Wintersong

by William Cooper

  He didn’t seem to believe he had done anything to warrant such hatred from his peers. The weakling blamed his fall on the jealousy of others, and the plots of the Concord. In one breath he cursed the King for not giving him enough men and money for Cathan, and in the other declared the King would protect him, for they were friends. His faithful pets all nodded in wise agreement as he paid their bar bills.

  Alice had decided tonight was the right time to get Perriswood alone. She had made sure the room was ready and she had been plying Perriswood’s with drink all night. She had been sitting on his lap and laughing at his vulgar jokes, as if they were the finest wit, and pretending his crawling hands were the sweetest of pleasures. Eventually when he was ready to take her to the room he staggered to his feet clumsily and shouted. ‘I’m going to be a while my lads; I have some shriving to do!’ His pets laughed with suitable appreciation at his wit. She had to help the drunken lord across the room up the stairs, past some cavorting men and women and into one of the lushly decorated private rooms of the brothel.

  Once she got him into the room she closed the door behind her and locked it. He grabbed her and kissed her passionately as he tore at her bodice, exposing her breasts. She playfully giggled and pushed him onto the bed. He laughed as he fell onto the silken bed sheets. She jumped onto him with her legs on either side of his torso, and she ran her hands slowly, sensuously across her bare breasts. She laughed as she ran her left hand across his chest. He laughed in pleasure and his hands stroked her thighs. In one swift movement she sliced the razor sharp blade in her right hand blade across his throat. She had hidden it in the bedclothes earlier, and Perriswood was too drunk to see her reach for it. The dying lord tried to cry out in pain, but his throat was too ruined by the blade. The wound vomited blood, and he thrashed in agony. Alice finished him then, by punching the blade up and under his ribcage to puncture his heart. He twitched once more then lay still. Deftly Alice pulled out the knife and rolled off the dead man. Once she was standing, she looked at the lifeless body of Perriswood and smiled grimly, admiring her handy work. Placing the stained knife on the bed side table she calmly stripped off the rest of her bloody clothing.

  She had seen the fear in his eyes, just before he died. It was always the same with these rich boys, they strutted the earth like king’s, unafraid, and unaware of the darkness that the world held. She never asked her handler where the contracts came from, and rarely cared. However, it was not hard for her to guess who wanted this man dead. The fee had been suitable for the job, and that was all she cared about.

  She turned and walked to a cabinet. She pulled out a beggar’s robe, some tatty shoes and a small jar filled with dirt to smear on her face and hands. Once she had completed her disguise she exited the room by its only window. She had picked this room as it overlooked the roof of an inn. It was an easy jump for her to make, even on a moonless night like this. She gracefully landed onto the tiled roof of the inn and moved across the rooftops, until she dropped down to street level in an empty alley, a half mile or so away from the Maiden. Faking a limp she left the alleyway, looking every inch the beggar she vanished into the streets of Conith.

  The King

  ‘I will not have it!’ roared Merric, as he stormed out of the King’s Tower into the early spring morning. ‘The Concord plot in plain sight of my very walls. I will put an end to this today.’ he bellowed at Lord Darrick Tallis as he strode to barracks of the Royal Guard. Darrick, a lesser noble of the Concord, tried to keep up with the King, with all the grace and dignity he felt his position held. Merric was strapping his sword around himself, his armour clattering and jingling as he walked through the castle grounds with dreadful purpose. Merric, normally seen as mild mannered by his staff was like a raging storm. He tore through the royal castle, leaving a wake of terrified servants and shocked nobles as he passed by.

  The news of Perriswood’s death had cut his soul deeply, and now Lord Tallis had come to him this very morning with news that enraged him further. The Concord were meeting in Middleton’s King’s Hill home on this very day. This was too much for Merric. Middleton’s town house was in sight of the castle and that seemed an intentioned slight, a deliberate mockery and jest at his expense. News of Perriswood’s death had arrived late last night, and no doubt those titled rogues knew of it. In fact he was certain it was they who had paid the whore to kill his friend. It made this morning’s news all the more galling.

  ‘They vex, me, Tallis. They vex me and try me. They call a Concord knowing I forbade it. I will instruct them who rules this land!’ said the King.

  ‘My King is wise; perhaps it is time for justice, to rid yourself of their arrogance?’ answered Tallis, breathlessly as he scuttled behind the king.

  Merric ignored the nauseating fawning. He was under no illusion this fool had sold out Ryder for some advancement of his own name. Tallis, to the King’s mind, was typical of all the Lords of the Concord. Arrogant, false and willing to sell each other for a mediocre prize. He had been patient with them all for far too long, he thought. What king had been forced to endure so much in so little time? It had been a difficult beginning to the year, he knew. A failed assault on Cathan, a destructive riot, still more reports of growing trouble across the land, a Concord of Lord that sought to bring him low and humiliate his wife and now, finally, Perriswood. It would end today. He would see the fools Ryder and Middleton hanged, and any other that would not bow to him. He had the means to enforce his law, and Merric intended to use those means. Already he had summoned Lord Cavick, his sergeant at Armes, and he had that old veteran gather a squad of knights ready to seize the men of the Concord.

  He entered the drill square of the barracks of the Royal Guard and smiled in grim satisfaction as he saw the fruits of Lord Cavick’s work. Twenty of his knights, all astride their heavy horses, fully armoured and waited on the orders of the King. Lord Cavick’s horse stood before the neat ranks of his knights, holding the black bear banner of the King. The faceplates of his men were raised and the King was proud to see that their strong faces looked determined to perform their sworn duty. Cavick hit the metalled end of his standard on the stone flagstones twice, the hollow sound echoed through the square like the ringing of some dreadful bell, proclaiming a death.

  ‘Long live the King!’ Cavick bellowed.

  ‘Long live the King!’ the knights echoed in a triumphant shout that stirred the King’s heart. Merric acknowledged them with a raised hand and mounted the armoured horse that had been brought to him by an equerry. Taking his leave of terrified Tallis, Merric gave his orders to ride out. At the head of the column of nights, he rode to main gates of the King’s Tower. It would be a short ride to Middleton’s, a matter of minutes, and he would seize the leaders of the Concord and that would be an end to it, Merric hoped.

  As he approached the main gate, its gates were open as tradition decreed during peacetime, Merric heard a familiar voice shouting. ‘My King!’ Merric looked around and saw Lord Tobin hurrying towards him from across the courtyard the general looked concerned as he approached.

  The King raised his left hand and the column stopped. ‘What is it, Tobin?’ he asked impatiently.

  ‘My King, I urge you to have caution, and to stay your hand!’ said Tobin as he approached the king. Merric felt a spark of irritation. This was the man who had refused to take his army to Cathan. Yet folk still called him the King’s General, a title the nobles of the realm refused to give Perriswood. He had wanted to punish the reluctant general for that slight, but his sweet Maria had persuaded him otherwise. Tobin’s status had fallen then, but he recovered it in the eyes of the nobles after restoring order to Thornsreach during the riots. The King’s appointed watch commander was not even in the city during that disaster. Tobin had made Merric look a fool, and now he publicly questioned him on his actions. Merric knew he could not tolerate that and he would have to teach this man his place in the court.

  ‘I beg forgiveness, your Highness, but what you do is d
angerous,’ said Tobin.

  ‘Dangerous? Arresting men that spit on my right to rule! Who hire killers to murder my friends! What type of King would I be, if I let such pass? I will not tolerate it, Tobin. I will not have it,’ he answered.

  Merric was surprised to see anger flash across Tobin’s normally calm face.

  ‘Lord Ryder, is a man of honour and would not consort with assassins, look elsewhere for your murderer,’ retorted the general.

  The King’s sergeant at arms, Lord Cavick, moved his horse closer to both men. ‘You would question the King? Now at this time, when he rides out?’ snapped the knight.

  Merric knew Cavick and Tobin had a strained history. Both men had served together on a campaign in the past, and something had happened to blight to their friendship. Neither man tolerated the other much, but the King had always valued Cavick’s service.

  Tobin, ignoring Cavick, said, ‘What are you going to do my King?’

  ‘Do? I will arrest them, and hang them for treason!’ replied Merric.

  ‘Hang Lords of the Concord with no proof of treason? Have you gone insane! If you ride out with that intent, you ride to war. Surely you understand this?’ said Tobin.

  Tobin’s words struck Merric like a blow. The general had always spoken respectfully to him in the past, but now his tongue was full of insolence. How dare he call him mad in front of his men. ‘We will talk of this again, Tobin,’ thundered the King, and, without looking back he cantered his horse out of the drill square, with his men dutifully following him. Tobin stood watching them, his face a mask of grief and despair.

  Merric’s anger stifled the doubts that Tobin had ignited in his breast. How dare Tobin question him. He had always been too close to Ryder, a friendship Merric tolerated as Tobin had always been loyal in the past, but today the bastard had shown his true stripes. At the very end of this little mummer’s tale the King’s general had tried to stop him. Well he would see to that once the day was done.

  The King rode out in armoured splendour, his knights riding in disciplined ranks behind him. Merric did not look to left or right as he rode out onto King’s Hill, his face was angry and determined. He ignored the curtseys, bows and salutes of the commoners as they watched him ride.

  They were knaves, this Concord, Merric thought. Simple minded knaves who plotted in their lavish homes built under the very shadows of his castle walls. Attracted to the closeness of power like maggots attracted to flesh. He had a mind to clear them all away, so that the King’s Tower would stand in splendid isolation atop the hill that overlooked the city of Thornsreach.

  Merric felt his determination strengthen as the column of knights reached their destination. He hated the style of building that infected the King’s hill region. It looked to the continent for inspiration, scorning the traditions of the Golden Isle. It was built in a fashion that put pleasure and ornamentation over practically and defence. Merric knew his father would have hated such decadence, he had expected his lords to be warriors, not merchants, traders and mere politicians. Middleton’s home was particularly grand. Its white stone walls had many expensive windows that overlooked the fashionable street below. The door way stood atop a wide staircase. A portico sheltering the statues and pillars that adorned the ornate double doors. It was sickening, thought Merric, the place was nothing more than the extravagant boast of a lord’s ego, nothing more.

  He rode his horse up the wide marble stairs. Dismounting, he drew his sword and with the pommel of the royal blade struck heavily upon the wood three times. ‘Open in the name of the King!’ he cried with each blow.

  One of the doors swung open, and a terrified servant bowed low and stammered ‘Welcome your High…’ But he was silenced by Cavick who pushed the man out of his way and strode through the door with five of his knights. They had unsheathed their swords and held their shields at the ready. The King entered, followed by the rest of the knights. Merric’s heart was beating hard now, in a mixture of excitement and fear. Excitement, for he was greedy for justice, fear for he had never ridden to war and had never drawn a sword in anger.

  He was in a large hall. It was ornately and expensively decorated with multi-coloured marbled surfaces, twisting pillars carved with heroic figures and images from classical history. The hall also had many doors, and the King wondered which would take him to Ryder. He was about to have Cavick question the cowering servant, but an answer was given to his question by Lord Ryder.

  A set of double doors to the King’s left were thrust open and Lord Ryder strode out into the hall, the with Lords of the Concord following behind him. They halted before the King’s men and held their ground. None of the lords of the Concord wore armour, but all carried a blade, and behind them came the personal bodyguards of the lords. These men were clad in a riot of family colours and crests, all were armed and armoured. Merric realised with a stab of fear that he was outnumbered by around ten men or so. Cursing inwardly, he realised a fight might be unavoidable. He had hoped Ryder and his cronies would be cowed by his show of strength, but he saw no fear in Ryder’s eyes as the lord watched him carefully. Merric met his eyes and thought he would be damned if he would back down from this upstart lord.

  The rest of Merric’s knights had fanned out behind him and for a moment both sides watched each other carefully. Merric swallowed his fear and raised his voice so that all in the hall would hear it.

  ‘Lords Ryder and Middleton,’ he said. ‘You are under arrest for conspiring against the Crown of this land. I do so under my authority as King. Give yourself up peacefully, or choose to resist me, for I care not. Dead or alive you will hang!’

  He expected protests from Ryder and his ilk, a boast or two, perhaps a curse and defiant words, but only a terrifying silence filled the hall, the men of the Concord stood their ground with their swords drawn Ryder and Middleton stood impassively by.

  Eventually, Ryder spoke, ‘By what right do you barge into a lord’s home, and make false claims? What right do you have to arrest members of the Concord with a false charge, and threaten to hang them without trial?’

  Merric’s anger flared anew and with his voice stern and proud he replied, ‘By my right as an ordained King, and you will address me as your Highness! Now sheath your blades and my men will escort you to the tower.’

  ‘No,’ said Ryder, his tone calm and firm.

  Men shifted uneasily, and hands gripped swords firmly. The Lords were steadfast, and the King’s men shifted around him, readying for the fight. Merric caught Ryder’s eyes and saw a dark light glitter in their depths, in that instant he saw Ryder’s mind. The bastard had expected this move from him. Lord Ryder had made sure the men around him would hold their own, and not be awed by the King’s presence. A brief glance was enough to confirm that not all of the Concord lords were here today, only the ones that Ryder trusted. Now the King wondered who Tallis had really been betraying when he scuttled into the Tower to tell him of the Concord’s meeting. It was trap, he realised, one he had willingly stepped into.

  Ryder broke the silence again. ‘This is a legitimate calling of the Concord, as enshrined by our constitution. A constitution your father ignored and you have disregarded. We are not to be ignored any longer my lord. We are not to be chastised like children for performing our decreed duties. These are our rights under law. Your father was wrong, Merric. It is men that make kings, not God. Give in to our demands, Merric. Let us end this stupidity.’

  The King laughed contemptuously at Ryder, ‘Give in? I am King by the will of god, and I will bow to no one, you upstart!’

  ‘Will of god?’ challenged Middelton, ‘Such a notion is your fathers poison from the continent. No man has a divine right to rule the common people of this land, and it is for they we speak. You have made war without our consent. You married a woman from Islinor and threaten to return the tyranny of the High Church through your heirs! You are not fit to rule the people of this land!’

  ‘Then who should rule?’ replied Merric. ‘A parcel of
rogues like you? You talk of the people, but I see no blacksmiths on the Concord, I see no farmers or merchants. I see rich lords, titled men who claim to speak for people you would not even let into your halls. Hypocrites, all of you!’

  Cold silence followed those words. Men watched each other closely now. Some of Ryder’s men looked nervous and the King began to have hope that perhaps doubt would settle in their hearts and there would be no violence. But if there was, he would be ready. How odd, he thought. He had always imagined his first battle would be on some field somewhere in the continent or fighting off an invader, not in the elegant hall of one of his own lords.

  The spell was broken with one word. No one ever found out which knight it was, and on which side of the hall they stood when they called out. The word was ‘Charge!’ The King started in surprise and watched in horror as Lord Cavick shouted a battle cry and charged forward, his men following him with a great roar. He heard Ryder shouting, ‘Defend yourselves!’

  Knight crashed into knight as Ryder’s men counter charged. A cacophony of noise echoed off the marble walls and fine pillars of the hall. Torn bodies fell as blades smashed and hacked into flesh. Swords and shields crashed into each other, men screamed or begged for life. The acrid stench of spilled blood and the sewer smell of torn guts turned this fine hall into a charnel vision of hell. Middleton’s home was filled with fifty or so men fighting for their lives, and the King was frozen in fear. He could not even run, even though every instinct told him to flee, to run back to the tower and hide. What a king he would be then, a coward not fit to sit on a throne, thought Merric.

  Merric was startled out of his terror by a knight, one of Middleton’s, charging at him with a short sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. The king felt his bowels turn to water, and his heart felt like it would tear itself from his chest, such was his fear. To the King’s terrified eyes the knight seemed a giant, a god of war that loomed over him. Without thinking Merric cried out and blocked the swinging blade and side stepped the stabbing dagger. He had always been a poor student of the martial arts of knight hood, but he had still been forced to endure the humiliating training session his father inflicted on him every day until the old bastard died. Something of those long hours had remained buried deep in him. The knowledge, rekindled by the inspiration of desperation, moved his body backwards and brought his shield up. His opponent’s sword bounced of the thick metal with a force that send shivers of pain down Merric’s raised left arm, Merric thrust his blade under his shield only to puncture empty air as the knight deftly side stepped. Then, mercifully, Cavick stepped behind the brute and delivered a double handed blow with his sword that crushed the man’s helmet, killing the knight instantly in a spray of blood that splattered over the King’s helm and face in a bloody arc. Cavick stepped over the man’s fallen body and shouted at Merric. ‘Stay behind me, your Highness. You are not to risk your life!’ Numbly Merric obeyed. He wished he had lowered his face plate, not just because of the knight’s blood that blinded his vision, but because he feared his knights could see the terror on his face.