. Aside from being as stupid as they were strong, the Gonds had animal-like endurance and a high tolerance for pain. Many of them pierced their bodies and had tattoos all over. That was what the Henchmen were up against now, a small host of rangy men who were more animal than man. The ashen-skinned men with cords of muscle from their toes to their chins thrust themselves into the Henchmen.

  The rain poured down. Blood mixed with mud. Angry screams and howls of pain rose above the thunder. Big-fisted men swung their hearts out. Bone cracked against bone. Cartilage gave way. White teeth tore flesh away.

  A blood-hungry crowd gathered around the brutal scene. Wagers were made.

  Sticks slipped into the fray. A Gond had Horace pinned down in the mud with his hands locked on the man’s neck. She cracked the ugly Gond in the temple with a stone. The brute shook his head and made an inhuman, horselike whinny. She hit him again and again, trying to crack his skull open like an egg.

  “Get off, you beast!” she yelled.

  The Gond punched his elbow back into her ribs.

  She collapsed on the ground, clutching her sides, the wind knocked out of her. Her ribs felt busted.

  Horace twisted free of the Gond’s grip the moment the savage took his hand away. He locked up the Gond’s wrist and applied pressure. Bone snapped. The Gond’s jaw dropped open. Horace slammed his elbow into the man’s chin, breaking the jaw and knocking the barbarian out. He crawled over the mud to Sticks.

  “Get your scrawny arse away from here. They’ll break you in half.” He shoved her toward the frenzied crowd.

  Another Gond jumped on his back and bearhugged him from behind. Horace hip tossed the man into the mud and kicked the man in the ribs.

  Sticks rolled away from the danger. Horace was right. The Gond would break her in two. She was a great fighter with her daggers, but without them, well, hand-to-hand combat was not her strong point, especially against huge men who could squash her. But she wasn’t going to sit around and watch, either. She scooped up a handful of mud and slung it in the eyes of Horace’s attacker.

  Horace got the Gond in a headlock and squeezed with all his might. “Well done, sister. Well done!” His jaw clenched. The barbarian picked up the beefy man and slammed him hard into the ground. “This one kicks like a wild mule! Smells like one too!”

  Vern squared off with a Gond who fought with his mouth wide-open. The fit fighter jabbed punches into the Gond’s face and ribs. The Gond smiled stupidly at him. Vern, not known for strength, hit him with everything he had. “I suppose you’re too stupid to know when to fall down.” He landed a right and left in the man’s chin. Then he pulled back, shaking his hands. “What are you made out of, rock?”

  Like a wild ape, the Gond lunged at Vern. His fingers tangled up in Vern’s hair. The Gond headbutted the smaller man, and nose cartilage gave way. Blood dripped down into Vern’s mouth. The Gond unleashed a relentless assault of hammer fists on him. Vern’s legs turned to noodles, and he flopped face-first in the mud. The Gond kept whaling.

  Bearclaw’s kidney punch dropped a Gond to one knee. His fierce chop to the neck got the Gond clutching at his throat. He grabbed the man by the face and jammed his thumbs into the barbarian’s eyes. The savage prisoner twisted away. Bearclaw let out a wild howl and chased after the savage, but his legs were tackled. He hit the ground hard as two Gonds jumped him then pounded him with hammerlike fists.

  Five Gonds fought against Cudgel, Tark, Prospero, Apollo, and the other four Red Tunics. Prospero and a Gond were yanking at each other’s beards as they headbutted each other. A Red Tunic jumped onto the Gond’s back and bit his earlobe off.

  Cudgel and Tark wrapped up the legs of a Gond and held on for dear life. The Gond whaled away at their backs. A Red Tunic latched himself onto the Gond’s arms. The Gond slung him into the mud with a flick of his arm.

  The other three retainers were getting manhandled by one lone Gond. The Gond busted two faces together. He picked another retainer up over his shoulders, slammed him hard into the ground, and stomped on him.

  The ugly battle went back and forth, up and down, blow for blow, with feet sliding and faces eating mud for another minute. Then a bansheelike howl started, and the crowd fell silent. The Gonds broke off their attack.

  The prisoner guards on the wall were swinging cowbell
-shaped whistles that were attached to ropes over their heads and made the shrill sound of a siren.

  Prison soldiers entered the prison yard, wearing plate-mail armor and open-faced helms. They carried spears and jabbed them into anyone who didn’t clear their path.

  One prisoner, a man well past his prime, ran into their path. He dropped to his knees with his fingers clenched together. They told him to get out of the way. He shook his head. They gored him. Order was restored.

  Sticks counted forty Baracha soldiers. In addition to the spears, they had swords on their hips. They had the worst job a soldier could have in guarding a prison. They were ready to take a poke at anyone who crossed them and often did. She rubbed her ribs.

  Horace wiped the mud from his face and huffed for breath. “Never thought I’d be glad to see them.”

  “Me either. What’s wrong with all of you? I thought we were tough. You all got the crap kicked out of you,” she said.

  Prospero spat a tooth out of his mouth. He reached inside his mouth and pulled out another. Apollo did the same.

  Cudgel was doubled over with his hands on his knees, sucking for air. “I hate barbarians.” He huffed another couple of breaths. “There’s no fear in them. Just stupid.”

  “Agreed,” Tark said as he held a hand against his swollen face.

  Two retainers dragged Vern by his boots over to the group. His nose was broken, his face bloody and swollen.

  Sticks looked down at him and grimaced. “Did you even try to fight?”

  Vern pointed a shaking finger at her and said, “Still prettier than you.”

  Bearclaw took a knee by Vern. “He won’t be able to fight anytime soon. Shade is far from finished.”

  Sticks looked across the yard. Through the rain, Shade caught her eye and waved.

  “Yeh, he’s going to take us down one Henchman at a time.” She looked at Vern. “At this rate, we won’t last a week.”

  39

  “You’re the King’s fool now!” Abraham saw those words in his mind as though they were written on a chalkboard. They were the last words Eugene Drisk had said at the tunnel, the mystery man who disappeared through the portal. Suddenly, the words came to mind and haunted him like the king’s weary eyes.

  “Where would you like me to start, uh, Your Majesty?” he asked.

  King Hector tilted his head slightly over and looked deeper into Abraham’s eyes. “Have you lost your edge, Ruger? And be honest. I don’t have time for games. I have five kingdoms that want my head on a platter. A city of ungrateful citizens burgeoning to rise up. Tell me—do I need a new Henchman? Should the king’s sword be somebody else?”

  “Er… no.” The pride of a ball player came out of Abraham. He would never sit down if he could pitch the winning game. “Absolutely not.”

  “What happened to those frights? They should have been an easy mark. Just put them in irons, and they are powerless,” the king said.

  “On the ship, they somehow escaped and wrought havoc. I can’t explain it, but we killed them. Their bodies deteriorated. They were tossed into the sea.” He held the king’s stare. “But I defeated Flamebeard and brought the Sea Talon as a prize. I have his sword to show for the effort.”

  King Hector arched a brow. “Interesting. Flamebeard is renowned for his pillaging and swordsmanship. He’s also worked for and against my crown.” He stuck his bottom lip out and tilted his head side to side. “My crown is better off without his treachery. So you turned him into chum, did you?”

  “He lost his head.”

  The king chuckled. “Despite that victory—and a new prize for my coffers—you still failed me, Ruger.”

  “I’m sorry. I did my best.”

  “Sorry. Sorry is for the weak. You are not weak. You can’t be. And it sounds like you’ve lost control of your own men. Clearly, you have a traitor… or many. Have you executed any of them?”

  “No. Until I prove otherwise, I assume they are innocent. I’m investigating.”

  The king shook his head. He walked down the parapet wall and sat on the edge. His shoulders sagged as if the weight of the world were collapsing on his shoulders. “In the streets, they call me the Ruthless King. Me. Ruthless. Yet they are the ones that are breaking the law. You can’t have a country without laws. I enforce them. Without laws, there is no Kingsland. Without Kingsland, there is no law. There is only chaos. That’s what thrives in Tiotan and Bolg. Hancha is no better. Their people are slaves, for all intents and purposes. My people are free, yet they complain.”

  Two seabirds landed on the wall near the king. He reached into a leather pouch and flicked bits of bread and seed at them. The birds pecked at the bits and flew away.

  With his eyes fixed toward the Bay of Elders, the king said, “In the beginning, there was only one kingdom. Kingsland. It rested on the very heart of Titanuus. All of the races and creatures of the world were united. For centuries, we lived in peace, but over time, pride eroded even the best of us.” He looked at Abraham. “My ancestors, in their efforts to please everyone, allowed this kingdom to be pushed aside, down to the bottom of Titanuus’s foot. The people wanted new kingdoms and new leaders. They wanted to do it their own way. Before long, there wasn’t one king to rule over the world but many.” He waved his hands in an aggravated manner. “For the longest time, they fought each other, but now, they have all decided to fight against me. Somehow, Kingsland, the most orderly nation, is the problem.”

  Abraham started putting the pieces of the puzzle together. He’d heard the king’s stories before, and he’d heard the stories from others. Ruger Slade had plenty of memories of them. Kingsland, the shiny star in Titanuus, was on the cusp of extinction. It was the last kingdom of the old world, where there had been order and peace. A dark poison had spread everywhere else, polluting the lands and devouring good people. All this had been done to insidious effect via a new cause of false righteousness spreading from generation to generation. The New Kingdom was what the movement was called. It promised glory for all but brought only strife.

  King Hector had needed a long time to figure out what was going on. His ancestry had failed to protect the crown. They appeased their allies, not realizing they were enemies, and gave away their lands. They trusted the growing countries would do the right thing, as Kingsland always had, but that would not be the case. Each country fought to obtain more power. They used spies, espionage, sabotage, and marriage for their own personal gain. Alliances were made and broken. Skirmishes and battles raged.

  As the situation got more out of hand, King Hector realized he had to do something. He had to fight fire with fire. He had to send spies into the other lands, so he created the Henchmen. They would be a nameless bunch of renegades who would spy and sabotage for the kingdom. For years, their missions were very successful, but lately, they’d hit a wall. And Abraham was their leader.

  “There are so few that a king can trust,” Hector said. “A man’s oath is not as strong as it used to be. Men, women, pfft… They all lie for personal gain. They say practically anything. Ruger, I saw a light in you that others did not see. You proved me right, but lately, that light has been gone. I don’t know what happened. You were my finest knight. The best sword. A renowned defender. And you deserted. Years of service, and you left. Why, Ruger? Why?”

  Abraham wished he had the answer to that, but he didn’t. It was another one of those fuzzy spots in his mind. If he had to guess, he would assume it had something to do with the body transformation. But one thing that did come to mind was that desertion by a King’s Guardian meant certain death. Yet he lived. He was hated for it.

  “I can’t explain it, My King. I lost myself.”

  “Yes. Yes, you did.”

  More seabirds landed on the wall. The king tossed out more crumbs.

  “You’ve had long enough to redeem yourself. But now, as much as I hate to do it, this experiment is over. I can no longer justify the risk. I’m disbanding the Henchmen.” He stood, approached Abraham, finger
ed his emerald pendant with one hand, and put his hand on his shoulder with the other. “And I’m sad to inform you that your death sentence will be executed. Tomorrow. Guardians!” The knights who guarded the entrance to the terrace hustled over in their plate-mail armor. “Take him away.”

  40

  The king’s condemnatory words took Abraham’s breath away. Even though he was in the body of a fighting man, he had no will to strike. He stood dumbfounded. Everything around him turned into slow motion. The wings of the birds flying away from the wall flapped in a weird form of stop-motion. He could hear the metal-shod feet of the King’s Guardians marching on the stone patio at a very slow rate. His head twisted toward the entrance to the terrace, leading back into the castle. A two-step stair led up to it. Three figures came through the billowing curtains of the archway’s entrances. An older woman was being escorted by two men. One of the men was Lewis.

  The Queen! Abraham dropped to a knee. It was Queen Clarann. She wore silk sleeping robes. Her hair was pulled up and braided. She wore a small diamond-studded tiara. Her pretty face appeared ashen and wrinkled. She shuffled when she walked with the men standing close by but not touching her.

  Each of the King’s Guardians dropped to a knee and bowed also.

  The king rushed over to greet her. “My love, you should not be outside when you are so sick.” He took her hands in his. “Please, stay in bed. You need your rest.”

  “Oh, I’ve been inside long enough.” Queen Clarann let him kiss her on the cheek then brushed him off. “I want to see that sea one last time before I go.”

  “Don’t say that,” King Hector said. He fastened a hand around her waist and escorted her to the wall. “But if that is your wish, I will not deny it.” He shot an aggravated look at the other man on the patio. “Viceroy Leodor, my queen is ravaged. When will you get this disease under control?”