The Coward King: Part One - Rebellion

Rebellion: Chapter One

Chapter One

Eight Weeks Earlier

“Stand and deliver, lordling!”

The voice startled Dorad’s horse, making the frightened beast rear suddenly. It almost wrenched Dorad out of his saddle, but he finally managed to quiet his mount. There were at least fifteen men standing patiently on the road ahead of him, looking dishevelled from jumping out of the bushes mere moments before. All had drawn their weapons—swords, spears, maces; weapons of every sort—and wore random bits of rusted iron armor or boiled leather.

“I’ll have that fat purse there on your side, please,” said the man in the front, a wide grin splitting his face and showing his few teeth. The man wore a sleeveless boiled leather jerkin, and he used the blade of his longsword to point at a leather pouch hanging off of Dorad’s belt. “And whatever other valuables you got on you. I won’t have none of you holding back on me, you hear? Every one of you’s got a purse like this one, and me and the boys eat well for months!”

Dorad smiled back at the man calmly, and reached for his sword.

“The lordlin’s tryin’ to get funny, eh?” came the raspy voice of another cutthroat. This man wore a grotesque burn all down the side of his face, right through the area where his eye had once been. He pointed to his face. “Got this one taking a bleedin’ rat out of a boil-pot, I did,” he said proudly. “Got meself caught and they shoved me own head into the bloody pot. I survived that without saying a single word, so I think I can take on you weakling lords.”

“Point is, milord,” said the first man, “you’ve got to hand over your gold, and we’ll let you and your party of cravens here live a while longer.”

“Cravens!” cried Sir Byned Olfri, the old knight’s face turning red as a ripe apple, as he huffed through his thick white mustache. “Do you not recognize Lord Erilion when you see him? His family has ruled this land for generations, and he would have you flogged and hanged before he ever handed his gold over to your type.” The aged man drew a longsword from his side, a round green gem in its hilt, a gift for many, many years of loyal service to House Erilion.

“You needn’t insult these good men, sir knight,” Dorad said with a charming smile. “They are merely trying to survive. I do not blame them. You may keep that purse, fellows,” he said to the thief in front of him, tossing the leather pouch in his direction. “However, Sir Byned is right about my being the lord of this land, and you are indeed blocking my way. I would have you move, or I will have my men move you.”

The highwayman laughed. “We’re all lords here, aren’t we boys?”

A loud chorus of agreement answered him. “And we don’t take orders from any crony of the Coward King! You lords and kings hide behind your stone walls and watch us honest folk slave away in your fields all day. Then, in payment, you eat all our crop and leave us the scraps from your bloody table!” Spittle flew from between the few teeth in his mouth as he shouted at them. “No, we ain’t taking bloody orders from you, lordling. Out here, away from your bleeding walls, we’re in charge. And if we want your coin-purses, you damn well better give ‘em to us!”

Impressive, Dorad thought. The man’s an idiot, but at least he’s got will. “Good man, we are no great friends to King Allard, but what you say is outright treason against the crown.” He suddenly pressed his spurs into his horse’s hindquarters, and the beast reared wildly. The thief backed off a bit, giving Dorad time to draw his sword. He showed the blade to his adversaries.

A hand-and-a-half longsword, the pommel had been shaped to the likeness of a boar, the sigil of House Erilion. In place of eyes, however, two gems were set into it, one green and the other yellow. “This will be the blade to administer justice to you foul-mouthed brigands. Times are hard, we know, but treason is never forgiven. Even in the worst of times.”

“I’m the lord here,” the thief said, but a good deal of the conviction had gone from his voice. “You can’t—”

Dorad chuckled softly. “I can, and I will. You are the traitor; it is not me who is in the wrong.”

“Bleedin’ lordling, I won’t take this!” the man with the burned face shouted as Dorad approached. He was a fairly large man, and he pulled an impressive battle-axe from his back before charging at Dorad.

“My lord!” cried Sir Byned, but the burned man was already swinging his axe at Dorad.

Dorad, however, was not worried. He casually flicked the reigns he held in his hands, forcing his mount to sidestep the blow. The axe, after missing its intended target, buried itself in the ground a ways. Then, Dorad thrust his longsword at his attacker, catching the big man in his side and opening a wide gash.

He cursed, spit, and flung a meaty fist at Dorad. It surprised Dorad, and the punch managed to catch him full in the chest, knocking the wind right out of him and throwing him to the ground.

Dorad’s company of four knights could no longer sit idly by. Sir Byned loosed a battle cry as he spurred his horse forward and swung his sword ferociously at the bandits. Sir Errin took a throwing lance and tossed it into the fray, impaling a plain-faced rogue. Sir Rhiliar had a hand axe, and he used it to hack deeply into the neck of the leader of the thieves.

But Sir Fallan’s horse took an arrow in the leg, sending the poor beast wailing to the ground. Sir Fallan, in his full steel armor, crashed heavily to the earth and had a leg pinned beneath the dying weight of his horse.

Sir Byned, who was the most fiercely loyal of Dorad’s protectors, was fighting the man with the axe. This gave Dorad a moment’s peace to regain his bearings and pick his sword back up. In a few moments he was back into the fight.

He cut down men left and right, avoiding blows like they were made by children. Memories of his training flooded back to him. It was so simple! They were peasants, and none of these brigands had skill enough with their weapons to match Dorad when he had been a boy of ten, nevermind now! He parried a blow easily before sliding his longsword into the poor man’s chest.

He almost felt bad for these men. They were traitors, yes, but he was no friend of the king either. Dorad had not yet gone hungry, but he did not like the sound of this. Whatever King Allard was doing to these people, he’d forced them into thievery. He muttered an apology as the man slid off his blade and choked to death on his own crimson blood.

“We yield!” one bandit shouted, scarcely a man grown. He threw his dirk away from himself and raised his hands in submission.

“Smart lad,” Dorad replied. There were three bandits left alive and unharmed, the other twelve wounded or killed by the five knights. Dorad’s guards walked among the wounded, finishing them by slitting their throats or beheading them for traitors. “I’m sure we could find a place for—”

“You bloody craven!” another bandit, this one ponderously obese, shouted before beating the boy’s face in with a spiked club. “Traitor!”

Dorad thrust his longsword into the man’s back, splitting his spine asunder. “Damn,” he cursed, “we could have used another serving boy.”  

One man stood frightened amongst the dead, gaping openly at the crushed skull and torn skin of the boy who yielded. Obviously, he did not want the same to occur to him, so he just dropped his sword, turned around, and ran.

Sir Errin, who was still mounted, looked at Dorad and asked, “Shall I pursue?” He hefted another spear in his arm, judging the distance the thief had run and whether or not he could hit the man from where he was.

“No, let him run,” Dorad replied, “I’m feeling merciful right now. At the very least we can be certain that one won’t bother us again.”

“Indeed, my lord,” Sir Errin replied, his voice betraying slight disappointment. “Should we make for Castle Enival? It grows dark and your lady mother would be unhappy should you arrive late for dinner with her.”

“Must you always be so formal, Sir?” Dorad asked, smiling. But the rigid knight was right about his lady mother. The Lady Alis Erilion had been growing old quickly ever since his lord father had fallen prey to the stranglefever ten years past. Now, she was very reliant on Dorad and supped with him whenever she could. “Leave the dead, good sirs. We ride for Castle Enival!”

Dorad pressed his spurs into his horse’s haunches and set off at a gallop along the Faded Road.