The Last Swordsman

by Benjamin Corman

  He knew where he was going. The layout of Highkeep was still strong in his mind. Moving through hallways and small chambers, up stairwells and through doorways, he made his way toward the King’s chambers, easily avoiding any that he encountered. When he neared his destination, he saw the glow of a torch ahead, and then could make out a man seated in a chair, wisps of grey hair on his head, and a sword at his waist.

  Nikolis’ breath caught in his throat. His instinct was to turn back, to run away. But ahead was the sole, twisting stairway that lead up to the room that was now the king’s bedchamber. There was no way around the obstacle that lay ahead. Mustering every ounce of his courage Nikolis stepped forward and drew his sword.

  The man ahead looked up, and if he was surprised at who stood before him, he did not show it. Instead he only grimaced. “So, Nikolis,” said Arthur Drennen. “You return.”

  Nikolis only nodded. There was no room for smiles on his face, and he didn’t know what to say to the man that had been his master, his mentor.

  “I expected you sooner. A dutiful man would have returned right away.”

  “You can’t possibly believe what they say of me,” Nikolis said.

  “Oh?” asked Drennen. “Can’t I?”

  “I would never harm the King. Nor Lirk, or Evar, or anyone.”

  “That I do believe,” Drennen replied. “But there is much more to this tale.”

  “What would you have had me do?” Nikolis demanded. “Should I have stood by, and watched them murder the King?”

  “Always so rash. Always so quick to act.”

  Nikolis paced in a circle, eyeing Arthur Drennen and his sword. “You honed those skills. You were my teacher.”

  Arthur Drennen stood, and drew his own slender sword. “I thought I had trained you better.”

  “I ask you again, what would you have had me do?”

  “I would have had you think, before you acted.”

  “What would you have had me do?” Nikolis yelled, suddenly not caring who heard.

  “Don’t you see? Are you blind? It is not what you did then, not entirely, but what you seek to do now.”

  Nikolis gritted his teeth and lunged forward, leveling a thrust at Arthur Drennen’s chest. The master of arms easily parried the blow aside, coming back with a strike of his own. Nikolis caught this on his blade and launched another attack.

  “You are angry,” said Drennen. “When you fight angry, you are more likely to make a mistake.”

  “More lessons?” Nikolis asked.

  “You still have much to learn,” Drennen replied, matter-of-factly. He slashed at Nikolis, who had to step back to avoid the blow.

  “I cannot let them go unpunished,” Nikolis spat at him, bringing the conversation back to the subject at hand. “I don’t know how you can.”

  “I do my duty. I do what I am told.”

  “Your duty is to protect the King!” Nikolis said, punching his sword forward. The master of arms easily caught the wild blow. “You have improved,” Drennen said, “but not enough.” He leveled a thrust at Nikolis’ leg, catching him in the thigh. Nikolis winced but fought through the pain. The wound was not deep, though he could instantly feel a slight trickle of blood worming its way down his leg.

  Nikolis let loose another wild blow and then another, raining thrust after thrust upon his former master. Arthur Drennen parried them all with ease, turning them aside as he would swat at a fly.

  “My duty is to the King, and to the realm,” Drennen said, as he countered the attacks. “Sometimes you have to consider the greater good.”

  “You would serve him?” Nikolis demanded. He caught a slash from Drennen on his sword, and then spun off it and launched two of his own. “Do you really not see it? Has the entire realm gone mad? Do the words we say, the oaths we swear, mean nothing anymore? All in the King’s service swore oaths, and all have betrayed him. Even you!”

  “You have to think!” Drennen shot back, his voice straining. The man was growing tired. Nikolis could see it. His mind was sharp, his sword an extension of his will, but his breath was coming harder, his muscles growing weary.

  Nikolis came at him with a bevy of attacks. He did not rush, he did not let himself get angry. He forced poisonous thoughts from his mind. His actions were controlled, well timed. None were designed to strike the man himself, but instead to force him to take the defensive, to raise his arm time after time, to work his body with every block.

  Arthur Drennen knew what was happening. After he parried the last of Nikolis strikes, he came around with a slash, and then launched a series of furious thrusts at Nikolis’ head, then his chest, his arm, his legs, his chest again, and his head.

  Remaining calm, Nikolis caught blow after blow and turned them aside. He allowed himself to be pushed backward, letting the older man tire himself out. He watched his eyes, those sharp eyes, knowing where Drennen’s blow would land only moments after he did himself. The master of arms used the same tactic, but his body was not as quick to respond.

  Finally, Nikolis saw an opening, a dip in the older man’s leading arm, and he knocked his sword down, and lunged forward. Nikolis’ slender blade caught Arthur Drennen between the ribs, and the man fell to the ground, panting. His sword tumbled from his grasp, and he clutched at his chest, blood pouring from between his fingers.

  “I have considered the greater good,” Nikolis said. “It guides my actions.”

  Arthur Drennen only glared at him, as the younger man stepped over his fallen form, and toward the stairway beyond. When he was upon the stairs, he vaulted up them and threw the door at the topmost landing open wide.

  Inside, Erad Ryland knelt over the sleeping form of King Alginor. The young price stood up, initially confused at the intrusion, but then grinning as recognition dawned. He looked older, as everyone seemed to, a golden beard to compliment his golden hair, and the golden circlet that rested on his head. He was dressed in a light tunic of red, a dagger at one side of his belt, and a sword at the other.

  Below him, King Alginor stirred fitfully. It was almost impossible to believe, but the king himself looked so much older than before. The frail old man looked as a skeleton, only skin covering his weary bones. His hair and beard were faded and yellowed, his arms and legs, though covered in a blanket, were like sticks extending from his body.

  “Niky?” the prince asked with a laugh. “Is it really you?”

  Nikolis stepped forward, his sword in hand. “You know it is.”

  “I thought you would not dare to return. You practically got away with murder after all.”

  “You know I had nothing to do with that. You of all people know. I’ve put the pieces of this puzzle together. You pushed Lorre out of court when he questioned your dealings. I found him. He told me. You selected the members of the King’s Shield that escorted the King to Seaport, and stayed safely behind, ensuring the King’s most trusted servants remained as well.”

  “So, what now, you’ve come here to kill me, have you?” The smile on Erad’s face made Nikolis sick to his stomach. The man that stood before him was evil, pure evil, there was no other explanation.

  “I come here for justice,” said Nikolis. “You’ll come with me. You’ll admit what you have done. You’ll face your judgement.”

  “An interesting thought,” said Erad, unsheathing the dagger at his waist. “But not to my liking.”

  “Draw your sword if you mean to fight me!”

  “Fight you? Why would I want to fight you when you’re just now presenting me with a way to finally take my plan to completion?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Twice you thwarted me,” said Prince Erad. “Now, you’ve come to make it up to me.”

  “Twice?” Nikolis asked. “What do you mean?”

  “My dear father was supposed to die at the hands of those brigands on the road to Seaport. But you had to come along and save him, not staying behind as you were told to.”

  Suddenly the circumstan
ces of the event made much more sense. The arguments with Garth on what path to take, the fallen tree, and how Darus Lewin had told him to stay behind with the rest of the entourage. It all fit together.

  “You were the only strong sword that I hadn’t won to my cause,” Erad went on. “You and Dunn, that is. But Dunn was old, his wits long since dulled. The rest of the King’s Shield had stayed behind to guard me. My father was never able to say no to me, not after he had waited so long for a son. Seaport was only our adjusted venue. It was supposed to happen away from the city, so as not to throw suspicion upon my associates.”

  “Casserly,” Nikolis said. There was no question in his tone.

  “Who else had so much to gain from my father’s death? Assurances were made, of course, that would come to fruition once I sat on the throne.”

  “Your father loved you. You used that against him.”

  “For years,” the prince replied. “How do think I managed to get the men I wanted appointed to the King’s Shield? Even you benefited from that.”

  “How would my being on the King’s Shield help your twisted cause?” Nikolis could not believe what he was hearing. He could not believe that Erad had anything to do with his appointment. “I only needed to make sure that as one position was vacated, it was filled with someone who was sympathetic to my cause, someone who could be bought, or someone who was too weak to oppose me.”

  Nikolis buried his face in a hand, fingers rigid as they gripped his scalp.

  “Don’t look so disappointed,” Erad said, no doubt reading the horrified visage. “It was my cousin who put the bug in my ear, and Andrew Dubrey spoke well of you. With those two supporting my position, my father couldn’t help but say yes. Now having Darus Lewin tell you that you were assigned to guard Karlene, that was purely my idea. She told me of her infatuation with you, and I knew time would make that a liability I could use to exploit you both.”

  Unfathomable. Nikolis felt a fool, as if the world, everything he had ever known, was unraveling around him. Why had he never questioned anything? Darus Lewin had told him his task was to guard Karlene and he had never thought twice about it. The task had been entirely a diversion to keep him out of the way. It seemed so obvious now.

  “Andrew Dubrey?” Nikolis asked, fearing the answer he would get. “He would never have supported you.”

  “Yes,” said Erad. “An idealistic fool. I had Jerald, and Ronnell was indifferent. I knew if they were on duty that day, they would not interfere. Now, Ricard Penderton, he was easy. A promise of estates in the country was all it took, a return to his former prominence. No doubt once he has them, he’ll drink and gamble them away, as he did those he inherited. But he served his purpose. The price for Dubrey’s head was cheap.”

  “You’re sick,” Nikolis spat. “How can you talk of such things with such ease of conscience? What is wrong with you?”

  “This is how it all works, Nikolis. One has to play the game or perish. My father was old; he was losing his wits. I couldn’t let him take the entire realm down with him.”

  “So that was your solution? To kill him?”

  “Yes,” said Erad. With that the prince plunged his dagger down into the chest of Alginor Ryland, into the chest of his father. The king gasped, then coughed and sputtered, he let out a long groan.

  “What have you done?” Nikolis yelled. He rushed forward, putting pressure to the spreading pool of red that was issuing forth from the king’s body, staining the white sheets. “What have you done?”

  The king muttered something under his breath. Nikolis leaned close and heard him say, “H-help…help me…I must…I…”

  “I’ve got to–” Nikolis started. “Get help,” he said to Erad. “I beg you.” He could not leave the king’s side, less the blood pump forth unfettered. “Get the healer.”

  “You’ve got blood on your hands, Nikolis Ledervane,” the prince replied. “You could flee now, but the guards will be after you before you make it to the front gates. You’ve murdered the King after all. They’ll be after you in earnest this time. The price on your head will triple.”

  “Why?” Nikolis demanded. “Why did you do it? For the throne? Is that all you wanted? It was yours, all you had to do was wait.”

  “He is a stubborn old man, my father,” said Erad. He paced around the bed, looking down at the king almost sympathetically. “Even when he returned wounded, he did not die. A man ten yours his junior would have perished from those wounds. Patience has never been one of my virtues.”

  The king groaned as Nikolis pushed at his wound. It was too large, the stab too well placed. Blood was pumping forth despite his efforts. Tears came to Nikolis’ eyes. The old man was suffering; as much as the old monarch had done to him, he did not deserve this.

  “A fitting end,” said Erad, a hand to his chest. “At the hands of a traitor, son of a traitor. It will make for such a grand tale. My previous attempts at bringing about this moment were much less romantic.”

  Nikolis heard the king say something and again, he got close. “Edward…Ned…” he breathed. “I must…before I am gone…Maggie…I must…so, sorry…I loved her too…told them not to go…told him not to harm them…the boy…Nikolis…he will be cared for.” Then he let out one more breath and was still.

  Hearing those words, hearing what the dying king was trying to say drove Nikolis mad. Anger seized him. He dashed his tears away and stood. His face was hot, every fiber of his being on fire. He pointed his slender blade at Erad and said, “Draw your sword.”

  Erad did draw his sword then, casually, inspecting the blade with feigned interest. “They say you’re good with a blade.”

  “I’ve never killed before,” Nikolis said, ignoring him. “I’ve tried hard to avoid it. I will control myself no longer.”

  Erad broke down in a fit laughter when he heard those words. He clutched at his stomach, trying to speak between bursts of hysteria. “Never killed before?” he said in disbelief. “You?”

  “I’ve made no jest.”

  “What about the Bear?” Erad asked. “The Great Bear. You killed him when you were just a child.” Erad laughed again, when he saw the confused look on Nikolis’ face.

  “The Great Bear…?”

  “The Great Bear,” said Erad. “Grames Bair, the King’s Axe. You murdered him.”

  Suddenly images of that day, so long ago, flashed through his mind. He was but a child, living with his parents in a small farmhouse outside of Lilton. The memories had lain dormant so long; he had pushed them away, buried them deep. What once was familiar now seemed strangely foreign.

  They were walking through the woods. Everything was so peaceful. He held his mother’s hand, looked up at her, her light hair swaying in the breeze. Ahead his father walked, talking to his mother about things he didn’t understand. He didn’t know what they were saying, but he knew they were happy.

  Then from behind it came with a roar, claws extended…but no, not claws, in a flash they were hands, human hands, holding aloft a great axe. A grizzled muzzle became the head of a man with thick beard and moustache. The weapon was swung at his father, but he was no longer where he had been. In an instant his father had circled about and came round, his sword out. For a brief moment it occurred to Nikolis that he never knew his father owned a sword, let alone carried one. How had its presence remained a secret for so long?

  There soon was no time for thoughts, as weapons clashed, and the men grunted. He heard his mother scream, but never turned to look at her. His father was strong, quick, but had been taken by surprise. In moments he was bleeding from several wounds, one arm hung limp at his side. Still the sword flashed, and the axe swung. On it went until breath came in labored gasps to both. It was impossible to remember what happened, but suddenly his father was falling, blood gushing from his side onto the ground.

  His mother turned. Pushed him. Screamed. What was she saying?

  Run!

  He didn’t, he couldn’t move. The large man lumbered forwa
rd with his axe, despite the fact that he bled from a dozen wounds. His mother produced a knife from places unimaginable. The man came forward and in a flash she planted the tool into his side. He swung at her anyway. His girth was so large it appeared he had not even felt the stab. She fell to the ground. She smiled at him and breathed his name. Then her were still, blood coating her pink lips a sickly crimson.

  The man turned toward him, towered over him with his axe slung over his shoulder. He heard words. Saw him grin.

  Time to finish the job. Was that what he said?

  He looked up at the figure, not a bear’s maw, no, spittle coated a man’s lips, almost indistinguishable amidst his tangled beard and hair…

  It was the man from the picture…the Hall of the Kingsmen… the room Erad had taken him to so many years before.

  “You mean you didn’t know?” asked Erad. “How could you have forgotten?”

  Despite his fear he looked about for something, anything. His father lay unmoving, his mother the same. Then he saw it, his father’s sword, gleaming in the sun. He scrambled for it and managed to turn around, clutching it in trembling hands. The man moved over slowly, still grinning. He held the sword up just as the man took one final breath and toppled over onto him.

  There was a crack. He wouldn’t know until much later that it was the sound of the sword, forced in half by the man’s terrific weight. There he lay, the air thick and heavy and barely existent. There he lay until the Brujo came and lifted the weight off of him. That’s when he saw them. All three. Bloodied bodies. The Great Bear, his father, his mother...there was no life left in them…

  “The Great Bear,” Nikolis breathed.

  “That was what they called him. It was the crest of his house. My father sent him after your father. He was the King’s justice after all.

  “He said he told him not to harm them,” Nikolis managed.

  “They say no one could control the Bear when his blood was up. After all, he and your father had been rivals for years. Just another example of my father’s growing lack of judgement.”