by Tristan A. Gilmore – This story is unrelated to the Barbarian novel
For kings, kingdoms.
For emperors, empires.
For those who live in their lands, citizenry.
But the citizen is unseen and unheard.
The target of thieves, the fighter of wars, the sower of crops, and the meager of the many.
Nobody cares about the citizen. Not until they are a problem.
“A woman stands at the gate, my liege,” the nondescript guard announced. Another citizen of another place in society. “She… she is demanding for her child to be released.”
King Erduun frowned. It was the job of the guards to handle these situations, to maintain sovereign distance between the classes. “Why are you telling me this?”
“What would you have us do for her?”
“What does the law say?” he growled.
“That… she ought to bring the matters before a judge, and that if he finds her complaints just, he might petition on her behalf.”
“Did you tell her this?”
The guard swallowed. “Yes, my liege. She says… she says your judges are corrupt, and will not hear her.”
“What does the law say of that, then?”
“That she… ought to be tried for offending your dignity, my liege.”
The king’s eyes flashed and he nodded. “Then I ask again: why are you telling me of this woman?”
The guard shrank under the king’s leer. “Her son, my liege… she claims it to be… the Prince. Your son.”
King Erduun allowed the silence between them to swell, until he was sure the guard had fully considered his life’s choices, and then he stood.
A king does not casually stand from his throne during audience. When a king stands, it is a message. A verdict. One as clearly heard as a clap of thunder, and one as dangerous as the lightning that brought it.
“My dear guardsman… I am a magnanimous ruler, but even magnanimity cannot stand idly by and allow blasphemy to besmirch their image. But I will not sully this kingdom and glory by rash punishment, either. I will provide this one opportunity for you to correct your behavior.”
The guard swallowed, bowing his head.
“Bring her here, to me, bound in chains. You will shackle her before my throne, and when my judgment is made, if she is found guilty, you shall behead her. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes, my liege.” He swallowed. “Thank you, my liege.”
The king nodded once and seated himself as the guard made his escape.
A long pause settled on the empty chamber, and the king sighed. “They’re gone.”
“Yes, sir, but they are bound to return,” came the sly reply from the curtains behind the throne. “I’d rather avoid any of the questions they might have for the arrival of a new advisor.”
Erduun slid his palm across his face. “If all goes well, we’ll be gone long before they realize their king is a sellout.” He paused for another breath before asking “was that too much?”
“If anything it was too little,” said the shadow, stepping up behind the false king. “I think it all the more likely that he’d have hung the guard and anyone the woman had spoken with.”
“We’re imposters, Sive, not nobles,” said Not-Erduun. “Besides, this is a lucky break for us. If she can decimate the royals’ image we’ll hardly have more to do than to sneak out in the night.”
“Indeed, sir.”
“Enough of the ‘sir’ Sive. You heard the puffery at the gala earlier; I’ve had enough honorifics for a lifetime.”
Sive sighed. “Very well, Dall.”
“You’re a damn treasure, Sive.”
“Indeed.”
Dall harrumphed his satisfaction, and they fell into a pleasant silence, listening to the vague echoes of shuffling footsteps beyond the chamber. At some point, Sive disappeared back behind the baldachin, and Dall rolled his shoulders, carefully touching at the edges of his false beard to ensure its security.
And they waited.
And waited.
The false beard was a mainstay for his role, but Dall found it was extremely itchy when he had nothing else to focus on. The long robes were unbearably sweaty, and there was an odor he couldn’t place tickling his throat. He wished the guard would hurry up.
“Do you think it could be true?”
“What?”
“That her son’s the Prince. Bastard son of the King, held in the dungeons?” He lowered his voice to grumble, “it’s absurd enough for royalty.”
“I’m afraid I am not made aware of the prisoners. It would be poor practice to assume.”
“Well, make a poor assumption for me, will you?”
Sive sighed. “I cannot fathom a woman in the citizenry with whom the king would bother cavorting outside of his harem.”
“Ah, but that’s the tell, isn’t it?” Dall smiled. “Just taboo enough to get the bells ringing!”
“You would know best,” Sive answered without conceit.
Dall’s smile slowly wilted in the pause that followed. “How long does it take to throw some shackles on a woman?”
“I do not know. I would prepare for a less than favorable report, sir.”
Dall was about to reprimand Sive’s use of “sir” when a noise in the distance caught his attention. Some hurried footsteps. A shout. Something metal falling with a clatter.
“What was that you were saying?” he asked.
The doors to the chamber were thrown open, and in charged a woman wearing a simple dress torn at the knees, followed by a couple of haggard looking men. One of them was bleeding from a wound on the side of their head, trailing down his face, and holding a sword, while the other man busied himself with barring the door behind them. Both men were wearing leather cuirasses, and the woman’s dress looked a little too practical to be plain. They slowed to a walk, breathing heavily, as they approached the supposedly alone supposed king.
“I suppose the rookie was actually good for something,” the man beside the woman said. “It’s a shame he was caught distracting them.”
“A necessary sacrifice,” the woman agreed, though her eyes were locked on Dall, who eyed her curiously and scoffed.
“You abandoned a rookie?” he said. “No honor amongst thieves, I dare say.”
“We’re heroes!” the man huffed. “Here to stop your tyrannical oppression once and for all!”
“No honor amongst heroes, then,” Dall rolled his eyes. “Hardly a difference anymore.”
“It’s as clear as day in my eyes.”
“Then you’ve gone blind, I dare say,” Dall spat. “Pride rarely follows with justice.”
A dagger appeared in the woman’s hand. “It’s a shame you won’t be around to judge,” she said, lunging for the throne.
She made it just a few steps when a dark shape swept between them, stopping her in her tracks.
Seven feet tall, dark of skin and demeanor, Sive was as thin as a willow, and as lithe as a snake. The living embodiment of a shadow, if ever there was one; He had twisted her knife between the barbs of his kukri in such a fashion that she could not so much as move it without severing her wrist, though he did not draw a drop of blood.
“A Shade!?” she cried out, bewildered.
“Ex-shade,” Sive corrected. “I am retired.”
“Shades don’t retire,” she said, recollecting her composure, “which makes you a liar!”
She spit the last word as she spun, dropping her knife as she gracefully freed her hand. Her other hand dodged out, catching the falling blade and sending it whipping through the air toward Dall.
It hardly made it four inches. She blinked, uncomprehending of how Sive had apparently anticipated her movement and resheathed one kukri before catching the handle of the dagger just after it left her hand.
“Shades rarely retire,” he corrected again, his only expression a singular raised eyebrow. “Or rarely survive the process, to be precise.”
Sive proffered the blade back to the woman, his eyebrow sinking back to its surly home as she hesitantly took it.
“Sit,” Sive commanded, and the woman took a step back.
“Where?” she demanded, though her voice lacked authority as she glanced around for a chair.
“On the ground.”
The man with the bleeding head scoffed, and Dall noted that he had moved to the side of the chamber, placing himself at the point of a triangle between Sive and Dall. “I suppose you’d have us hand over our weapons too, while we’re at it?”
“No,” Sive answered casually. “That doesn’t matter.”
Sive continued to stare down the woman, and slowly, she lowered herself down on her haunches. “Happy?” she asked.
Sive’s brow furrowed the slightest amount, as though confused by the question. “No.”
The woman opened her mouth to speak, but Dall cut her off. “I am not the king you came to kill, and you would have known that if you had staked out the-”
A shout of pain drowned out the rest of Dall’s words as the man with the bleeding head fell to his side, hand pressed over his temple on the other side from his wound.
“Are you mad?!” the man shouted as Sive quietly removed another ball bearing from a pouch. “I didn’t do anything!”
“You were thinking to,” Sive answered, as though it were obvious. The man, to his credit, fell silent.
“Yes, well, as I was saying,” Dall cleared his throat. “We have no misgivings with you and yours, so if you want to leave this palace today alive, I would-”
Dall paused as echoes resounded beyond the doors, growling his disapproval as he shook his head, stepping toward the doors. “Amateurs!” he said with disgust. “All three of you, get to the sides of the door and stay quiet!”
“Why should we?” the man at the door asked.
“Because otherwise I’ll just have them kill you.”
No one had a rebuttal, and the three moved to the sides, pressing themselves into the corners of the room while Dall strode forward regally. Sive was nowhere in sight.
Dall pushed open the door and came face-to-face with an attache of guards, all of whom appeared apprehensively surprised to see their king at the door. Between them stood a tall, disheveled young man wearing a hood.
“What is all of this ruckus?!” Dall demanded.
Without speaking, the man lowered his hood, and Dall smacked his lips once.
“Fuck,” he intoned.
The guards rushed forward as he stepped back into the audience hall and barred the door. The body of guards slammed against the other side, and Dall turned on his heel, tearing off his fake beard and robe as he ran.
“Sive!” he bellowed, backing away, “it’s time to go!”
“What’s happening?” the uninjured man asked, and Dall shook his head impatiently. “An old friend has stopped by for a visit.”
“Rubear?” Sive asked, standing motionless by the throne.
“Rubear?” the woman said, “the rookie?!”
Dall paused long enough to send an incredulous scowl in her direction. “Your rookie? We’ve all been crossed then. Tell me, who hired you?”
“We serve the Peace Wardens!” the woman announced.
Dall pulled a satchel from beneath his shirt and paced to the foot of the throne. “I swear, your type will fall for anyone with a silly name…”
A shout sounded and cut off abruptly, and everyone turned to see Sive wiping a bloody knife on his tunic, the injured man now dead at his feet.
“What are you doing?!” the remaining man asked, panicking.
“He was not a good man,” Sive replied.
“I’d trust the man with the knife,” Dall said before the man could retort, and a loud crack resounded in the air as a latch released and a stone at the base of the throne fell inward. “Here’s our exit. You can follow, or wait here with the guards.”
The woman’s hesitation was very brief. The man with her blinked twice before shaking his head and following after her, saying, “I told you he was a bastard!”
“Shut it,” she said, turning and climbing through the gap on all fours after Dall. “Why help us? You don’t assume we’re working with Rubear?” she asked.
Dall was kneeling below them in a stone corridor, his attention upon lighting a small lantern. “You aren’t, are you?” he asked lightly. She frowned, and he chuckled. “Sive would know, like he knew with your friend.”
“Ah,” was all she said, unsettled as she hopped down beside him.
“Oh, come now, no need to be so morose,” Dall said, smiling as he came to his feet with the lantern in hand, casting shadows. Without the beard and robe, he hardly resembled the king at all; His features were softer and more jovial, and even his voice seemed softer. “Every scheme has its hiccups, but it isn’t every scheme that you get to walk away from!” He laughed and began to walk quickly down the hall, into the darkness. The other man clambered down behind her, and the passage door closed above them with a click. She blinked.
“What about the Shade?” she asked, rushing to catch up with Dall.
“Here,” came the unnerving whisper just behind her. She swung around to find the man between her and her companion, who looked just as surprised to see the Shade there all of a sudden.
The hall took them to a sewer, which drained down into a subterranean gulley. After fifteen minutes of rushed silence, they saw a glimmer of light beyond the lamp’s aura.
“Where are we even going?” she asked.
“Good question,” Dall said. “What’re your names?”
“Sione, of Riverberry,” she said.
“Ferd, of Gallaway,” her companion said.
“Wonderful. I am Dall, of wherever I’m standing! I would suggest you go back to Riverway and Gallaberry, or wherever you call home, before the civil war that’s coming catches up to them!”
“We’re heroes!” Sione said, indignant. “We don’t run, we fight for the good!”
Ferd nodded vigorously in agreement, and Dall sighed. “There are no more heroes. Heroes were important when good and evil were black and white. Now it’s all grays and no one’s the better for it. Go home, and spend some time with someone you love.”
“Indeed,” Sive intoned behind them, causing them to jump.
“What if… we came with you?” Sione asked. “You’re up to something with all this, aren’t you?”
They reached the end of the tunnel, and squinted in the bright light of the sun over the waterway. A small boat was visible, tied beneath them in the shade, and Dall nimbly slid down the bank and hopped inside. Sione and Ferd struggled to follow.
“How’s your acting?” Dall asked, to which Sione and Ferd shrugged.
“Poison work? Lock picking? Juggling? Dancing? Emergency first aid? Have you ever seen a flintlock, or duped a conman?” Dall listed off the questions in quick succession. “Frankly, I’m not certain either of you have a place with us. I reiterate my suggestion of going home.”
That all said, he did nothing to stop them clambering over the side of the boat and seating themselves in the bottom.
“Um,” Ferd swallowed, “I’m good with animals, and I can re-shoe a horse.”
“Can you smith with a forge?”
“Yes. Once upon a time I was a journeyman’s apprentice.”
“And you?” Dall asked, looking to Sione. Sive slipped into the boat without so much as rippling the water, pushing them off from shore and into the currents.
“I… I’m decent with a blade, and I’m a decent cook.”
“She is,” Sive conceded, and Dall’s eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Well, if Sive admits you have skill, then I hope your cooking is half as good as that!” Dall laughed, and began paddling to keep them in the middle of the stream. “Alright then, you can tag along.”
Dall hummed to himself as Sive appeared to doze in the back, and Sione and Ferd shared a look as they slipped down the stream into a wider river, and out from the lands of the royalty.
“So… what are you two?” Sione eventually asked, interrupting Dall’s hummed melody.
Dall fingered his lower lip as he considered. “Well, we aren’t heroes,” he said.
“No,” Sive agreed, eyes comfortably open as though he had not just been asleep.
“Bandits then?” Sione pressed.
“No no,” Dall said thoughtfully, “I don’t think we’d fall under that banner either. We try to help more than we try to get paid. We’re more just… concerned citizens.”
“Citizens?”
Dall smiled and returned to humming, and Sive nodded before returning to his nap, and Sione and Ferd shared one more look before shaking their heads.
“Well,” Ferd said, shrugging. “Not sure what to make of these ‘citizens’, but if there’s been an end to heroes, I suppose this is the next best thing.”