by J. M. Topp
The queen had had the same look of desire and admiration on her wedding day almost twenty years prior. Her dress then had been pearl white and the marriage to King Ayland had happened at the base of the newly built Athenaeum. Bendrick still remembered the much younger and more naïve Gwendylyyn then. She and King Ayland had seemed in love at that point. The three priests droned on and on, but Bendrick wasn’t paying attention. Sadness replaced the disgust in Bendrick’s mouth as Gwendylyyn and William kissed. The guests stood and clapped as the newlyweds walked back down the aisle. Bendrick bowed his head lightly as the queen passed him. She stepped lightly across the royal tapestry. Bendrick couldn’t stomach any more. He stood and walked out from the wedding ceremony without looking back.
MOONLIGHT GLOWED THROUGH the icy fog that covered the city, giving Bendrick just enough light to see. His half cloak flowed against the wind as he remained hidden in the shadows. Tiny bits of frost began to collect in his beard. Bendrick wiped the ice off his face and walked to the inner city, lost in silence and thought. Fireworks began to go off above the city, signifying the celebration and unity of the queen with William. Bendrick’s breath materialized in front of him in a cloud of vapor. He put his gloved hand to his mouth to stifle the white cloud. Bendrick snuck all the way to the Weserithian prisons, careful to stay hidden in the shadows.
As Bendrick approached the prisons, he noticed the guard was nowhere to be seen, as Rebecca had told him. Bendrick found the guard’s longsword underneath a brown cloak. He picked a cell key up from within the cloak. If the guard was smart, he would leave the city just as they were, or the queen would surely string him up by his neck. With a squeak, the reinforced iron door creaked open. Smells of death and decay wafted up through the door as Bendrick entered the first cell block. The prisons were silent now. The first cell block had been emptied of many soldiers that had been kept there. How they had been disposed of, Bendrick wasn’t sure, but it couldn’t have been pretty.
Bendrick walked through the silent prison and down the stairs into the second cell block. It was darker, and the intense metallic smell of blood pervaded the cells worse than before. Aside from a few torches resting in their sconces, Bendrick had to watch where he stepped. Water was dripping in this cell, but he couldn’t see from where. All he could do was hear its constant drip. It was a torture tactic, to keep the prisoners devoid of sleep. He walked too closely to a cell, and suddenly, from within the iron bars, a hand grabbed his arm.
Bendrick made the mistake of looking.
‘Is that really you?’ called a voice that was all too familiar to him. The man’s green and blue tattered-and-torn robe sleeves gave him away.
‘Remy, by the gods, have you been here all this time?’ Bendrick whispered hoarsely. Remy was barely recognizable. Scars from whips crisscrossed his face. He looked up at Bendrick with only one eye open. Some of his teeth were missing, and his lip was partially cut, but that didn’t stop him from smiling at Bendrick.
‘They told me I was vital in the king’s dastardly plans. I told them all I knew, and still they cut and tortured me. I didn’t know what else to say,’ Remy whimpered, barely able to stand up to the cell’s iron bars. ‘Get me out of here, Bendrick. Please, hurry before the guard returns.’
Bendrick knew that if he let Remy out, it would complicate the mission and increase their chances of being spotted. But he couldn’t let his old friend stay here. Remy could barely hold on to the iron bars that had imprisoned him. Bendrick couldn’t remember seeing Remy before this, or if he had, he hadn’t recognized him. Bendrick only had one key—the key to the king’s cell. He would need to retrieve a different key for this door. Suddenly, Bendrick turned his head rapidly as he heard footsteps descending into the cell. As Rebecca hadn’t told him of any visitors, Bendrick quietly loosened his longsword within its sheath and held the hilt tightly. Then, he recognized who had entered the prisons by the armour he was wearing; a bronze ring on his left arm gleamed in the torchlight. It was the city guard, Hedran. He held the torch away from his face to glance into the darkness.
‘Why have you left your post? Who gave you leave to abandon—’ Hedran snapped at the shadow. He cocked his head, peering into the shadows. His eyes widened as he saw Bendrick. ‘Who the hell are you?’
Bendrick didn’t answer. Instead, he drew his sword from its sheath and lunged at Hedran, weapon pointed horizontally for an abdominal strike. His sword struck at air. Hedran, having more experience than Bendrick had anticipated, dodged the blow and elegantly drew his longsword.
‘A worthy fight! I haven’t had one since we first got here. As much fun as that was, it gets boring killing Weserithian women, children, and old men after a while.’ Hedran laughed cruelly and slashed at Bendrick from a low angle. Bendrick blocked the sword aimed at his feet and realized his mistake. Hedran, with armoured fist, struck Bendrick’s face hard, sending him to the ground. Hedran stood over him and chuckled to himself.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve had enough. Get up!’ He leered as Bendrick struggled to find his footing. Seeing double, he shook his head and tried to focus on his opponent. He wasn’t about to let an upstart guard prevent the mission from being completed.
Bendrick jabbed his blade at Hedran, but once more was met with air as Hedran dodged out of the way and, with an upward strike, sliced Bendrick’s upper arm. The blow surprised Bendrick, but anger clouded his mind even further. Hedran smiled, knowing that his attack had connected. Bendrick turned to look at his bleeding arm. Even though he had been cut, he could still use it for now.
‘Just a little deeper and you would have lost that arm,’ chuckled Hedran, twirling his sword with one hand, grinning at Bendrick.
In silence, Bendrick struck laterally at Hedran. The glorified gate guard blocked with ease, sidestepping closer to Bendrick. However, this was Bendrick’s intent. Bendrick grabbed Hedran by his neck and squeezed as hard as he could. Hedran, surprised at his Bendrick’s strength, coughed and swung to cut Bendrick’s arm. Bendrick blocked the sword and hardened his grip on Hedran’s neck. Realizing his fatal mistake, Hedran eyes widened as he began to plead.
‘Please, wait.’ He coughed, dropping his sword and trying to free himself from Bendrick’s grip.
No death.
Bendrick blinked the voice from his mind. It was too late for that. All that mattered was getting the king out of Weserith and making sure Sieglinde was safe. Bendrick, with just one hand, clenched Hedran’s neck like a vice. It was a thin neck and not very muscular. Easy to squeeze. Bendrick’s blood rushed within him as his face turned sour.
‘You talk too much,’ Bendrick whispered into his fearful eyes. Bendrick smiled and slowly put the point of his sword onto Hedran’s stomach. For a moment, he held it there tauntingly, and then he plunged it fiercely into Hedran’s stomach. Blood spurted from Hedran’s wound like a geyser. Bendrick pulled the sword from his body, and Hedran fell to the ground limp, gurgling and twisting. Blood began to cover the floor. Bendrick stood over Hedran until he stopped twitching. Bendrick’s teeth were clenched, and his heart was racing. It had been years since he had killed like that. Before, he would have regretted killing a man so young. This time, he loved the feeling.
Not so bored now, you filth?
Bendrick shook the thoughts from his head and cleaned his sword on Hedran’s clothing. He sheathed his weapon and turned to Remy, who had witnessed the entire fight with delight. The smile of hope radiated from him. ‘Well fought, old friend. Now, get me out of here,’ Remy said jubilantly. Bendrick steeled his jaw and walked to the end of the second cell block. He opened the king’s cell door. Inside, Ayland was in the dark corner Bendrick had first seen him in. He grabbed the oblivious king and helped him to his feet. His eyes were darting back and forth, and he was still mouthing inaudible words. Foam had collected at the sides of his mouth. Yet he was able to stand, albeit on one foot, and stumble to the door. Ayland followed Bendrick’s guidance and they were able to move through the cells. As they passed Hedr
an’s dead body, Bendrick glanced at Remy.
‘By the abandoned gods, Bendrick! Is that King Ayland? Has he been here all this time?’ Remy asked in surprise, but then, as Bendrick moved passed him, Remy widened in surprise. The look of betrayal and despair had amassed into one. Bendrick closed his eyes, wishing for an end to Remy’s pain. One way or another, it would happen. Bendrick clenched his jaw and walked past his old friend. Remy cried out for Bendrick to come back, but Bendrick ignored his pleas.
The king must come first.
They emerged from the prison cell into the frigid snows and walked as fast as they could to the stables. There, in front of the stables, was an Aivaterran steed. Rebecca had prepared their escape well.
Bendrick untied the rope and heaved the king onto the saddle. The king only had a small loincloth to keep him warm. Bendrick untied the half-cloak from his shoulders and draped it over the king. It wouldn’t be much, but it would keep him a bit warmer. Bendrick jumped onto the horse behind the king. The horse lunged forward under Bendrick’s urging.
Bendrick had ridden Aivaterran horses before, but there was something different about the one he was riding on. The steed powered through the foggy night at an incredible pace. The horse zipped through the unguarded gate. Bendrick noticed the bodies of the guards with bolts in their chests. Right before they hit the Kingsroad, Bendrick thought he heard a scream in the night. It sounded like Remy’s voice. Perhaps one day he would be forgiven. King Ayland needed his help now. To go back would mean all of their deaths. The horse raced through to the main road and into the darkness of the night.
I will see you again, old friend.
CHAPTER TEN
The Gauntlet
BY THE TIME Bendrick and Ayland reached the fork in the road between Greenwood and Estia Fortress, the sun was beginning to rise in the east. Bendrick pulled the reigns of his horse and led it down the road to Estia Fortress. Icy winds blew against them sharply as snows trickled from the dark skies. Ayland was shivering intensely beside Bendrick, yet he was extremely warm to the touch. The horse struggled through the thickening tundra, but kept it’s footing sure. Their journey from Weserith had been surprisingly fast despite the fast falling snows. Bendrick urged his horse even harder. Aivaterran horses were fast, but they weren’t conditioned to such harsh environments.
Much to Bendrick’s relief, they met Rebecca a little past the fork. She was accompanied by someone who was also atop a horse. Bendrick stopped his mount a few feet before the elf.
‘Good morrow, Bendrick. And quite a morning, isn’t it?’ Rebecca said, leaping fluidly from her mount and landing mere inches from Bendrick and the king. She bowed exquisitely at Ayland. ‘Your Grace, may your rule never end.’
Ayland only stared at her blankly, mouthing a few words inaudibly. Rebecca looked at Bendrick, confused.
‘He’s been doing that since we left Weserith, only mouthing words every now and again. We must get him to the encampment fast,’ said Bendrick with a sense of urgency in his voice. Rebecca climbed back onto her horse and urged it on. Bendrick noticed that there was a rope in-between her horse and the other rider. He also realized that the rider had a burlap sack on his head. Bendrick tilted his head. ‘Who is that?’
‘A friend whose identity must remain hidden for now,’ Rebecca said, turning and whispering something to her horse. Her horse turned and bounded down the road. The troop raced through the woods to Estia Fortress. If they were really going to make an offensive against the queen, they’d better move fast. William’s threat loomed over Bendrick’s head. The sooner, the better.
Estia Fortress had been a bastion created by King Ayland shortly after the end of the Kingsfury war. Fortified with over two hundred men, it was more of a small castle than a military fortress. The soldiers residing there had been allowed families and whatever farm animals they could bring. The Fortress was hidden amidst the hills and shrouded in thick forest, though that was only part of the story that made Estia such an eerie place. It was said that thousands of years before, during the Age of Fog, a daemon king had made his rest there. It was considered a tale to scare children, but when Bendrick thought about it, it made him shiver. Bendrick remembered what William had said about the rumours of daemons at the Blade Fortress.
Delusions, it must be.
Suddenly, the black fortress tower sprung up from the tall trees. Hundreds of tents surrounded the base of the tower housing the five thousand remaining troops. As the horses trotted through the tents, men looked up at them glumly. Small fires dotted the encampment, and the Red Pegasus banner flew in the fierce winds above them. Some of the men must have escaped from the valley after the battle. A few recognized the king and knelt in respect, only to be met with a blank stare from Ayland. They had been waiting for almost a month for the return of their king.
Bendrick and Rebecca rode to the captain’s tent that was situated almost in the middle of the encampment. Two guards stood silent in front of the captain’s tent, both shivering and gripping their cloaks to their necks. Rebecca stopped just before the guards and turned to Bendrick.
‘Sir Jeyannin has been expecting you. Take the king inside. I’ll meet you later.’ Rebecca turned and urged the exhausted horse along. Rebecca’s hostage shook his head fiercely, and they both faded into the morning fog. Bendrick slid off his horse and helped the king dismount. They stumbled into the captain’s tent.
The inside of the tent smelt of Wyrmroot smoke, making Bendrick slightly dizzy as he inhaled. The knight was studying the maps set before him on a table. The large map was covered with terrain markings and small figurines depicting enemies and allies. It seemed that sleep had been eluding Sir Jeyannin. Dark circles sat beneath his eyes. His short, blond hair was unkempt. Grime decorated his face. The knight was a representation of what the army had gone through. Bendrick realized that during his time in the capitol, the army had been barely surviving. The man standing before him was a far cry from the armoured adviser he had seen in that war council months ago. Jeyannin fingered the warhorn tied around his neck, lost in contemplation. He looked up from his maps and quickly set down his pipe on his war table.
‘King Ayland,’ Jeyannin said in surprise, standing up. Bendrick helped Ayland sit down on a chair surrounding the war table. The young knight bowed and took his seat once again, ‘We owe you much, Bendrick Greystonne, and even Rebecca. I am relieved she came through for us.’
Bendrick nodded grimly.
‘Weserith thanks you for returning our king,’ Jeyannin said, picking up his pipe again and taking a puff. ‘The Harlot Queen has made things incredibly difficult for us.’
‘Sir Jeyannin, I’m afraid I don’t have good news,’ said Bendrick, turning to the king, who began shaking and darting his eyes back and forth. ‘He is suffering from…’ Ayland’s eyes rolled up into his skull, and blood began pouring from his mouth. Bendrick rushed to his side and bent the king forward so he would not aspirate.
‘Bring the healer! Now!’ yelled Jeyannin to the guards outside. They rushed from the tent. ‘What happened in Weserith?’
‘The queen tortured him every day for nearly a month.’ Bendrick held the king bent over as a thick, yellow viscous liquid dripped from his mouth. ‘With very little food and water and an amputated leg, it is a wonder that he survived for so long,’ Bendrick whispered.
Ayland coughed more blood and then wiped the remaining liquid from his lips. He seemed to regain his composure and stood as well as he could. Ayland took the pipe from the young knight’s hand. Jeyannin only stared in confusion as he studied the king. Ayland put the pipe to his lips and took a deep puff. He started coughing again.
‘You were right, Gwendylyyn,’ Ayland said with a raspy voice. ‘It doesn’t taste very good.’
Bendrick stared at Ayland for a moment. He was mad. The realization hit him like a brick. The king took one more puff from Jeyannin’s pipe and set it down on the table, spilling some of its contents. Ayland began to laugh hysterically as the healer en
tered the room.
‘Take the king to my tent, and make sure he is comfortable. We need him back to sanity,’ said Jeyannin gravely. The healer nodded and helped the king to his feet. They exited the war tent, leaving Bendrick and Jeyannin alone.
‘He utters the name of his wife, the queen, as if she were here with him. Ayland sees her wherever he looks.’ Bendrick stared at Jeyannin, measuring his words. Finally, he took a deep breath. ‘I am afraid I have worse news.’
‘What could be worse than the king losing his sanity?’
‘William betrayed us. He has married the queen and now is the new king.’
Jeyannin stared down at the war table, studying the pieces. All of a sudden, he slammed his fist on the table. Bendrick glanced at the war tent’s entrance as the guards resumed their post.
‘William knows where we are, and he intends to use the newly-invented black powder to annihilate us.’
Jeyannin looked up at Bendrick, a look of defeat clouding his face.
‘This does not look good at all, Bendrick. With General Mahkaman gone, I was counting on the king to be sane, to lead us out of this mess. I cannot do it alone.’
‘I am sorry, sir; his condition has only worsened since he was in that cell. He lost his leg, but thanks to Rebecca, we stopped the infection. Ayland would have died in that cell if not for her efforts.’ Bendrick cleared his throat. ‘I had to leave Remy in those cells in order to save King Ayland’s life.’