“The only thing that will please me is your slow painful death, as I pull your intestines out, arsehole first.” He withdrew his dagger, placing the tip above the man’s navel, letting it sink into the sagging flesh enough to draw blood.
“I’m sure it would, but I ask you to hear what I have to say first.” When Offa said nothing, he continued. “See you asked who I am, and I told you, but what you should have asked is who my family were. More directly who my sister was, and she was one of the midwives who helped deliver you.”
“And?”
“And,” Isaiah continued, “I know you ain’t Saerus. You’re the twin that got swallowed by him. How you took his body I don’t know, but you’re not even close to being him.”
Offa’s eyes narrowed, and the tip of the blade sank in deeper. Isaiah grunted but otherwise gave no other reaction. “I also know if you don't listen to me, you’ll be dead before the next pregnant moon. I’m the only one who can help you.”
“Why should I believe you?” Offa asked, uncertainty coating his voice.
“I’m still alive talking to you, ain’t I?”
“For how long is the question, I’m growing bored, and still really want to disembowel you.” In spite of his words, Offa removed the blade from the old man and licked the blood off with loving care.
“All I ask is you listen to what I have in mind. I intended no harm in what I said, it was only to get your attention, and a moment alone with you.”
“Quite the gamble. That is impressive, as I was going to spill your guts on the floor where you stood. But that doesn’t give me a reason to keep you alive. What you said was a lie. You know who it was, and it wasn’t me. That is treason.” Offa’s eyes narrowed as he fondled the blade of his weapon, itching to plunge it back into the wretch’s flesh. Over and over again.
For the first time, Isaiah sensed he might not have much time, and he continued on, ignoring the pain from his wound, and steeling his nerve to not break eye contact. “I have friends all around the castle. I hear things, and I can tell you what they’re planning.”
“They? Who’s they?” Offa’s voice was as sharp and lethal as the blade he now held against Isaiah’s throat. He pricked the skin enough to get a trickle of blood to dribble down.
“The, the, the guards,” he said stumbling over his words for the first time. Offa was glad to see his confidence being broken down. In fact, it made him smile even as his anger rose at the idea of his treasonous guards.
“Do you think that’s enough? From the time of the first King, guards and others have plotted and planned to overthrow the ruler, good or bad. That is the nature of power. Power is only strong when it is taken from someone. Even then, it rots rapidly until the cycle begins again.”
“You’re different though, what’s saying you couldn’t control whoever was leading the rebellion? You could rule for centuries, going from body to body to body.”
Offa’s eyes widened, as the thought of immortality loomed before him. He wondered why he hadn’t thought of that. He’d managed to get rid of Saerus’ consciousness, why couldn’t he take over someone else’s? It wasn’t unheard of, and he was sure there were far more powerful magicks in the world that he could only dream about.
“Do you know who the leader is?”
“No, but I could find out,” Isaiah offered.
“Not enough, there are always those like yourself all too willing to sell others out for some coin.”
“What if I told you that your Wizard was still alive?”
Offa put his dagger away and squeezed Isaiah’s throat, making sure he didn’t crush his windpipe as he wanted so very much to do. “I’d say that would deserve a reward.”
“He’s hiding out, I’ve no idea where but I can find out. I’m sure he’d be in league with the guards.”
Offa thought a moment, then released Isaiah’s throat, his hand falling to his side and grabbing the handle of his dagger. “I’ll find him, I guarantee you that, and now here’s your reward. A quicker death than you deserve.”
Isaiah had no time to react before the blade was slid between his ribs and then turned with such force it chipped the bones it had been plunged between. Blood erupted from his mouth in a heavy spray, spotting Offa’s face. A slight, grim smile spread across his face as the light in his eyes dimmed for the final time, and his body went limp.
Offa lifted the hem of his sleeping gown and wiped his face. In anger, he grabbed the dead man’s head and began to bash it against the wall over and over until it cracked like an egg, and the grayish brain splattered against the wall. Still not sated, he left the chamber, to find a guard. “Cut that man’s head off and put it on display!”
He stormed off and left the guard to carry out his orders. He walked back to the dead man, lifted up what was left of the head, and with one clean sweep, severed it from the rest of his body.
The guard held the head up and smiled.
21: Waiting
Da’Nel and Petram had finished eating their portion of the boar and saved some for Kiandra. Hours had passed, and she still had not returned. Several times Petram had leaped up and started to go search, and each time Da’Nel kept him from going into the woods. “Trust me,” he kept saying, “You have to trust me.”
“Ye don’t know her as I do!” Petram would answer back.
“You came to me for help, I can go back home at any time, the affairs of your King are none of my concern. I’ve lived this long without the benefit of a country, I can certainly let the sands run out without ever having one again! Now either listen to what I say or find your own way!”
That outburst shut Petram up for a while and gave Da’Nel the peace he sought. Much as he had grown to like the dwarfs, he still preferred his own company and thought that would always be the case. Still, he wondered why they thought he of all people could help. What made him so special? Even as the focal point of being a legend, there was nothing known of his true accomplishments, just rumors and exaggerations, which is how he liked things and wished them to be kept.
“I love my King, as I loved his mother, I love my country and my city. I love the people and wish to see them protected and happy. That won’t happen, if Saerus dies,” Petram said as if reading Da’Nel’s mind. “I practically raised the boy, taught him to fight, taught him the great battles, taught him his history, and what honor means, and what a terrible responsibility it is to be a King. His family did right by me, and I owe them my life.”
“What’s he like, King Saerus?”
A warm smile spread across his face at the thought of Saerus. Sometimes bratty, sometimes mischievous, but always a pleasure and well mannered is what Petram thought and was about to say when something entirely different came out. “Well he has two pricks,” Petram gasped and clapped his hands over his mouth.
Da’Nel couldn’t help but laugh and poked the fire as he waited for Petram to continue.
“Not mean to say that first thing, but I guess for those who know, you can’t help but think of it first.”
“One causes enough trouble, I can’t even imagine two.”
“You’re tellin’ me,” Petram said, “but it’s not how I think of him, he’s a bright boy, well, a man now, or near enough, very pleasant, but if I’m to be truthful, he always seemed to be lonely. His two pricks were always denied, but everyone knew, and to many, it was the sign of something evil.”
“Evil? How could a deformity be evil?”
“There are plenty of foolish folks who still believe in the tales from long ago,”
“Such as Druid Earthen Elves?” Da’Nel said, unable to resist ribbing the dwarf.
“Well I s’pose, and to be honest I had no idea if you even existed, let alone find a book about ya. But you’re right, here you are. What I’m talking about is more like the stories your grandmother would tell you when you were a small child; abut things under the bed who would eat bad children or frogs that would steal your tongue if you lied. My Mam told me that one and said no m
atter where I was, the frog would find me. All it had to do was stick its tongue out and all the other tongues it took, formed his so it could find and snatch the liar’s.”
Da’Nel smiled at the thought.
“Well, you can imagine what that would do to a child!”
“A tongue like that, I can imagine what it would, period!” Petram burst out laughing and slapped both knees. He rocked back and forth, alternating between knee-slapping and wiping a tear from his eye.
“You’re a corrupt minded elf, you’ll get along well with Kharisi, he’d probably tell you the frog’s tongue had been up...” he stopped before he could finish as the thought of Kharisi flashed through his mind.
“Who?” Da’Nel asked, now quite curious.
“Err, he’s the King’s personal guard now, a drunkard who will fuck anything with a hole, including, if rumors are to be believed, the King as well.”
Da’Nel’s eyes widened in surprise, he expected to hear many things, but not that the King was prone to buggery. “Do you believe it?”
Petram looked at Da’Nel, his eyes narrowing just a bit. “I’ve seen 'em at it, so yes I do.”
“Now who has a corrupt mind?”
“No, it wasn’t like that. There’s a hidden trap door in the King’s chambers. I would check on him through the night, and once I heard muffled voices and a scream, so I peeked through and saw... what I saw.”
“Which was?” Da’Nel asked leaning in closer.
“Kharisi mounting the King on his hands and knees. I was shocked. I’ve got nothing against the buggery, but the King! We’ve never had one as King before. Well, not one who didn’t keep it a secret.”
“What did you do?”
“What could I do? Nothing. The Queen was ill, and this news would do her no good. Tell Saerus? That would mean he’d find out I was sent to spy on him by his Mother. Tell Kharisi? He’d make sure he did it even more. No, best I could do was try to keep the rumors under control. And if they’d found out what else was happening...” Petram’s voice trailed off. Even thinking about it now made his marrow freeze. He knew those tales were nothing but stories to keep children in line, but the things growing from Saerus, he wasn’t so sure they weren’t evil or cursed somehow.
“What else?” Da’Nel said though it was more of a demand than a question.
Petram opened his mouth to speak, then closed it in confusion. He wasn’t really sure how to explain it, and not sure he wanted to. The darkness of night had now encapsulated them, the fire their only light, and Da’Nel kept stoking it, making sure it didn’t go out. Every so often he’d throw more twigs and small branches on the fire to fuel it a bit more, even though Petram was sure they’d run out a while ago. The dwarf moved closer to Da’Nel, sitting within whispering distance. The wind had picked up ever so slightly and he didn’t want his words to sail away to a stranger’s ears. Bad enough to hear the sounds of creatures in the forest walking around, he didn’t want anything unnatural to hear what they were having their palaver about.
When Petram spoke it was in an atypical, for him anyway, hushed, almost reverent tone. A shift in tone so startling, Da’Nel made sure to pay strict attention. “When his mother was carrying him, the scuttlebutt was that she was carrying twins. No one said anything as they didn’t want to curse it, as you know how rare twins surviving was. Didn’t want to have a nation grieve needlessly, or so the Queen thought. Well, she didn’t have twins, just Saerus, but as I said, he was born with two pricks which people thought...”
“Was the twin, that somehow Saerus absorbed. The extra appendage the only proof of that.” Da’Nel said, finishing Petram’s sentence. “But why not have it removed? Surely that would have been easier, not to mention less stress for the boy.”
“She wouldn’t hear of it. Would not risk losing her son’s life, not risk putting the country in turmoil, to lose the heir to the throne. I can’t say I blame her. So we all did the best we could to keep it from public knowledge. As Saerus got older, he started developing small bumps and growths on his body. No one could figure out what they were, and they didn’t seem to hurt him, so they were left alone. However, after he spilled his first seed, the bumps began to take shape in the form of fingers, a toe here and there, and other body parts. These did hurt, so much so in fact, he lay in a living sleep as we speak.”
“And that’s why you were looking for me, to wake him.”
Petram swallowed and gazed into the fire, his mind back at the castle, his feet wanting to move and to do so quickly. “Nay, that is easy enough to do, even for the least experienced healer, purging this thing from Saerus, well that’s something else entirely. But if anyone could do it, we thought, hoped, you could.”
Da’Nel also gazed into the fire, looking for any signs, signals, visions or premonitions, but the flames revealed nothing. In all his life, which spanned far more time than anyone would have thought, he’d only heard about something similar to this once, and the results were not good. Not good was being polite, he thought, they were awful. Horrendous. Lethal. He fed another few twigs that seemed to come from thin air into the fire. “I cannot guarantee anything Petram. Most likely the boy will die. That’s if he’s lucky. If he’s unlucky, two cocks will be the least of his problems. I’d suggest making a list of someone to succeed him.”
Petram’s eyes watered, and he didn’t even pretend to hold back the tears. “It’s hopeless then,” he said in a voice so mournful it managed to pierce and break even Da’Nel’s bitter, hardened heart.
“Nothing is hopeless. You found me, and those were longer odds than healing the King are, but the outlook is grim, I will not mince my words. It’s good to have hope, but do not mistake false hope as the same thing. There are times when what we wish for is not what we actually want.”
“I understand Da’Nel, that’s all I can ask for.”
The Druid produced a bottle of ale and two glasses, poured the liquid into each and handed the fuller of the two to Petram. “I think this is well deserved and needed,” he said raising his glass in the dwarf’s direction. Petram reciprocated and took a healthy gulp, then wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve after issuing a long, loud, belch.
“Yer a damned pig!” a familiar voice called. Petram dropped his glass, turned and saw Kiandra moving towards them. He jumped up and ran to her, shouting her name with joy and relief. Kiandra put up her good hand to ward him off, but he grabbed her by the waist and hugged her tight, kissing her face as he did so.
Kiandra made a feeble attempt to fight him off, but her smile betrayed her actions.
Back at the fire, Da’Nel had his own smile and slipped away with his book to see what was next. Neither dwarf missed him, as the reunion took hold of their emotions.
22: Moving Forward
Kharisi wiped the sweat from his brow, as he fell back on his haunches, having finished administering the salve to Jeremiah’s wounds. He huddled with the still unconscious boy at the back of the cell in the shadows, to make hiding his actions easier. He needn’t have worried, as the few guards who passed by didn’t take notice of him and seemed to be occupied with their thoughts.
Jeremiah snored softly, laying his head in Kharisi’s lap.
“First time he’s done that without an open mouth,” Saerus said, teasing the elf.
“Not near as many times as you,” he shot back before they both burst into laughter. The sound disturbed Jeremiah, who opened his eyes with the greatest of exertions and smiled when Kharisi’s face came into focus.
“Am I dead?” he asked with wonderment and surprise.
“No, but you came close. Too close. You owe your life to Todrick, who is also not dead.”
Jeremiah began to sit up, and Kharisi helped him, taking hold of his arms and letting his back lean against the wall. “We have to get out of here, get help. The King isn’t himself.”
“Because that isn’t the King,” Saerus said. Hearing his voice come from Kharisi’s mouth frightened the boy, and he tried to inch aw
ay.
“What kind of dark magic is this?” he asked, fear lighting up his eyes.
Kharisi gave him a light but firm slap across the face. “What’s wrong with you, boy? Do you think I’d nurse you to health just to hurt you?”
“But the voice, it wasn’t yours, it was King Saerus’.”
Kharisi rolled his eyes. “I know that only too well. He won’t shut up, but that’s my problem. Your only worry should be if you can travel.”
“Help me up,” Jeremiah asked. Kharisi stood and held out a hand for the boy to take. He was glad to feel the grip was strong, and the boy had little effort in rising.
“Rising has never been his problem,” Saerus said giggling.
“Will you stop, please?” Kharisi said, sounding annoyed and ill-humored.
“Fine,” Saerus said and Kharisi could see him pouting, and how cute he looked when his lower lip stuck out.
Jeremiah steadied his legs and walked around the cell, appearing to have no infirmities at all. “I feel good. Tired but good.”
“Then lie back down, I have a plan. Pretend you’re asleep, I’ll have the guard come in, and when I give the word, you punch up with all your might. Understand?”
Jeremiah nodded and laid back down and closed his eyes. Kharisi moved to the front of the cell and began yelling as loud as he could, until the sleeping guard finally woke up, scowling at the intrusion.
“What’s your problem?”
“It’s the boy! Something’s wrong, I think he’s dying, please take a look.”
“Let’em, save me the headache.”
“And what do you think good King Saerus will do to you if he dies before he gets to execute him? Someone is going to have to take his place.”
The guard thought about this for a moment, grumbled a litany of colorful words, and began to stomp his way to the cell.
“Get away from the door,” he yelled at Kharisi who was already as far from it as he could get. The guard fumbled through the numerous keys on the oversized ring hanging from a belt beneath an avalanche of a gut. When he came to the right one, he unlocked the cell, stepped inside and shut the door but not enough for the lock to engage. “What’s the trouble with him?” The guard asked, eyeing Kharisi with great wariness. He knew of Kharisi, but up until now had never met the elf, and now having done so, was just as glad of not knowing him for much longer.
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