*CHAPTER VII

The King*

One could hear the Capital before one saw it. Before the duo crested the last hill they were fully aware of the cries of the multitudes, the blare of trumpets. When they reached the crown of the hill Fort reigned his steed and uttered a cry of wonder.

Never had either seen so marvellous a city! It lay sprawled out and glistening in its white splendour under a bright autumn sky. Streams of people flowed about like pebbles in a brook.

“There, Fort,” Niger said, pointing. “There before you lies the greatest city in all the world. And in those walls sits a man so great I am not worthy to stand before him. And yet,” his voice grew low, “he is a friend to the people. Come, Fort.”

They rode down the hill, hooves clipping on cobblestone in a friendly way. As they rode through the high, white gates, quarters instantly grew cramped as scores of men and women hurried each separate way.

“Where do we find the king, sir?” Fort asked.

“Where does one tend to find a king?” Niger replied. “In a palace. Look!”

Rising from the heart of the city soared a majestic palace, turrets stark against the blue sky and all flags flying.

Without batting an eyelid Niger rode tall and erect through the gates of the palace, a regal figure even in his travel-stained garb. A stable boy took their steeds as Niger and Fort dismounted.

“Greetings, travellers!” A steward decked in a fine robe walked to them. “I am Danith, Steward of the King. Please give your names and your purpose for being here.”

Niger stood tall. “I am Sir Niger, Former Captain of the —Royal Guards, son of Forten I. This is Forten II Captain of White Guards. I desire to speak with the King on urgent matters. Pray, do not hinder my task.”

Danith nodded gravely. “Come.”

They followed him through the beautiful halls. Everywhere lay testaments to this kingdom’s power and might. Finally, before a door so grand it might conceal a mighty hero behind it, Danith bid them wait. He entered the room and was gone for some minutes. The doors swung open and Niger and Forten walked forward as the steward announced them.

If asked to describe the Great Hall later Niger would have been completely at a loss. His eyes were fixed on the man seated at the end of the hall.
At the foot of the throne steps, Niger kneeled. A powerful voice, smooth as honey and calm as a river bade him rise.

“King Berwyn. I thank you for the honour of this meeting,” Niger said as he rose. He looked into the King’s eyes but saw confusion and sorrow in their depths.

“Sir Niger, Captain Forten, the honour is mine, but I am not the great King Berwyn.”

Niger started. “Forgive me, sir. Word had not reached me. Is the King dead?”

“For the last several months, my friends.” The new king rose. “I am Dracon. It was the old king’s dying wish I that be established in his place, though how one can step into the role of one so great is unfathomable. I am not King Berwyn, but I will endeavour my best to aid you as he would. Tell me your trouble.”

Niger frantically tried to pull his thoughts back together. This was so sudden and completely unexpected. He had counted on King Berwyn, a man in whom his father had had complete trust. Should he plead his case to this man, this King Dracon? This was a man established by Berwyn himself. Surely he too was good and just and true. Making his mind up suddenly, Niger decided to trust this man.

King Dracon listened will all earnestness as Niger bought forth his case. When finished Niger stepped back and knelt, resting his case before the feet of the king.

“Well,” King Dracon said after a minute. “Sir Niger you are bold. It took courage coming to me and then telling me even if I am not he whom you expected.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“What are you going to do if I do not help you?” King Dracon asked.

Niger looked up, fire sparking in his eyes. “Then I shall reclaim my Father’s land without you, sir. Somehow I will keep my promise and ride home, no longer an outcast. No matter how long it takes.”

“You remind me of myself, Sir Niger.” King Dracon rose. “I will help you. Come, and tell me what you need.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Come, let us discuss what we shall do.” King Dracon beckoned to a door. “Send your man,” he looked at Fort, “to my Steward. He shall arrange sleeping quarters for you and stables for your horses.”

“Go, Fort,” Niger said. “I will speak with the King and you can begin preparing for our journey home.”

“No need of that,” King Dracon countered. “My people will supply us with everything we will need. Do not trouble him.”

“I’ll just see to the horses,” Fort muttered, turning away.

Fort watched with no small level of sadness as Niger followed the King into the inner chamber. He walked from the Great Hall and somehow found his way back to the courtyard. Asking the way to the stables, he found their steeds well taken care of. The horses nickered and nudged him with their velvety noses. Fort took an apple from their food supply and broke it in two for them.

He wondered where Armica was, and how she was. How was she faring on the road to Brimnston?

“We shouldn’t have left her, boy,” he said to his horse. “Bad idea, that one. What was Niger thinkin’? But she can take care of herself, she’s smart. She’ll be in Brimnston when we get there, I know it.”

But he didn’t believe it.

Heart heavy he left the palace and wandered out into the streets of the city. His hood was back and his face was turned to the bright sun, letting it wash his worries.

A hand tapped him on the shoulder and he turned to face two burly men, one dressed in blue, the other in black.

“Yes?” he said pleasantly, although he knew a friendly chat was the last thing these fellows wanted.

“It’s him,” the blue man elbowed his fellow in the ribs. “Told ya!”

Without another word, the black man swung his fist towards Forten’s face.

End of Chapter VII

oh yeah
(curse skeleton amnesia)

also, very cool

Interesting!

Oooooh! Nice chapter!

very nice it was quite pleasant to read 👍

Thank you, peeps!

Worst thing I ever read...

...okay, I'm sorry 😂, you KNOW that's not true. I just wouldn't help it after reading everyone else's positive comments. No, I actually really liked this chapter, and the last bit raised a lot of questions in my mind. Keep it up!

@Greeny, 😂 Of course I know it's not true. If you want the worst thing you'll ever read go back and read one of my earlier stories 😂.

Due to a wonderful bout of not giving in to procrastination (Also reading a chapter of Adorning the Dark) here is Chapter VIII!

• Chapter VIII
  LEAVING*

Fort ducked quicker than the float on a fishing line. The black man’s fist whistled murderously through the space his head had occupied. Not stopping to let himself think Fort jabbed his fist into the man’s stomach and whirled to meet the blue man’s attack.

The blue man sent two jabbing punches with his left fist. Fort stepped back out of range and then ducked as the blue man hurled his right fist in a circle. As he straightened, his face landed right in the path of the black man’s punch.

Seeing stars, Fort dodged away to recover but the men pressed the attack. The blue man jumped on his back, his weight staggering Fort. The unwieldy weight slammed Fort into a wall. He managed to throw the blue man off, and stood, his back to the wall.

“Who are you?” he asked, panting.

The men exchanged a glance then charged. Blue slammed Fort into the wall while Black, his two fists going like sixty repeatedly socked Fort over and over until he sunk into unconsciousness.

*Ow. *

Fort slowly woke, each passing minute bringing fresh pains. Reaching up to feel his face, he thought better of it and simply focused on opening his eyes. From the feeling, he was pretty sure both were black. But he managed to force them open.

He was in a cell, nothing more, nothing less. High barred window, stone floor, straw bed, wooden door, bought back memories of Arawn’s prison. Except this cell was far more pleasant, which didn’t say much. Yet both had one thing in common, you couldn’t leave save by rescue.

“And who knows if that’ll even happen,” Fort muttered.

Someone had left a jug of water and a clean cloth. Fort dunked the cloth in water, discovering underneath it a loaf of bread. Wincing, he dabbed the cloth on his face, cleaning away the blood and softening the pain. At least these people weren’t total scumbags. The bread he left, his appetite gone.
Fort leapt and managed to grab the bars on the window. It was set at level with the street outside, but it wasn’t at the palace. By craning his neck he could see the distant turrets. Dracon’s flags fluttered mockingly in the stiff breeze.

Dejection filled Fort. He was certain his captors came from Arawn, and thus he knew his fate if he was taken back South.
Well, he wouldn’t go quietly.

Niger spent hours at King Dracon’s conference table, discussing various plans. Both agreed that all-out war was a last resort and that Arawn ought to be taken quietly.

“Sir Niger, have you any notion of who is to be Arawn’s replacement?” King Dracon asked.

“Nay, my lord,” Niger replied thoughtfully. “I can say it has never crossed my mind. My father would’ve been perfect, but he’s gone.”

“What about yourself?” King Dracon leaned forward and met Niger’s gaze with a piercing stare.

“I never could, my lord,” Niger said flatly. “I’m not the right type.”

“Really? If you ask me you are very much like your father. Forten was a great man and you share many of his excellent qualities. Who else would travel so far for a country which has outlawed you, abandoned you? You love that country, and that is the hallmark of a great king.”

Niger looked down at the maps strewn across the table. “Maybe. I’ve never considered it.”

“Perhaps you ought,” King Dracon said. “Come, we still have much to discuss but it can wait until tomorrow. Find your friend. You shall have the best rooms in my palace tonight.”

Niger bowed and left.

Fort was nowhere to be found. Niger roamed the castle, speaking to every servant he met but no one had seen his friend. Slightly worried, Niger left the palace out into the evening glow of the city. He had to be somewhere out here, his horse wasn’t in the stable. But no luck.

Returning to the palace, Niger was met with a running servant.

“This was in your quarters, sir,” the man said.

Niger took the note, dismissed the servant and unfolded it.

Hey, Niger old mate,
Sorry for leaving you in the lurch, but I have to go. You’re all fine here, so I’m going back for Armica. I’m worried about her. You and King Dracon make all your plans, and I’ll meet you in Brimnston on the agreed date. Sorry again.
-Fort

Niger stared at the note. Armica, he’d almost forgotten about her. She ought to be almost to Brimnston by now, or at least over halfway. And Fort had gone back for her.

Niger frowned, scrunching the note into a pocket. With confusion and a sliver of anger, he headed for his quarters.

Dinner in the dining hall had been wonderful, the best food Niger had eaten in months. Yet he barely tasted it, his thoughts on the unexpected departure of his friend. Numerous times through the evening he had turned to consult Fort on a question only to find the space behind him empty.

Over the next few days, Niger realised how much he missed his companion. For so many months Fort had always been there, watching his back, offering advice in his straightforward country way.

King Dracon had marshalled a company of twenty cavalrymen and placed Niger at its head. The lieutenant’s name was Errol, and he was a bright young man with sandy blond hair. King Dracon himself would be accompanying them, for one so powerful would surely inspire a swift and bloodless victory.

Niger’s impatience grew with each passing day. It was a long ride to Brimnston, and time was running out. Everyone worked their hardest, from Errol to the horse wrangler. Niger was everywhere, overseeing everything he could, placing his perfection into every little task.

Slowly, slowly, the preparations were completed. Finally, on the morning of Niger’s fourth day in the Capital, the company moved out, twenty soldiers, a chuck wagon, and the remuda, with Niger and the King at their head, riding South with the promise of freedom.

End of Chapter VIII

yeah wooh
applause

Awesome!
heyyy, Errol
wait, have you read Patrick Carr's Staff and the Sword series?

Cool chapter! I must say, I’m concerned about Fort

@BandB, Thanks!

@Gman, Never heard of it. Errol just popped into my brain while writing 😂

@Astro, Thanks! The poor chap is in quite the pickle.

So... I kinda thought the thugs were hired by, uh... scratches head... that dude with the beard whose really nervous. I can't remember his name... I thought he'd sent them to keep Fort safe, but maybe not actually, especially after the note. Still, I'm looking forward when that guy hops back into the story though!

Oooo very fun, I love the interaction with the... I guess I'll just call them the thugs, very nice! 👍

CHAPTER IX
Escape

Fort was painfully aware of each day as it passed, but still, no one came. His captors never showed their faces.

Food appeared beside the door whenever he woke. It wasn’t bad food, but it wasn’t good. And it only appeared in the morning.

Fort leapt to the window eagerly whenever he heard footsteps. That wasn’t often. Hoping he was, that maybe it would be Niger. But his friend never appeared. Eventually, Fort decided he would have to bust out of this mess himself.

The food only came when he was asleep. Thus, his captors didn’t want him to see who they were, or to allow him to escape.

“Simple enough,” Fort thought aloud. “I’ll pretend.”

And so he did. For several hours he lay as still as he could, ears perked for any noise. But none came. Then he was forced to admit defeat.

“They’re not as stupid as all that, you young donkey,” he told himself. “What do you think they’re gonna think if you take a nap in the middle of the day?”

That night he kept himself awake, but it was simply impossible. He could not lie in relatively the same position hour after hour at night without falling asleep. Niger could, he thought ruefully.

And, true to form, when he awoke, there was the food. This time, Fort didn’t simply grab the fresh bread and cool water and eat, no, he inspected the food.

The bread was fresh, he noticed. The water was cool. It can’t have been here more than an hour, at most. Fort knew he consistently woke at around 5:30. That gave him a number to aim to wake on. Something he knew he could do.

The next morning Fort awoke silently, without movement. His mind just flicked on. Through slitted eyes he could see the space by the door was empty, white in the moonlight. Closing his eyes, he pricked his ears and prepared to wait.

It was almost another 15 minutes before he heard the heavy door creak softly. Just the tiniest squeak. Beneath the hair which fell over his eyes, Fort watched as a man, dressed in a heavy black cloak, slipped in, leaving the door open. He carried the food and placed it. While he was bent, Fort sprang.

Silently, as a cat springs, Fort leapt upon the man, smashing him to the cobbled floor. Grasping the water pitcher, Fort flung it at the thrashing man’s head, stilling him. Wrapping himself in the man’s cloak and taking his keys, Fort slipped out the door, closing it softly after.

Facing him was a staircase. It spiralled around to the left, confirming Fort’s suspicion of his being held in a military building. Slowly, he crept up the stairs, cloak wrapped tight and hood covering his head.

The staircase was dark. The only light came from a few flickering torches. Fort wondered where he was going, but he assumed there must be a guards’ room at the top. Which could pose a challenge.

“No risk, no gain, laddie!” he muttered, continuing up.

Another few stairs and voices started to drift down. Fort kept going at a steady pace, taking each stair and listening quietly. The gruff voices grew louder and louder, Fort could distinguish two distinct accents but there were likely men asleep. Finally, he glanced around the corner and looked into the guards’ room.

It was small, with two double bunks stacked on either side of the room. One was occupied. Two men played cards at a table in the middle of the room. Their small talk was muffled around their pipes.

“‘Bout time Phil got back, aye?” the chap on the right mumbled.

“Probably fell down the stairs again, heard a crash a while back,” the other replied.

The guard on the right stood up and put down his cards. “Ought to check on him.”

Fort danced backward, down the stairs away and waited for the guard.

Soon enough he came. Fort pressed himself into the shadows, grateful for the design which prevented the guard from seeing him. As the guard passed, Fort shoved him headlong down the steep stairwell. A drawn-out scream followed him.

Fort heard movement above and knew the other guard was coming. This one ran. He was easy enough to trip and send tumbling down after his fellow.

Fort grinned under his cloak then scrambled up the stairs, slowing to a quiet walk as he entered. From all appearances, the last guard was still asleep.

Surveying the little room, Fort noticed several swords, clean and hanging in their scabbards. He grabbed one and was buckling it around his waist when he felt the point of cold iron against his neck.

“Don’t turn around.”

Fort held up his hands, thinking furiously. The cold point moved away.

“Who are you? Where are the others? What have you done?”

“Lot of questions there,” Fort replied. “Which do you want first?” He slowly turned around.

This guard was younger than the others, just younger than Fort it seemed. He held his sword straight out and pointed at Fort’s chest.

“You’re the prisoner, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Aye,” Fort said. “Quick question, laddie, do you know why I was in there? Because I don’t.”

The lad eyed him. “No, but I don’t need to know. I’m a junior.”

Fort was conscious of the sword on his hip but junior as this lad might be, he looked like no junior with the blade. They circled the room until the guard had his back to the stairwell.

“Unbuckle that sword, slowly,” said he.

Fort complied, keeping his eyes trained on the lad he fingered with the belt.

“Hurry up,” the guard snapped.

With blinding speed Fort threw the belt and scabbard from him, drawing the sword in the same motion.

The guard attacked, driving forward, his blade dancing in the firelight. Fort countered, his eyes never leaving the enemy’s sword. Around and around the room, the guard advancing, now Fort. Each was conscious of the fireplace and the dark mouth of the stairwell.

The guard thrust. Fort swayed to one side and countered with a slice across the guard’s chest. Stepping back, then forward, the guard feinted a cut at Fort’s head, then swiftly reversed direction to send the blade whistling for Fort’s legs. Caught off-guard, Fort jumped back and stumbled over the table. Cards and a bottle of wine went flying.

The guard jumped over the table only to duck as half the glass bottle came hurtling through the air. Then the fight was on again.

Fort, now deadly serious, pressed the lad hard. He cut, sliced, parried and countered with blinding speed and ruthless efficiency. He didn’t want to hurt the lad, but it was difficult, and he had already drawn blood with a shallow cut to the guard’s side.

Both were breathing hard when Fort sent the lad’s sword spinning from his grip to land embedded in a bunk. With a quick punch to the lad’s jaw, Fort had him on the ground.

“I’m sorry, lad,” Fort said, panting. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

The guard looked up in wonder at him. “What is your name? Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“I am Forten II,” Fort replied. “I used to be the Captain of the White Guards. Who are you? You handle your blade well.”

“Name’s Mitchum,” the lad said.

“Well, Mitchum,” Fort said regretfully, “I’m sorry I have to do this, but I can’t let anyone know I’ve escaped. No, I won’t knock you out.”

Fort efficiently tied the lad up and gagged him.

“Now, when I’ve gone get yourself out of there and get help for those other fellows downstairs.” Fort buckled on his sword again.
With a final look at the wrecked room and Mitchum lying on the floor, Fort left.

End of Chapter IX

Whew! It took a while but here's Chapter IX!

Great, I was bored

Great chapter!

@BandB, Glad to entertain your boredom. 😂

@Gman, Thanks!