Mercenary

by Jon Kiln

The Duchess was sitting in her study having an early breakfast, enjoying the warmth of the sunrise as the rays from the east began to brighten the room. Breakfast was one of the Duchess’s favorite meals of the day. Today she had ordered poached hens eggs and toasted muffins. She smiled contentedly to herself as she sliced through one of the eggs, releasing its soft yellow yolk to flood gently over the crumpet.

  “Excuse me, Your Excellence?” politely interrupted one of her pages. “I’m sorry to disturb your breakfast, but you sent for your Captain of the Guard, Captain Versance?”

  “Of course, send him in.”

  “Your Excellence,” bowed Captain Versance, always a stickler for protocol.

  “Come in, captain,” gestured the Duchess.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer me to come back after you have finished your breakfast?”

  “Nonsense, captain,” dismissed the Duchess. “We have more important things to discuss than breakfast. Come, take a seat. Let me pour you some tea while you tell me about your progress in calling together our army.”

  “Well, as you have commanded, we have called all able bodied men to report to the Castle,” began the captain, as the Duchess started to pour tea from her favorite delicate china tea pot. Suddenly, the Duchess’s hand began to shake, and the tea pot began to wobble. “Your Excellence?” asked the captain, concerned by the Duchess’s shakiness. The Duchess continued to struggle to control the teapot, tea spilling messily over the table in front of her. “Your Excellence? Your Excellence? Are you okay?” The Duchess seemed to have a glazed look over her face. Suddenly the teapot fell from her hand, rolling across the table and falling onto the stone floor where it smashed into a multitude of pieces. The Duchess slumped back in her chair, not responding to the captain’s concerned queries.

  “Aaaaggghh!” screamed the Duchess, her body wracked with pain as she slid down onto the floor.

  “Your Excellence!” shouted the captain, leaping to his feet. “Raise the alarm! Raise the alarm! The Duchess has fallen ill!” Maids and pages quickly dashed into the room, helping the captain to lift the Duchess to her feet. “Take her to her bedroom!” instructed the captain. “Call the doctors! Call the doctors!”

  “My daughter,” sobbed the Duchess suddenly. “My daughter. Oh my dear daughter, I’m so sorry.”

  “Your Excellence? Your Excellence? What is it? What’s the matter? What is it that pains you?”

  “My daughter... my daughter is dead,” sobbed the Duchess. “He has killed her. He has killed them both.”

  “Who has? Duke Harald?”

  “He’s executed them. I watched them die.”

  “Your Excellence, please just rest now, the doctors will be here soon. They will give you something to help you relax,” comforted the captain.

  “No!” shouted the Duchess, sitting up suddenly from her bed, her voice becoming steely and firm. “No. I have no need of doctors. We have wasted too much time already. Call my army together! I will rain fire down on that mad man! I will not rest until I tear him limb from limb! I will feed his eyes to the crows and scatter his ashes to the wind so that his name will be forgotten for all time!” The captain had never seen the Duchess so enraged, her fury was terrifying, all-consuming, filling the room with her anger and anguish. “Go now, captain!” instructed the Duchess darkly. “Go now. We both have a lot of work to do.”

  The captain bowed deeply as he left the room.

  41

  “I feel sick,” said Myriam, suddenly clutching the side of the boat.

  Artas rushed to her side. “What is it, Princess? What’s the matter?”

  “I... I don’t know,” gasped Myriam, clutching her stomach. “I just feel blackness, everywhere blackness.”

  “I feel it too,” nodded Hendon. “Something has taken the light. There is something evil, something powerful.”

  “What are you both talking about?” Ganry continued to steer the boat. “I don’t feel anything. Barnaby, you take care of Myriam and Hendon. Artas, help me point the boat towards the Temple Stream. We’ve got to get off this lake as quickly as possible.”

  Artas moved over to give Ganry a hand. “We’re getting closer to the shore. Do we know what a water dragon looks like?”

  “I’m sure we’ll know one if we see one. Let’s just take it steady. The Temple Stream must be just up ahead. Barnaby, how are those two doing?”

  “Cold, but calmer. It’s almost as if they’re falling into some sort of sleep. Will we be able to find somewhere to rest tonight?”

  “I’m inclined to stay on the boat to be honest. We need to put some distance between us and those lake men.”

  “Wait, what’s that?” Artas leaned over the side of the boat, looking down into the water. “I saw something move down there.”

  “Stay calm, stay calm,” soothed Ganry. “No need to panic until we know what we’re dealing with.”

  “Whoah!” Artas jumped as the boat lurched suddenly.

  “That wasn’t good.” Ganry drew his sword WindStorm from its scabbard.

  “I think we’ve found a water dragon.”

  “Or a water dragon has found us. Stay back from the edge of the boat, it might decide that we’re too big to worry about if we don’t provoke it.”

  Artas grunted as he fell against the mast, knocked off balance as the boat lurched again, as if it was being pushed to one side or run aground on some rocks.

  “I think that’s just it's tail hitting us,” said Ganry. “Maybe trying to tip us over. If we can get a look at its head, I’ll take a swing at it.”

  “Watch out!” yelled Artas, as the craft lurched again.

  Ganry crouched at one end of the boat, sword at the ready. “Can you see its shape?”

  “It seems long long and thin.” Artas tried to catch a glimpse of whatever it was that that was buffeting their boat. “Maybe a bit like a snake? A big snake?”

  “A snake? I hate snakes! Why does it have to be a snake?”

  “There! There’s it’s head!” pointed Artas.

  “It’s too dark, I can’t see anything. Careful!” The boat lurched once more as the water dragon bumped it again with its tail.

  “Don’t antagonize it,” cautioned Barnaby.

  “Antagonize it?” asked Ganry incredulously. “It attacked us, remember?”

  Barnaby shook his head, while clutching the side of the boat. “It’s just a wild animal. We’ve entered its territory. The more that we act like prey, the more it will hunt us.”

  “So what would you suggest?”

  “There’s the temple that we’ve been looking for.” A dark building slowly emerged from the mist. “That’s the beginning of the Temple Stream. Pull up there, stop the boat there.”

  “Really? You want to stop the boat while we are being stalked by a water dragon?” asked Ganry in disbelief.

  “Yes! That’s exactly why we need to stop the boat.”

  “There’s a pier outside the temple,” indicated Artas. “Can you guide us in there?”

  “If our watery friend doesn’t tip us over first,” said Ganry, rolling his eyes. “Take the rope, Artas. You’ll need to jump to the pier to pull us in tight and secure the mooring. Ready? One... Two... Now!”

  Artas leaped across the small gap between the bobbing boat and the small wooden pier that extended from the temple, quickly wrapping the rope around one of the mooring posts to secure it.

  “I can’t see the snake!” shouted Artas.

  “Don’t call it a snake,” growled Ganry. “Let’s call it a water dragon. Somehow that makes me feel better.”

  “There it is!” Artas peered at the long dark shape, moving gracefully under the water. “It’s still circling us!”

  Barnaby watched it swimming lazily around them. “Relax. Let’s just get everyone off the boat and into the temple.”

  Artas was still worried. “Can they not climb on to land?”

  “We know nothing about these beasts. We just need to tread carefully.”


  Artas and Ganry helped Barnaby to lift Myriam and and Hendon out of the boat.

  “Artas, go with Barnaby.” Ganry stood as far away from the edge of the pier as possible. “See what that temple holds for us and whether we can bunker down here for the night. I’ll try and keep an eye on what this water dragon is up to.”

  With his dagger drawn, Artas led the way off the pier. They headed towards the temple, which appeared to be built on stilts over the water in the style of the lake men.

  “It looks deserted,” said Artas quietly, feeling his way through the darkness. “This door is open.” He pushed cautiously against the large wooden door that seemed to give access to the temple buildings.

  “What have you found?” whispered Ganry, coming up behind the group, sword still drawn, warily peering into the darkness around them.

  “Deserted I think. Any sign of that water dragon?”

  “No, it seems to have lost interest once we stopped moving. Barnaby was right.”

  “We should probably try and spend the night here,” pondered Artas. “If we could just get a fire or something going, we’ll be able to see what we’re dealing with.”

  “Maybe I can help you with that,” said a voice from deep within the darkness.

  Ganry moved protectively in front of the the others. “Who’s there?” he challenged.

  A small light flickered at the rear of the temple.

  “My name is Ghaffar. Welcome to my temple. I’ve been expecting you.”

  42

  “Quickly Arexos, quickly!” urged Badr al Din. “The master Qutaybah arrives today. Everything must be perfect or it will be me that will be sent to the slave market.”

  Areas did his best to carry the enormous platters of fruit through to the quarters that would be used by Qutaybah, the master of Villa Salamah, to which Arexos now belonged.

  Arexos’s days of living in the Kingdom of Palara seemed a long time ago, a different lifetime almost. His life had taken an unexpected turn when he, and his master Hendrickson, had been betrayed by the Narc smugglers and sold into slavery. Arexos often wondered what had become of Henrickson. He hoped that he was safe and well somewhere.

  In the early days of his captivity, Arexos had dreamed that Henrickson would come and rescue him. He imagined that Henrickson would turn up out of the blue one day, storming in, shouting his name, searching for Arexos. But as the days had dragged on into weeks, that fantasy faded. He became resigned to his day-to-day reality of life as a slave at Villa Salamah, under the direction of Badr al Din, the chief housekeeper of the villa.

  “Sir, what’s he like?” asked Arexos, working alongside Bard al Din. They were changing the cushion covers that covered the floor of Qutaybah’s sleeping quarters.

  “Who?” replied Badr al Din impatiently, focused on the task at hand.

  “The master Qutaybah. The man that we belong to. I was just wondering, what’s he like?” repeated Arexos.

  “You are always so full of questions!” laughed Badr al Din. “It is unlikely that you will meet him, he’s a very private man. He likes things done perfectly, no surprises.”

  “How will he travel, when he arrives here today?”

  “Well, of course he will ride his horse, like all nobles do.”

  “But will he travel alone, or will he have servants with him? Or family?” persisted Arexos.

  “He doesn’t have family. Villa Salamah was part of the estate of the master’s father. Qutaybah inherited everything when his father died. He may travel with a small number of slaves, but generally he just travels with his security guards. They are hired soldiers that answer to him alone. Some people call them the assassins.”

  “What do you mean? The assassins?”

  “That’s enough!” snapped Badr al Din. “I’ve said too much already. The master does not tolerate idle gossip.”

  Arexos felt a little nervous but also excited at the prospect of meeting the powerful man who held Arexos' life in his hands.

  A distant bell was echoed by a bell rung in the grounds of the villa.

  “That’s the signal!” gasped Badr al Din in alarm. “They are coming. The watch-tower has alerted us. Qutaybah is coming! Quickly now, let me make a final check... good yes, good, I think we are ready. Go now, back to your quarters until I call for you!”

  Arexos almost did as he was told, retreating out of sight of the main building of the villa compound, but he didn’t go and conceal himself within the slaves’ rooms as Badr al Din had instructed. Arexos was curious and wanted to catch a glimpse of Qutaybah. He had never seen a Vandemland noble before, and he wondered how they differed from the nobles of the Kingdom of Palara.

  Arexos didn’t have long to wait. In just a few moments he could hear the clattering of horses hooves across the stones and pebbles that lined the forecourt. Peering discretely around a corner, he could see the boys from the stables come running to take care of the horses of Qutaybah and his men. Arexos saw Badr al Din walking out to meet the party.

  “Master! Welcome to your home!” exclaimed Badr al Din formally, bowing deeply and respectfully. A large man walked past Badr al Din, seeming to not even acknowledge his existence. It was clear to Arexos that this was Qutaybah. He walked with power and with purpose. Arexos only caught a brief glimpse of him. A tall man, broad shoulders, his ebony skin contrasting sharply with the white robes that he wore. Arexos wondered what language he spoke, what it would be like to serve such a man, and how different it would be serving Qutaybah compared to serving Henrickson.

  Arexos began to wander slowly back towards the slaves’ quarters, assuming Qutaybah would be secluded within his quarters for the rest of the day. As Arexos was trailing his fingers through the cool trickling water of one of the fountains that lined the courtyard, he was surprised by a deep voice from behind him.

  “Who are you?” It was a voice that Arexos didn’t recognize, its suddenness startled him. He turned slowly and was intimidated to realize that it was Qutaybah himself who stood behind him, watching him carefully. Before Arexos could speak, Badr al Din bustled forward, bowing deeply.

  “I’m so sorry master, so sorry. It is just a new slave that we have been training, no need to concern yourself with him. He was just on his way back to the slaves’ quarters,” groveled Badr al Din.

  “No, he wasn’t,” contradicted Qutaybah firmly. He wasn’t going anywhere. “This boy isn’t used to being a slave. Where did you find him?”

  “He was purchased from the slave market,” explained Badr al Din.

  “Where are you from, boy?” demanded Qutaybah, addressing Arexos.

  “He’s from...” began Badr al Din, trying to retain some sort of control over the situation.

  “I asked the boy!” snapped Qutaybah, quickly silencing the housekeeper. “Answer me boy, where are you from?”

  Arexos was unsure of the protocol for addressing a man such as Qutaybah. “I’m from the Kingdom of Palara... your... royalness.”

  “Palara?” noted Qutaybah with interest. “Badr al Din, you should know better than to buy slaves from Palara. But anyway, assign the boy to my quarters. He will attend to my needs during my stay.”

  “Master please,” began Badr al Din, “the boy is only new, let me offer you a more experienced...”

  “Enough with your sniveling!” snapped Qutaybah. “My orders are clear. Do not give me an excuse to cut your head off.”

  Badr al Din bowed as low as possible, his forehead pressed to the ground beneath him. “Yes, master.”

  Arexos looked at Qutaybah in awe, there was something incredibly compelling and magnetic about this man.

  “You haven’t learned how to bow yet boy?” asked Qutaybah, raising an querying eyebrow towards Arexos. Arexos hurriedly attempted a bow, so clumsy that it drew a good-natured laugh from Qutaybah. “Come,” he smiled, “it’s been a long journey. Draw me a bath. Hopefully you are better at that than you are at bowing.”

  43

  “All rise for the Regent of
Palara!” boomed the loud voice of the footman, announcing the arrival of Duke Harald into the throne room. Harald carefully sat on the great throne, knowing that it would cause grumblings among the conservative members of the nobility, but not caring anymore about whose sensitivities were trampled, or whose egos were bruised.

  This was an important moment. He had called the heads of all the noble families of the kingdom together. His first official act since declaring himself Regent of Palara.

  The room had fallen silent as soon as he had entered, and he let that pregnant pause hang over the assembled gathering. He liked the sense of anticipation, that they were hanging on his every breath, waiting for his words of wisdom.

  “My Lords and Ladies,” began Harald eventually, choosing his words carefully. “I have called you together to warn of a dire threat against against us all, a dire threat against our very Kingdom.” Harald slowly looked around the room. He already knew who his allies were, and which of the noble families remained loyal to his brother, or at least the memory of the dead King. He would deal with those sympathizers later, quietly. This was a moment for leadership, not for retribution.

  “The events of past few weeks have been upsetting for us all. My own family has been torn apart by betrayal, mistrust, and treason. But for the good of our kingdom we cannot dwell on the past. With the death of my brother King Ludwig, the rightful heir to the throne is my niece, the Princess Myriam. Unfortunately, Myriam has been abducted from the castle, and we believe that she is being held by brigands in the Cefinon Forest. We hope and pray to the gods that she remains safe, but we fear that she may have already met a violent death. All of our efforts are focused on finding Myriam and returning her to her rightful place on the throne of our beloved Kingdom. In the meantime, I have agreed to accept the heavy responsibility of ruling as Regent, merely to ensure that there is some stability and leadership for our country during this difficult time.”

  Duke Harald paused and looked around the assembled throng of nobles, trying to gauge how much resistance he would face. He would kill them all if he had to. He had come too far now. What was one more life? Ten more lives? One hundred more lives? The druids had foretold that he could be King, he simply had to make it happen.