What in the bloody hells is going on? Praying? King Ali-Baster is praying? To whom? The non-existent Gods of whores and booze? Something is really off here.
Ryen and Ali-Samuel entered the solar and saw the King pacing around and muttering to himself. Hundreds of burning candles illuminated Ali-Baster Wamhoff, but Ali-Samuel couldn’t tell if his eyes were playing tricks on him. He stared at a bald man who looked like he had seen a demon. The King wore a kirtle made from coarse black animal hair that had been poorly stitched together. The man mumbled to no one in particular and finally focused on Ali-Samuel.
“There he is. Back from that awful battle.” The King came over and kneeled in front of Ali-Samuel and placed his palms on Ali-Samuel’s boots. Ali-Baster started rambling, “I am so sorry for so many things. Killing your mother, trying to kill you. I even had my own wife killed and all my misgivings have finally caught up to me. I’ve seen the visions, oh I’ve seen them.”
The King looked up at Ali-Samuel with madness filling his eyes. “It’s a fire, a great fire, with Travibero fanning the flames. I’m there. I’m in the flames. I thought if I didn’t directly kill anyone that I would be safe from the Gods’ wrath. I was wrong, so wrong. I must repent, atone and purge the sin. I seek your forgiveness. I need your forgiveness.”
Ali-Samuel narrowed his eyes and said, “I’m not sure I can forgive you.”
Ali-Samuel didn’t know if this was some sort of ruse and kept expecting the King to return to his former state.
“I understand, it’s fine. I deserve the darkest hell. Perhaps someday you will forgive me. I’ve heard the voices. They’re telling me to give the kingdom to the lowborn citizens. No one will help me; they all think I’m mad. The voices say my soul will rise to the heavens if I give our treasury to the poor. You need to help me give the realm to the people. The Wamhoffs have sinned for too long. We need to take noble action, lest we be judged unworthy of the heavens.”
“Alright, my King,” Ali-Samuel said.
Ali-Baster snapped, “Don’t call me that. Everyone is a king and deserves to rule themselves. The voices have told me so. The voices have spoken.”
“Stay here, grandfather, Uncle Ryen and I will be right back,” Ali-Samuel told him.
They turned to leave and the King screamed, “Ali-Ryen, your name should be Ali-Ryen. You need to help me.”
Ryen closed the door and they went to an audience chamber down the hallway.
As soon as Ali-Samuel closed the door, he asked, “Is this some sort of extravagant jest that everyone’s in on? When did this happen?”
His uncle scratched his stubbly beard and answered, “Little over a fortnight ago. Sir Robert found him naked and crying in the King’s Square around seven bells in the morning. He was giving away his jewels to anyone who passed by. We’ve tried our best to keep this quiet, but we all know someone is bound to find out. He denounced his guard and violence as a whole and luckily we’ve been able to keep him inside the castle for the most part. However, he’s confessing and apologizing to anyone with ears, and word will get out soon. He only wears that kirtle and he has seven bloodletting sessions a day using twenty one leaches. You saw the marks all over his body, he can’t be seen right now. “
“The General didn’t know about this. So what’s the plan for the old man?” Ali-Samuel asked.
Ryen enjoyed a laugh. “We aren’t sure exactly how to handle this. He is the King and we must always respect that, but that principle assumes he’s of sound mind and body. You heard him. He wants to give the kingdom away to free his soul of all his past transgressions.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I loved getting an apology from the man who called me the castle bastard throughout my stay here, but he presents a major liability now. Did he get smashed in the head?” the young man asked.
Ryen shrugged his shoulders and tilted his head to the side. “No one knows precisely what happened. Must have been a dream that spooked him.”
“What’s the Close Council doing about this?”
His uncle said, “Nothing. We’ve managed to hide the King from them, but they are growing restless. This secret has stayed among the inner family. We have told everyone else that the King is very ill. Going from tyrant to all forgiving makes him feel like a better man, yet the realm is in need of a strong ruler right now. A man named Jasper Colbert has just usurped Mattingly.”
Ali-Samuel smiled. “Are you saying what I think you are? You’re going to make a power move.”
Ryen laughed. “No, my nephew, I have no desire to rule. Ali-Stanley is already licking his chops to take over. He turned on our father as quickly as he turned on Ali-Steven. My father was a cruel man for a very long time. He committed atrocious acts that a few words of apology can’t erase. He was normally most venomous to those closest to him. You, me, Ali-Stanley and Tersen took the brunt of the abuse. Ali-Stanley’s already demanded our father be relieved of his duties so he can be crowned. He has the craftsmen measuring his head so they can start resizing the crowns.”
“Of course he has. He’s probably afraid the King might come to his senses and name you as the rightful heir to Donegal. You deserve it if not for a small tantrum back when you were twelve.”
Ryen scoffed, “Ha, I want nothing of it, I’ve told you that many times. I will always assist the realm in any capacity as a humble servant but never as king. It doesn’t interest me in the least. We will have to build a strong council around Ali-Stanley, whom everyone knows to be weak. It’s a dangerous combination. He wanted to make Tersen his Falconer if he took over and we quickly quashed that idea. He’s not going to have a free run at everything like our father did. Everything Ali-Stanley has been taught about how to rule a realm is wrong. We need a council with noble intentions, but also the knowledge to implement the policies properly.”
Ali-Samuel chuckled. “Do men like that exist in the Capitol?”
“There are a few left in the realm and much fewer around here, so the search won’t be easy. Ali-Stanley better hope our father doesn’t break out of his madness and find out all the plotting his son has been doing,” Ryen told him.
Ali-Samuel shook his head. “Did not expect to come back to this. So you were just using the knighting as an excuse to bring me back?”
“Oh no, you are to be knighted with a grand feast scheduled to take place afterward. Ali-Stanley pushed for Ali-Varis to be included in the ceremony, but the family wouldn’t allow it. The consensus was that knighting Ali-Varis would make a mockery of the honor, which of course, it most certainly would. If Ali-Stanley takes over, Ali-Varis Wamhoff becomes the most dangerous man in the realm. One foul fever and our long-standing family reign could be washed aside. That simpleton as heir may be the scariest proposition the kingdom has ever faced,” his uncle told him.
Ali-Varis was Ali-Stanley’s son. He seemed lost and disinterested in meetings. He had been known to go into fits of rage and needed to be detained by several knights. The teenager had the education level of a three-year-old, but possessed incredible strength.
“Do I still have my quarters, or have they been donated to the poor?” Ali-Samuel asked.
“Your quarters should be exactly how you left them. Go ahead and settle in. I know this gives you much to think about.”
“Much and more, my uncle,” Ali-Samuel said.
He headed for the east end of the castle. He passed the Fox’s Den and thought about stopping in for a quick meal when he suddenly heard the voices of Ali-Stanley and Tersen. He peeked in and saw the two men eating with Ali-Varis Wamhoff.
He stood next to the half-open side door and listened.
Ali-Stanley said, “All you have to do is pour this into the goblet. He will trust anything right now. You could probably do it right in front of him.”
Tersen sniffled, “But I’m scared. Why don’t you do it?”
“Because everyone will suspect me, and you know that. It’s your chance to finally serve the kingdom,” Ali-Stanley said sternly.
Ali-Samuel decided to skip the meal and avoid contact with his uncles so he proceeded to his chambers. He walked inside and immediately went for the trunk in the corner of his plain room. He lifted the knotted oak lid and riffled through the various items until he found the piece of rolled parchment.
He walked over to a small table, unrolled the paper and weighed down the top and bottom with two small knives from his belt.
He opened the trunk again and grabbed a pheasant feather, found a full inkwell on a small wooden stand and rushed back to the table. He dipped in the tip of the quill and crossed off the name of Sir Willem. Six names had been eliminated and only one remained. Seven men had been involved with his mother’s murder and he had thought that killing all of them would clear his mind of the matter.
That hadn’t worked so far, but he hoped completing the list would satisfy his vengeful soul. Sir Arthur was the last name on the list, and he was still a member of the King’s Guard. Ali-Samuel had been told by several people that he also raped his mother after her throat had been slit. Ali-Samuel planned to scratch his name off soon. He waited for the ink to dry and rolled the parchment up before stuffing it into the bottom of the trunk.
A WEEK LATER, SIR ALI-Samuel Wamhoff woke up with a hunger for two things. He wanted some rashers of bacon, poached eggs and lard-soaked wheat bread served with a heaping scoop of revenge. He had discreetly followed Sir Arthur for the past seven days and found out the man had a daily routine. If Arthur carried out the same pattern today, Ali-Samuel planned to get his vengeance.
Later that day, he went to cut through the Princess Hall and stopped when he heard voices.
The King said, “I am so sorry I treated you the way that I did. All of the Gods’ creatures are beautiful. I see it so clearly now.”
Tersen responded, “You’ve already apologized over a thousand times. You can stop already. Drink some of your water now, father.”
Ali-Samuel heard a slurping sound and the King said, “Alright, my son. Are you going to help me give the kingdom to the poor?”
Tersen answered, “I’ll help you with the kingdom. I’m helping our kingdom right now. Drink the rest of that. Count Silzeus said you need your liquids.”
Ali-Samuel walked around the hall and thought about the strange conversation between Tersen and the King. He went to stalk the tavern that Sir Arthur liked to frequent around mid-day. He waited longer than usual, which was fine for Ali-Samuel. He knew Arthur would be good and drunk today.
The staggering man emerged from the tavern and shielded his eyes from the sun. The big man steadied himself beside his horse and jumped on his mount. He headed north like he normally did to collect tributes from Lord Wendell at the northern markets.
The knight of the King’s Guard went straight to the markets to get the gold for the King. On the way back to the castle, Sir Arthur veered off the narrow path and went into the thicker part of the woods. Ali-Samuel was betting on Arthur’s greed and his hunch was vindicated.
His nemesis got down from his horse and tied the reins to a tree branch. As the knight tried to take some of the gold from the pouches, he dropped one in the dirt.
Ali-Samuel charged on horseback through the brush toward the man’s back and as he turned around, Ali-Samuel raised his sword and came down with a mighty stroke. The big man of the King’s Guard raised his hands in defense, but the blade went right through his arms and almost split his head in two. Blood sprayed all over Ali-Samuel’s white stallion and Sir Arthur collapsed to the ground.
He stared at the mangled man who had been a name on his parchment list for seven years. The final name that had constantly reminded him of his mother’s death could be crossed off. He felt hollow again and shifted his mind to his faceless mother. Ali-Samuel had always tried to picture his mother’s face from the descriptions Ryen had given him, but he never could for some reason. He stared up to the heavens.
I got them for you. I got all seven for you, yet you’re still gone and I never even knew you. Just that same feeling of remembering how you were wronged. That’s all I can feel. Why can’t I feel real emotions?
Ali-Samuel grabbed the gold pouches to make it look like a theft and rode to a nearby stream. He washed the blood off his horse and went back to the King’s Castle. He walked toward his quarters and saw the King stumbling out of the Princess Hall holding his stomach and groaning in pain. The Privy Master, Hermenn Roastear, and several guards came out of the hall after the king.
They followed Ali-Baster, who appeared to be rushing for the chamber pot. Ali-Samuel went into his room and headed for the trunk.
He grabbed the paper from on top and kept it rolled up. He didn’t want to open it and cross the last name out. He just wanted to forget about the ordeal that he had spent his entire life working on. He walked over to a lit candle and extended the paper.
The parchment quickly took to the flame and Ali-Samuel stared as the paper burned in his hand. This was supposed to be a triumphant moment, but only a hollow feeling persisted. He couldn’t take his eyes off the blaze until it burnt his hand and he dropped it. He watched as the completed list finally burned out and a breeze from the open window scattered the ashes around the room. He sat down in a chair to think.
Several minutes later, seven bells rang in succession. The hour was nowhere near seven at night and Ali-Samuel knew what those bells meant. The death knell of a king.
They’re going to blame me. Tersen and Ali-Stanley have played me for a fool to use me to acquire the realm. Why not accuse the bastard of the castle? Only Ryen would stand up for me and he’s powerless against a king. I better get down there before it’s too late.
A loud thumping rocked the door on its hinges. He checked his beltline to see how many knives he had. It wasn’t enough. If more than five men entered his room, he would be instantly dead. He peered out the window to see if that was a viable option. The possible two-story drop took away that plan and he decided he’d fight his way out.
He slowly slid up the privacy slot. A smile came across his face as he saw his Uncle Ryen’s face outside. He quickly unlatched the lock and opened the door.
“Get in here, quick.”
Ryen entered and closed the door behind him.
Ali-Samuel said, “I’ve overheard some shady dealings in the past few days that would explain a lot. I think Tersen and Ali-Stanley conspired together to kill the King and they are prepared to blame me.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me. Let’s get down there before they get into everyone’s ears.”
The hallways were overrun with the castle dwellers trying to figure out what had happened to the King. Ryen and Ali-Samuel shoved their way through a mass of people and ran down a hallway before being confronted by a wall of armored guards. Two men parted and let the royal family through.
Seven paces away, Sir Gerald and Sir Galroy were carrying the bloated body of King Ali-Baster down the hall. The puffy blue skin looked like it was about to explode as the guards struggled with the King’s weight.
Ryen ordered, “Stop right now. What are you doing with our King?”
Sir Galroy tried to whisper but his husky voice wouldn’t quite acquiesce. “He died in the privy. We’re getting him to his bed before too many people find out. Unless you’d like us to put him somewhere else?”
Ryen said, “No. Carry on.”
Count Silzeus emerged from behind the guards and acknowledged Ali-Samuel and Ryen.
He approached and said, “My lords, I would like a few words with both of you.”
Ali-Samuel wasn’t a lord, but Count Silzeus always addressed him as one and told him to act the same. They veered into a small room and the Count sat down while the Wamhoff men kept standing.
The Count caught his breath and said, “It pains me to say, but I fear our King was poisoned.”
Ali-Samuel asked, “What makes you say that?”
Count Silzeus spoke in a firm tone. “I still have to inspect the body more, but there are two tell-tale signs of po
isoning that our King is showing. A severely swollen body and white-spotted tongue and black splotches that resemble bruises behind the ears. Ali-Stanley has already sworn me to start instructing everyone that the King died on the throne.”
Ryen reassured the Count. “I’ll talk to my brother. We need to find out the truth.”
Count Silzeus said, “The rest of your family is in the Fox’s Den. Excuse me. I need to tend to the body before Ali-Stanley disposes of it.”
“Of course,” Ryen said and the three men parted ways.
Ali-Samuel and his uncle made it to the grand hall to hear Ali-Stanley and Tersen wailing as they held their respective spouses.
He turned to his uncle and whispered, “Do you think we are the only ones who can tell that crying isn’t genuine?”
Ryen responded, “I’ve heard moaning whores that were more convincing than that.”
“All hail King of the Blind, Deaf and Stupid,” joked Ali-Samuel.
He quickly composed himself remembering the situation.
People were swarming around Ali-Stanley and Tersen, sharing sympathy for the bawling brothers. Ryen excused himself to join his wife, and Ali-Samuel stood alone. It brought back the perpetual feeling he had felt his entire life, surrounded by family, yet so alone.
He noticed the Captain of the King’s Guard approaching Ali-Stanley. The tower of a man pulled his sword and Ali-Stanley jumped back. Sir Antwelle held his sword on two open hands and knelt down. Ali-Samuel couldn’t hear due to the distance and chattering in the hall, but he knew that Ali-Stanley had just secured the official backing of the King’s Guard.
Ali-Samuel started to feel ill as the Lord Commander of the Royal Forces lumbered up to Ali-Stanley. He kneeled and presented his sword, effectively pledging the backing of all royal forces. The Lord Commander was the only man who outranked field generals. The new King had attained the support of the two most important entities necessary for holding supreme power. He now had authorization to do whatever he pleased without worry, only minutes after his father’s untimely death.
Plight of the Perfect Prince Page 8