The Coward King: Part One - Rebellion

Rebellion: Chapter Three

They slept that night in their separate camps, and when the sun rose in the east Arrick Laistan had his men take down their camp and mount up, ready to ride again.

That day went much as the previous one did, along with all the days that followed. They rode and rode and rode, until not a man in Dorad’s party did not ache and grow weary of travel. Not one of them complained, however, unlike the men of the king who could be heard whining from half a mile away.

The third day out from Castle Enival, they passed through a little village called Acaynn, which for generations had been a major meeting place between the northern and southern halves of Elaech. Hundreds of years prior, when Elaech had been warring with Agarta for the first of many times, Acaynn had been where the treaty was signed and much land that was south of the Stony River had become a part of Elaech.

Nowadays, however, it seemed that Acaynn was a meeting place for beggars. There were men, women, and even children sitting on both sides of the wide cobblestone highway, asking for other, more well-to-do folk to have pity on them, to spare a coin or two. The beggars’ pots were all but empty, not even enough coins to buy food for their suppers.

The buildings lining the street were, for the most part, crumbling and broken. Many a house was roofless or otherwise unusable, and almost all the homes were abandoned by their former owners.

Disgusted by the things he saw, Dorad’s eyes were drawn ahead of him when a commotion broke out in the street. A king’s man had dismounted and drawn his longsword, pressing the tip into the throat of a young street urchin. The other men of the king did naught but laugh, none more than Arrick Laistan himself.

Dorad kicked his mount forward and reached for the bastard sword strapped at his side. Just as the sword whistled from its sheath, the king’s man harassing the street urchin pushed the boy to the ground and spit in his face, all the while threatening with his sword.

“ENOUGH!” Dorad’s voice boomed louder than even he knew he could. He slowed his horse when among the group of king’s men. He struck the sword out of the harassing man’s hand with his own blade.

The man cursed, but Arrick Laistan rode up calmly and assessed the situation. “What is the problem here, my lord?” he asked innocently.

And for a moment, Dorad almost believed that the man did not know. If Arrick Laistan had not been the king’s messenger, it was Dorad’s opinion that he could have made a fine actor. “Your man attacked a boy unprovoked. I saw it with my own two eyes, and if he were one of mine he would be dismissed on the spot, stripped of his rank and sent home.”

Arrick Laistan smirked then. “Fortunately for him,” the fat man said, “he is not one of yours. The boy was a pathetic beggar, nothing worth wasting time on, my lord.” He looked to his soldier, the man attacking the boy. “Carry on, if you wish, but we are riding on.” With that he spurred his horse into motion and led all his men out of the village.

Dorad quickly dismounted and sheathed his sword. He felt an overwhelming sense of relief at not having to use it to spill blood that day. Bending over, he gave the street urchin he’d saved a hand and helped him stand. “Thank ye, milord, fer doin’ what ye did fer me,” the boy said, flashing a yellow smile. “I thought that man was goin’ to kill me.” He touched a spot on his neck from which blood slowly trickled, where his attacker had pressed the point of his sword.

It was all Dorad could do not to wrinkle his nose at the stench the boy gave off. He could not have bathed for weeks and weeks, months even. It almost made Dorad’s eyes water, but he remembered his courtesies, even to a poor beggar boy. “It was nothing, really. What has happened here?” he asked, looking again at the run-down homes.

The boy shrugged. “That bloody war tax done this to Acaynn, it did. People could barely pay to live here anymore, so they just packed up their things and left.” The boy looked oddly calm, like he’d come to terms with this event long before. “Me own family done the same, but they din’t think I was worth keepin’ around.”

“What’s your name, boy?” Dorad asked. The little beggar was so alike to his brother Danar, in age as well as in image. Both boys had shaggy ginger curls that fell almost to their shoulders—though this boy’s were a deal less clean—and deep oceans for eyes. The boy in front of him was gaunt-faced and thin from a lack of food, but the content look on his face reminded Dorad so much of Danar, who could be happy with whatever situation he was in.

“I’m Rohn, milord, named fer my father,” the boy answered. Bored, he kicked the dirt with his bare, calloused feet.

Reaching into his coin-purse, Dorad produced two silver marks. He grabbed the boy Rohn’s hand and pressed the fat coins into it with a smile. “That should be enough for you to get yourself fed for a while, at least. I’ll be coming back through here, and I’ll give you more if I find you again,” he promised. He only wished that he could give some to all the beggars in Acaynn, but they were too numerous and his purse too light.

Rohn’s face lit up in a wide smile, showing a few missing teeth. “Thank ye, milord! I won’t waste it, I promise.”

“Go on now, Rohn, find yourself something to eat.” The boy dashed away then, leaving Dorad standing by his mount contentedly.

“That was kind of you, my lord,” came Sir Byned’s voice. “But poor judgment on your part, if I may say so.”

Dorad frowned and mounted his palfrey again, ready to begin the ride once more. “What do you mean by that, Sir Byned? The boy was starved, so I gave him money enough to buy his own dinner tonight.” He gently coerced his mount back into motion, a slow canter.

“All I mean, my lord, is that our own purses have grown too light to be so generous,” Sir Byned replied, matching Dorad’s pace. “I have heard that food is becoming quite expensive in Werach, and we cannot presume that King Allard will provide for us, considering our treatment of his men…” The old knight trailed off.

Dorad shook his head. “We have not mistreated any one of these men, they have earned nothing more than what we’ve given them.” Thinking of Arrick Laistan’s insolent smile, he spat at the ground. “Besides, it is the fault of none other than our good King Allard if we do go hungry. It was he who did this to Acaynn with his war tax. That boy, Rohn, said so and I believe him. Allard needs to end this war of his in Gallanuul or watch as his kingdom crumbles under its own weight.

“I do not intend for Enival to go down with him, either,” Dorad stated. “We did not start this Fool’s War, so why should we suffer for it?”

“We are a part of Elaech, my lord,” Sir Byned replied, “and a large part at that. Gods forbid it, but should the kingdom fail the people of the Stony River should be at the forefront fighting for the honor of King Allard.”

Dorad seethed with white-hot rage. Must you be such a bloody loyalist, Byned? Dorad thought and spat again. Should the kingdom fall, it should be us who mount King Allard’s head on a spike! What he said, however, was this, “You are right, sir, as you usually are. Let us speak no more of this matter, it makes my head ache.”

They rode the rest of that day in silence, along with the next few days afterwards. In fact, Dorad hardly shared a word with old Sir Byned until the high, white marble walls of Werach came into view far in the distance.

“We are almost there, my lord,” voiced rigid Sir Errin, as if Dorad could not see the massive city looming ahead. The famed walls of the city of Werach must have been half again as tall as Enival’s stone walls, and many feet thick. Since the great city had been raised on the open plains of central Elaech almost a millennium prior, many an army had attempted to storm the city and win the nation, and many an army had been shattered on those thick stone walls. Dorad wondered, with most of Elaech’s military force off fighting in Gallanuul, would those walls be able to hold off an enemy host again?

At that point Dorad led his men forward to join with Arrick Laistan and his men. He chose a thick-chested and heavily muscled man-at-arms to hold up the banner of House Erilion as they rode the last few miles to Werach. The boar charged through the air next to King Allard’s golden flute, and a sense of dread filled Dorad as they approached the Elaech’s great capital.