The Winds of Crowns and Wolves (27 page)

“I hope you can forgive me for angering you
two earlier,” the old man said with a smile on his face.

“We both know that you are never deserving
of forgiveness,” he rebuked without looking up from the table.

A silence hung over the two of them, as they
sat separately from the rest of the hall.

“Rodrik, I’m sorry for what happened to your
father,” the old man spoke quietly to the younger man who looked
strikingly like the father he once knew.

“It was out of my control, he did not care
to hear the words I spoke. His mind betrayed him. He was one of my
best friends when we were young, I would not have let him go
willingly,” the old man spoke as a single tear built up in his left
eye. He quickly wiped it away, and turned his head slowly away from
Rodrik.

“A lot of good your sentiments do, when my
father is either dead or toiling about somewhere in the western
sea,” and with that, he rose again and walked toward the door. He
thrust it open, as he stepped into the dark night.

The old man followed behind him and slipped
into the darkness.

“You’re going to need to control your temper
if we are to be successful, Rodrik. I can understand if you won’t
forgive me, but don’t let my people, or, your people, for that
matter, suffer because of it,” as he spoke, his breath shot out in
front of him, illuminated by the moonlight. The sky was clear, and
thousands of stars joined the moon in a nighttime dance across the
wide expanse.

“Do not tell me what to do old man, you had
best remember that you are the one who called me here, because you
needed help,” he looked the man directly in the eyes as he spoke,
“I can just as easily sail back to Lejman and do my best to stay
out of whatever problem you’ve created for yourself,” Rodrik’s
words cut deep into the old man. He feared every day that this war
would ultimately be grafted from his hand, but his words validated
those fears.

“If we are to prevail, we need to be a
unified force, as we were years ago, during the Godless times,” the
very mention of the period caused Rodrik to shudder. Impossible to
discern his shudder from one caused by the cold, he chattered his
teeth and walked back toward the door.

“Perhaps unity can only result after
complete desolation,” he said, as he opened the door to enter the
hall again.

As the door creaked open, a loud crow was
heard echoing throughout the village. High above the ground, a
large beast flew through the sky, directly in front of the
moon.

Rodrik looked up in awe as the old man’s jaw
threatened to crash into the snow beneath it.

“
The riggibird.”

It all came rushing back to him.

As if flood gates opened and water poured
in, in the form of color and defined shapes. He couldn’t be sure
how long it had been since he passed out, but he knew it must have
been some time, because the sun had risen on a new day.

“What happened?” he asked sheepishly.

Over top of him, Jenos stood with a bowl of
water, dabbing his forehead and cheeks. Her touch was gentle, and
each dab was filled with affection.

“I couldn’t let you two speak alone forever,
I wasn’t sure what he’d do,” her words sounded surprisingly calm
for the situation they found themselves in.

“Don’t worry, my father thinks you fainted
on your own accord,” she spoke sweetly, but her eyes lent
themselves to a night spent thinking of the inner guilt she felt
for putting Neach in this position.

“How exactly did you do this?” he questioned
as he stared at the ceiling. A great mural had been painted
depicting a grandiose struggle between good and evil, and it loomed
over the room like a brazen old warrior.

If only it were that simple, he thought to
himself.

Jenos sat down beside him before she spoke
further. Her eyes were puffy, as if she had cried a thousand tears,
and her nails were chewed off in haste. Neach knew of the reason
for her sorrow, but he couldn’t tell her what he had seen.

“In your drink after I met with my father. I
had a portion of sleeping pills that I stole from the Castle’s
infirmary: a collection of herbs. You seemed not to notice,” she
whispered coolly, as she kissed his forehead.

He was unsure whether to thank her or be
angry. He had witnessed the King’s proclamation of his true
identity, yet he felt he needed to conceal it further.

“I heard you two talking last night,” he
said, his voice hoarse.

Surprisingly, the princess seemed
unsurprised by this news. It was as if she had known all along.

“Then, in that case, you know that what I
did was somewhat of a necessity,” she looked out the window as she
spoke, and Neach thought he saw a glimmer of a tear in her eye. She
rose to her feet abruptly and walked to the open air.

“There is a great war coming, Neach,” she
spoke again, but with more fire in her words.

“I know, I know. Every blasted person from
here to Jorwel has told me of it. If there was something I could
do, I would gladly end it before it begins,” he sat up, as he grew
angrier by the minute.

Knowing she had struck a nerve, she returned
to the bed side and caressed his knee.

“You have more of a responsibility than you
know Coinneach,” she smiled sweetly as she gazed into his eyes, “I
fear you do not know the full scale of the conflict which brews in
the distance,” she looked away again, but returned her eyes just as
quickly.

“I need to keep you alive, Neach. You may be
the only sane person left in this Kingdom,” she spoke nothing of
the love the two shared for one another, but simply of the
ramifications war would have on the Kingdom. She was truly the
King’s daughter, and she kept her eyes steadfast on the ultimate
goal, which was the safety and security of Duncairn’s borders, both
exterior and interior.

She chuckled lightly as she finished her
sentence. Though her eyes were marked by heavy bags, her dark black
hair was pulled back in a ponytail that revealed her slightly
pointed ears. Her green eyes shone in the early morning sunlight,
and Neach reached up to kiss her, as he pushed her hair behind her
ears.

“I have a sneaking suspicion that even the
sanest of men are not wholly aware of the depth of their troubles,
my lady,” he faked a bow in bed as he laughed louder than she had.
Somehow in this tense moment, the two found a way to look past the
night before.

As they sat in the room, celebration was
beginning with song and dance, occupying the whole of the
courtyard. In a few hours’ time, he would be expected to kill the
King.

A drunken man approached the window with a
bottle in his hand, and smiled as he did a jig. He bore no teeth in
his smile, spare a scraggly canine that looked as dangerous as any
knife Neach had ever seen. Soon enough, he backed away and returned
to the festivities, which were ongoing.

“I suppose you are aware that my father
knows who you are,” Jenos asked, returning to the more serious
business that presided.

“Indeed I do. Tell me, Jenos, Princess of
Duncairn, why is it you have chosen to spare my life?”

His eyes shimmered as he looked deep into
the green pastures where her eyes should have been. When he looked
into them, he not only saw the present, but the past and parts of
the future. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him, as it
tended to do.

“Perhaps I like you,” she began, rubbing his
leg, “Or perhaps I feel my father is blinded by rage. Either way,
you’ve made a good impression on me, farmer boy,” she smiled again
as she looked at Neach. A few months removed from his home, the
young man who was accustomed to tending the fields now sat with the
Princess in a room which was furnished with the finest silks and
linens.

“I hope that I can keep it up, then,” he
jested as he drank from a jug of water.

She laughed and peered out the window. In
the courtyard, a grand carriage was being prepared. Its wheels
rested on golden axles, which were adorned with rubies, and a long
silk strand ran down from front to back. It was red, and it held
the crest of Henrig’s family emblazoned atop its roof and bottom. A
magnificent sight, it looked like a chariot ready for battle.

Atop its glamorous base, a plush velvet
cushion sat with a backboard of solid mahogany. The King’s loyal
servants prepared a spot for him atop the carriage, as the white
horses were affixed to the reins at the front.

“There’s going to be a parade, Neach. I’ve
already told my father that you won’t be able to do your act; he
seemed to understand,” she spoke, not knowing the consequences of
her actions.

“I need to be there Jenos,” he said as he
nearly choked on his words. Now that she knew of his background,
she would not let him near anything that would occur today.

“Look, Neach, whatever reason you are here
for, it must wait. We cannot act rashly in the face of great
danger. You will stay here at rest for the remainder of the day,”
her words cut like a hot blade into his flesh, and he bled the
blood of his friends and family into the sheets of his bed.

He knew there was no sense in fighting the
Princess. She would remain strong in her decisions, just as a ruler
should.

Outside, a large number of people began to
gather. Nearly five hundred men and women, subjects of the King,
gathered in front of the horses. They wore great, red outfits. Long
silk dresses for the women, and thick red cloths for the men, all
in the spirit of the summer and the King’s family crest. Their hair
and faces were done with makeup and other products, to make them
look as stunning as possible, as they led the King’s carriage
through the city.

From out of the shadows, the King emerged
bearing a long, golden scepter with a wolf’s head attached to the
top. He mounted the carriage and sat in his velvet seat atop the
glistening jewel of craftsmanship. He wore a black tunic under a
long red cloak, and his breastplate bore the crest of his house
atop its black iron. It almost appeared evil, but the people who
surrounded him looked far too happy.

To the south, his troops would be gathering,
preparing to take him through the city in a celebration
unparalleled to any seen before. Bards would walk with his
bejeweled chariot, encasing his every move in song while flame
eaters consumed the heat of the sun without injury. A grand
spectacle for the people of Leirwold, the people the King
served.

Near a thousand men were stationed
throughout the city of Leirwold, and they all converged around the
entrance of the castle to greet the King as he was lead out by
hundreds of his subjects. He bore no smile to accompany his grand
procession, but he wore his pride on the sleeve of his shirt. The
warriors wore their finest armor, encrusted with the crest of
Duncairn, and they wielded fine steel swords, only taken out for
this special occasion. The King waved to them as he passed, and
they responded with cheers and laughter. For a man who was so
revered and feared around the Kingdom, Henrig held a respectable
relationship with his people.

When they left the castle gates, a sea of
onlookers was unleashed upon the procession. The citizens of
Leirwold lined the streets in the thousands, as they camped along
the parade route, which would lead through the craftsman and
university districts, to the brewery district, and through the
estates district before returning to the castle. It would be the
culmination of a week of celebration in honor of his late, beloved
father.

Flowers were thrown at his feet as the
carriage proceeded slowly through the crowd. The people threw
themselves before the King out of respect and appreciation for his
loyalty. Trouble was brewing in the city, however. Atop the roofs
of buildings which made up the city’s university, strange shapes
glided atop the shingles and wood. They wore brown to blend in, and
to the trained eye, near a hundred men could be seen.

But the King proceeded in blissful
ignorance. He threw gold pieces to the on looking crowd and
accidentally hit some of his soldiers. They laughed and he did as
well, reveling in the glory of the power and wealth he held.

The first death was swift.

A man lunged from a rooftop before stick his
knife through the throat of an unsuspecting soldier. Like bats they
came from the tops of buildings, screaming and shouting in their
fury.

The procession which had now numbered in the
thousands scattered as the soldiers were left to fight off the
attackers. The King urged his men onward, while a portion stayed
behind to deal with the miscreants.

Leading the charge was a man by the name of
Sep. He was the King’s most trusted military commander, and was
held in the highest regard by people across the land. Successfully
orchestrating defenses of the capital and other villages throughout
Duncairn, Sep was revered for his prowess. Today, however, his plan
of attack would need to be different.

They moved like the night.

Furious blade swipes and quick movements
made difficult work for the King’s men. Individual struggles went
in favor of the aggregates in most cases, as they held the
advantage of light, stealthy tactics. At the head of the battle,
Sep sat atop his steed, swinging down at approaching attackers with
his long steel blade.

He called the blade limb because it had
claimed so many, he believed it was turning into one of his
own.

The men in brown dodged around fountains and
benches, as they slashed and swiped at the soldiers of Duncairn’s
fighting force. At one end, an angry girl shouted as she was cut
down by a steel blade. Her throat opened, as blood poured out,
before the man put her out of her misery by placing his blade
between her ribs. Another man shouted for her as she fell to the
ground.