The Winds of Crowns and Wolves (29 page)

“We will dispatch men in the morning to find
them; they won’t get far on foot,” the King boomed with his head
hung low.

Such a turn of events had truly rung home
with the benevolent leader. From celebration to utter agony in a
matter of moments, he rubbed his hands together as he contemplated
his next move.

“Do we have a final tally of the dead and
captured, commander?” he asked in a kinder manner. His sincerity
was wearing thin with the abominable deeds the rebels were
executing.

“Yes, your highness. We count eighty-seven
dead and fourty-two captured,” he spoke with his chest puffed out
as a sign of victory. The King appreciated his service, but he knew
there would be more violence to come.

“And what of our men, Frederik?” he asked
this time with a look of sorrow upon his face. Deep lines were taut
into his skin; wrinkles of time and terror carved into his life’s
canvas.

“Unfortunately, my lord, nearly two hundred
dead of the thousand who were present were killed. Our grand
commander Sep was amongst them, as you are aware,” the commander
stepped back slightly, fearing an immediate outburst from the
King.

“Very well, if you could leave me to myself,
it would be much appreciated, gentlemen. The Kingdom sleeps well
with you two in charge tonight,” his words were layered in a
disingenuous fabric that wrapped around each phrase tight, but the
men accepted the sentiments willingly.

He looked down at the map on the table and
saw the various headquarters of the House Goedwig marked by X’s
across the Kingdom. When one was pillaged, it was covered by his
wax seal, which depicted his family crest, and only three bases
remained. The King was growing ever closer to eradicating them from
the land, but he knew they were only getting stronger.

His mind wandered to his most recent trip to
Rulici, the capital of the Eastern kingdoms.

He and his commanders sat at a long table,
crafted entirely of gold, as they looked on at the fat king.
Somehow, he had fallen into possession of the two separate kingdoms
of the east and molded them into one unified body, something that
hadn’t been done for thousands of years. Henrig knew if he didn’t
approach them now, they would ultimately venture west and pillage
the lands, as they had done in the past.

It was late winter, and though the snows
were only beginning to thaw in Duncairn, the grounds of Rulici were
rife with flowers and other premature buds. The sun beat down upon
his skin with vigor when he first landed, and he distinctly
remembered removing various layers of clothing upon his
arrival.

“So you wish to ally yourself with the great
Kingdom of Floritola. I must admit, nothing like this has ever
happened between our two sides of the world,” he had laughed a
womanly laugh as he slipped a grape into his mouth.

“What is it that we will get out of our
little arrangement?” he had asked, more serious this time.

“You will gain a claim to the most prized
lands in the Western Kingdoms if you assist me in taking care of
our little… problem,” the King had smirked devilishly, much to the
pleasure of the King of Floritola, who laughed giddily at the
proposition.

“Lejman and Shirla hold plentiful resources
and beautiful women, both of which I could help you procure,”
Henrig’s face turned shades darker as he spoke.

“I believe we have many things in common,
Davi, if I may call you by first name,” the King of Duncairn
bellowed. I assure you, if you are to help us in our endeavors, we
can surely be of assistance to you,” he sat back in his chair as
the fat king contemplated his offer.

“Very well, I will send two riggibirds with
men to scout these lands you speak of. You will have an answer when
the summer reaches its hottest point in your end of our great and
expansive world,” again he laughed as he snapped his fingers.
Without notice, King Henrig had been gently eased out of his seat
and directed toward the door.

King Davi of Floritola was a childish man,
but he held technology and means that no one in the Western
Kingdoms had ever seen before. The riggibird was a massive glided
bird, which could hold ten men on its back as it travelled long
distances. The people of Floritola rode these birds as those in
Duncairn rode horses, and it amazed Henrig to see them in action
throughout Rulici.

In a flash, he was back in his war room in
Leirwold, pacing back and forth yet again.

Out in the courtyard, a man was being beaten
and interrogated by one of the King’s commanders.

“Stand down, Frederik. We do not want to
kill the boy yet,” his words were met by a glare from the royal
commander.

“Well, well, boy. What name shall I have the
pleasure of calling you during your stay in our lovely castle?” the
King smirked as he spoke to the boy would was cut above the eye and
lightly on the cheek.

“T-tyrin,” he spat out, his mouth bruising
from the beating he had been receiving.

“Well, Tyrin, you and I will be getting to
know each other very well in the near future,” with a kick to the
stomach, the King walked away and Tyrin was dragged to his
cell.

Early evening had fallen over the southern
road, and the sun was beginning to sink low in the sky. In the
south of the Kingdom, vision wasn’t impeded, as the lands were
primarily low. No mountain ranges blocked the sky from view and on
a clear day, one could see for miles on end without disruption.

Neither had spoken much since they had left
Leirwold a few hours earlier. It was Neach who broke the silence
first.

“When we arrive in Fletwod, we are not to
tell anyone our names,” he began,

“Just as you cannot trust your father, I am
not sure who I can trust, as well,” he concluded, as Jenos sighed
audibly.

“I understand, Neach. Where is it that we
are going exactly?” she asked calmly, far removed from the blinding
anger that had overcome her earlier.

“We are going to visit a friend of mine who
lives there. I would say he won’t be expecting us, but then again,
I have a feeling he may be,” his words were met with confusion by
the princess who contemplated their meaning momentarily before
tossing it to the wind.

Their horses trotted along at a fairly brisk
pace, as they wove their way through the southern countryside. The
road followed the path of the river for the most part, and on the
left side, pastures with sheep and foxes could be seen in
abundance. She secretly loved every second of the journey. For all
of the regality of her youth, she had never experienced true
adventure. Perhaps that was why she had fallen so hard for the
mysterious boy from the small western village. He offered a new
sense of discovery, of a different life, in a different place.

As she looked at him riding, she found
herself admiring him again. The frail, clean shaven boy she had met
during the festival months ago was gone, taken over by a lightly
bearded man whose arms threatened to tear the sleeves of his shirt.
He had grown in the last few months and assumed his
responsibilities as a man, something she admired.

Rolling hills passed, and the river remained
a steady constant to their right, as they passed through an
unfamiliar part of the Kingdom. It seemed the wildlife was more
prominent in this area, perhaps a result of the winding stream.
Nevertheless, as darkness consumed the whole of Duncairn, their
horses galloped into Fletwod. The first candles were being lit in
windows by wary citizens, but the village gave off a glowing air
for a different reason.

People looked on at them with smiles upon
their faces, and their kindness radiated from their souls into the
evening air. The summer humidity had taken its hold of the south,
and Neach wiped sweat from his brow, as they approached a small hut
on the outskirts of the village.

The King lay in bed, restless and wide
awake. Though he tossed and turned, he found no respite beneath the
covers of his linens.

He stared at the ceiling and the grand mural
he had ordered painted when he first assumed power in the
Kingdom.

Good versus evil, he thought, if only it
were that simple.

As he turned toward the windowsill, he
noticed something flying toward him in the moonlight.

Its wingspan was immense, but it looked as
if it were one of the hawks he kept in the aviary. The hawk landed
with a soft crash onto the windowsill, and around its ankle was a
piece of paper that had been tied twice over.

The King reached over in confusion and
untied the paper from its ankle, as he watched it fly away into the
night again.

He opened the paper and read its contents a
few times before he fully comprehended its meaning.

For all that you have given us; we will give
you just as much.

Is this some sort of riddle? He thought to
himself as he sat up in his bed.

But then he remembered his meeting in
Rulici. The summer had been going on for quite some time, and the
humidity hung thick in the air around the capital, as if it were a
hex put on its borders to prevent men from breathing properly.

Immediately, he realized its meaning. Davi
had sent his riggibirds, and they had found their prize to be
desirable. It would only be weeks before the Eastern troops arrived
on the shores of Duncairn.

His “palace” was not as impressive as Neach
had hoped. Though he remembered the tale, he had wondered whether
the project he had embarked on as a young man had ever been
completed. Evidently, it had not.

“Whose house is this, Neach?” Jenos asked
with a yawn. The night had grown old, and they stood outside in the
summer heat which was progressively getting cooler.

“Just give me a moment,” he pleaded with her
as he approached the door.

With a swift three knocks, he demanded the
attention of whoever happened to be residing inside. From inside
the home, a grumbling could be heard and Jenos looked at Neach
curiously.

The door swung open with a fury, and a man
was standing there in his night clothes, with a sword aimed at
Neach.

“I’m sorry to have showed up unannounced,
sir,” Neach said, “But I had thought you wouldn’t mind,” he
finished with a smile.

“Of course not Coinneach,” the old man
spoke, “But when you enter my home, you must only call me
Fenris.”