Days of the Sword
The sound of men approaching on horseback filled the air as he stepped out of his shack and into the cold frost of the season. Quivering with anticipation of what was to come, Aslend Vayguard waited in front of his door after shutting it and watched as the five heavily armored men finished their journey. Aslend rubbed his long bushy beard once before approaching the men and as he did so he admired the elegant and healthy steeds on which they rode upon. As to be expected of men from the house of Vardy. The bastards only desired the best. The steeds however weren’t why they had come. Aslend’s prize rode on the back of the horse on the far end of the group.
“Is this the man you sought?” asked one of the riders as he pushed the bound man off his horse. He grunted painfully as he hit the ground face first. He spat blood from his mouth and the liquid spread within the snow in the places it landed. Aslend looked and the man as if he were trying to place him somewhere.
“Yes, this is he,” Aslend finally said. The man slowly peered up at Aslend and realized the situation he was in. Bewilderment was replaced with fear and the coldness of where he was no longer mattered. Aslend mightily lifted the man that appeared to be in his early twenties, rosy cheeked and brown haired and threw him in front of his door.
“Deal with him as you please,” said another of the riders of House Vardy.
“I shall my lord,” Aslend said. “I shall.”
Aslend watched as the riders turned and rode away, the sound of the hooves of their horses fading in the distance. Now that they were gone, Aslend hoisted the fearful lad onto his shoulder, opened the door and walked into the house.
The inside of the house was warm and the lad was thankful to be inside a warm house, but sadly he was in the house of an enemy. Prey taken to a predator’s lair. Aslend walks inside the main room after having removed his winter coat, revealing himself to be a tall man with frightening broad shoulders. His hair was done in a single long braid reaching to his buttocks, giving the young lad the impression that he was leader of some village. It would make sense.
“Please sir,” he began with a whimper. Aslend ignored him as he lit a fire within the oft used fireplace. Above the fireplace was a small wooden shelf, containing a single box. Aslend opened the box and withdrew from it a small dagger. The lad realized that the man intended to torture him. That was why the soldiers from House Vardy had brought him here. The realization startled him and he became all the more panicked.
“I do not listen to the cries of the guilty,” Aslend said as he began to sharpen his knife. “For a time you’ve done well in talking yourself out of trouble. That ends today.”
“I have money! My house has money! Have you ever heard of House Linndale villager? Set me free and ill see to it that you are paid handsomely!”
Aslend looked at the lad as if he considered his proposal. The young man continued talking, sensing if he pushed further he could very well talk his way to freedom and purchase this man for a time.
“That’s right sir, House Linndale, one of the most finest, richest, and most prestigious in the three lands! Our words are With Wealth, Honor, and Fury. Set me free and you’ll be wealthy! We can afford it! But if you kill me, kill me and you’ll face the fury of my house!”
At this Aslend carefully placed the blade upon the floor and approached the young lad. When he reached him, he knelt before him on one knee and peered into his eyes. He seemed to be telling the truth, but just to be sure, he searched him. Before long he found something metallic in his breast pocket. Aslend removed it and saw that it was a medallion depicting the sygol of his House. Heavily breathing, the young lad nodded as Aslend examined it.
“See?! What did I tell you?! Anyone of my house can claim truly that I belong! Also, only members of my house carry this particular medallion! As you can see it adds weight to my words villager! See how the gold encrusted falcon soars toward the silver encrusted moon? That’s because we falcons are birds of honor in my house!”
Aslend looked at the bound lad a moment more. Then, he cried a single name. Within a moment, in stepped a young woman with fair golden hair. Her features were rather comely, save for the black blots on either side of her face. The young lad peered at the young woman for a moment and then, fear took him as he remembered where he had met her and where he had violated her.
“Is this the man who forced himself upon you my dear?” Aslend asked. A vengeful frown appeared upon the young woman’s face as she nodded without a word. “Then you may do with him as you like.”
“No please!” cried the young lad. “Remember what I showed you! My house can rectify everything!”
“I paid the Vardys handsomely to have you brought to me,” replied Aslend. This revelation coupled with the sight of the young woman picking up the knife from the floor brought new terror to the lad as he envisioned the possibilities of what the young woman whom he had forced himself upon would do to him in retribution. He also couldn’t believe that the Vardys could be bought by such lowly peasant folk.
“Our house also has words young lad,” Aslend began. “Retribution in full Splendor.”
The bound man’s eyes were wide now. He understood that the woman he had forced himself upon belonged to a member of that dreadful House Sike. The woman with blade in hand, leaned toward the quivering lad’s ear.
“Don’t be afraid you vile swine, I’ll not kill you. Once I remove the part you cherish most, I’ll set you free and you can walk back to your family. That is if you don’t bleed out first.”
“I’m going to hunt some game,” Aslend told his daughter as he placed his coat once again upon his body. “I’ll return shortly.”
Aslend opened the door and stepped outside. He shut the door behind him, shutting the shrill screams inside before beginning his venture into the cold. Hunting game in the winter was difficult, as the majority of the animals hibernated during this time. The season never stopped him or other members of his house from the hunt, especially when hunger drove them. He was looking forward to venison stew and after his daughter was finished, she would require her share as well.
It wasn’t becoming for a king to be awake and brooding in the late night hour. There was a time when he was a picture of joy and great health, but time waits for no one and it saw him age. He took his goblet that had rested atop the small desk beside his bed. He expected for the ale to glide cleanly down his throat but the goblet lacked one thing; the ale.
“Servant! Servant at once!” cried the king. A servant came through the door and shut it behind him before approaching his lord’s bed.
“You called my king?”
“Yes, fill my cup with some more ale at once!”
Without a word the servant took the cup from his king’s hand and left the room. When he returned sometime later the king took the goblet from the servant’s hand and quickly downed the beverage before requesting another. The second filling was finished just as quick, followed by the third and the fourth.
“Will that be all my liege?”
“Yes get out of here!” barked the king. The servant bowed before exiting the king’s chamber. As the ale took effect upon the king’s body, he slowly lay back upon his bed and rolled to the other side hoping to find something, someone opposite to his gender to feel and enjoy. He found nothing, save for an empty space. Upon this finding he began to sober and remember that he had had his second wife beheaded after discovering her affair with one of his guards. The latter suffered a fate harsher than hers. The realization that his sexual needs were once again denied, he rose from his bed and placed upon his naked body his royal clothes before exiting his room. Walking down the daylit hallway leading to the throne room, his mind wondered to the image of his first wife, the mother of his two children. Sometimes he could smell the feint scent of her black silky hair as he passed through his halls in the castle. The first time he had courted her was in Dorgith, a kingdom in the Second Land. There a contest for her hand was made by her father in the form of a jousting tournament. The tournament was later crashed by a rogue group of Orcs, a band of trollish looking brutes riding on beastly hounds looking for a good kill. He had the scares to prove his bravery in the face of these abominations.
“My liege we’ve some villagers seeking for you to settle a dispute.” A guard said jolting the king out of his thoughts.
“Can they not settle the matter for themselves?”
“I’m afraid not my king. They insist that the matter is of utmost urgency.”
The king would have purposed on sending his son to take care of the matter for him, but where he was the gods only knew. Prince Geer of House Vorse, had adamantly forfeited his right to the throne, riding away with an unknown rider under the cover of night. This act effectively left the king without an heir and sometime after that, his wife killed herself unable to cope with the grief of having lost their son to the unknown.
“Very well I’ll see them directly. Are they in the throne room?”
“Yes King Vorse, they are.”
There was no reply from the king as he continued his way to the throne room. Whoever they were were brave to risk their lives, either that or had a death wish. Those that ventured into the king’s throne without being summoned were often killed on the spot. It wasn’t called the Bloodthrone for nothing.
The villagers were standing in the vast room when the king arrived. On either side of the throne room were weapons of fallen enemies and the heads of slain beasts. One of the most intriguing ones was the head of a three-horned dragon.
“You are fortunate that I am of a peaceful mood,” King Vorse said as he sat on his throne. He regarded them with a near evil glint in his eye. “Address your matter then be on your way.”
“Sire, if I may,” one of the villagers, a woman, began. “We are one of many who have been faithful to your rule and your kingdom. We want to address the matter of a possible heir with you.”
King Vorse could hardly believe what his ears heard. Who were these people to talk with him about an heir to his throne? Such matters were not important for common folk to discuss.
“You all risked your heads to come and speak with me about the matter of producing an heir?” Vorse nearly spat his words. The villagers however sensed the anger behind his words but the foremost villager continued.
“Only because you’ve no heir after the prince had gone my lord.” He carefully stated. Vorse leaned forward in his chair, resting an elbow on his knee as he leered at the old man.
“Well I must thank you all for your concern. I’ll remind you that I still have a daughter and if she happens to give me a grandson with black of hair, I’ll have my heir through her.”
“But my liege, thus far she has refused the hand of many who have ventured here for her hand.”
Vorse sat back in his chair and groaned to himself. This much was true and even if she accepted one she thought worthy, Vorse in his old age may not live to see the child, thus his kingdom would fall to ruin.
“I am very aware of the situation at hand, you think I am not wise?” Vorse asked, making sure that contempt was there.
“Of course not my liege,” said somebody fearfully. “We desire only that your kingdom continue!”
“And it will!” barked Vorse as he slammed a fist onto the handle of his throne chair. “Now get out of here before I decide to have you all beheaded!”
The villagers left the throne room with the greatest of haste, ignoring the shouts of their king behind them. Rising up from his chair, Vorse clinched his fists and stamped his feet as he yelled within his throne. He scarcely felt himself grit his teeth as obscene anger continued to drive his behavior. There was a gold goblet resting upon the steps below this chair and it glistened in the light that shone through the elegant blue and red windows of his hall. It was the goblet that his first wife used to drink from and to see it sitting there, as still as a stone at the bottom of the steps, was unacceptable. He was continuing his shouting when a brown haired young woman rushed into the throne room. She was quickly at Vorse’s side.
“Father!” she cried. “Father please master yourself!”
“I cannot!” he seethed, looking at his daughter with eyes tearing. “They insulted me Emerria! Insulted me, the king!”
Emerria smelt the substance upon her father’s breath and she revolted at the scent of it. Ale. Clearly he had drunken himself prior to his coming here. No doubt the kingdom would be talking about this.
“Father please I beg of you! Come, let me take you back to your room so that you can rest!”
Upon hearing the word rest, Vorse seemed to calm down. He took slow, steady breaths, and soon he was breathing normally. A new image of the king replaced the prior image of the angered and lumbering king. A remorseful and defeated king.
“Yes, yes please take me to my room Emmeria. Rest is always good.”
Emmeria summoned a few guards to help her father remain upright, then they guided Vorse back to his royal quarters, although not without difficulty. Falling onto the bed, Vorse instantly fall to sleep with a bubbly stream of saliva running from the corner of his mouth. Silently Emmeria and the guards shut the door as they vacated, lest the king awoke and would thunder aloud as before.
“Thank you, you may go now,” Emmeria said to the guards. They bowed before the young princess before taking their leave. The princess walked down the halls as she hid her face. She knew that people would speak about her father’s behavior. In fact, one rumor that began to circulate was that the king made love to his own daughter because she looked like her mother. Emmeria knew for a fact these rumors were false and had thought about having any who spoke of the rumor executed.
Emmeria knew what would help her expel the horrid feelings of her family’s situation. Another one of her secret walks among the commoners in the towns below the royal castle. Her father’s advisor had cautioned her against such walks but Emmeria would always disregard them. It was these walks among them that allowed her to know the joys and the pains of those of lesser status. When she entered her room, she removed her royal gowns and dressed herself in common clothes. Within her room, underneath her bed was a secret door that had been installed before her family came to power. She thanked the gods that she was skinny enough to fit underneath the bed, open the door and slide through the space provided. She had injured herself several times doing this but taking this way was worth a small cut or two. After sliding through Emmeria shut the door above her and quickly walked down the flight of steps that would lead to a fire lit hallway. From there she would enter the forest a mile outside the towns and from there, make her way in. As she approached the town’s gate, a gate made of gold and brass with a height of ten feet, she smiled. Nothing else in the world satisfied her more than this.
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