Slaves to the Sword

by Jack Cage

  An hour or so later, the young prince arrived at the stables covered in dirt and filth, and did not say a word as he climbed the stairs to the attic. Endesha saw the young prince, and looked to his father, who smiled and said, “You have your orders.”

  Amri joined in his father’s amusement and said, “Good luck with that.”

  Endesha turned back to look at the filthy young boy, and told him in English, “Inside. I have to take you to father.”

  “Your. You forgot to say ‘your’ father,” Harold replied.

  “I have to take you to your father,” Endesha said again with purpose.

  As the two walked through the castle corridors, many people stared at the large, brown-skinned man being led by the young prince. Endesha could not tell if the people staring at them were looking at him, or—quite possibly—the dirtiest child in the Midland Kingdom.

  When the duo arrived at the king’s chambers, Harold did not want to knock, and stood motionless in front of the door. Endesha remembered it was customary to pound your closed fist against the door, but he did not remember how, so he punched the door with his closed fist as if he was fighting a man. “That is not how you knock on the door!” Harold said loudly.

  King Phillip heard the intense bang on the door from Endesha’s misunderstood door-knocking technique, and as he opened it, did not notice Endesha standing next to Harold, but said, “My word. What happened to you, dear child?”

  “Father, I took my horse for a ride, and he threw me off,” Harold explained.

  “You got that dirty from one fall?” Phillip asked.

  “He seemed startled, Father, and would not let me remount him. I had to walk him all the way back here.”

  “Who were you riding with?” his father asked.

  “I went out by myself.”

  “Harold, you know you are forbidden to go outside the castle walls. Especially by yourself.” He was obviously restraining his anger, when Phillip finally noticed Endesha standing near the door. “Did you bring Harold here?”

  “Stuart said bring here,” Endesha said with fading confidence in his speaking ability.

  “Thank you. You may return to the stables now.” Phillip dismissed him.

  “No, Father can he stay? His name is E-dasha,” Harold said.

  “En-Desha.” Endesha corrected the young prince.

  “Endesha,” the boy repeated.

  Endesha nodded in approval.

  “I am teaching Endesha, his brother, and father our language, Father,” Harold said with much pride.

  “Are you? You seem to be doing a good job, my son,” said King Phillip. The king noticed the way Harold and Endesha interacted, and even though it was curious to him, it pleased him to see his young son take charge and show the initial spark of leadership he would need to properly rule the Midland Kingdom one day.

  “Have the guards take you to your quarters, so the maidens can clean you properly. We will discuss your indiscretions of today, tomorrow. See to it both of you eat, and then you shall rest,” said King Phillip as Stuart arrived in the room.

  Stuart looked at his filthy, tattered young brother, and started to say something to him, but seeing the frustration on the king’s face, decided to let the young prince and his large brown friend continue exiting the room.

  After they left, Stuart said, “What happened to him?”

  “He went riding without any protection. You do realize what could have happened to him if he was recognized, or worse, kidnapped by someone associated with the Carpenter.”

  “Yes, Sire, my apologies. I spoke with one of attending maidens, and she said he had been in his bed one moment, and gone the next. She thought he snuck out of the castle around midday.”

  “The Moor, Endesha, said you told him to bring Harold to me.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “Maybe we need to keep Endesha with Harold. He would be a suitable guard for the boy, and they seem to like being around each other.” King Phillip sat down, and took a large swallow of wine from his perfectly polished brass goblet.

  “I agree, Your Majesty. Harold needs a companion we can trust to be both friend and protector.”

  “Then make it so. Allow—what was his name again…? Oh, Endesha, to be in the castle with Harold as needed.” King Phillip shook his head in disgust as he recalled the way Harold had looked.

  ***

  Once Harold was clean, and the two of them had eaten the dinner prepared for them, Harold looked at Endesha from his lavishly adorned bed, and said, “I mustn’t leave the castle by myself. I know Father is not happy with me.”

  “Not smart,” Endesha said.

  “Will you come back here tomorrow, Endesha?”

  “Father says so, yes. You rest,” he said gently as he stood to his feet and smiled at the young prince before leaving the room.

  “Goodnight!” Harold said to Endesha as he left. Overwhelmed by his use of so many new words, Endesha surrendered to his lack of confidence and waved goodbye awkwardly before leaving the room.

  He returned to the stables to find Amri and his father curious to hear what happened with Harold inside Harkstead Castle. “Did you take him to his father?” Zuberi asked.

  “Yes, I did,” Endesha replied while producing several items from the private meal he had with Harold. As Zuberi and Amri sampled some of the delicious cakes and pies, Amri took a break from eating to ask, “Was his father upset with him?”

  “I think so. The boy had left the castle alone.”

  “How did you get this food?” Zuberi asked.

  “After a woman cleaned him, we were fed before he was to rest.”

  “Did you go to places inside we have not seen before?” Amri asked.

  “It was different than the parts we were taken to. The young boy took me through the main hallways, and there were many people looking at us.”

  “Were they looking at you?” Zuberi asked.

  “I’m not sure. Probably.”

  “Sounds like you have an opportunity to teach instead of being the one that is taught,” Zuberi said.

  “What do you mean, Father?”

  “It is your turn to be for him what Coffa was for you,” Zuberi said smiling.

  “I am not a teacher.”

  “But you could be to him what Uncle Coffa was to us, Desha.” Amri agreed with his father.

  “Maybe this is your destiny, my son. Look at you. You are eating the finest food, and walking freely without being told what to do. You have created your value to these people. This is a good thing.” He looked at his sons with great pride.

  “If he is to be Coffa to the young boy, then what does that make me? A caged animal?” asked Amri.

  “Your purpose has yet to be defined for these people, my son. You and I both know you are considered more of a threat than your brother and I,” Zuberi said.

  “No matter. I am enjoying my lessons and training. I feel alive when I have those weapons in my hands,” Amri replied.

  “You are becoming very good, Amri, I must agree. Maybe you could be their Sefu supreme warrior, or something,” Endesha said with laughter.

  “Whatever it is they are training me for, I am looking forward to it. I need to smell blood, so my mind stops reminding me of how Nsia smelled,” Amri said as he looked to the ground.

  29

  A lmost three years had passed, and there had been many changes at Harkstead Castle. King Phillip Miles had been keeping a close eye on the Carpenter’s rising Army yet he had not attacked any major Midland cities or smaller villages within the kingdom in years. Endesha and Harold had become very close, especially now that he was approaching his twelfth birthday.

  The Sefu men had not been allowed to leave the castle since their arrival almost three years ago. They made the best of it by learning the language of the Midland people and had made improvements to their attic space, including a place for Zuberi to carve and create his own artifacts.

  The Red Guard was becoming older and new recruits w
ere not meeting Prince Stuart’s high standards, so change was in order. King Phillip was unhappy with his current cavalry, and was pacing from one chamber wall to the other, seething with anger. His flowing crimson and gold robe billowed majestically behind him as he changed directions. The King had never noticed he paced when angry, but everyone around him knew it as a clear indicator of a sour temperament and to avoid his sight. “What of the Red, my son?” he finally spoke.

  “The Red Guard is sufficient in size, Your Majesty, but I am concerned they are not as sprite as they once were,” Stuart replied.

  “Was it not yours and Captain Singletary’s responsibility to ensure the Red Guard lived up to their reputation as the Midland Kingdom’s deadliest fighting cavalry?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty, but the elder members of the Red are becoming too old to fight. The many years of inactivity from the Carpenter may also be cause for their declining performance. We have no other foes,” Stuart replied.

  “Maybe it is time to test their abilities—see which of them are still truly worthy of fighting under Harkstead Castle banners.”

  “What do you have in mind, Father?”

  “Gather the Red, and march them to the fields near Thornton at night. There they will fight my “Dark Warrior” to prove they are worthy of being called elite.”

  “Sire, you want them to fight Amri to the death?”

  “Who is Amri?”

  “Amri is the one you refer to as your “Dark Warrior,” Your Majesty.”

  “How do you know these things, my child?”

  “He told me, Sire. They can speak our language now.”

  “Very well, then tell Amri he is to not kill any of the Red Guardsmen, but only test their abilities.”

  “Shall I tell the members of the Red not to harm Amri?”

  “No. If Amri is what we think he is, they shall not be able to harm him.”

  The next evening, Prince Stuart arrived at the stables and made his way up to the top of the attic stairs.

  The Sefu men were relaxing when Prince Stuart approached. “I am here to take you on a mission,” Stuart said to Amri.

  “Am I allowed to ask what kind of mission?” Amri replied.

  “When you address me, you end your sentence with, Your Highness.” Amri looked at the prince with a blank expression on his face. “Come with me now,” said Stuart as he went back down the stairs.

  “I will see you soon,” he said to his father and brother.

  “Be safe, Son,” Zuberi replied.

  Amri gave Endesha a slight stare; it was a non-verbal communication between the two brothers that meant Amri felt he would be fine, and not to worry, so Endesha held his peace.

  At the bottom of the stairs was the familiar face of Sam. The same man Amri threatened to kill with his bare hands years ago. “Tonight, we get to see how good you really are!” Sam said. The foul stench of wine and rotten food stuck within his maw [DS10]wafted when he spoke. Amri did not respond.

  Prince Stuart mounted his prized white purebred Spanish stallion, and joined by his Chief of Command, Captain Fitzgerald Singletary, riding an equally majestic black horse.

  Amri was carried to Thornton on the back of a Flemish, which was ideal for a man of Amri’s massive size. This was the first time he had been allowed to go beyond the gates of Harkstead Castle, and breathe air that was not carrying the stench of horse manure and hay.

  As they rode, Amri looked up to the night sky, and once again, he could see the stars.

  It had been so long since he had seen them, and on this particular night, the sky was as clear as it had been when he lay on the beach at night with his dear Nsia. A sudden gust of wind—so strong it moved the horses off course for a moment—made Amri shut his eyes and murmur, “Thank you mother.” The wind reminded him of her love and safety on the voyage to the English land he now called home, and he knew she was still with him.

  Upon arriving at the fields of Thornton, Amri saw a large group of men standing on the field. Some of them wore armor and some did not. Stuart dismounted his steed, walked toward the group and said, “Tonight we will see if some of you are truly worthy of wearing the colors of the Royal Red Guard. I fought alongside many of you when we won the battle of Aveston. Tonight, will be a test of your mettle. Tonight we will see if you still live up to what is expected of a member of the Red Guard. The most feared cavalry in all of the Midland Kingdom!” The men cheered.

  “Most of you have heard of the king’s dark warriors, but many of you may not have seen one of them before now. This is Amri, and as you can see, he is like no man that has ever walked English soil. Ownership of him and his brother was intended for the Carpenter, and his enormous size and power were to be used against us as a secret weapon to spill our blood. On this eve, Amri will challenge you and your skills, and through this, you will prove if you are worthy enough to remain as one of the true elite warriors of the Midland Kingdom. Who shall be first to fight him?”

  “I will fight this wretched Moor,” Sam said as he walked forward through the large crowd of men.

  “Very well, Sam, you will be the first to prove your place and rank within our cavalry,” Stuart said.

  Sam was clothed in chainmail and some light armoring—Amri was clothed in something similar to what a farmer would wear: thin, and ill-fitted to his large body.

  The fields of Thornton were not exactly suitable for fighting. The land was soft from many days of English rains, and the grass was high where the horses had not grazed. Amri stood motionless in the middle of a circle of men. Several wooden torches lit the area, and Amri’s darkened muscles could be seen in detail as the men stepped back several paces to give the fighters room to see each other before they began.

  Even without the armor that Sam had, Amri’s formidable presence was undeniable. His long black dreadlocks covered the scars on the right side of his face, and his sinister smile confused many of the Red Guard soldiers who thought he should have been scared. When Singletary tossed Amri the sword he would be fighting with, Amri caught it with the pommel facing up and blade down; he deftly spun the sword in his hand to bring the blade up. A sign of true swordsmanship and something Captain Singletary had not trained Amri to do.

  It was time for Sam to prove he belonged with the Red Guard. His anger was at its highest as he walked toward Amri, his two-handed broadsword held in the prone position.

  As Sam approached, Amri noticed the fires on the torches stood still as if even the wind did not want to miss any detail of what was to come. He took a defensive position as Sam swung violently, striking Amri’s sword with a crossing slash. Amri easily blocked it, and the following slash to his opposite side.

  With every blow given, Sam grunted like a mad animal. His eyes were filled with anger, and his long blond hair whipped behind his neck with every strike he made. Amri had yet to counter any of Sam’s offensive blows. It almost seemed as if Amri was not paying attention, and this observation became undeniable as Amri dropped his guard after a series of blocked strikes allowing Sam to land a punch to his face with his off hand. This brought Amri into focus, and as Sam turned his back to Amri in delight of being the first person to physically touch the king’s dark warrior, Amri came into his altered self.

  “My turn,” Amri said to himself as he twirled the sword within his right hand and adjusted his footing. Sam turned back, took his position, and lunged at Amri with a straight forward strike. Amri blocked it, parried to the right, and countered with a downward slash.

  Sam, almost unable to block Amri’s blow, stumbled backward as he tried to quell the power of Amri’s strike. Embarrassed and in full rage, Sam foolishly raised his two-handed broadsword above his head in preparation of a mighty downward drive.

  Amri wisely noticed the error and kicked one of Sam’s knees, forcing him off balance and causing him to lower his sword to his side. This left Sam’s right side unguarded and Amri struck him in the face with his left hand. As Amri threw the punch he knew he wanted Sam to feel
his power, but he knew he mustn’t kill him. He used only enough power to hurt Sam and possibly embarrass him a bit as well. Time seemed to stand still as Amri’s left-handed punch made Sam’s head snap to the left in an unnaturally fast way.

  Globs of spittle, along with blood and teeth, released themselves from Sam’s mouth as Amri’s darkened fist traveled across the landscape of Sam’s bearded jowl.

  A hush came across the crowd of men as Sam stumbled, then dropped to one of his knees. He tried to use the downturned blade of his sword as a means to assist him in standing upright, but could not maintain his balance. The match was over; Amri was victorious, yet one could not tell by looking at him—the “Dark Warrior” remained ready.

  As men helped Sam away from the fighting area, Amri did not show any pleasure in his triumph. He did not think he could not fight all fifty members of the elite cavalry, but knew he wasn’t being given any other option than to do so.

  One by one, each member of the Red Guard Cavalry took their opportunity to fight the king’s mighty “Dark Warrior,” and none of them was successful. As Amri tired, some came close by landing skilled strikes with their swords against him; others could not withstand the awesome physical strength the Sefu man possessed.

  Frustrated and annoyed, many of the Red Guard suggested they should gang up to kill Amri with the logic that, “He could not defeat us all at once.” Prince Stuart reminded them, the King’s wishes were for Amri to fight individual members of the Red Cavalry, and his purpose was to test their abilities, not be killed by their blades.

  It was late in the evening when Singletary suggested, “Maybe we should end this challenge. The men are weary, and Amri looks to be in no condition to go any further.”

  “Indeed, we shall stop here,” Stuart replied.

  Stuart approached the visibly tired Amri and said loudly, “Let every man here know his place within the Red is not guaranteed. Amri has shown us all how much we have to learn.

  Not only from the pain he has inflicted on us, but deaths from our enemies he has prevented here by exposing our weaknesses. We shall return to Harkstead Castle and take what we have learned here to train mightily. We must earn our right to wear our King’s colors with pride and with great skill.” Stuart raised his sword high above his head.