The King, page 12
part #4 of The Jester King Series
Lady Myrredith straightened the collar of her nightgown. “I don’t know. It beats the dress my executioner had picked for me.”
“And you.” Billy turned to Aeth.
“What?”
“When all this business with the Gwythies is done—”
“Don’t forget Ergyfel.”
“Yes. Perhaps, but when this is all done, somehow, I’ll make it up to you.”
“Make up what, my king?”
Billy chortled. “You just won’t give up on that tune, will ya?”
Aeth grinned and Billy reached over to take his arm. “Remember that day you first found me in the city?”
Aeth nodded. “Aye.”
“You said, ‘we’re practically brothers, you an’ me.’ Do you remember that?”
“Aye. I do.”
“It still goes.”
Aeth grinned with all his teeth.
At the same time that Billy was saying his goodbyes to Aeth, Hugh was wishing Camion a safe journey.
“Thanks, but it is you going into danger, my friend.”
“It’s all in the way you look at it. Right now, you couldn’t drag me back to Dyven.”
“You haven’t seen my woman.”
“That’s true.”
Camion suddenly leaned in to Hugh and whispered, “But I see your woman.” He gave a slight nod towards Lady Myrredith. “Take good care of her.”
Hugh glanced back over his shoulder. “I shall.”
Malcolm’s mount had grown restless. It pitched back, but Sylvys grabbed its bridle and steadied it. “We’ve tarried long enough.”
“Aye.” Hugh gathered his reins. “Let’s be off.”
The six turned their horses up the road and galloped away. The giant and his newest buddy watched them go around the bend, and then turned their mounts in the direction of Dyven.
***
The six riders trotted west up the King’s Road at a spirited pace. They had left Camion and Aeth about an hour before. They turned a sharp bend and, at once, saw a rider headed for them at a gallop. Shaldra.
“Run!”
“What?” Billy pulled up on his reins.
The rest of the party slowed. Shaldra continued riding at top speed.
“They’re right behind me!”
“Who?” Hugh asked.
“It’s an ambush! Run!”
The elf rode between them, splitting their ranks and turning the corner.
“Who is it?”
“The whole Gwythie army!”
The group exchanged glances in rapid succession. Their mounts turned in uneasy circles beneath them.
Billy was the first to break the relative silence. “Surely he didn’t mean the whole—”
Billy stopped in mid-sentence. Drif had sidled up next to him and placed her armored hand on his elbow.
“Listen.”
Billy remembered how Onian had taught him spirit-listening. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
A sound like a waterfall began to fill his ears. A breath later and it was like a heavy downpour on the roof of his father’s inn. Then the raindrops became the clank of armor, and thunderous hooves pounding the earth. Billy tried to focus in on the source, but it was too chaotic—there were too many. There were hundreds.
Billy opened his eyes. “Go!”
Billy and Drif turned their horses to follow Shaldra and bolted up the road, with the others moments behind them.
Hugh spurred his horse to catch Billy. “What’s happened?”
Billy looked over his shoulder. “There’s an army on our tail! At least fifty!”
Drif glanced at him. “Eighty.”
“How close?”
“They’re almost to that sharp bend behind us.”
“Our best bet is to get off the road.”
“Aye, milady.” Billy surged ahead. “Shaldra!”
The elf, still lengths ahead of Billy, slowed just enough to get close to his prince. “What is it, Your Highness?”
“We need a good place off the road to hide.”
Shaldra was still looking back when Billy saw a score of knights wearing the colors of Gwythia coming up the road ahead of them. One of them looked very much like Prince Gaelyn. Shaldra saw Billy’s eyes and mouth widen and turned around.
“Turn!” Billy shouted to his companions. Both he and Shaldra yanked their reins to the right and their mounts collided.
The road became a squall of dust and kicking horses. Sylvys gave a shrill whistle and the beasts leapt through the narrow gaps in the cramped forest that confined the road. Their riders had no choice but to hold on and pray.
They turned left and right, first by one tree, then between two, under low branches, over a log, skipping past a boulder, and then scraping by another tree and through a bramble. The ancient and forsaken forest offered no quarter and, in fact, grew denser. It closed in on them, forcing them to a course, like water in a streambed.
No stopping. No turning back. The Gwythians crashed through the woods behind them, shouting and blowing horns. Billy got a chill when he glimpsed Drif just off his flank. Being chased with the shadowy elf so close behind reminded Billy of the day he escaped the clutches of the Night Queen.
As they rushed through the tangled forest, a steep, rocky hill came up to meet them on their left and forced them back towards the west. They followed the contour of the hill, with the Gwythian horns growing louder. Then, without warning, the forest unraveled and they found themselves at the edge of a large meadow that rolled away from the hillock.
“Which way?” Billy was frantic.
Shaldra pointed back to their right, to a corner of the meadow where the deep tree shadows made a cave. At that moment, Gwythie warriors burst out of the darkness and flowed into the tall grass.
“So much for choices!” Malcolm slapped his mount on the rump and headed across the meadow after Billy and Shaldra.
They continued southwest beside the stone hill, but far enough into the meadow to avoid the rocky ground at its base. Drif threw up her shield and stopped an arrow that struck with a loud pop. A moment later, the air filled with arrows, falling around them like rain.
Shaldra looked up. “We’ve got to get Billy to those trees.”
Sylvys reached back and pulled on the mane of Billy’s mount. “Come on, you nag! Hurry up!”
Just then, something slammed into Billy’s right shoulder blade and knocked him from his horse. He tumbled to the ground, stunned. By the time he stopped rolling and pulled himself up to his seat, the arrow in his back was screaming.
Billy cried out and reached back with his left hand to grab the arrow, but the offending missile was out of his reach. A moment later, a sharp pain in his ankle vied for his attention, and other injured parts started reporting in.
The rest of Billy’s party, moving too fast, passed him by. Fortunately, they took the hail of arrows with them. First Shaldra, and then the others, turned around and headed back.
Billy waved them away. “No! Get to the trees!”
He tried to stand up, but the instant he put weight on his ankle it gave out and he fell back to the ground.
“Go back! Leave me!”
They would not heed him. Billy took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tried his best to concentrate past the pain. He wished he could cast a spell from the black tome that would turn the arrows back against the cursed Gwythies.
Pain is not death, but life. Soon, it will pass. Look past the pain, past the pain, past the pain.
The peace Billy had hoped for came, and he remembered a simple spell taught to him by the Witan.
“A bird flies on two wings,
the arrow, it has none.
When wind blows with mighty strength,
they both shall be undone.”
The next volley of arrows raced towards his companions. A sudden gust of wind came up from behind him. The arrows tumbled in the air and fell to the ground as if spilled from a quiver.
*
A moment later, Billy’s friends arrived. Hugh, Shaldra, and Malcolm all jumped from their mounts and ran to Billy’s side. Lady Myrredith dismounted and followed them as a gust of conjured wind defeated another swarm of arrows. Following Hugh’s commands, the companions helped Billy up and Sylvys brought over his horse.
“Up on three. One, two, three.”
The men heaved Billy up as Myrredith held the stirrup, but at that moment, a dense flight of arrows rained down on their position, and the zealous gust that came to their defense spooked the mount. It bucked and pulled away from Sylvys. However, the satyr held fast to the beast’s mane and pulled its head down to whisper in its ear. After a half-hearted buck, the beast quieted, and Sylvys nudged the beast back towards them to try again.
“On three,” Myrredith said.
Hugh nodded and started the count. “One, two ...”
Thud!
An arrow appeared in the saddle where they meant to place Billy, followed by a dozen more that stabbed into the ground around them. Malcolm grabbed the arrow and tore it from the leather.
“My spell shouldn’t have stopped working … ”
The meadow resounded with the howl from a Gwythian horn.
“On three.”
Malcolm began the count. “One, two ...”
“Wait!” Hugh looked to the sky for the next anticipated volley of arrows. “Wait ‘til after the next volley.”
They each held their breath. A moment went by and then another. Then they realized the arrows had stopped raining.
Hugh looked over his shoulder and saw twenty Gwythian knights descending on them from the rear. The banner of a prince and a battle signal-flag snapped over their heads.
“On three,” Malcolm shouted, determined to get Billy back on his mount. “One ...”
Hugh released Billy. “There’s no time! They’re on us!”
“Hugh! I can get him on myself.”
With that, the Highlander began to lift Billy, but Myrredith caught his arm. She trained her eyes on Prince Hereweald. “It’s too late, Malcolm. He’s here.”
Hugh drew his sword and stepped forward between Billy, Myrredith, and the closing knights. An arrow from Shaldra’s bow whooshed over his shoulder and struck the knight carrying the prince’s banner. The man grabbed his throat and tumbled off the back of his horse.
The Gwythian prince shouted, “Shields up!” and his knights raised their shields.
Hugh gritted his teeth, knowing that the next order would be “lances down.”
Shaldra nocked another arrow and sized up his targets for a weak spot. Drif drew her sword; her hand bathed in an eerie, crackling blue light. Malcolm pushed his horse forward to blunt the coming attack and filled his hands with daggers as he joined Hugh.
The Gwythians spread their formation into a line as they bore down on the companions. The prince raised his hand and commanded them to “Halt!”
The knights pulled back on their reins and brought their mounts to an unusually quick and orderly stop. Their leader leapt gracefully from the saddle, borrowing the speed of his horse to carry him just ahead of their dust-cloud and into the open ground between them. Hugh raised his sword and ran forward. The prince came to a stop and stood at an equal distance from his men and Hugh—no more than a lance-length either way.
Hugh continued his charge into the dust-cloud and swung at the prince with all his might. The prince pulled back, and Hugh’s blade scratched his breastplate. Before the prince could react, Hugh spun his sword round and struck at his head. Once more, the prince tried to duck his attack, but Hugh’s sword cut the strap on his helmet, and it went flying. The prince stumbled back.
Half the knights behind the prince rose up over their shields, with crossbows aimed at Hugh. At that moment, he heard the creak of Shaldra drawing back on his bow and the crackle of Drif’s spell as she prepared to hurl it. He also heard Malcolm mutter, “One, two, three, follow me,” as he raised his arm to throw.
The prince stood up and raised his hands. It was only at this point, with the dust settling, that Hugh realized they were empty; the royal sword remained in its scabbard. The prince held his hands out towards his knights and Hugh’s companions.
“Wait, wait.”
Hugh’s enemy stood defenseless before him—less than a sword length away. One quick stroke and the prince would die. Hugh’s grip tightened around his sword. At that moment, an owl hooted from the woods over his shoulder, and he gritted his teeth.
“You’ll not rule me today,” he muttered. Hugh dropped his sword arm. “Hold your fire!”
Drif concentrated and forced back the energy of her spell until it was a faint spark, which she released to the air. At last, when both sides had relaxed their stance, the prince and Hugh faced each other again.
“I did not come all this way to fight ya, Sir Hugh. Though, someday I might welcome the challenge.”
“How do you know me?” Hugh looked down at his somewhat ragged attire. “I wear no colors. No marks of rank.”
“Who else in Lyonesse would stand before twenty charging knights with no armor or shield and only a sword? Such valor is not common, in any kingdom. I also saw what you did at the battle for Cyndyn Hall, and have heard tales of your ferocity on the beach at Sceula Tor.”
“No doubt from your father, Prince Hereweald.”
“Ah! So we’re acquainted to each other.”
“If ya haven’t come to fight, then why have you come?” Malcolm asked.
“He’s come to kill me, haven’t you, Your Highness?”
“No, Myrredith!” The prince attempted to see her face, but she was well behind her guardians and friends.
“You were going to execute me!”
Hereweald shuffled back and forth, trying to catch her eye. “No, well ...” He closed his eyes and scrunched up his face. “Yes, but thankfully you’ve outlived the date of your death warrant, and I have no mind to sign another.”
Myrredith peeked around Malcolm’s shoulder. “That’s it then?”
“Aye. That’s it.” The prince smiled.
“Then, you must have come to kill me.” Billy stepped between Hugh and Malcolm so the prince could see him. The prince tore his eyes from Myrredith to stare at Billy.
“And why should I want to kill you, little man?”
“I am Billy, son of Queen Eleanor and King William, and I am the reason you’ve come to these shores.”
The prince’s smiling eyes narrowed and seethed as he stared at Billy. “You killed my brother!” Hereweald drew his sword and stepped forward.
Hugh and Malcolm closed ranks in front of Billy, and Shaldra aimed his bow at the prince. The Gwythian knights again raised their crossbows.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Lady Myrredith waved her arms and came out from behind her friends. She took a step towards Hereweald. “William is innocent of that crime, just as I am.”
“You know I’ve come to believe in your innocence, despite what I’ve been told. Don’t use that against me.”
“He didn’t do it.”
“How do you know that? How can you really know that? You weren’t there.”
“I know William.”
At that moment, the eighty mounted Gwythie archers arrived from the far side of the meadow, with Aeth and Camion in tow. They fanned out and formed a semicircle with the prince’s knights surrounding Billy and his companions.
Aeth looked up from his heavy shackles. “Sorry, Hugh, milady. We didn’t get far.”
“The prince catched us.”
Hugh nodded, grim-faced.
The commander of the archers dismounted and approached Hereweald. “Your Highness.” He gave a crisp bow.
The prince nodded to the commander, then motioned for him to return to his men. “As you were, Centurion.”
The prince then returned his attention to the lady. “I wish I could believe you, Lady Myrredith.”
“You can.”
“After you ran away from me?”
“Did you want me to stay and be executed?”
“No.” Hereweald looked away.
“Then what?”
Billy put his hand to his head. “I don’t feel so good.”
The prince turned back around. “Just hand him over to me.”
“And then what?”
“And then I will spare your lives.”
“Never!” came the unanimous chorus.
“Never!” Sylvys thrust his spear in the air and knocked off his helmet.
He tried to cover his horns and reach down to scoop up his helmet. As he did this, there was a loud ripping sound, and his tail popped out the back of his pants. The satyr shot upright, tried to spin around to hide his tail, and tripped on his spear. Thus spinning off balance, he stepped out of his troublesome boots and stumbled in an arc until he regained his stability a short distance from his friends.
The Gwythies muttered and whispered. Sylvys froze where he was.
Prince Hereweald gawked at Sylvys, then strolled past Myrredith without blinking. His sword dangled in his hand. A few paces away, the prince bowed. Sylvys tentatively returned his bow with a nod.
“You are a satyr.”
Sylvys looked at the human members of his party, who were likewise staring at him in amazement. He then looked to Billy. “I guess the bud has blossomed on our little secret, Your Highness.”
Billy fell back on his elbow, blinking and shaking his head. “I ... guess ... so.”
A heartbeat later, he was out cold.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Conspiracy
Billy awoke slowly. He didn’t want to wake up. His bed felt comfortable. However, a sharp pain in his back prodded him into consciousness. He tried to roll away from the pain, but it just became more insistent. Finally, he woke enough to reach for the pointed object that was ruining his sleep.
“Don’t touch that.” The voice drifted through his daze.
His head and stomach ached, though not as sharp as the pain in his back. There was also a persistent tangy taste on his tongue. He cracked open his eyes and tried to sit. Immediately, he felt nauseous and rolled over to vomit next to his cot, where he found a pail and a bloody pan.
“That’s to be expected.”
