by Peter David
Stay here. Stay with the Shews, or perhaps become a Samdonian.
Hell, if you want, return to Rogypt. I have no idea what it would be
like back there, but it would certainly be interesting. A smart man
could easily set himself up with a stimulating existence.” “I think I won’t be doing that,” he said with an easy smile.
“There is nothing for me in Rogypt anymore.”
“There is for me,” Simon said softly.
Immediately I knew what he was referring to. He was thinking
of Nuskin, who had remained behind, buried in her grief. I empathized and when he looked in my eyes, I could tell that he knew
that I was aware what was going through his mind. “I may go back
for her,” he said.
“That would probably be a good idea. I might wait a time, but
yes, I think you should return to her. She deserves to have someone
at her side.”
And so it was that the next morning I boarded a vessel that I
hoped would take me in the general direction of Isteria. I had spent
the entirety of my life wandering as far from Isteria as I could, and
yet now here I was, turning my back at a potentially peaceful life
with the Shews in order to embrace likely death at the hands of
Entipy.
Was I truly suicidal? Was the thought of continuing to live
really so appalling to me?
Yet again my inner voice kept to itself. So I was forced to decide
that no, I was not suicidal.
I was just tired.
For the whole of my existence, I had been running. Running
from danger. Running from commitment. Hell, running from my
sister, or at least half-sister.
My legs were exhausted. My spirit was exhausted. Exercising
aggressively for an hour can be tiring. I had been doing it for forty
years. I had nothing more to give.
It was time to just put an end to it.
Was I convinced that Entipy would have me executed? Absolutely. But I was no longer afraid of death. Some aspect of me welcomed it.
And I am sure I am not spoiling anything for you when I
inform you that I did not, in fact, die. You, you poor benighted
fool who has been reading my adventures for some time, and are
aware that I am writing them now at an advanced age, must be
fully aware of the fact that I obviously did not meet my end at Entipy’s hands. I am hoping that you are wondering how I managed to survive. Are you suspecting, for example, that I never actually returned home? That I thought about it and considered it and ultimately decided that it was a truly horrific idea and if I had an ounce of sanity I would continue to put Isteria behind me for the
rest of my existence?
No. That did not happen. I did indeed embark on a lengthy
journey to return home and I did indeed confront Entipy. She did
not have me executed (again, obviously) but I can assure you that
the outcome of our face to face was not remotely what I expected. It took me the better part of six months to make the journey. Things happened en route.
Again, I could tell you of what I encountered. I could tell you
of my unexpected and extremely undesired detour through the
Flaming Nether Regions. I could tell you of my experience with
the Crossed Swords of Inbaq, the dreaded Man-Eating Shrimp of
Outbaq, and the formidable schemes of Monsieur Peebody of Waybaq. Perhaps I shall do so at some later point in time.
But the fact of the matter is that I am getting old. Far too old. It is taking me longer and longer to write the details of my
adventures. My mind tends to wander and I discover that time has
passed by while I sit here in my study. Also it is harder for me to
hold a quill pen for extended periods of time. And sometimes if
I sit for too long, I begin to lose any sense of sensation in my one
good leg, so every so often I must get up and wander around a bit
just to restore circulation.
In short, I am aging, and aging is not a generous experience to
go through. The world slows down and it takes far longer to accomplish that which you once were able to handle with no problem. I have to admit that in some ways I regret that Entipy did not
choose to have me executed. Just think: if she had done so, I would
have wound up missing out on all of my body’s slow deterioration.
Yet she decided that I should live.
Now you will learn why.
Chapter 17 Home Again
As I made my way through the streets of Isteria, I could not help but observe how much had remained the same. The marketplace was much as I remembered it. The small children who had run about in the streets so many years ago were now grown and running the very shops and booths that their parents had previously tended to. One had to admire that degree of consistency and perhaps even commitment.
Of the knights who wandered past me, paying me no mind, I did not recognize a single one. Then again, I had been gone for twenty years. Two decades is a host of lifetimes for the average knight. It is very rare that knights wind up dying from old age. It is a discipline that typically comes with an early date of termination. Had I wound up allowing myself to become a knight, concluding the career that began when I was a squire, I doubtlessly would have been long moldering in the grave by now.
Slowly I made my way to the guard post at the great gates that allowed people within to the central area, where stood the castle. From outside I could see that more ivy had grown on the exterior, but otherwise it was exactly the same as I remembered it. Which of course made sense. What were they going to have done in my absence? Paint it?
The two guards were not standing at attention. Instead they seemed quite relaxed, chatting with each other about inconsequential matters. They barely afforded me a glance until I drew sufficiently near that they became aware that my intention was to try and enter. They turned to face me, standing shoulder to shoulder, obviously waiting for me to say something.
“Good morrow,” I said with a cheerfulness that I did not feel. “Good morrow,” said the one on the left. The one on the right simply grunted which, I suspected, was the extent of his vocabulary. “Can we help you with something?”
“Is the queen here?” I asked.
“Yes,” said the guard.
“Good. I wish to see her.”
This prompted an exchange of amusement between the two of them. When he had sufficiently regained control of himself, the guard said, “Should I just tell her that, then?”
“I would like you to do so, yes.”
“And who shall I tell her is calling?” He was speaking in a mocking tone.
“Apropos.”
“Apropos?” He seemed to be about to launch into another round of laughter. “What sort of name is Apro…?” Then his voice trailed off, because he was looking in confusion at his partner. The face of the guard on the right had gone deathly pale as if some oversized insect had descended and drained all his blood. His eyes widened and I saw his hand reflexively start to go for his sword. The guard on the left was clearly bewildered, unable to understand the other guard’s reaction.
“Yes,” I said, answering the unspoken question that was going through his mind. “That Apropos.”
The guard on the right quickly stepped over to the guard on the left and whispered softly in his ear for a few seconds. And now the guard on the left was looking quite disconcerted as well. Evidently I had something of a reputation for those people who were interested in ancient history. Once he had imparted some information, he then spun on his heel and hastened toward the castle.
I studied the guard who was standing there, and I was amazed to see that there was actually some trembling in his k
nees. He was afraid of me. He was physically afraid of an elder with a lame right leg. It was most amusing and I made no effort to keep the smile off my face.
“Are you quite all right?” I asked.
He managed a nod.
I took a casual step toward him and noted that he actually took a reflexive step backward in order to maintain the distance between us. I stopped walking and cocked my head slightly. “What did he tell you? The fellow who just left?”
“He said…” He hesitated, as if fearful that whatever he said next would result in some extreme manner of retribution on my part, or perhaps a lightning bolt from on high. “He said you broke the heart of the queen. And sired the bastard prince.”
“Yes. I did both of those things. May I ask why that makes you afraid of me?”
“Because…” Once more he paused and then managed to soldier forward. “Because you’re a legend.”
“A legend? I find that difficult to believe. I introduced myself and you didn’t recognize my name.”
“Because no one ever calls you that.”
“Really? What, then, do they call me?”
“The Anti-Savior.”
This was becoming more incredible by the moment. “The AntiSavior? Why in the name of all the gods would they call me that?”
His voice dropped to scarcely above a whisper. “Because of the tapestry.”
“Ahhh.” Now I knew what he was talking about. “The tapestry rendered by a farweaver, depicting a man riding a phoenix. The man who was supposed to be the savior of the state of Isteria.”
His head bobbed up and down so furiously that I thought it might end up toppling off. “That’s right. And the tapestry hangs to this day. But you walked away from the prophecy. No one ever walks away from a prophecy.”
The fact of the matter was that I knew perfectly well the prophecy was incorrect. That another had been destined to be the savior of Isteria, and I had actually witnessed his death. So much for that. But I certainly wasn’t about to tell this poor knight that little fact.
“I suppose I did walk away at that,” I said. “I was never much for doing what other people told me to do.”
That was when I heard the rushing of feet. I glanced toward the origins of the noise and my heart sank when I saw who was leading the half dozen or so knights who were running toward me.
It was Mace Morningstar.
Morningstar had been a frequent tormentor of mine since I first became a squire. He and his associates had tried to beat me down on any number of occasions. I remember that one of the main thrills I had when Entipy became enamored of me was that it made me virtually invulnerable to Mace’s continued harassment. I was so looking forward to perpetually tormenting him, especially when Entipy became the queen and I ruled at her side. Unfortunately I had tossed that bit of joy aside when I had walked out from—or technically escaped from—my intended matrimonial celebrations.
Yet now he was here and the boot was once again on the other foot. And in this instance, there was no doubt in my mind that that foot would wind up repeatedly burying itself in my ass.
He looked much more massive than when I had last seen him. For one thing, he had put on a considerable amount of weight, at least fifty pounds. Except I had no idea if it was fat or if it was muscle. Might be a combination of both.
“I don’t believe it,” he growled, and he came right at me.
Idiot.
He clearly had me confused with the physically hapless young man whom he had known in his youth. My fighting skills had increased to a huge degree in the intervening years, and I was no longer concerned in the slightest of suffering a physical beating at Mace’s hands.
He did not pull his sword, which I had assumed would be the case. He doubtless knew that the queen herself would want to dispose of me, but he likewise reasoned that if he produced me with a few bumps and bruises and perhaps a broken arm, the queen would certainly not be upset about that.
Instead he came at me with his fists.
That was a mistake.
He swung his right fist at me and I simply sidestepped him. Then his left, then his right again. All three times I was able to avoid contact by simply bending my body out of his way.
Then he swung left again even more forcefully, so much so that he threw himself slightly off balance and overextended himself. Not only did I step out of his way, but I brought the dragon head of my staff slamming down upon the back of his head. It struck with such force that everyone heard the sound of the impact; it sounded like I had bounced a rock off the side of a barn. Mace went down and with a touch of the release trigger I snapped out the blade from the dragon’s mouth and brought it slamming down toward his unprotected throat.
It had all happened so quickly that every knight watching audibly gasped. Mace gasped the loudest and his eyes widened in clear terror as he suddenly realized that the seemingly easy target he had looked forward to demolishing had him at his mercy.
For a moment no one said anything. Casual citizens who were witnessing the battle had stopped in their tracks and were watching with amazed eyes how this lame fellow had just easily bested one of the knights.
“Here is what is going to happen,” I said calmly, as if we were chatting over a pint in a local pub. “You are going to pledge your word of honor, in front of your fellow knights and these good people,” and I tilted my head slightly toward the civilian onlookers, “that I will be brought straightaway and unharmed to the queen. In exchange for this, I will let you live and not, instead, stab you through the throat. I’m going to give you five seconds to make your decision. One, t—”
“Fine,” snarled Morningstar.
“Are you sure?” I sounded most solicitous. “Don’t want to take a few moments to think about it? Make the countdown more dramatic?”
“Remove your blade. I give you my word of honor that you will be brought unharmed to the queen.” Every word out of his mouth was laced with fury, but there was nothing he could do.
It was rather amusing to consider. Decades ago, I had wound up earning my status as a squire with the same weapon pointed at a knight—the long deceased Sir Justus—except it had been a somewhat lower section of his anatomy.
I retracted the blade into the dragon’s mouth and stepped back. Slowly Morningstar got to his feet. One of the knights put out a hand to help him up, but Mace waved him away. Once he was standing, he looked me up and down and then, much to my surprise, he actually smiled. There was no sarcasm in it; it appeared genuine. “You’ve become quite the combatant since you took leave of us.” There was almost a touch of admiration in his tone.
“Well, when every tenth person you meet wants to kill you, that’s inevitable.”
He barked out a coarse laugh. “Very true. This way, then,” and he nodded toward the castle.
I did not trust him overmuch. I thought him perfectly capable of going back on his word and trying to slay me should I present my back to him for even a moment. But he was doing a convincing job of putting forward a wholly different attitude than the one he had displayed just moments before.
Word was apparently quickly spreading throughout the castle because people were emerging from it, gathering together, to watch my approach. I suppose on some level I should have been flattered. When I had first come to the castle, it was as a poor, lame bastard seeking aid from the king to help catch the individual who had killed my mother. Everyone who looked upon me back then did so with disdain. Not this time. I saw expressions that ranged from fear to reverence. Which was interesting considering that when I had refused to marry Entipy, I had been seen as a fool and traitor. Apparently there was nothing quite like the passage of time to bolster one’s reputation.
I nodded to people as I approached, acknowledging them. Some bobbed their heads back in response. Several of them actually bowed. Of all the receptions I had expected to receive, this was certainly not remotely one.
They escorted me through the great halls of the castle. I had been in grand
residences since my departure, but it was still an impressive place, although positively modest in comparison to the palace of the Rogyptians. There was little to no gold, for one thing. I realized belatedly that I should have absconded with some gold from the palace when I had made my departure, but I had been too preoccupied to worry about such things. Fascinating how my priorities had shifted. Once upon a time my emphasis would have been to find some way to enrich myself, preferably while risking my well-being in as minimal a fashion as possible. Yet now I had given riches no thought and had been mostly concerned with freeing the Shews…well, that and put myself as far away from my insane fiancée as I possibly could.
What in the world had happened to me? Had the years I survived really changed me so much? Was I truly developing into what could actually be called a hero? It was not a position in life that I readily embraced, but I supposed that anything was possible.
I was escorted to the throne room. Knights were entering from everywhere, dressed in a variety of ensembles. Apparently word had spread quickly enough that everyone had taken the time to show up, no matter what manner of task they were engaged in. Some had clearly been sparring, others had been dressed casually and doubtless drinking. One of them actually had dirt on his hands and knees, which indicated he had been gardening. It seemed that no matter what they were up to, they had taken the time to set it aside and see what in the world that idiot Apropos had gotten himself into.
Entipy was not on her throne. Obviously someone had gone off to get her.
Mace led me to the center of the room and stood by me, the other knights falling back. He spoke to me then in a low voice. “You know,” he said softly, “I always liked you more than you thought I did.”
I tried not to laugh at that and only partly succeeded. “Are you out of your mind? You never liked me in the least.”
“I didn’t respect you,” he replied. “You were a lowborn peasant who was placed with us as if we were equals. You couldn’t fight. And you cheated in the joust, don’t even bother to deny it.”
“So what changed your mind?”
“You had the nerve to walk out on Entipy.” His face soured. “I’ve never liked that bitch. Not in the least. Obviously you shared my antipathy, but it took a huge amount of guts to refuse her love. I doubt,” he added reluctantly, “that I would have had the nerve to do that.”