King's Vengeance

by Ronald Coleborn

  Legends of the Dread Realm:

  Chronicles the Second: King’s Vengeance

  Copyright © 2012 by Ronald Coleborn

  Published by 711 Press

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction, therefore names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-935702-14-6

  Map

  1. Long Live the King

  2. Journeys

  3. Divide and Conquer

  4. Plans

  5. Skirmish

  6. New Alliances

  7. Promises

  8. Dark Decrees

  9. Breen’s Path

  10. Rough Waters

  11. To War

  Vultures filled the skies that had recently been dotted with ghastly winged lizards. They wheeled in circles above the castle, eyeing the bodies that littered the courtyard and filled the frozen neck ditch that plunged thirty feet below the castle’s drawbridge. Blood pooled beneath the corpses and streamed away in rivulets, and entrails spilled out from ruined torsos like bloody, dead serpents. The smell of death hung in the air, but the vultures kept their distance as a small group of castle servants moved among the dead, selecting bodies to be removed. Overseeing their grisly work was an even smaller group of knights, the last remnant of the king’s Inner Guard. The siege and battle that had filled the courtyard and moat with dead bodies had destroyed the rest of knights’ ranks.

  Such was the business without. The business within was of a different nature. Nerus Vayjun, the former primus of the sapient order in the east, practically glided on air as he moved through the halls of Storms Reach Castle, a train of sapients and armed guards following behind. He had killed the reigning king before a throng of onlookers, most of them loyal to his cause, and before them he had proclaimed himself king. The Council of Elders, the body that decided on matters of royal succession, had granted him their blessing, and all now seemed in order. Only one item of business remained.

  Vayjun parted the embroidered draperies that partitioned the Lords and Ladies Chamber and scanned the room. Empty chairs, upholstered in heavy brocade, were set at odd angles, and across from them stood a large wooden bed, its canopy pulled back. Sunlight streaked across the floor and touched the edge of the bed, whose linens were undisturbed.

  “Where is the queen?” demanded Vayjun, his back to the group of men who had trailed him for the past half-hour.

  A seasoned sapient, Porul Lejrik, stepped forward and spoke directly into the ear of the new king, his voice scarcely above a whisper. “As was said earlier, your grace, every room and nook of the castle has been searched, but we have yet to locate the rest of the Vames, save the eldest daughter, Ellyssa, who remains imprisoned.”

  His back still to the group, Vayjun craned his neck and cast his eyes to the ceiling. “There are two things I will not tolerate. The first is insubordination. My authority is to be respected as though it flows from the Grand Ancients.”

  “One would argue that it does indeed, your grace,” said Sapient Lejrik, with a deep bow.

  “The second is incompetence,” Vayjun continued, still gazing at the ceiling. “I found Hertrigan Vame to be an incapable king, therefore he was removed from the office. Such will be the fate of any and all who lack the physical and intellectual ability to do as I command.” Silence filled the hall behind him, and when his retinue of protectors and advisors failed to voice their thoughts, he added, “Lejrik, find the queen and her daughter, and bring them to me. Alive.”

  Sapient Lejrik offered another deep, unnoticed bow. “As you will, your grace. I shall see to it immediately. But I will need men. Whoever you can spare.”

  Vayjun looked away from the ceiling and glanced over his shoulder. “Take who you will, only leave the men you see here.”

  Sapient Lejrik straightened himself and nodded.

  “Know that you have one week,” Vayjun said. “If you fail me, you will not set eyes on the new moon.”

  Lejrik studied Vayjun’s profile a moment and allowed the words to bore into his mind. Then he turned away and moved through the group, which silently parted to let him pass.

  Savage plainsmen moved among the castle servants or stood at the entrances of the keeps and towers in the bailey, many of them bare-chested despite the biting cold, as was their custom. In their hands were crude weapons of war, poorly forged blades that had been dulled in battle and never sharpened and rusted battleaxes that any proper soldier would have spurned. Yet they had taken possession of the castle that was the seat of power in the East, Storm’s Reach, the center of one of the two Great Realms in all of Urthe. Many among these victorious plainsmen had been granted leave to return to their claims, which were held in the vast Plain of Dremsa in an autonomous region known as The Freelands. Those who remained at the castle were the most battle-hardened, and it was these that Sapient Lejrik would rely on to solve the problem of the missing royals.

  Lejrik approached two of the savages who stood before the Chamber of Council. He raised an arm draped in a flowing sleeve and pointed a finger at the face of one Dremsan. “You there,” he said as he drew near. “Gather fifteen or more of your comrades and fetch an equal amount of horses from the stables. The king demands your service in an urgent matter.”

  One of the plainsmen spit a stream of yellowish bile at the feet of the sapient. “What’s with the orders, chantsman, and who are you to give ’em?”

  “As I’ve said, savage, the order comes from the king himself, his grace, Nerus Vayjun.”

  “We’re Freelanders, the lot of us, not a one among our ranks subject to no king. We’re here of our own accord, and this castle’s as much ours as it is his.”

  Lejrik’s gaze was hard, his eyes unblinking as they studied the Dremsan who had spoken so boldly. The sapient’s eyes drifted to the worn blade the savage held, and he concentrated his full energies on the iron. The Dremsan’s hand began to vibrate. Startled, he looked down at it. His eyes widened as his arm began to rise against his will, and he grunted as he struggled against it. Lejrik flicked his wrist, and the plainsmen suddenly hacked at his own neck with the blade. Blood gushed from the wound as the warrior fell to his knees and collapsed like a tipped barrel.

  “Have you anything to add to his protest?” Lejrik asked one of the other plainsmen.

  The Dremsan shook his head nervously. “No. I am at your service.” He stood erect, pounded a fist against his chest, and proclaimed, “Long live the king.”

  I am weary beyond words, Sapient Breen, and famished besides,” said Princess Redora, who stumbled again as she trudged through the deep snow at the edge of High Road. They had been walking well off the road for most of their journey, sticking to the tree line that hugged its edge. Huge snow drifts were piled against the trees in blinding white mounds, and the drifts and uneven ground made the trek south difficult.

  “Just a little further, Princess, and we’ll come upon Killick,” said Sapient Breen, who moved through the deep snow as though it were the shallows of a river. He seemed accustomed to the hardship.

  “By my count, you’ve promised the very same twice now since we made our way past Storms Reach Castle.”

  “And I meant it then as well.” Breen took several more steps before he realized the princess was no longer keeping pace. When he looked behind him, he saw her kneeling in the snow,
her head bowed. Breen strode quickly toward her and knelt on one knee. He raised her head with a finger to her chin and searched her face. “You’re spent.”

  “Your observation”—she took several breaths—“is as keen as a newly forged blade.”

  Breen stood and hoisted her up by one arm. “Come. You’ll travel on my back the rest of the way.”

  The princess made no argument and climbed onto the sapient’s back using her last ounce of strength. “You’re a gentleman, sir,” she said, before laying her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes to the world.

  Breen smiled as he picked his way through the snow, his hands clutching her thighs. He began to sing her a song of olde. Soon she was asleep, keeping to the routine that had run between them since she was a mere eight annos. Breen stopped singing the song when he felt her full weight on his back. She was dead to the world. He followed the line of the road’s shoulder and kept his eye on the smoke that billowed up from the settlement far below, which marked the hamlet that was their destination.

  Queen Klienne sailed her boat toward a major trading center just off the western coast of the Isle of Payzik. The sun was directly overhead when she spotted green land in the distance, and a half hour later she saw a small vessel approaching. The day was clear and cool, but the queen felt hot from the tension of recent events and anxiety over what lay ahead, and her brow was beaded with perspiration. She tried to calm herself, but she couldn’t cast off the awful memory of the horrors of battle and the dark sorcery she had witnessed. She stopped rowing and allowed her boat to drift as the other vessel approached. As the distance between them closed, she saw that the other boat was a harbor ship, small and light and used mostly for escorting vessels into port. The queen gave a small sigh of relief, hoping the harbormaster himself had sailed out to greet her boat. The people of Payzik were known for being obliging.

  She heard the familiar call “Ahoy” and stood up, waving both hands to show that she was a lady, alone and harmless. The harbor ship soon towered before her, dwarfing her own tosser boat with its lone sail. She was thankful that the north winds had carried her the entire way without abating. The queen looked into the face of a bearded seafarer, a stout man with white hair and deep creases on a face turned leathery from sun and wind. “I hail from Storms Reach,” she called out.

  “Permission to board, milady,” said the graybeard.

  “Permission granted,” replied the queen, who decided that his worn features and peasant garb marked him as a harbor functionary and no master.

  Two men boarded her ship, the stout functionary and a fresh-faced lad.

  The man gestured toward the youth. “My apprentice, Bevin. I’m Maegor Trinroot.” He extended a hand to Klienne, and she shook it with a delicate grip. “We’re here to inspect your vessel and guide you to the harbor. And, of course, there’s the small matter of tariffs to be collected.”

  “I’ve no cargo aboard, good sir. Actually, I’ll have you know that I’m the queen of the Glyssian Realm.”

  Maegor Trinroot snorted derisively. “Cruddles, that. No queen travels on a tosser by her lonesome, no food, no—”

  “I’ve taken flight, Maegor. My castle was attacked and put under siege, and my husband, the good king, was … taken from me, and killed for all I know.” Her lips quivered on that last, and a look of weariness and dejection settled on her face.

  Bevin extracted a coin from a pocket and examined its face. He turned to Maegor, who was watching him intently, and flipped the coin toward him. As Maegor caught it, the queen composed herself and turned her profile to him. He peered at the coin and then at Klienne, and gave a small gasp. He clasped a hand over his fist and dropped to one knee with his head deeply bowed. “Beg pardon, your grace.”

  Bevin went to his knee as well, and both men offered their apologies and condolences on the fate of the king.

  “You may rise,” said the queen. “And now I must trouble you for a small favor.”

  “Name it, your grace,” said Maegor.

  “I would that you would take me to see Vassor Thayrin.”

  “At once, your grace. We’ll escort you to harbor and push off after.”

  The frost that had gripped Sapient Breen and Princess Redora during their journey had finally lifted, and only a hint of snow remained on the ground as they entered the Hamlet of Killick, a small settlement nestled between the Village of Heth and High Court. It sat on the fringe of the Frozen Edges, affording it a milder climate than its northern neighbors. At its back was a vast countryside that fronted Eastern Plain, and the hamlet itself was a rural retreat for castle servants or those from the busier market towns. Goods were rarely traded there, and merchants were generally shunned. One could move about without being accosted by aggressive street vendors touting their wares.

  Sapient Breen stopped in front of a cozy-looking inn and peered up at the vine-covered window on the second floor before stepping through its front door.

  “Greetings, fellow,” said the innkeeper, a round broom in hand as he stood before a series of tables. He was warily eyeing Sapient Breen, who still had the sleeping princess slung over his back.

  “I’m in need of a room,” said Breen.

  The innkeeper frowned and seemed to be considering his response.

  “Two beds will suffice,” Breen quickly added.

  “How many nights?”

  “Not even one. I need it for only a few hours, so my little sister can get some proper sleep. We’re passing through.”

  “In that case, make it a queen’s gilding and I’ll let you have our finest room for five hours. Will that suit you?”

  Breen nodded. “Can I set her down before I settle up?”

  “Of course. I’ll have my girl show you to the room.”

  The innkeeper summoned a skinny girl from the back and pointed a finger up the stairs as he gave her directions. The girl bounded up the steps at once with a quick backward glance at the two strangers. “Come along,” she said.

  Breen ascended the steps, which creaked beneath his feet. The girl showed them to a large room with a lit brazier at its center, which filled it with welcome warmth. Two large beds sat on either side of the brazier, one beneath a small window that overlooked the road they had taken. Breen saw that it was the same window he had peered up at a few minutes before. He gently set Redora on the bed on the opposite side of the room and turned to face the innkeeper’s girl. He studied her intently, which seemed to make her uncomfortable.

  “If that will be all,” the girl said, awkwardly patting her hair.

  “There’s one more thing,” Breen said. “But I’m afraid it will have to rest between you and me.”

  The girl backed away suddenly, alarm showing on her face.

  Breen put up a hand. “No, no. You have the wrong idea. I simply need you to fetch my sister some clothes. The kind you’re wearing will do fine, but you must hold it as a solemn secret.”

  “Beg pardon?” the girl said.

  “I’m afraid that’s all I can say on the matter. Will you do it?”

  The girl jutted her chin. “In exchange for what?”

  Breen turned his head to Redora and then glanced back at the peasant girl. “In exchange for my sister’s fine clothes, of course.”

  A look of sudden surprise flickered across the girl’s face, but she quickly regained her composure. “I will do it, but you will give me her clothes now.”

  Breen smiled. “I assure you, you can trust me.”

  “Do not liars and thieves say the same?”

  Breen was about to reply when he considered her words. “Very well. Then give us a moment. You can stand outside until we’re through.”

  The girl nodded and left the room.

  Sapient Breen nudged Redora twice before she stirred, and then he shook her shoulder.

  The princess rolled onto her side, blinked a few times, and gazed up into the sapient’s face. “What are you doing?” She glanced quickly around the room. “Where am I? What is
this place?”

  “An inn, your grace. We’ve made it to Killick.”

  “Why did you wake me? I thought we meant to rest and collect ourselves.”

  Breen glanced behind and saw that the door was latched, and then he turned back to the princess. “We’ll rest, but now that we’re here we need to disguise your identity. I’ve made arrangements.”

  “What arrangements?”

  “There’s a girl who works at the inn whose clothes might fit you. But she insists on getting your clothes in hand before she will make the exchange, which is where we are. Now I understand if you’re squeamish about—”

  As the sapient spoke, Redora stood to her feet and cast off her dress without a thought. She stood before the sapient in her undergarments, unabashed. “Here. Take it to her,” she said, holding out the crumpled dress to Sapient Breen. As he reached for it, somewhat reluctantly, she added, “Have her bring me the new garments at once, and then we’ll rest.”

  Breen nodded and turned to leave the room, marveling at the princess’s sudden resolve.

  Ellerick and Ghendris sat near their campfire roasting hunks of rabbit skewered on sharpened sticks. There was a chill in the wind, and the afternoon was fading toward evening. Ellerick looked at the horses grazing on short grass near the edge of an open field. They were well-rested and thoroughly watered and fresh enough for the road, but the men of the small company hadn’t eaten in hours, and Ellerick’s stomach was rumbling. He glanced at the spice wagon. The Pembrick woman, Seyalinn, was inside resting with her son, Quarvik. Ellerick saw the wagon move slightly, and then Seyalinn stuck her head through the back flap and took a look around the campsite.

  “Where are the other two?” she asked.

  “Went to scout the perimeter,” Ellerick replied. “Should be back any time now. How are you two?”

  “Can’t speak for Quarvik, but I’m sore and hungry,” said Seyalinn. “What’s on the fire?”

  “Rabbit,” Ghendris said. “But not quite enough for the lot of us.”

  “Guess you’ll have to head back into the field for your share then,” Seyalinn said, grinning.