A King Of Crows

by T L Drew

  An anger suddenly took Goran, consuming him. ‘Is that all you have to say to me? After everything you have done? What the six kingdoms did I do to deserve this fate? If I ever get out of here, I swear to the Gods that I will–’

  ‘–Control your anger Goran; it is what got you into this mess in the first place.’

  ‘My anger? That little monster–’

  ‘–When will you realise that everything that has happened is entirely your fault? You’re hot headed and you blame everyone else for your mistakes,’ Thorbjorn snapped, spitting through the bars. ‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself and admit your mistakes for once in your life! You fucked another woman, fathered another woman’s children, your own brother’s wife, and you thought no one else knew? Everyone has known for years! Abigail has always known of your infidelity; I spent years comforting her whilst you were wrapped in the arms of another woman. I comforted Andor when he learned the truth, too. I had never seen anger in his eyes like I saw that night, but when the sun rose again the following morning, he never uttered a word of it again, pretending that nothing was wrong. It has been boiling inside of him for years, and let us not forget the two decades of torment you and Kodran inflicted upon him since his birth, the beating and the abuse...’ Thorbjorn paused, staring deeply into his cousin’s dulling, tired eyes. There was venom in his words as he thought about everything he had seen as he grew up, watching as Kodran and Goran had cut Andor, beaten him, kicked him upon stony floors, all because he had killed his mother when he was born into the world. Then Thorbjorn’s thoughts drew to a day that horrified him more than any, when he found Andor in his bed, bleeding, and his leg amputated from his body, screaming in agony... ‘And then, on top of everything, you took away a part of him, a part of him he could never get back. He was in so much pain...there was so much blood...and you didn’t care what you had done. Kodran did not say a word when he was told. No one cared for the boy but Abigail and I. Every morning he puts that fucking metal leg on the stump that’s left and every morning he is reminded of everything you have done to him. You cannot blame anyone but yourself for what he has become. It is your own fault you are here, and Kodran’s fault that he’s dead.’ Then Thorbjorn stilled his tongue, calming himself, his eyes beginning to water as the memories that horrified him flooded back. ‘I didn’t stop them from killing your father or the plot to kill you, because I told myself you deserved it. And you do deserve it. I turned a blind eye, reminding myself of everything you and Kodran did to him. I didn’t want to risk my own life for you. I thought Abigail was going to kill you herself; I did not know you were being brought to a place like this. I just thought that a good, clean death was what you deserved.’

  ‘I know what I’ve done.’ Goran said quietly, taking in his cousin’s every word.

  ‘Despite everything, I keep thinking about that night. The guilt cannot leave me. It tortures me. This is a place where no man should ever be, and your brother agrees, despite what you have done to him over the years.’ Thorbjorn leaded his head towards the bars. ‘Andor and I never wanted you here. You may hate him for what he did to Kodran, but Andor never wanted this for you, and neither did I. You have Abigail to blame for this place. She wanted a fate worse than death for you, and when Andor learned of where you had been sent, he was furious. He ordered me to come here. Believe it or not, somewhere deep down, your brother loves you. He always has, despite everything. I’m going to write to him, tell him what I have seen, tell him of the dry gold mines; he’ll send an army to kill everyone here within the month. You’ll have a quick, clean death, one you deserved.’

  ‘My brother has no love for me,’ were the only words that came from Goran’s mouth, bitter like he had a lemon on his tongue, ‘and I have no love for him. I will kill him given my chance, and I will get my chance.’

  ‘No, you’re going to die on this island.’ Thorbjorn was certain. ‘Your death will be a kindness, a gift from the king, and then I will return with them, and I will rip that ring from your cold, dead finger.’ Thorbjorn rose to a stand and stretched out his legs. His eyes drew down to his cousin and his lips hinted at a smile. ‘Next time I see you, you’ll be dead. I hope you enjoy your last month.’ Thorbjorn said cruelly before he disappeared from the cell block.

  JORGEN

  Winter came to Solvstone without warning. Dark clouds burst with weightless snow, blanketing the stony city that slept silently under the glare of the silver moon. The people of Balfold did not know that their king was to bend the knee to another king when the sun rose high over the city of stone, that they would no longer be a free, independent kingdom.

  The son of the Balfold King thought only about the woman he loved being taken from him, like his wife had been stolen by the Grey family, and the ring that would no longer be his to wear.

  Jorgen stood fast and strong, moving himself onto the snowy balcony from his silent chambers, wrapped in black furs and ebony armour cladding his broad body. His armour shone midnight blue in the moon’s silver glare, like crow feathers in the sun. He dressed for the cold of the coming winter and the deeper chill of the south. His deep black hair was tied into a soldier’s knot and his stubble on his chin was beginning to turn into a dark beard, catching snow as it lightly fell from the black sky. The bird on his shoulder was as silent as the grave. He holstered Night upon his hip, turned on his heel in the fresh snow, and moved back into the warmth of his chambers, a fire blazing with wild reds and yellows. Although the night had barely begun, Jorgen knew that if he did not leave his snowy city by sunrise, his knee would have to bend, and he would lose the woman he loved, as well as his ring, or Hakon Grey would bring war.

  His eyes landed upon his betrothed. Nora was wrapped in his linens, warm and silently slumbering in his bed, peacefully dreaming, unaware of what was to happen, should Jorgen bend the knee. Her red hair was a tangle and her face was flushed, but she appeared tranquil and blissful in her dreams. Jorgen almost didn’t wish to wake her as he filled empty satchels with supplies, anything he would need to tread south once more to Tronenpoint. He moved his armoured body forward towards the warm bed and ran his gloved hand over her back. It was not his touch that woke her, but Verath finding his voice in the silence. Nora’s eyes fluttered as the bird’s squawking. ‘Nora, wake yourself,’ he whispered, wishing he didn’t have to wake her when she looked so peaceful. ‘We have to leave.’ He had already secretly called for his men to meet him in the shadows of the forest outside of the city, all those who opposed Reidar’s decision to bend the knee to a southern rule. They were waiting for him, preparing to ride hard south once more.

  Nora’s copper eyes opened with confusion. The darkness shrouded them. ‘What are you doing, Jorgen? Come back to bed.’ Nora uttered dazedly, spying his body clad in armour. Jorgen ran his gloved hand over her red head.

  ‘We’re leaving the city, right now.’ Jorgen insisted, coming to a stand. ‘We have a long, hard ride ahead of us, Nora. Be swift, we have little time.’

  Nora’s fiery eyes widened. ‘What? Why? Jorgen, I’m confused.’

  ‘There’s not much time to explain; we’ll speak as we make haste from the Crow’s Keep.’ Jorgen asserted, pulling her to a stand with him, groggily. ‘Take only what you need. The road will be hard and cold.’

  ‘Jorgen–’

  ‘–Hurry now, trust me.’

  There was trepid fear in his dark eyes, enough to make Nora’s full lips close. She was fast to dress herself warm for the snow, wrapping her lean body in thick cottons and furs. The satchel she packed was small and weightless, with only a change of clothes for the long journey. She threw it over her shoulder as Jorgen took a hold of her wintry hand and led her from his warm chambers and into the stony, icy corridors. He moved his broad body through the dark, winding corridors, hands entwined as they moved silently through Crow’s Keep, careful not to meet with his father’s guards who patrolled the eerie castle. He was more careful as not to meet with the uncle of the southern king who resided inside
of his mountainside home. Jorgen and Nora weaved cautiously through the red carpeted corridors, although the twenty-year-old girl had no clue what was to fear. She could see the fear in Jorgen’s haunted eyes, and knew that was enough to be frightened. Few things in the realm brought the prince fright.

  They slipped silently from the confines of the castle and felt the light winds in the darkness and the weightless snow catching in their hair as they moved rapid and quiet. He led her through the silent city, twisting and turning through the narrow, cobbled streets, past empty, closed stalls, stone thatched huts and sleeping farms until the edge of the forest came into view.

  Nora’s voice was barely a whisper as her eyes found Jorgen’s as they moved quickly towards the tall pine trees, the crow quiet on his shoulder. ‘Can I write to my mother? Tell her I’ll be leaving Solvstone? What if she plans on leaving the Arus for the wedding, and I’m not there–’

  ‘–Sending a raven is not safe,’ Jorgen was certain as a small group of soldiers of the Night Cloaks appeared as dark shadows in the darkness, clad in ebony armour. ‘And a messenger is even less trustworthy. I won’t risk your safety.’

  ‘Perhaps if you could just explain what is happening, then maybe then I would understand.’

  ‘Hakon Grey is in my home,’ Jorgen said bitterly, his hand on his crow. ‘The old man is insane and unpredictable, and the city is no longer safe for you or I.’

  ‘What about your father? What about Erik?’

  ‘We cannot trust my father, not anymore.’ Jorgen was certain as they drew closer to the Night Cloaks, warhorses and carriages coming into desperate view. ‘I have men ready and waiting outside of the city. Erik is with them. We ride hard for the south of Askavold the moment you’re safe inside of the carriage with my brother on the back roads of the city.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ Nora demanded answers, watching bewildered as her betrothed ushered her hurriedly towards a rugged carriage, surrounded by soldiers in ebony armour with black cloaks traipsing to the snowy floor.

  ‘I’m taking you to Svart Sommer.’ Jorgen told her.

  ‘Jorgen! Brother!’ Erik Black’s voice could be heard echoing through the bitter night. Jorgen broke into a run towards the men and his younger brother. He could see Erik hanging out of the open carriage door, his wheeled chair tucked inside of the carriage. Erik waved them over with fear in his dark eyes.

  ‘Brother,’ Jorgen reached into the carriage and embraced his crippled sibling. ‘Are you ready to leave?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Good. Now let’s make haste – we do not have much time.’ Jorgen said surely.

  Nora pushed forward, moving between her tall lover and the aging carriage with fierceness. She turned rapidly and faced the seventeen-year-old boy, a boy she noticed was dressed for a fight, just like her betrothed was. ‘Erik, can you tell me what’s going on?’

  ‘Something’s happened,’ Erik began, his dark hair tousled to his shoulders. ‘I can explain all on the way.’

  ‘Hurry, we don’t have much time.’ Jorgen demanded, throwing his satchel into the carriage and moving towards a tied horse. He removed the rope from the trees and led the beast towards his brother.

  ‘Are you certain this is wise?’ Erik asked his brother.

  ‘We’re riding south, whether it be a wise decision or not,’ Jorgen uttered with serious eyes. ‘I’ll talk with the southern king myself before I bend the fucking knee.’

  ‘What’s the matter with him?’ Nora spoke to Erik brashly. She had never seen Jorgen so angry, so frightful. ‘He won’t tell me a thing.’

  ‘Hakon Grey made demands of our father–’ Erik began.

  ‘–Demands that were not given by the king himself,’ Jorgen retorted with bitterness. ‘Demands fanaticised by his deluded uncle, a man who wishes to see the world crumble and burn. He won’t have our lands and he will not have my submission without a fight. I will go to war if I must.’

  ‘So, it’s true? You’re planning to go to war against the old man?’ Erik asked, concerned. ‘And what if it’s true, that the king gave the orders? That Andor Grey wants all the things that Hakon has demanded of our family? Would you go to war with the southern king, too?’

  ‘I’ll do what I must, for the people I love, and for our home and our people.’ Jorgen assured, his gut twisting at the thought of war and bloodshed.

  ‘What if something happens when we leave?’ Erik asked as Jorgen’s soldiers readied themselves to depart.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Erik’s face twisted with uncertainty. ‘I just have a bad feeling, brother. I’m not certain that leaving Balfold is wise.’

  ‘Hakon Grey wants a war,’ Jorgen was sure. ‘I don’t know why, but I can see it in his eyes that war is what he wants. I’m going to put a stop to it before something bad happens.’

  ‘Why is everyone speaking of war?’ Nora demanded, reaching for Jorgen’s hand. ‘I don’t understand–’

  ‘–Hakon Grey wants your hand in marriage,’ Jorgen’s voice was angry as he urged her forcefully into the carriage, pushing the bottom of her dress inside and slammed the door behind her. ‘If he thinks he’s getting that, then he’s a fool. I’m taking you to Svart Sommer, and you’re going to hide there from him until I’m done speaking with the king. I won’t let him take you, or our family’s lands, I can assure you.’

  ‘My hand?’ Nora’s eyes widened with bewilderment before her thoughts changed in an instant. ‘You’re not coming to Svart Sommer with us?’ Nora’s voice grew louder as Jorgen backed away from the carriage. He moved towards a black mount, slinging his leg over her back and climbing on top of his warhorse. He trotted her forwards so that he was in line with the carriage, gazing inside at the woman he loved and his beloved brother.

  ‘I’ll be riding right behind you, until we reach Svart Sommer.’ Jorgen assured, kissing her hand through the carriage window. His eyes moved to his younger brother. ‘Keep an eye on her now. I know how she likes to handle a sword.’

  Erik was quick to comply. ‘Let’s move out!’ The Prince of Balfold shouted over the silence of the city. Jorgen urged his lean mount forward in the snow, and his men were fast to follow their prince. The carriage jolted forward and rode behind Jorgen and his Night Cloaks along the back roads of the kingdom through the eerie pine trees and around the neck of Lake Solvstone which shone silver in the glare of the full moon. As he rode ahead, the chill biting at his bearded cheeks, Jorgen’s skin crawled at the thought that Hakon Grey was inside of his home, alone with his father. He felt as though he was a coward, like he was running away from bending the knee. If anything, he was charging into dangerous, unknown territory. Much like his uncle, Andor Grey was unpredictable, even if the southern king was his friend, one of his dearest friends in the realm. ‘You’re doing the right thing,’ Jorgen heard a quiet voice riding up beside him, a voice he hadn’t expected to hear. ‘My father thinks a fool of me for disagreeing with him.’ Jakub Krea said, his blond hair catching snow and his cheeks flushed red from the cold. Jorgen tried to force a smile over his shoulder. He saw Erik’s betrothed, Jakub’s older sister Elinor Krea, riding up behind her fourteen-year-old brother and the Prince of Balfold wondered what they were doing, riding south with a man who was not yet their king.

  Elinor had reached her nineteenth birthday. She was young and beautiful with a warrior’s heart. The woman was dressed for war, wearing the Krea sigil of the kraken upon her iron armour and brown furs around her shoulders. Jakub Krea wore an emerald green cloak, lined with fur, pinned with a broach of the same kraken with twisted tentacles.

  Jorgen’s eyes struggled to see in the darkness of the night. ‘What are you doing? I ride south, and your father is in Solvstone.’

  ‘We’re coming with you,’ Jakub stated, his mount moving beside Jorgen’s black mare. ‘My father is a fool and a coward to trust Hakon Grey.’

  ‘You’re not the only one who still believes in western independence.’ Elinor
interjected, her long blond hair braided down her back. ‘We heard what happened, with Hakon Grey. The Night Cloaks were speaking of it, of where you were to tread.’

  ‘Our father might be fast to bend the knee out of fear, but not I.’ Jakub said bravely, despite his previous acts of cowardice in his plentiful visits to Balfold. Jorgen could scarcely contain the shock on his face.

  ‘It’s nice to know I’m not alone in this,’ Jorgen said with relief. ‘I was beginning to think I was the only man to disbelieve Hakon’s words.’

  ‘He’s well known for his deception upon the Emerald Isles,’ Elinor said surely. ‘Our father is nothing but a fool for thinking his words are true.’

  A quiet sound in the darkness suddenly shook him.

  The blowing of a horn resonated through the open air. Quiet, at first, growing louder as the horn blew for a second time, then a third. ‘What was that?’ Jakub asked as the horn blew again, louder, and louder still. Jorgen raised a gloved finger to silence the young man, urging the carriage and his men to a sudden halt. Their eyes moved to the city, far away in the night but still visible with a reddish-orange glow that had not been there before, climbing into the sky like a flaming ladder. The horn blew again and again, coupled with a muffled sound that rose behind, a sound that resembled screams of fear and battle cries. ‘What’s going on? Why have we stopped?’ Nora asked, hanging her red hair out of the carriage as her eyes searched for Jorgen. They found him, his face still, his eyes alert, staring at the climbing red and smoke that began to rise into the snowy night sky. She saw the fire blazing, and heard the screaming as the sounds grew louder into the night.