Michael Mathias - Kings, Queens, Heroes, and Fools

Ta’Ken motioned at the door. The guarding soldiers opened it and an old crooked-boned man in drooping shackles limped in. He was followed by one of Overlord Ra’Estes’ surviving underlords.

Ta’Ken hadn’t wanted to become the spokesman for his peers, but since his stronghold lay at the northeastern most outskirts of O’Dakahn, the duty had fallen on him. As the slave and the underlord eased by him to stand before the King, Ta’Ken winced at the sight of the slave’s lumpy, misshapen forearm. It looked like the bone was about to burst through his skin. A long ill-sewn cut ran the length of the hump. The underlord kicked the slave behind the leg, causing him to fall to his knees. Then, he too bowed before King Ra’Gren.

“You are?” the King asked the underlord, ignoring the slave completely.

As per custom the underlord resumed standing, but kept his head bowed as he spoke. “Your Highness, I am Underlord Pa’Tally. I was the first to find the bodies of my overlord and the others.”

“When was this?”

“Early yesterday morning, Highness. I rode here as fast as I could.”

“Describe what you found.”

“Kahndan Keep was empty,” Pa’Tally answered. “Fourteen guards were dead, all of them killed by dagger or sword, save for the gateman. He took a crossbow bolt to the neck. Overlord Ra’Estes was sprawled atop his harem bed naked and headless. The others were found in their night clothes in the guest quarters in similar poses.”

Ta’Ken dropped his eyes when the King glanced his way. He was relieved when Ra’Gren continued questioning the underlord.

“What of his possessions?”

“The slaves are all gone, but his horses and sheep are still there. His jewels and other valuables were left in place as well.”

“How many slaves?”

“Seventy-eight women, and sixteen men.”

“For Wildermont!” the witness screamed as he lunged up at the King. In his hand he now held a blood-drenched dagger. Its tip found the skin over Ra’Gren’s heart, but only nicked the flesh before Overlord Ta’Ken saw two of the three tines of the King’s trident burst out of the slave’s back on either side of his spine. The third tine missed the flesh due to the slave’s emaciated condition. The sparsely filled room exploded into an uproar and several soldiers stormed out of the shadows and gained the King’s side.

With a sudden lurch the slave came over backwards as the King kicked the body off of his weapon with a sandaled foot.

“He had the dagger sewn into his skin!” Ta’Ken exclaimed when he saw the gaping slash on the slave’s forearm. Ta’Ken was aghast. He looked at the King with wide eyes and repeated, “It was sewn into his skin.”

“Silence!” Ra’Gren roared. The quiet that followed was absolute until the slave moaned miserably. Ra’Gren stood and strode down the three steps of the throne dais and slammed the butt of his old iron weapon through the slave’s skull with a crunch. Then he turned and threw it as if it were a spear back up toward the throne. It stuck deeply into the soldier nearest the King’s seat, the heavy tines piercing through plate armor as if it were as thin as papyrus.

“Captain Em’Dep is relieved of duty,” Ra’Gren snarled at the second commander of his personal guard. “Em’Tally, you are to take command. If an enemy’s blade ever gets that close to my heart again I will kill you all and sell your children to the fargin skeeks.”

Another silence followed in which two offended zard merchants sitting in the back of the chamber rose and eased toward the door. The only other movement was King Ra’Gren reclaiming his trident and then resuming his position on the throne.

No sooner did he get himself situated than a fierce looking young man stepped up, forcing his way through the shocked group of overlords to take a knee before the King.

“What is it?” the King asked harshly. He had a look on his face that could freeze lava.

Ta’Ken took an unconscious step away from the newcomer, knowing that a single ill-spoken word could end any one of them. To his surprise, the man now rising before the King had a look of disgust on his face.

“I want the honor of bringing you King Jarrek’s head.” The man nearly spat the words. “Pa’Perryn, Ra’Estes, and these…” he gestured at the group of overlords standing behind him like cornered goats in a pen. “…these pitiful men have no spine,” he continued. He flexed his ample arms and chest. “An overlord should be proud and strong. He should be able to defend himself from kingdomless men.”

Ta’Ken managed to look the man in the eyes even though he could feel his cheeks burning. The others were looking elsewhere.

“I have men that are capable, and it would be my honor to remind these overlords of what they seem to have forgotten.”

Ra’Gren didn’t seem very impressed with the young man. “What do you want in return for bringing me Jarrek’s head?”

“Your Highness, three of your river towns are without leadership now. To be called overlord of any of them would please me.” The man looked up at the King with a slightly defiant look on his face. “Though I will gladly bring you Jarrek’s head just to remind these so-called overlords how to be men.”

“You’ve got iron balls, man,” the King said with a dry laugh. “But, if you think my lords are not capable, then take a moment to imagine what kind of price they can afford to put on your head. Though these cowering stalks lack muscle, they fill my coffers with coin. Year in and year out they do. If you think you can do that, then by the gods fetch me Jarrek’s head and take your pick of river holds.” The King eyed the overlords standing behind the braggart. “This one has offended you, no? If Jarrek’s head is not in my lap before long, I assure you that this man’s contempt will be punished publicly. Until that time he is to be given your full cooperation.” Ra’Gren sighed and looked down at the man’s now uncertain expression. “What is your name?”

“Krenson Rhone, Your Highness.” he answered cautiously.

“Jarrek should strike Odava soon. Go there. See if you can’t keep Pa’Stryn’s head attached to his shoulders. You have put yourself in a position that should keep you properly motivated. Either you will succeed and rise, or you’ll fail and die.”

The King pointed at the body on the floor. “Ta’Ken will make sure your group is properly outfitted. Take this wretch with you as you go.”

Dismissing Krenson Rhone as if he were no longer there, King Ra’Gren turned to his overlords. “How many slaves was it?”

“Seventy-eight women and sixteen men,” Overlord Pa’Tally answered with a nervous glance at the body being dragged away from his feet.

The King stared blankly at the crimson smear left on the floor, scratching his beard as he thought about the situation. After few moments he sighed again. “Lord Pa’Tally, you are appointed as acting overlord of Kahndan. Do not get comfortable, and try not to lose your head.” Turning away from the men, the King took a goblet from a tray that a trembling slave had been holding throughout the ordeal. After a long sip of wine he asked, “Lord Ta’Ken, what is it you suggest we do about King Jarrek? You all have plenty of coin. Hire someone to hunt him down, or get rid of your slaves if you’re afraid of his wrath. I’ve sent Krenson Rhone to dispatch the nuisance.” Ra’Gren laughed then, his mirth was full of irony. “If you do not think that is enough answer to the problem, then do what you will.”

Later, while Krenson Rhone was riding as swiftly as his horse would carry himto Odava, Lord Ta’Ken was debating with the other overlords, and a few of the more prosperous slave traders, about which mercenary company to hire. The debate ended with them all agreeing to put a bounty on the King of Wildermont. Fifty thousand golden fangs would be paid to who ever brought in Jarrek’s head. It was enough coin to build a castle and retire knowing that for generations your descendants would live well. Ta’Ken imagined that it would only be a matter of days before he could give his king a chest that held a head he wanted to see. He thought the irony of paying for the assassination with Wildermont minted coin was a statement unto itself.