The Broken Reign

by Jeremy Michelson

  "Your Highness," he said, "There is no news. The search for the red-haired man has so far been unsuccessful."

  The King drummed his fingers on the arm of the throne. “That is not the news I wanted you to bring, Lord Fortune.”

  Fortune bowed his head. “I am aware of that, your highness. I am ashamed to have failed you in this endeavor.”

  Fortune had hoped Hurdroth would have pity on an old man, but then he realized there was no pity–or mercy–in the King’s heart.

  “It has been months!” the King shouted, “Where is he!”

  Fortune looked up. “It is quite possible that he is dead, sire. The forest people–”

  “Damn the forest people! They’re yet another thorn in my side, just like you!”

  Fortune kept his head down. The forest people were indeed a pain. Conscripted armies were never as effective as volunteers, unfortunately.

  “My apologies, sire,” he said.

  “Keep your damned apologies. I need the magic!” Hurdroth shouted. “I need that door.”

  “Portal.”

  “Door, portal, I don’t care what you call it! I need it! Hemdell’s army is getting too close.”

  Fortune suppressed a smile. The irony was lost on the King. Betrayed by the betrayer. The only thing that surprised Fortune was how far Hemdell’s ambitions reached.

  The King rose from his throne. He wore light armor, and in his hand was a large two-headed battle ax. It hissed as he swung it through the air. Fortune did not move, even though the primitive part of his mind screamed at him to run.

  “In a week my men and I ride out to Baddon Plain where Hemdell’s army is camped,” Hurdroth said, “Will the sleep wand work on them?”

  Was the King mad? “Sire I do not recommend that. The wand is not reliable, and it works best at very close range. It would have to be activated in the middle of his camp to be effective.”

  The King spun the ax in the air. It whirled inches away from Fortune's face. The handle hit the King's palm with a meaty smack. His mad-eyed grin made Fortune's blood run cold.

  “You let me worry about that part,” the King said. He turned the ax blade to Fortune’s neck. “Now go find that red haired bastard. Or go find yourself a new head.”

  Fortune trembled, but did not back away. For some reason his fear had left him. It puzzled him. Maybe he had gotten so old that the threat of death was not so frightening anymore. Or maybe he was too exhausted to care.

  “Yes Sire,” Fortune said.

  He backed away from the blade, then turned smartly and walked out of the throne room.

  Twenty-Four

  Lord Fortune

  Fortune found Dovd in the dungeon. The once proud warrior king of the forest people lay in a pool of his own vomit. The cell reeked even more than Lord Fortune’s former throne room. The jailer unlocked the door and allowed him inside. Fortune held a handkerchief to his nose and prodded Dovd with his boot.

  Dovd groaned and rolled over. His long, black and gray hair was tangled and matted. The deerskin shirt and pants he wore were almost black with filth. He looked up at Fortune with bleary eyes and let out a long belch.

  The cloud of alcohol from the belch almost made Fortune light headed. He waved it away.

  “What you want, you sum-bitch,” Dovd said, “Come to gloat? Come to piss in my face like everyone else?”

  Fortune drew his boot back and kicked Dovd in the ribs. Not hard enough to damage him, but hard enough to get his attention.

  "I have no time for journeys into self-pity," Fortune said, "I'm here to offer you yet another chance to get in the King's good graces."

  Dovd tried to spit at him, but it just fell back on his own shirt. He didn’t seem to notice. “Fuck you. He’s no King of mine.”

  Lord Fortune turned, giving a nod to the jailer. The jailer disappeared, returning a few moments later with a bucket of water. Dovd focused on the bucket, understanding slowly dawning on his face.

  “Wait–”

  The jailer dumped the bucket on him. Suddenly Dovd was sitting up, sputtering and swearing. Fortune waited for it to subside. When it did he bent down, his old joints aching.

  “The jailer tells me you got drunk and tried to have intimate relations with the King’s favorite horse,” Fortune said, “Is this true?”

  Dovd shook his head, spattering filthy water everywhere, including Lord Fortune.

  “I don’t remember,” he said, “I might have. Maybe I figured since Hurdroth was fucking me and my people, I should get a little something back.”

  Fortune wiped droplets of water from his face with the handkerchief. “You’re lucky Hurdroth didn’t take your head for that.”

  Dovd sneered at him. “Do you think I care? Maybe when I get out, I can go bugger the king himself,” he said, “Wait, no, he might like that.”

  Lord Fortune stood, his aching body protesting the movement. He longed to lounge in front of a fire with a good book and a glass of fine wine. Alas, his books had been burned and his wine cellar long since drunk dry by Hurdroth’s men.

  “Dovd, I am afraid you will not get that opportunity,” Fortune said, “For the King has pronounced a sentence of death upon you.” That was a lie, of course. If the King wanted a man dead, he’d simply lop his head off and be done with it.

  Dovd gave him a narrowed eyed look. “So what? Why would he send you to tell me? Don’t you have other people to betray?”

  Fortune’s cheeks went hot. He made himself pause for a moment, letting the passion cool before he let himself speak.

  “Survival can send one to strange bedfellows,” he said, “But I did not come to spar with you. I came to deliver an offer.”

  Dovd spat again. This time he nearly made it to Fortune’s boot. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “I don’t give a crap about any offers. Unless the King is offering to go fall on his sword and do everyone a favor.”

  Lord Fortune glanced toward the door. The jailer, one of Hurdroth’s bearded, thick-browed soldiers stood outside, staring at them. How to convince Dovd with revealing too much? Fortune had no desire to return to his own dungeon.

  "The King still searches for the red-haired stranger," Fortune said, "He has commanded me to continue looking for him."

  Dovd laughed. “You’re both idiots. He’s long dead. That bitch Vazsa and I were tracking him and he was heading for the forbidden area. Nothing gets out of there.”

  “What is this forbidden area?” Fortune asked. He had heard the forest people refer to it before, but whenever he asked none of them would tell him anything more.

  Dovd looked away. For a moment Fortune thought he was going to go silent.

  “The area was forbidden by Anta Vin,” he said, “I don’t know why. I think it has something to do with the death queen. It wasn’t forbidden before her reign. I remember a couple of warriors went into it as a dare. Neither of them came back.”

  “Could whatever is in this forbidden area have taken the stranger in?” Fortune asked.

  Dovd gave him a sour look. “How should I know?” He ran his hand over his wet hair and flicked more water away. “The idiot couldn’t have survived out on his own. He was a soft village dweller.”

  “Then how did he escape the forest people?” Fortune asked, “Don’t you want to find out what really happened to him? Or to Vazsa?”

  At her name Dovd got to his feet, giving Fortune a fiery stare. It was the second time that day Fortune’s feet wanted to set him running, and the second time he commanded them to stay. Dovd’s hand went to his side, touching the old wound there. Fortune smiled at him.

  “I don’t want anything to do with that bitch,” Dovd said.

  "Don't you want to know if she's still alive?" Fortune asked, "Maybe she found the stranger. Wouldn't you like to get them both? If you found the red-haired stranger, perhaps the King would look favorably upon you."

  Dovd turned away from him, stepping to the other side of the tiny room. The flickering light from the torch outsi
de illuminated tiny eyes on the floor. Lord Fortune shuddered, remembering his own stay in the dungeon.

  “I want the forest back,” Dovd said, his back still turned. “I want my people freed.”

  “You ask for much,” Fortune said.

  “They don’t want to fight anyone else’s wars,” Dovd said.

  That much was obvious. Since being captured, the forest people had been conscripted into Hurdroth’s army as slaves and soldiers. They made poor slaves and even worse soldiers. Threats of death didn’t strike fear into them, and dozens had already been killed through King Hurdroth’s wrath. At the rate the King was going through them, the forest people would be extinct before spring. If spring ever arrived.

  Fortune glanced back at the jailer again. "I cannot promise you anything, Dovd," he said, "But I think your wish might find favor with the King if we can find this red-haired man."

  “Or his bones,” Dovd said.

  “As long as there is still some red hair attached to then, that would do also,” Fortune said.

  Dovd grinned. Fortune gave him a smile back. Perhaps there was a way out of this mess, after all.

  Twenty-Five

  Vazsa

  Vazsa was controlling the Armor, palms sweating on the sticky control levers. It clanked and whined with each step. The high up vantage point, dizzying at first, seemed normal now. The smell of oil and ozone (from the electricals, Pete said) felt alien, disconnecting her from the forest the giant machine strode through.

  In the months since her capture, the world had shifted again, and again, and again. She wasn't sure what was truth anymore.

  “You’re doing good, girl,” Lou said, “Now aim Betsy for the ravine over there.”

  She looked where he was pointing on the screen. The ravine was a rocky, snow covered slope, climbing upward toward the clouds. Vazsa’s eyes swept over the telltales, looking for warnings. Power was good, motor units were nominal, though the right knee actuator was running a little warm.

  “Are we going for a climb?” she asked.

  Lou nodded. “We’re going to the peak–what do you call it?”

  “Fayjood,” she said.

  "Fayjood peak to do a little recon," he said. He shook his head. "I still don't understand how you people speak English, but have all these wacky names for stuff. Back home we'd just call it Rocky Peak, or Billy-Joe-Bob Peak or something like that. Guess the professors have some idea about it."

  She didn’t tell him that his own name sounded strange to her. She and Lou had come to an understanding over the months. As long as she didn’t try to bite him, he wouldn’t pick her up and lock her in her room–cabin. The metal people, as she thought of them, had different names for things. Her room was a cabin. A door was a hatch. The cooking area was a galley. A window was a porthole. Their house was a ship–which at some point in its existence had been able to fly, Pete had told her.

  The Armor Vazsa was riding (piloting) was called different things by different members of the tribe (crew). Pete called it a Bipedal Armor Unit, or B.A.U. Tall and thin Tony called it That Fucking Robot. Big and scar faced Lou called it Betsy.

  Vazsa used to call it terrifying. Now she understood that it was a magical device that obeyed the commands of human. Which made it less scary. As long as she was inside it, doing the piloting.

  Lou reached over and flipped some switches. She looked at the labels under them. She was figuring out their writing. It was similar to the scrolls she found in Hurdroth’s castle, so it was magic of some sort.

  “What is an Ascent Stabilizer?” she asked.

  “It keeps old Betsy from falling on her ass when we go uphill,” Lou said.

  It had little meaning, but Vazsa filed it away for future reference. Lou had said she picked up piloting the armor faster than anyone he’d ever known.

  His small–but infrequent–compliments always gave her a small thrill that puzzled her.

  The machine groaned as it started climbing the hill. Lou held the arm and hand controls. He used them to make the Armor reach out to trees to help stabilize it. He still wouldn’t let her use the arms. Too dangerous, he said.

  Dangerous for who?

  Lou had been piloting the Armor the day she and Cray had been captured. It was him who pushed the ancient fir tree over to get at them. Pete told her Lou preferred brute force over reason any day.

  Pete also told her she was lucky they were letting her do anything. If the Captain and the eggheads ever get back, they’ll probably crucify us for letting you guys run around the ship, he said. He didn’t explain what crucify was. She also didn’t understand what he meant by eggheads. So much of what they said was incomprehensible. She knew the words, but they didn’t make sense in the order the crew put them in.

  It’s called cultural dissonance, Dr. Fran told her. It means you’re both singing the same song, but with a different harmony.

  Dr. Fran had healed Cray with her magic and a few days later the little brat was back to his usual obnoxious self. He drove Pete and Tony crazy, but Lou seemed more amused with him than anything else. What Dr. Fran thought of him was anyone’s guess. She didn’t seem to like people very much. Vazsa tried to avoid her as much as possible

  “Okay, see that gap between those two big trees?” Lou asked, pointing at the screen. “Right, aim her right there, then stop when you get just past the trunks, alright?”

  Vazsa did as she was told. Maybe if she did enough right, Lou would trust her with the arms.

  “Where are you from?” she asked, working the levers to make the Armor climb the hill.

  Lou was probably giving her another eye-rolling look. She didn’t dare take her eyes off the screen, so she couldn’t tell for sure.

  “Are you at this again? I’m from south Florida, like I already told you a hundred times,” Lou said.

  “But the others aren’t from this South Florida?” She asked. She had been probing them for answers, but so far had learned little about their origin. She hadn't told them about the red-haired man, Joshua, and had warned Cray not to say anything, either.

  “No, Pete’s from somewhere in Pittsburgh, I forget where,” Lou said, “Tony’s from Oregon. I don’t know where the doc is from. She doesn’t like to talk about herself.”

  Oregon. Vazsa remembered Joshua saying he was from a place called Portland Oregon. So he and Tony were from the same place. Which suggested the crew and their magical devices came from the other world.

  They had been in Seivar a long time, though. Well before Joshua arrived. Pete had talked about being on a research mission and the ship was caught in something and crashed. It seemed they were still trying to figure out where they were, too. Pete told her the Captain and the two scientists (another of their strange words) had taken the ship’s excursion vehicle, whatever that was, out to survey the planet.

  But the excursion vehicle had crashed also. The Captain had used the excursion craft’s far speaker to contact the crew to let them know what happened. Apparently the Captain and the scientists were walking back from a great distance. Practically the other side of the fricking planet, Pete had said.

  Pete had been surprised she understood the concept of the far speaker (radio, as he called it). She told that before the war there had been many magical far speaker boxes. Most of them were lost after Queen Amaya ordered all magical devices destroyed. Pete had gotten a thoughtful look on his face. Have you ever seen one? he asked.

  Vazsa hesitated. Anta Vin had secretly held some items back from destruction–as had most people, she now realized. A few far speakers had been among the hidden stash. Vazsa had been using one to communicate with the tribe while she was at Hurdroth’s castle.

  I might have seen one, she said. Pete rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a blocky object. It was black with a silver grill on it. There were activation areas on it in different colors.

  Did it look anything like this? He asked.

  A little bit. The ones I saw were much smaller and smoother looking, she to
ld him.

  He got excited and had her describe the magical device in detail. He even had her draw a picture of it, paying special attention to the activation areas (buttons) and the symbols on them. When she was done he stared at it for a long time. I wish the eggheads were here, he said, this might be another piece of the puzzle.

  What puzzle? She asked.

  The puzzle that this whole damned planet is.

  The Armor crested the ridge and Vazsa brought it to a stop just past the two huge fir tree trunks. Just as Lou had commanded. On the screen the land dropped away into the huge gorge that divided the forest lands from the tangled border of the Southern Lands. In the distance she could see jagged peaks of the Grim mountains.

  “What scorched that place?” Lou asked. He pointed at the blackened area between the gorge and the mountains. For many miles from the gorge to the blackened area, the trees and brush grew thick and twisted.

  “There once was a city on the plain there,” Vazsa said, “It was called Aytahan. The people there defied Queen Amaya, refused to accept the treaty. So she burned them from the world and left the mark there for all to know the consequences of her wrath.”

  Lou stared at the screen. “You’re telling me one person did that?”

  “Queen Amaya did it.”

  He shook his head. “Wouldn’t want to piss her off then. Is she still around?”

  Vazsa started to say no, but thought of the red-haired man and his talk of his grandmother falling into the portal. The world had shifted since he arrived.

  “I’m not sure,” she said.

  Twenty-Six

  Joshua

  Joshua wished the little cabin of Kojanza and her papa had a mirror. If he did he'd strut in front of it with his shirt off. And not be embarrassed. Kojanza ran her fingers down his muscled chest, over his flat stomach. They lay on his bed, sweaty from lovemaking. Wood crackled in the fireplace, throwing a flickering orange glow over them. On the other side of the room, her father lay in his pile of furs, snoring. Joshua sometimes wondered if the old man really slept that soundly.