by Narro, B. T.
“So you’ve heard of him.”
Chapter 32: Decision
CLEVE
So much panic was coursing through Cleve, he could barely breathe. How could a friend of my uncle’s wish destruction upon Kyrro and all its people?
“You’re certain Rek has sided with Tenred?” Cleve asked, fighting down the urge to retch.
“I’m certain of my decision, and it’s not your place to question it.” King Welson stood. “I just need to know whether you’re capable of this task. I’m not sure what you’ve heard about Rek, so tell me, are you having doubts now? If so, keep this in mind: If you don’t do this, you’ll be disobeying a direct order. I’ll charge you with possession of a bow, reneging on your admission contract to the Academy, and disobeying the King. You’ll be held in prison. If ever you were to be released, you would never be accepted back to the school and never recognized as a true warrior. While you’re in prison, I’ll find another way for the mission to be completed. I’ll protect Kyrro at all costs. No king before me has given up any land, and I’ll be no different, no matter how much more powerful the army of Krepps is. However, with Rek on their side, this war is lost before it begins. We have nothing to stop a force that strong. This elimination needs to happen.”
What is Terren going to think of this? Could his friend really be a traitor? “I’ll do it,” Cleve answered reluctantly, as ten thoughts collided. It was the only answer he could give, so he found no reason in hesitating.
“I can hear the doubt in your voice even without my psychic.” King Welson spoke regretfully. “I need to know before you leave that you’re certain you can do this. You only need to be a hero for a moment to change the world forever. Be that hero.” His voice deepened and he closed his fists. “Give us the opportunity to win this war. Say what you’ll do.”
“I’ll kill Rek and bring you his head,” Cleve muttered, still overwhelmed by the flood of emotions he was feeling. Welson glanced at his psychic, who shook his head, no.
The King slammed his fist into his cupped hand. “It’s not genuine. You’re having doubts! You need to be certain, otherwise my guards will take you to the dungeons right now. What will you do?”
“I’ll kill him! I’ll kill Rek and bring you his head!” Cleve shouted. He felt anger boiling through his veins, but even with his rage he had no confidence behind his words.
Again, the psychic shook his head, no.
“Guards!” the King shouted. Two guards threw open the door and rushed into the room. “Take this young man to prison to grow old while everyone else fights the war for him.” They each grabbed one of his arms and began to pull him toward the door. They were close to his height, but older and less strong, he could feel it.
“Wait, I’ll do it!” Cleve shouted, but of course they didn’t obey him. “Stop, give me more time!” One of them hit him hard in the stomach to stop his resisting. A dull pain surged through him, but at least he still had his breath. His frustration took control. Only one thought was going through his head: I just need one more try to convince him and without these guards jerking me away.
He was nearly out of the room when he managed to tug his right arm free. He made a fist and slammed it into the other guard’s temple. The man stumbled and let loose his grip.
Cleve brought his right elbow back to slam into the stomach of the first guard and then used his newly freed left hand to follow with a straight punch to his forehead. The guard went down.
The other guard, still stumbling, drew his sword, but before he could get a firm hold on its handle, Cleve kicked the weapon. It flew across the room, too far to retrieve, so Cleve let it out of his mind. Another kick, this one between the legs, and the guard keeled over. Unsatisfied that the guard was still on his feet, Cleve followed with a fist that crunched into his cheekbone.
Cleve then heard the sound of metal behind him. The other guard’s sword unsheathed, he knew. It worked the first time, so why not again? He spun to kick his shoe into the steel coming toward him. It connected, protecting him from a stab, but this guard didn’t let the weapon fall from his grip. In a blink, Cleve focused Bastial Energy into his legs and leaped. He spun and extended a leg so that his heel connected with the guard’s cheek. Down the guard went, yet he still managed to hold on to the sword.
With both guards on the ground, Cleve had time to pry a sword from one of their hands. Although the guard nearest to Cleve seemed confused about where he was, he still seemed to know he was in a fight, making it quite difficult to steal his weapon. So Cleve stepped on the man’s wrist and tried once more. This time it was easy.
The King must have called for more guards without Cleve noticing because they began flooding into the room, each with a sword in hand.
“Wait!” Cleve shouted once more. “I’ll do it! I’ll do what you ask!” He held the sword at the lot of them as he backed away.
“Hold!” The King held a hand forward, and the guards stopped. “Tell me what you’ll do.”
In defeat, Cleve’s anger melted. A strong sadness squeezed his heart, for he knew he meant it. “I’ll kill Rek. I’ll bring you his head.” He had a strange feeling, like he was about to weep but couldn’t remember how. He didn’t even bother to look at the psychic’s reaction, knowing there would be a nod.
“Good,” the King replied. “Then it’s settled. You’ll carry the longbow concealed in a bag. A guard will escort you to the Fjallejon pathway and teach you the code for the Fjallejons. The pathway will take you through the mountains, and then Corin Forest will be to the east. There are hills you can use for cover as you wait for Rek to emerge from his cabin, which is right on the edge of the forest.” King Welson shooed away his psychic and the guards. The two on the ground picked themselves up and hobbled out of the room after the rest.
Cleve didn’t hear one word of whatever the King had just said. He was someplace else, somewhere deep within himself. Cleve didn’t realize he was still holding one of their swords until he noticed the King glaring at it. Cleve lowered it to his side, unsure what to do with it now. “You won’t need that tomorrow.” Welson pointed as he spoke. “If he gets within melee range, it’ll already be too late. It’s late in the night, and the trip is likely to take the day, so you’ll sleep here and leave with one of my guards at sunrise.”
If Cleve slept at all that night, he didn’t remember waking.
Chapter 33: Stuck
CLEVE
The next day, Cleve found himself thankful that the Academy was directly between Kyrro City and the Fjallejon pathway. It was comforting to walk through, bringing it back to his thoughts even if just for brief moments between stubborn despair. The strain of his task was heavy on his shoulders, constantly finding its way into his mind no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. Some part of him wished to see Reela as he walked through, but more of him hoped not. The guard wouldn’t allow him to speak to anyone anyway, so the situation would be only awkward and troubling.
Cleve had difficulty grasping the idea that he was to kill someone without giving his target a chance to fight. This man is a friend of Terren’s, and I need to sever his head? He’d had to be sure he would do it when he’d told the psychic, but the doubts had returned as soon as he’d left the castle.
Could Terren know what was about to happen to his old friend? Cleve couldn’t predict how his uncle would react after finding out. He ran through some scenarios in his mind: “Cleve, you killed Rek, sliced his head from his neck, stuffed it in a bag, and brought it to the King? I understand you had to, and I forgive you.” No, Terren would never say that. “You killed Rek and severed his head? You’re evil! Your presence in this world serves no other purpose than to bring death and heartache to others! I should sneak poison into your water and rid this world of you!” No, Terren never would resort to poison when a quick swing of the sword would be all he’d need.
Cleve didn’t want to think about it anymore after that terrible thought.
The Fjallejon pathway was the only no
n-treacherous way through the mountains. The Academy was positioned so close to the pathway that the school would be the first line of defense if any army invaded from the north.
Standing at the beginning of the pathway now, Cleve saw it wasn’t a man-made road but merely a gap that dissected the steep mountains. The ground sank inward like a dried river.
Just before he entered, Welson’s guard stopped him. “The Fjallejons control these mountains and watch this one narrow road that passes through. They’re allied with Kyrro and report suspicious activity to the King via pigeons.”
“It’s nice to hear you say something besides a grunt or barking commands,” Cleve said facetiously, finding himself craving a conversation with Effie now more than ever to take his mind off the gravity of the situation.
“Pay attention!” The guard spoke with a bitter tone.
Cleve figured the guard was probably not pleased about escorting someone ten years younger than him to carry out a mission with an illegal weapon. He took a breath and waited for the guard to continue.
“The Fjallejons are also required to stop you as they wait for confirmation from the King to let you pass. However, there’s a code that will allow you through without waiting. For this week, it’s ‘like father like son, like brother like none.’ Speak it once you’re stopped and again when you return. We don’t have time for mistakes because your target could move any day now.”
“You’re not coming with me?”
“The more of us there are, the more likely we’ll be sensed or seen. You’ll go alone from here. We expect you back before tomorrow evening.”
Cleve was relieved. Without the guard at his side, he might think of something yet to get him out of killing Rek.
“Any questions?” the guard asked.
“Does the head of the Academy know of this?”
The guard grimaced as if offended. “Why does it matter?”
Because he’s my uncle, and Rek is the only friend he has. Because he wouldn’t believe the Elf is a traitor and would do everything in his power to stop this. “I wish for my teachers to know why I’m absent.” That sounded genuine enough.
“You can speak to the King about issuing a statement when you return with the Elf’s head.” Without giving Cleve a chance to ask another question, the guard turned and paced back south.
Like father like son, like brother like none. Cleve couldn’t help but think the code had something to do with him and his task. He thought about it more as he walked between the mountainsides, yet the magnificence of where he was soon settled in, giving him a pleasant distraction.
Giant slabs of rock shielded him from all elements. It was eerily quiet. Though, he thought he heard the clank of metal yet couldn’t decipher from where.
As he continued, he saw that in some places the two mountainsides still were connected, turning the pathway into a tunnel for a stretch. Twists and turns were everywhere, causing no part of the road to look exactly the same as any other, but it also prevented Cleve from seeing where it ended.
After what felt like five miles, the mountains dipped and the gap widened. Cleve spotted a tiny man with mud-brown skin, wearing ragged clothes that looked as if they’d never been washed. He was sitting with a spear across his lap but stood when Cleve was close. His head came up no farther than Cleve’s chest.
“Speak common tongue?” The deepness in his voice came as a shock. The short man spoke with a thick accent as well.
“Yes.”
“Speak the code and we let you pass. Or you wait. Or you have trouble.” The Fjallejon used his spear to point up, where dozens more waited atop the mountains, peering over curiously.
“Like father like son, like brother like none.”
“You may pass.” He shuffled his little feet to stand aside.
“How much farther do these mountains go?”
“You halfway.”
The second half was no different from the first—except light was quickly beginning to fade, and Cleve’s thoughts of despair were becoming unhinged again.
When he emerged from the canyon, he found Corin Forest to his right just as the King had described for him once again that morning. The sun was setting behind it, painting the tops of the trees with a touch of gold. Rek’s wooden cabin was difficult to spot among the surrounding trees, but Cleve found it after climbing a tall hill.
He sat back on his heels and retrieved his bow from the bag, refusing to let himself think about anything. The hill evened out, giving him a comfortable observation point. The cabin was roughly as far as the wooden target was atop the castle. Although this time, he would need to shoot at a forty-five-degree angle. It wasn’t something he’d practiced.
Even after the hours he’d walked in silence, not one better idea came to him. One thought was simply knocking on Rek’s door to explain the situation, but nothing good could come of that.
Now thoughts swirled into his mind so strongly, he couldn’t ignore them any longer. The King wants his head, so I can either get it here and now or run and never return. The thought of running was worse than the rest. Cleve knew he’d rather die than live in fear and marked as a traitor for the rest of his life. No man wants to live in fear. It suddenly made him more aware of why King Welson Kimard had outlawed bows.
Cleve had a similar dread of the weapon after his father, the strongest man he’d known, was killed by one. It made Cleve realize how fragile life could be, especially his own. It had to have been the same for Welson Kimard. But unlike the King, Cleve discovered that training with the bow was the only way to remember his father without the depression that came with it. He still hadn’t found a way to do the same for his mother. That sometimes made him worry he might forget about her completely.
Now the threat of Rek’s power is what’s terrifying the King—something I understand completely. And with that realization came his answer. It was a direct order from the King. I hope Terren will understand. Cleve made himself bury everything else he was feeling deep down. It made him sick with disgust, but it gave him the strength to do what he knew needed to be done.
The sky became black with waves of stars before there were any signs of the Elf. Then a light popped on within the cabin and the Elf—Rek, his name is Rek; no, don’t think about that—walked by the window.
Another hour passed. The Elf had walked by the cabin window many times, but unless Cleve’s target stationed himself within view, Cleve had a better chance of using his words to convince the Elf to take his own life.
After another hour, weariness came over Cleve, making it impossible to keep focused. His nerves had been restless for so long, and his lack of sleep surely wasn’t helping. The concern developed that he couldn’t make the shot without regaining his energy. He tried to think about how many hours he’d been awake but gave up quickly, realizing it was too much work to figure out. He lay on his back with the bow across his body. Instantly, he was blanketed in bliss and knew he wouldn’t rise until his weariness had been relieved with rest.
Cleve awoke with a gasp and his heart racing. Although light had come, there was no sun in the gray sky. The wetness of dawn was cool against his face. He peered down into the cabin. The lamp must have been blown out. It was impossible to tell if the Elf was inside or not.
For reasons he couldn’t describe, he suddenly felt soothed, more relaxed than he ever remembered. Suddenly he thought of Reela—of how beautiful she was, and he wanted to tell her that. He stood to stretch his legs and arms. Tingles of pleasure washed over his body.
“Hello,” a voice spoke from behind.
He calmly turned to see who it was and found an Elf. “You must be Rek.” Cleve smiled and waved.
“Yes, and what’s your name?” Rek smiled back. He was tall and thin with ears that came to a point at the top, like Cleve had seen in drawings of Elves. With his clean, long hair and smooth skin, Rek was easy to look at. He had Reela’s almond eyes, although they were the color of his dark brown hair, not the radiant green Cleve cou
ld picture so easily. The Elf was the friendliest person Cleve had ever met, with a smile that exuded cheer. He felt as if nothing would be more pleasing than helping him.
“Cleve Polken.” It was satisfying to answer the question. He wanted more of them.
“What are you doing here, if I may ask?”
Cleve’s palms opened. “Of course, you can ask anything. King Welson sent me here to kill you and bring back your head…” Something snapped when Cleve heard himself speak those words. Every muscle tightened, the relaxation squeezed out of him. He drew the knife from his belt.
“Stop.” Rek extended an arm at him and pain swarmed through Cleve’s body. It was as if every muscle had cramped.
Cleve screamed as he fell, first to his knees and then onto his side. He could feel the knife drop from his hands but could do nothing to reach for it. Pain overwhelmed every muscle on his body.
Rek sighed, walking over to retrieve the knife.
The pain began to leave his body as Rek walked to the bow and slung it over his shoulder.
“Can we talk or will I need to do that again?” Rek looked forlorn.
Cleve sat up, panting. It felt as if even standing would be a monumental task. “Talk.”
“You’re strong-willed. Not many can fight their way out of a spell. Lucky I found you while you were sleeping.”
Cleve sighed. “Not strong enough, apparently.”
“Tell me what happened. What did Welson Kimard tell you about me?”
It was clear lying would be impossible, so with surprising relief Cleve revealed the situation to Rek. He told the Elf that he was considered an enemy, that he was found to be joining Tenred and the Krepps to attack Kyrro. Cleve told him everything Welson had said about him, how dangerous he was, how his death was necessary, everything Cleve could remember.
Rek took the news with his emotions put aside, that is, until Cleve was finished. Then Rek closed his fists and pressed his lips against his teeth. “This harassment needs to stop. I’m no enemy of Kyrro. Yes, I talked with Tegry Hiller, King of Tenred, but that’s it. Someone must have seen and reported it to Welson Kimard.” He sighed. “What a mess this has become. This is the first I’ve heard of Tenred not renewing the treaty, although it makes sense.”