The Coward King: Part One - Rebellion

Rebellion: Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Merely two hours later, they were sitting at the council table again, staring at the fat face of Arrick Laistan, who, finally, was not smiling. He looked down at the table, his eyes worried and his hands fidgeting.

“What news do you bring to us this day, Lord Arrick?” Dorad asked pleasantly, although he knew the answer. “Has His Grace accepted our terms? I so hope to end this war before blood must be spilled. You do not seem like one who enjoys the sight of blood, are you?”

The King’s Messenger shook his head slowly, nervously. He was going to make this take longer than it had to, Dorad could tell. One last irritation before the city fell, and Dorad killed him. That was going to be a blessing, finally being rid of Arrick Laistan. The fat man muttered something, too low for Dorad’s hearing.

“I’m sorry? Did you say something?” Dorad asked, his tone more insolent and arrogant than Arrick Laistan’s had ever been. He was enjoying this far too much.

Laistan exhaled slowly, before saying, “The King has refused your terms,” quietly, but loud enough to be heard this time.

Dorad let out a false sigh in mock disappointment. “How sad,” Dorad said. “I was quite looking forward to this being done with.”

“As was I, my lord,” Laistan said, his voice pathetic.

Dorad smiled broadly, making his lie apparent to those who had not understood his sarcasm. “We’ll have to take the city by force, then,” he said. “You’d best ride back to the city and warn your king.”

“Bugger this, my lord,” cursed Sir Fallan. “Just kill the pathetic worm and be done with it.” He rose, putting a hand on the pommel of his sword. “I will do it, if you will not.”

The King’s fat messenger winced, just as Dorad had expected. This was a carefully choreographed dance, and Arrick Laistan seemed to know all the right steps. “Please, no!” he begged. “You cannot kill me, that violates the diplomacy laws!”

Dorad sighed again, drawing his longsword dramatically and laying it in front of him on the table. “I am afraid it does not, Lord Messenger. If only you had flown the white banner. Unfortunately, your king’s arrogance has meant your life.” He stood, took the blade in tow, and moved to Laistan’s side. He set the edge against the man’s fat neck, as Sir Fallan and Sir Rhiliar held him down. It would take more than one swing to cut it all the way off, Dorad thought, and it will not be clean.

“Please, let me live,” the cowardly messenger begged. His face turned a ghostly pale when he saw blood trickling down his neck from where Dorad was resting his sword, and it was a wonder he did not faint. “I…I will do a-anything…”

Dorad pressed slightly harder on the blade, drawing more blood. Laistan shrieked at the pain. “Anything?” Dorad asked.

“ANYTHING!” the fat man cried.

Dorad removed the blade from Laistan’s neck, embedding its point in the worn campaign carpet below. “Open the gates for us,” he commanded.

Laistan looked shocked. “That’s in-insane,” he said, clutching his neck where the blood still trickled down. “The main gates are t-too well defended, they’d k-k-kill me before I got them open.”

“I do not mean for you to open the main gates,” Dorad said. “On the west wall there is a postern gate, unassuming and small. Open that one.”

“How would that help you?” Arrick Laistan asked, looking utterly pathetic.

“You know the answer, fat man,” Sir Fallan said gruffly.

“So, will you do what we ask you?” Dorad asked. “Or must I…finish the job.” He hefted his sword once more, and Arrick Laistan squealed.

“I will do what you ask,” he said, looking more dead than alive.

Since its founding most of a thousand years before, the stronghold of Werach had never fallen to invaders. Armies had lined around its walls, attempting to starve the city out, but they failed when clever generals fought them off. Men had tried to storm its high walls, but failed when their siege equipment set alight by a rain of fiery arrows. Thousands had fought and died attempting to take this city.

Now, however, five men were riding through the city in the dark of the night, on a secret mission that could end their war for good and all. Arrick Laistan had opened the tiny, forgotten postern gate and let them in, without anyone knowing what was happening. A traitor to his king and country, Arrick Laistan now lay sprawled on the cobblestones next to the gate that had been his treason, his precious lifeblood flowing from the opening where once his head had been. Never again would he smile his insolent little smile.

Dorad rode at the head of the group, staying in the dirt beside the road to keep quiet, and walking his horse across the cobblestones when necessary. The Castle Werach stood tall upon the hill in the distance, its many high towers and great halls outlined in the pale moonlight. It made for a pretty sight, and served to take Dorad’s mind off of Arrick Laistan’s pathetic begging right before he’d been executed.

Under their dark cloaks, all five wore boiled leather and shirts of mail, wearing their swords at their sides and bearing oaken shields devoid of arms. It took a long while, but they eventually arrived at the castle, where the portcullis was left open. The courtyard was empty inside it, and the only light was from the moon. There they dismounted, and moved towards a side door. 

It was unlocked. Arrick Laistan had served them well, it would seem, doing everything they’d asked and more. They entered into it, their swords drawn and ready. Their leather boots made no sound as they moved down the carpeted hallways, up stairs, through dark, empty halls. Every several feet along the walls there was a candle, most of them melted and small, all long since put out. Without their fire, the castle was a cold place.

“Shh!” Dorad exclaimed, hearing noises. They stood on the opposite side of a closed door, from which a dim, flickering light spilled. They heard the sound of languished, laboured breathing and a low moan.

They continued down the hall.

Eventually, after what seemed like hours, they approached the end of a hallway where it branched off to the right, and around the corner the dim orange light of fire shone bright in the darkness of the castle. “Wait here,” Sir Rhiliar whispered, before poking his head around the corner. “It’s another hallway, and there are two guards waiting in front of a wide door,” he told them quietly.

“What do we do, my lord?” Sir Byned asked Dorad.

“We’ll have to deal with them,” he replied, taking a step forward into the light.

He blinked in the sudden light, after a long time in the darkness. “Who goes there?” demanded one of the two guards. Both of them wore mail and bore long spears.

Dorad brandished his sword threateningly and held his ground, not bothering to answer them. When they asked again, and he did not respond, they moved forward with their spears out in front of them. Dorad took a long stride into the dark, running into the dark hole he’d come from. “Get back here!” they yelled, making chase into the dark.

As they rounded the corner, however, four knights barred their way, smacking spears aside with their shields and finishing the two guards with a swift thrust to the neck. “Excellently done, sirs,” Dorad congratulated them.

Sir Byned was spluttering, unable to believe that the lord of southern Elaech had just used himself as bait.

“What is going on here?” a man cried, walking through the wide doors that they had just left guardless. Dorad moved towards him, followed by his four knights.

And, just like that, the King of Elaech was a hostage.