By the blank look on her face, he knew she didn’t understand. “No, let me see… Uh, I mean, oppressive, selfish.”
Her creaseless forehead started to crinkle. She nodded. “Yes, very much so.”
“Did I ever talk about my… inner self?”
She shook her head.
“Did I speak another name? Or call myself Eugene?”
“No.”
Abraham couldn’t blame Eugene for keeping it all to himself. Being trapped in a new body and in a different world was more than enough to drive a sane person crazy. He’d dreamed about such things as a teenager, but for it to actually happen was freakish. “Was the old me close to anyone in particular?”
Sticks took a knife out of her belt and spun it with a hand. “You preferred your privacy but indulged yourself in what you would call the flavor of the day.”
“So I didn’t have a favorite?”
She twisted her knife around, put it away, and shrugged. “You enjoyed new things. Pretty things.”
“What about the me before the last me? What was he like?”
“You wouldn’t be standing out here staring at ducks this time of morning. You’d be practicing with your swords. We’d all be practicing, and we wouldn’t be gardening or farming, either.” She kicked at the ducks that swam toward her. They quacked and swam away. “We all stayed in the Stronghold too, but not the retainers or hirelings. Plenty of room in the barns for them. They haven’t earned the brand. Not all do.”
Abraham scratched his cheek. He wanted to understand more about who Ruger Slade really was. What happened to that man? Did he wind up in another body as well? Where is the real Ruger Slade? “Tell me more, like, about my personality.”
“Well, you were a knight once, the leader of the King’s Guardians. So you were disciplined, stern, quiet. Those are the traits of a knight,” Sticks said. “But, Horace, Vern, and Bearclaw know that old you better than I. They were Guardians too. Young and brave, they followed you after the first time you went crazy.”
“Oh,” he muttered.
She was talking about what King Hector had mentioned. Ruger Slade abandoned the Guardians, and many of them died. It sounded as though someone had jumped into Ruger even before Eugene Drisk did. Abraham wondered if that all had something to do with the sword, Black Bane.
Sticks continued. “There was always sadness. You didn’t mix with the women like you do now and didn’t engage in these casual conversations. You served the king, but it was all business. You conducted yourself with a heavy heart.”
“So I wasn’t much fun. But I didn’t get as many killed then either, did I?” he asked.
“Many died, but no, not as many. You’ve never been afraid to put your Henchmen into battle for the cause. You would engage when what had to be done, had to be done. We’ve thwarted the plans of many of the king’s enemies. We burned, we butchered any enemy of the king we came across. We’ve destroyed outposts, thwarted spy rings, purged the traitors from the sewers they hide in. You name it, we’ve done it. But we stopped getting our hands as dirty a few years ago.”
“Dirty jobs, huh? I like that show.” His stomach rumbled. “Have the Henchmen had breakfast?”
“A bowl of meal, as always.”
Abraham didn’t know any one of them very well, but he was disgusted by how they’d been treated. The Henchmen would have given their lives to him or the king. It was his crew now, and the time had come to make changes.
“Round the Henchmen up. It’s time to break bread.”
The first level of the Stronghold was a combination of kitchen, weapons training facility, and dining hall. During hard rains, they pulled the tables away and trained. They ate their meals there too, together, but that tradition had been abandoned years before. The second level of the building was a barracks made up of small beds and bunks, enough beds for one hundred soldiers to be quartered tightly together. At the top level was the Captain’s quarters. It used to be divided into three sections, with two separate smaller quarters for the top sergeants. Now, it was only one room. Below the building was a dungeon, supply and weapons storage, and the wine cellar.
Abraham sat at the head of a long dark oak farm table, waiting for the Henchmen to join him. One by one, they came in the front door, with Bearclaw leading the way followed by Sticks, Vern, Cudgel, Tark, Dominga, Iris, Prospero, Apollo, and Horace bringing up the rear. Horace closed the door behind himself. Horace and Sticks sat at the head of the table, on either side of Abraham. The rest of the group took seats on the benches, spreading out but still filling only half of the huge table.
All the Henchmen were hard eyed, weary, and dirty. Prospero yawned and smacked his lips.
Horace broke the odd silence and said, “Good morning, Captain.”
“Good morning,” Abraham replied.
This was the first time he was able to take a really good look at all of them. Bearclaw had a fresh scab running down the length of his face. Vern’s face looked like rotting pumpkin, and he wasn’t a half bad-looking man to begin with, compared to the others. The rest were in better shape, all stripped down to muddy black tunics or shirts with long sleeves. Iris sent a warm smile his way. Cudgel and Tark looked at him intently with their smoky light-colored eyes.
Abraham scratched the side of an eye, unsure how to address them. He’d been a strong voice in his locker room, and words usually came easy, but at the moment, the uncertainty in their faces created doubt inside him.
He cleared his throat. “From now on, we all eat here. Together. Like we used to.”
Bearclaw and Horace looked down the table at him. Prospero and Apollo pulled their elbows from the table. Dominga’s tired eyes brightened.
“The hirelings are fixing breakfast. You can smell it, can’t you?” he said.
Horace nodded. “Of course, Captain.” He raked his fingers through his beard. “It all smells very good.”
Abraham knew who these people were, but aside from Sticks, he didn’t have a full grip on their personalities, aside from them being a fierce group of fighters. He felt as if he were in the locker room for the first time, meeting a new team. There was some awkwardness. He’d given thought to telling them who he was, as he had with Sticks and King Hector, but decided against it. He was just going to be who he wanted to be going forward, but he needed to break the ice with them. “From this point on, here in the Stronghold, let’s all speak more freely with one another.”
“But Captain, you told us if we didn’t keep our tongues tied, you’d cut them out,” Horace said.
“Well, after the latest lump on my head, I’ve changed my mind. So be yourself. That’s an order.”
A hireling woman appeared from inside the hidden kitchen galley. She was older, brown haired and bowlegged, with two metal coffee pots gripped in her leathery hands. She set the pots on the table as steam came from the spouts. Right behind her came another woman who could have passed for her daughter and had an innocent look about her. She carried a tray of clay mugs made with handles. The women set everyone up with a fresh cup of coffee, complete with cream and sugar that they made available. They vanished back into the galley.
The Henchmen stared blankly at their cups.
Abraham lifted his cup and said, “It’s not Zombie Dew, but it will do. Drink up, everybody.”
The hireling women brought out more platters of food: bacon, piles of ham and eggs, biscuits, ugly pancakes, and gravy.
The Henchmen heartily dug in.
Abraham was glad to see it. His grandmother had always told him that the best way to make friends was to serve them good food. Everyone liked good food. He enjoyed his own meal and the company. The triplets’ meal will have to wait. Instead, his gaze was transfixed on the homeless-looking Prospero and Apollo, who were holding their plates up and licking them like hounds. Clark Griswold, eat your heart out.
Sticks carefully cut her food up with a knife and fork. Horace belched after every three mouthfuls. Vern chewed agonizingly slowly while
Bearclaw stole food from his plate. He wasn’t sure if they were a family, but they got along well enough with one another.
Abraham set down his utensils, deciding to take a crack at a little locker-room humor. “I’d like to share a joke that I heard long ago in a place far away.”
Everyone stopped eating and looked his way.
Horace let out a final belch. “Sorry, Captain.”
“It’s fine,” Abraham said. “So, a duck walks into a tavern and says, ‘Hey barkeep, do you have any grapes?’ And the barkeep says, ‘No, I don’t have any. Get out of here, you silly duck.’ So the duck waddles away and leaves. The next day, the duck comes back and says to the barkeep, ‘Hey, do you have any grapes?’ Angrily, the barkeeper says, ‘No. We only sell wine and ale here. Now, the next time you come into my tavern and ask me for grapes, I’m going to nail your bill to the bar.’” Abraham tapped the table hard with his finger. “‘Now, get out of here, you stupid duck!’ So the duck waddles out and leaves. On the third day, the duck comes back and says to the barkeep, ‘Hey, do you have any nails?’ The surprised bartender said, ‘No.’ Then the duck says, ‘Well, do you have any grapes?’”
All the Henchmen looked at Abraham as though he were stupid, save for one.
Vern erupted in laughter.
50
After the plates were cleaned, no one said much of anything. The environment remained as stale as bread. Drumming his fingers on the table, Abraham said, “I guess you’re wondering what the king said to me or why my head is still attached.”
“It’s not our business. You’re the Captain, and you give the orders,” Horace said with a nod. “I think I speak for us all when I say that we are thankful for the meal. Shall we take the fields now?”
With a bewildered shake of his head, Abraham said, “No. This company has another mission. We’ll be departing by tomorrow, if not today.”
The group exchanged curious glances.
Cudgel leaned over, put his elbows on the table, clasped his fingers, and said, “Another mission? So soon?” When Horace glared at Cudgel, he glared right back. “He said we could speak freely.”
“He didn’t mean that freely,” Horace fired back.
“Yes, I did,” Abraham said.
Rolling his thumbs in front of his chest, Vern said, “Ha ha.”
“Don’t disrespect the Captain!” Horace roared. He pounded his fist on the table and pointed at Vern. “You giggling traitor!”
“Back off, Horace,” Bearclaw said. “I’ve known Vern since we were young men. I don’t think he’s the traitor. Not now. For all we know, you are the traitor.”
“What?” Horace’s eyes twitched. “You hairy black snake! It makes perfect sense that you’d side with him. You’re in on it, too!”
Sticks jumped in and said, “We don’t know any of that! The frights might have found a way on their own. After all, they wield magic.”
“And probably give birth to men like Vern!” Horace said.
Grimacing, Vern pushed himself up off the bench. “Listen, you bearded turd, you can call me a lot of things, but you aren’t calling me a traitor. I say we settle this outside. Sword against sword. You might last five seconds since I’m wounded.”
With a heavy shake of his bald head, Horace said, “I’ll take that challenge. I’m going to put you down, and I’ll put you down next, Bearclaw!”
Dominga jumped up on the table and said, “You two idiots shut your buttholes! No one’s fighting anybody!”
Vern looked up at her and said, “Pretty thing, you aren’t stopping anybody, but you’re welcome to try.”
“Vern, you couldn’t whip me right now,” she said. “I’d beat the hell out of you. Horace will stomp a mudhole out of you. You know that. Just sit down!”
“Your words cut deeper than any sword. I have pride.” Vern sat down. “You know.”
Horace made a triumphant harrumph.
“What are you guffing at, Horace?” she asked. “Sit your buttocks down.”
Horace blanched. He started to sit, but Sticks stood up and said to Dominga, “You aren’t anyone’s leader. Horace. Sergeant. Me. Sergeant. You. Not sergeant!”
Dominga shrank under Sticks’s hot gaze. Frowning, she did a back flip off the table and sat down at the bench. With the same fire in her voice she said, “The Captain said we could speak freely. What in Titanuus’s tit do you think freely means?”
“I’m not sure what it means,” Sticks said. She looked at Abraham.
Abraham smiled. “That’s what I like to see out of my Henchmen. Some smack talk does the body good.” He tapped the table with his fist. He’d been in the thick of his share of locker-room fights. “Real good. But I don’t want anyone gutting anyone over a squabble.” He showed his fists. “You can duke it out like brothers, but no weapons.”
“But Captain, Vern betrayed us,” Horace said.
“We’ve all ridden together a long time. Me, you, Bearclaw, and Vern were all the King’s Guardians. You stuck with me when my failure happened. I don’t think you’d betray us all now.” Abraham shrugged. “Maybe things change. I don’t know, but I’m not executing a man without proof or an admission of his crime. I don’t know who freed the frights. It might have been one of us or one of them. Right now, we can’t let it happen again. The slate is clean. We have to go forward. It’s time for another mission. I can’t make you get along. I can’t make one believe the other. We’re all going to have to trust that our actions speak for themselves. As for me, I haven’t seen anyone here, or out there, do anything wrong. From this point on, the slate is clean.”
The Henchmen exchanged uncomfortable looks. Some frowned, and others grumbled, expect for Prospero. His head was dipped onto his chest, drool running into his beard. He was snoring. Vern gave a stiff nod toward Abraham.
The bench groaned beneath Horace when he turned his body toward Abraham and said, “Fair enough. So what did King Hector say?”
“Well, he wasn’t happy that we failed to return the frights. As a matter of fact, he was so unhappy that he decided to execute my death sentence,” Abraham said.
Iris clutched her hands to her chest and moaned. “Oh no.”
Horace stiffened. Several sets of eyes at the table grew big. If Ruger died, the Henchmen would be condemned. All of them would go back to prison, and the former knights would be hanged. The rest would be forgotten. Their fate depended on the company’s success.
“So, the king’s grace ended?” Horace asked.
“Yes, but fortunately, the queen’s grace has not,” he said. “If it weren’t for her timely interruption, I believe I’d be swinging in the gallows this very morning. She is still fond of me, and sadly, she is sick.”
“The queen is ill? What is wrong with her?” Iris asked in a sweet voice.
“I don’t know. She’s rigid, aging rapidly. Her vibrant beauty has faded.” He took a swig of coffee. “It made my heart ache, but she still had fire in her eyes.”
Resting his thick forearms on the table, Cudgel asked, “Certainly the viceroy can cure her? He’s well-known for his methods and ability to heal.”
“Pah!” Iris’s cheery expression hardened. “The Sect is not as they say.”
“I don’t know, but Leodor has been doing everything that he can.” Abraham finished his coffee and set it down. “He sent two expeditions to the peaks in Titanuus’s Spine to find a cure. One north and one south. They never returned.”
“Well, of course not. Not many that navigate the Spine ever live,” Bearclaw said as he picked his teeth with his fork. “What were they looking for?”
“The egg of a fenix. He says its yolk can cure anything,” he replied.
Everyone at the table started laughing so hard that Prospero was jolted from his slumber. He looked around and joined in with the cajoling. Even the stoic Sticks broke out in giggles.
Abraham sat in stunned silence, bewildered by their amusement. “Why is that so funny?”
Horace wiped his ey
es and caught his breath. “Sorry, Captain. We all adore Queen Clarann, more so than the king, but sending a campaign into the Spine to search for a creature that does not exist… Well, that’s plum foolishness.” He hacked out a cough and tapped his chest. “You were jesting, weren’t you?”
“No. The king and the viceroy were dead serious. King Hector claims that he’s seen the fenix.”
“No one sees the fenix and lives,” Bearclaw said. “So that would be impossible. So say the legends. Are you sincere? They really did send out two campaigns into the Spine?”
“That’s what they said.”
“A campaign like that is over one hundred men each, and none of them returned?” Cudgel asked. “That is a shame for the queen. I’ve cast my eyes on her twice before. She was very beautiful. She had the strength of an eagle in her eyes. If the mythical fenix egg was her only hope, then her situation is fatal.” He rubbed his chin. “I wonder who the next queen will be?”
“Ah, I’m sure the king will find a woman that is just as beautiful. After all, he is the king,” Horace said. He put his hands down on his knees and rocked back and forth. “So, Captain, we are sorry for the news, but tell us, what is our next urgent mission?”
Abraham swallowed as he scanned the eyes of all the eager faces. His mind, merged with Ruger’s, didn’t recall anything about the Spine or fenixes. The Henchmen’s reaction revealed that he’d bitten off more than he could chew. Oh lord, what have I agreed to? He sipped from his empty coffee mug. “Uh, well, King Hector wants to send one more campaign after the fenix egg.”
With his hairy arms crossed over his chest, Bearclaw huffed and said, “Well, may the Elders favor them. What about us?”
Abraham intently looked at them all and replied, “We are the campaign.”
51
Rolling her neck, Dominga said, “Well, somebody cut my jugular now.”
“Yes, but shoot me with a crossbow first,” Vern said. “Right in the heart, because without Dominga, I don’t need it.”
The King's Henchmen: The Henchmen Chronicles - Book 1 Page 18