Merek's Ascendance (20 page)

Merek stayed perfectly calm, keeping his feet centered and his sword arm moving.
The fact that this man had murdered his best friend’s father was irrelevant. The fact that they had snuck in using a coward’s tactic did not matter.

All that mattered was that the flashing
blades kept moving, kept circling, kept parrying and thrusting in a hundred different ways. He was sure Roman was a more competent swordsman, but being forced to use his left hand stole his advantage. Their blades never spent more than a second apart before sparks flew and metal grinded against metal.

Merek never even thought about it.
Here he was, the avatar of freedom fighting against the epitome of darkness and enslavement, and he didn’t even know. Their battle, their single swordfight, would determine the fate of everything he’d ever known. Lives depended on him not slipping up once.

Merek was completely unconscious of it all.

All that mattered to him was that his blade was diagonal in order to catch a strike. That he reversed and jabbed forward and was prepared when Roman swatted his blade aside and attempted to cut him in half lengthwise. That he crossed his blade in front of him to deflect the blow.

That was all he thought about. That was all he
permitted
himself to think about.

“You know,” Roman said as he disengaged, breathing heavily. Merek allowed him the moment of respite, his breath only slightly more rushed.
“It was a pleasure to twist his head all the way around,” he said as his face split into a smile. “Very satisfying crunch it made.”

Merek said nothing, ignoring the words. The fresh wound that was Tyrigg’s death would hurt again, but not now. He wouldn’t let it hurt him just yet. He would grieve, and he would cry, and he’d wake up from his nightmares covered in sweat, but that was later.

Now, all the darkness in his mind pulled back and allowed him this moment of clarity.

“Taunts?” Merek replied. “You truly must be desperate.”

Roman’s sick smile faded. Then the two reengaged.

Roman pressed hard, pushing forward with every strike. Merek gave ground, fighting defensively.
His blade was never truly fast but always just fast enough, catching and turning away Roman’s strikes a moment before they would harm him. Roman kept coming forward, trying to beat a mistake out of Merek. Merek didn’t give him the satisfaction, maintaining his wall of steel.

He backed away as far as he could until he nearly ran into his own troops.
A quick roll brought him safely away, and Roman’s frustrations just mounted further.

Merek could feel it in the sharp blows Roman rained down on him.

His right arm was getting tired from blocking the seemingly endless parade of strikes that Roman was unleashing. If this kept up, he wasn’t going to be able to defend himself.

So he simply switched hands.

Roman looked shocked at the switch, and backed away a few steps. This time, Merek didn’t give him a moment to breathe, lashing out with a flurry of strikes. Roman was forced to give ground, being driven back. Clearly not used to mounting a defense, he tried several times to regain the advantage. But his sword arm was tired too, and his right hand was not an option.

All Merek had to do was not lose focus.

“You know how I got in, right?” Roman said as he jabbed his blade forward. Merek swatted it aside and retaliated with a solid punch to Roman’s face.

“
Am I supposed to care?”

“Of course,” Roman replied, “don’t you want to keep it from happening again?”

They crossed blades and stood literally toe to toe, faces inches apart.

“
Someone let me in,” Roman continued, trying to overpower Merek. Merek stood strong, bracing the other end of his blade with his free hand.

“
I don’t believe that,” Merek said, waiting for an opening. To strike first would guarantee his defeat.

“Oh, but you should.
After all, isn’t this pretty convenient? A new king gets a chance at owning
two
kingdoms. That’s a lot of power. Makes people do things they normally wouldn’t.”

“Wait,” Merek said as he shifted position, trying to keep Roman at bay. “Are you saying… Thorald?”

“I’m saying Thorald. He hired us to kill the king, so he could take the throne.”

Merek said nothing for a long moment. He stared at
Roman, eyes narrowed, as he absorbed the words.

Then he started laughing.

“That’s fantastic. You must know I’m going to win if
that’s
the best lie you can tell. Thorald? Hire assassins to kill his own father? If you had picked anyone else in the kingdom, I might have believed you. But Thorald?”

Roman’s face fell to worry, and Merek’s smile faded.

“Pick a god. And pray.”

Roman pushed him off, wildly slashing at his face.
Merek ducked it and rose up, his blade aimed for the flesh of Roman’s hand. Roman pulled his hand back just in time, but the force of the blow was enough to knock the sword free.

Roman fell back, breathing heavily, and
drew his mace. Merek, knowing his sword would be ill-suited against the weapon, sheathed it and withdrew his staff.

“We’ve already… had this fight,”
Roman panted.

“I think you’ll find I always win the rematch,” Merek replied with a smile.
The fact that he’d had all of two or three rematches… that didn’t count.

Roman came at him recklessly, the mace swinging for his head. Merek dodged aside and whipped his staff into Roman’s gut, where the two connected with a dull thud.
Roman backed away, injured hand holding now injured ribs, and stretched out his weapon arm.

“Surrender. There’s no shame in it,” Merek said.

“Death first,” Roman spat back.

Merek sighed. “So be it.”

Roman lunged. Merek parried, the metal of his new staff taking the blow far better than his old one. Roman took another blow, this one to his face.

Roman stared at Merek. Merek stared back. There was no more need for words between them.

Roman lunged, mace aimed for Merek’s head, and Merek swatted the weapon aside almost contemptuously. Then he jabbed Roman in the gut, then raised the weapon and smacked it against the underside of Roman’s jaw.

While he was dazed, Merek backed up a step and swung the staff for all he was worth, connecting with Roman’s face. A metal crack rent the air, and Roman hit the dirt.

His mace fell loosely from his hand. Still alive, still barely conscious, Roman crawled away from Merek. His bandaged hand found the dirt, while his left hand found the handle of his sword.

Merek knew exactly what was going to happen the moment before it happened.

Roman was on his feet in a moment, amazingly pushing through the terrible pain to keep fighting. He threw dirt at Merek’s face as he turned, following it up with a thrust that would have buried his blade in Merek’s stomach.

Or at least it would have, had Merek not
moved out of the way the moment Roman started moving. The dirt fell on nothing, and the sword was met with air.

Roman turned to face him, defeated, distraught, but still without surrendering.
He made on final slash that Merek blocked with his staff before he dropped the weapon.

He sunk his left fist into Roman’s gut. His
right slapped the sword out of Roman’s hand and into the air. His left caught Roman’s jaw.

His right caught the sword and plunged it straight through Roman’s chest in a spray of blood.

Roman stared at him, standing because he wasn’t quite aware he was dead. Blood trickled from his lip as his eyes widened in shock. Merek released the blade, and Roman fell to the ground. His eyes stared without seeing, the ghost of his last shock etched on his face.

The Wentanan soldiers
took up a mighty cheer, one that deafened Merek. Thorald came forward, his injuries forgotten, as he moved to embrace Merek. Julia walked as she fast as she could, her smile making her tears all the more endearing. 

Merek held up a hand, haltering them both.

Now it was time for the shoe to drop.

“Grevoria, your champion has fallen. Due to the pact made, you will listen and acquiesce to our demands.
Do you acknowledge this?”

“NO!”

The shout came from the king on the cliff, staring down at them with loathing Merek could almost feel.

“We will never surrender to the likes of you! Soldiers! Destroy the invaders!”

The soldiers looked at one another, clearly confused. If nothing else, it appeared they actually had some honor. But above all else, they had their duty, and their King had given a command.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you, boys,”
Merek said. Then he pointed a finger at the Grevorian King, who looked at him with narrowed eyes.

An ax was placed against his throat a moment later. John, Milly and Raven stood a few feet away from the now former King with weapons drawn.

“Good plan,” Thorald said as he finally reached Merek.

“
Yes, I thought so,” he replied. Then he said to the Grevorians, “will you honor our pact now? We have but a few demands. First, you will cease all hostilities against Wentana. We will renegotiate our trade agreements, and we will have peace. Second, this worm on the hill will no longer be your king. The people will choose another to lead them, and I hope you make a good choice. Is anyone there that can speak for you?”

There was a general murmur before a
n old man came forward wearing long green robes and rather large hat.

“
Ah, the Chancellor,” Thorald said, “he’s a good man. I talked to him before, on my last trip.”

“Good. Thorald, talk to the man. Make peace.”

The last sentence was said in a huff as Merek hunched over, hands on his knees.

“Are you alright, my friend?” Thorald asked.

“Just… just very tired. Need… need to rest.”

“Go. You’ve earned it. I’ll handle negotiations.”

Julia led Merek to a tent that had been set up, according to her, specifically for him. He found a bed there, and promptly fell into it.

“You did it,” Julia said, smiling from ear to ear. It was a mark of how proud she was that she didn’t look at anything else but him.

“I didn’t… think I would…”

With that thought, Merek went to sleep for the first time in a very long time with no trouble, and he wasn’t bothered by a single nightmare.

Epilogue
: Two Years Later

              A fine mist had spread across the castle in the early morning. The guards laughed, ready for the change in shift. The knight’s all slept quietly, save for the Trainer who was busy preparing for the day’s activities.

             
In the castle itself, Merek and Thorald were busy playing a game of chess. Merek had the upper hand, but Thorald had a habit of making things interesting in the late game.

             
“You know,” Merek said, “people are starting to wonder when you’ll choose a queen.”

             
“Oh, I know,” Thorald replied without looking up from the board. “But I’m just not ready for that yet. Get married. Make heirs. I don’t even want to be King, let alone a father yet.”

             
“Oh, being a father isn’t so bad.”

             
“Says the man who is playing chess with his best friend instead of taking care of his daughter.”

             
“She’s asleep. And right down the hall with her mother.”

             
“Fair.”

             
The two lapsed into silence as they heard a small cry from down the hall.

             
“You had to say something,” Merek said, getting up from the table. He walked towards the door, Thorald’s laugh echoing behind him.

             
“Hello, dear,” Merek said as he entered the chamber. Though Merek and Julia had their own home, they stayed in the castle with Thorald so much that this was practically a second bedroom.

             
His baby stopped crying as Merek lifted her into his arms. “And how is my dear Cynthia today?”

             
“She misses her father,” Julia said sleepily from the bed. “Though I don’t know why, you see her every day.”

             
“She just has poor taste in who she misses, don’t you sweetheart?”

             
The baby cooed once, curling up and falling back asleep as Merek sat down on the bed.

             
“Go back to your game, I’ll watch over her.”

             
“Oh, he can wait for a few minutes.”

             
Julia laughed before kissing his cheek. She then slumped over and fell back asleep. Merek carefully put Cynthia in her crib before leaving the room again.

“How’s Thoralda?”
“We are never calling her that,” Merek replied.

“Oh come on! You were supposed to name your children after me. All of them!”

“If we have a boy, then maybe.”

Thorald laughed before making a move. “So, are you ready for the meeting today?”

“With the Grevorian King? He seems a decent fellow.”

“He wants to hang the old King for crimes against the
people. Makes him very decent in my book.”

Merek chuckled as there was a knock on the
door. John and Milly stood there, with Milly’s belly significantly larger than it was seven months previously. There was also a golden ring on her finger, which she showed off as much as she could.

“Sir, Raven and his
sister are due back any minute,” John said, “they sent a message ahead saying they secured enough fowl to feed the entire kingdom.”

“The two best archers in the land, shooting down more birds than necessary? Why doesn’t this surprise me?” Thorald said as he stood up.

“Well, we’d better get to our busy day.
Speaking of fathers, is Harold still in prison?”

“Oh yes,” Merek replied,
keeping pace with the seemingly random segue. “Still working back a truly impressive amount of gambling debt. And Malkyn is in the nunnery.”

Thorald chuckled as he put on his cloak. He still wore his father’s crown, slightly dented from the many times Thorald had dropped it.
Though not quite the king his father was, Thorald certainly did the best he could.

Merek was hopeful for the future.

Several hours later, they gathered at the shrine built to honor Tyrigg. This marked two years to the day since his death, and the whole of the kingdom had come out to pay their respects. Merek had never figured out how Roman had gotten in, and he didn’t really care. There would always be those who tried to kill the King. They would find ways in.

And Merek would always shut them down.

“
I hope I’m making him proud,” Thorald said. No tears emerged from his eyes, or from Merek’s. They had made peace with his death.

Thorald put an arm on
Merek’s shoulder. “You’ve managed to avoid war, quelled invaders and maintained a healthy economy. You are taking responsibility for your own actions. I’d say you are making him very proud.”

High King Thorald
smiled at him.

Chief A
dvisor Merek, Knight of Wentana.