The King's Blood
Authors: S. E. Zbasnik,Sabrina Zbasnik
The King
'
s Blood
S.E. Zbasnik
THE KING'S BLOOD Copyright © 2013 by S.E. Zbasnik. All rights reserved. No part of this book my be used or reproduced in any manner without explicit permission of the author except in the case of quotations embedded in critical reviews. Any resemblance to people, creatures, or rather tasty pies is purely coincidental. I tried to form my own parallel universe where it did exist, but the chipmunks kept catching on fire and exploding. Chipmunks are not team players.
DEDICATION
I'd like to take this entire blank space to thank my husband, for putting up with me losing weeks creating this tale and then letting me talk about it;
My dog, for understanding that I can't throw her damn ball when I'm supposed to be editing;
Dawn, the best beta reader a writer could beg for;
GrapeMan, for always encouraging the encouragement;
And everyone who told me to put myself out there and reach for the burning balls of gas.
Please forward all complaints to them.
Candy is hidden inside this book.
CHAPTER ONE
B
anners stripped of their golden embroidery rattled in the buffeting winds, trembling the Great Bear as it flapped above the crumbling edifices. The castle embraced better centuries, but the resident Lord was a rare welcoming face to the King's cavalcade after so many cold shoulders and colder moats.
Another blast of wind sent the poorly fitted helmet spinning upon the underage head peering to the ground below. The mountains were especially quiet tonight, a fact that would have sent any local charging into the darkness with oversized torches and pitchforks. But the D-squad for the King's guard merely shrugged into the unblinking darkness and turned back to his companion. "Winter's coming."
"No shit, Sir Lock. Ya gonna prophesize the sun risin' tomorrow too? Now call."
The young guard laid his standard issue petard down upon the quickly freezing stones. His companion, glinting out of his one eye, kept challenging the young whelp to a seemingly un-winnable game of cards. Rutager glanced at his wooden circles, most of the letters unrecognizable to him save for a few of the really jagged ones, and laid them upon the table.
Wizened Aldis grinned, displaying the gap he claimed came from taking a Dunner's hilt to the mouth, and laid out his own circles. "I was right, I knew it had to be Ms. Dragon in the Alchemical Lab with the Chamber Pot!"
Another torrent of wind whistled through the scraps of armor Rutager managed to amass out of the armory house before the company ventured forth on this mad trek through the sprawling kingdom to "maintain network contacts." The boy glared out again at the perfect silence blanketed beneath the near impenetrable mountains.
There! A light flickered into existence deep within the woods advancing upon this small hold. A breath caught in his throat as molding tales of wisps tricking greedy men to their swampy death swam through his head.
But his companion took it as another grievance, "You keep complainin' about the weather, but i's gonna be even colder when we head home."
Rutager turned back to watch Aldis shuffling up the cards and carefully marking Mr. Mutton with his fingernail. "At least they have braziers at home. And bed warmers, and hot rum. Here it's just stone, rock, and leftover horse hide."
A laugh reminiscent of warm desert winds chuckled out of the darkness. The flickering torchlights licked upon the haunting eyes and bright smile as the "Dark Knight" seemed to fade out from the very shadows that eternally cloaked his skin.
"You forgot the damp. The river is most unforgiving in the late autumn."
The young guard nodded, uncertain if he should salute or demand it of the "Dark Knight." Aldis stuffed some of the dates they managed to sneak from the feast into his mouth and chewed down, unimpressed by the interruption.
"I came to inquire how the night is going," the intruder demanded. His armor was simple splintmail, worn hard over the years, but kept in better condition than most of the decorated knights drunkenly wandering the halls. None in the King's regiment knew what to make of the "Dark Knight" who served faithfully -- and some say spectacularly -- Sir Albrant, the Lord of this dump they were forced to camp at for the fortnight. Most fell back on ignoring him, especially those who served close to the western Dunlaw border and only saw their dead war buddies in that dark skin.
Rutager looked back out into the night, his wisp nothing more than a fevered vision brought on by a frozen head and a mead belly. "Nothing so far, Sir." The "sir" slipped out before he could catch his tongue, but the "Dark Knight" simply smiled, his bright teeth more menacing than reassuring in the dance of torchlight fire.
Aldis snorted at the young guards bootlickin', "Been a babe's watch tonight. 'Bout the only thing the King need worry about is a squirrel invasion."
The "Dark Knight" nodded, his eyes trying to pierce the darkness, but contrary to some rather pesky rumors, even he could not see through shadows. He smiled once more and vanished back to the revelry inside, only a loud chorus from some knights on "58 casks of mead on the wall" as the door opened announced his departure.
Aldis shuffled the cards once more and looked upon the young lad, whose face seemed frozen in concentration, "Don't mind the Darkie; he'll only rip your soul from your body if'n ya don't say your prayers tonight."
Rutager's hollow eyes turned upon the old man whose Dunner scars gleamed in the lamplight.
Aldis cracked a hard laugh, braying like a mule that figured out how to toss the entire pack on his back down the mountain, and tipped his chair, "Nah, I'm just shitting ya. Now close yer mouth before'n any demons go flying in."
Rutager's legs folded as he plopped down once more, uncertain if he should mention the wisp he saw momentarily dancing upon the roads, but his Sergeant was already dolling out the cards and picking at his remaining teeth. Putting the light out of his mind, he inspected his own hand (he had three different women, all of them in fancy feathered masks, an axe, a horse, and what looked like some place where large stacks of vellum were stored). But his hand, realizing the brain wasn't doing its damn job, instinctively reached for his petard and laid it across his lap.
The wisp went unnoticed by all sequestered warmly in the rollicking castle except one pair of eyes waiting for just this signal.
CHAPTER TWO
G
lasses, hard to scrub even in the best of conditions, clinked upon each other, causing even more unsavory cracks, as the "guests" called for yet another toast to the ever-widening ass plopped in the middle of the dais. He, however, was already about as deep into the wine as one could get without drowning. Jowls, frosty with age, shook as the mighty King Edric tried to holler above the growing clamor of inebriating men in tin cans.
The elegant bird in bright red plumage, ruffled her feathers beside him and plucked open her beak. "Let us call for the Story!"
The Queen's voice, hard as flint, carried across every grunt and murmur. A complete opposite to her husband's mumble that couldn't make it down the stairs to Lord Albrant, who was perched precariously upon his chair, ready to leap to Edric's assistance should the King's makeshift throne finally commit suicide.
Like bleating sheep, the Queen's request carried across every tongue.
"Yes the Story!"
