John DeChancie
Castle War
This one is for
Dorothy and John Taylor
Fate sits on these dark battlements and frowns,
And as the portal opens to receive me,
A voice in hollow murmurs through the courts
Tells of a nameless deed.
One
Throne Room
Incarnadine, lord of the western pale, sat in state on the Siege Perilous.
“Bring in the prisoner.”
High in the cavernous chamber, a bat screeched. Something small and furry skittered across the floor and vanished into a shadowy corner.
Wrists manacled, the prisoner shuffled in, dragged by two Guardsmen. He was pushed to the floor in front of the throne.
“Rise.”
Chuckling, the prisoner got up slowly. His frayed gray tunic was filthy, his black tights torn and ripped.
“Your Majesty. How kind of you to grant me audience.”
“We welcome our faithful vassal, Sir Gene Ferraro.”
The irony fairly dripped.
“How does His Majesty fare?”
“It goes well with us.” His Serene and Transcendent Majesty smiled crookedly. “You, on the other hand, look rather pale and haggard. Aren’t my jailers treating you properly?”
“Not a day goes by when I am not the beneficiary of their kind attentions.”
“I am glad. Getting enough to eat?”
“Unfortunately, sire, there is only so much rubbish one can consume at a sitting. So much slop, so much swill.”
The King looked saddened. “No appetite? I will have your rations reduced so that this no longer presents a problem.”
“His Majesty is too gracious a host.”
“No amenity must be spared a true and faithful servant.”
“I fear I am not quite that, sire.”
“No? Perhaps not. Perhaps ‘servant’ is not the proper designation. Can you think of one more apt?”
Sir Gene smiled thinly. “I am sure His Majesty can supply any number more apt.”
“Traitor, perhaps? Regicide?”
“Failed regicide,” the prisoner corrected.
“Murderous villain?” The King’s voice boomed inside the dark chamber. “
Sir Gene shrugged. “Again, unsuccessful. Regarding murder, may I remind His Majesty that I learned the art at the knees of a true master. You — ”
The Guardsman to the right drove a mailed fist into the prisoner’s side just under the rib cage. The prisoner doubled up and sank to his knees. He was some time in getting up again.
A silent, fluttering movement in the darkness above. Another bat.
The King settled back in his throne. “You learned not well enough.”
Sir Gene drew a painful breath before answering. “How well I know.”
“We have more lessons to teach. There is the discipline of the wheel, for instance. And the brand, and the boot.”
“Ah.”
“You hide your fear well. But you will scream as loudly as the others.”
“I trust it will amuse His Majesty to contemplate that this time the victim will not be entirely innocent.”
A royal scowl. “Spoils the fun, really.”
“True, true.”
“But we’ll do our best to enjoy the proceedings.” The King sighed. “There is not much else to say. But I suppose protocol demands that I pronounce sentence.” He raised his right hand, took a long breath, then said hurriedly, “By the right and power vested in me I hereby condemn you to a deliciously prolonged death with all the trimmings.” He grinned.
The prisoner bowed.
“Take him away.”
The prisoner was led out of the throne room.
In the corridor outside, the Guardsmen steered their charge to the left. At the next intersecting hallway they turned right, went down a stairwell, and turned left at the landing.
The three were walking along when suddenly the prisoner stopped and doubled over, groaning.
The Guardsman on the left said, “What’s with you, then?”
“My side … it’s on fire.”
The other one snickered. “Only a taste of what’s to come.”
“Please, you must — ”
“No malingering, now.”
“I … can’t walk.”
“You landed him a good one, you did,” the one on the left said. “It likely burst something.”
“It was just a tap.”
“Let’s be on our way back to the cell. You can lie down there.”
“I want the court physician!”
“Can’t oblige, good sir knight.”
“If I die prematurely, Incarnadine will have your heads.”
The one on the right looked worried. “He’s right, you know.”
“I suppose he is. Come along, we’ll take you to the sawbones straightaway.”
“I tell you, I can’t walk!”
“Pick up his feet.”
“You pick up his feet. I’ve got the rest of him.”
“Just our luck if he dies. I’ve got a good mind to — ”
The prisoner kicked out and connected with a solar plexus. One Guardsman doubled over. Then, pivoting quickly, he swung his manacled fists around and clouted the other alongside the head.
Both men went down, and he ran.
He dashed left at the next intersection, having a certain destination in mind. It was one of the castle’s lesser known aspects, and if he could get through it, he could lose himself in dense forest. He knew a cave not far away
