Merek's Ascendance Read online

“Oh. Okay. Is that a fireplace?”

  That was it. No other reaction was given to him. Honestly, no other reaction was needed.

  “Sort of. I had nowhere to vent flame, so it’s kind of just a fire pit.”

  She laughed, and the two spent the night cuddled together in the furs. When morning came, they hurried back to their tent.

  “You know,” Thorald said, “in some cultures I’ve heard they make women wear chastity belts. I see why.”

  “You’re one to talk!” Merek replied, “What was the name of that waitress two weeks ago?”

  Thorald thought hard, but he couldn’t think of a name. Then he shrugged with a smile.

  “Exactly.”

  “Now that you two have settled that,” John said, “do you think we could get moving? We kind of have a war to win in a single day.”

  The army moved out again, heading to the Eastern Plains. Merek looked at the sky, which was a happy blue. There would be no tornadoes dropping on their heads today.

  “Well look at that,” Thorald said, “you were right. They did rebuild the bridge.”

  “They had to get to us somehow,” Merek replied.

  It took another days journeying, but they reached the outskirts of Grevoria before nightfall. They hid out of sight (at least as much as two thousand people could hide) and waited for the sun to rise.

  When it finally did, the Grevorians were waiting for them.

  “They must have spotted us,” Milly said, “so much for surprise.”

  “That’s okay,” Merek said, “we were never going to surprise them.”

  The doors opened, and out poured the Grevorian military. Within ten minutes, the Wentanans stood face to face with an equally as numerous Grevorian army.

  “I,” Thorald shouted, “King Thorald of Wentana, call for a parley with the King of Grevoria!”

  It took a few minutes, but eventually a man appeared on a cliff overlooking the battlefield. He was dressed in regal green robes with an oversized crown atop his head. He was also hunched over and looked to be old enough to have built the aged city with his own hands.

  “Well, the new king looks for revenge,” the Grevorian King wheezed, his voice barely reaching them. “I must thank you. Now I don’t have to waste time and effort sending my soldiers to raze your cities.”

  “I think you’ll find the Wentana people will not roll over quite so easily.”

  “Ha. They will die nonetheless.”

  “Not today. We come with a proposition.”

  “Really?” the opposite king said, “are you going to appeal to my humanity?”

  “No,” the rightful king replied, “we’re going to challenge you. We will send our mightiest champion. You send yours. And they will battle. Winner takes all. This war will be decided in a single battle.”

  “Winner takes all?”

  “The losing country’s soldiers become the winning country’s. The winning King becomes the rightful High King.”

  “Heh. And why would I agree to that, when I can have my army ravage yours?”

  “One,” Thorald replied, “because our armies are evenly matched and you know it. A battle would end with everyone dead, including you. And I know how much you cherish your own life. Two, and more importantly, are you scared that your champion will fail? That ours will best yours? I know Grevoria is a nation of cowards, but from that to stem from their own king…”

  “Enough. I accept. Send out your champion, and mine will crush him.”

  Thorald laughed, loud enough for the entire battlefield to hear, and nodded to Merek.

  Merek took a deep breath, calming his nerves and keeping a check on his anger. He had to stay calm this time.

  He couldn’t afford to fail again.

  He walked forward as the Grevorian King called for his champion. Just as Merek had suspected, the assassin came forward. His right hand was wrapped in bandages, and he held a sword in his left. A mace was strapped to his hip.

  “Fancy seeing you again,” Merek said.

  “Has it been a few years already?” was the reply.

  “It does feel like it.”

  The assassin nodded before looking away for a moment. “Roman. My name is Roman.”

  “Merek.”

  “Figured we ought to know before one of us dies.”

  “Aye. Well, shall we get on with it then?”

  “I think so.”

  The two backed away a few steps. Merek turned to face Thorald and Julia, as well as the rest of the army. This was it. All or nothing.

  The fate of Wentana rested on his shoulders.

  He flexed his shoulders as he thought it. He was up for it.

  He readied his sword as Roman did the same. He was still sore, still bruised, and Roman had an injured arm. Neither of them was fully prepared.

  They battled as if they were.

  Their swords moved fluidly, banging and clashing faster than most of the eyes watching them could keep up with. This was just a fencing match with the survival of two nations in the balance.

  Merek stayed perfectly calm, keeping his feet centered and his sword arm moving. The fact that this man had murdered his best friend’s father was irrelevant. The fact that they had snuck in using a coward’s tactic did not matter.

  All that mattered was that the flashing blades kept moving, kept circling, kept parrying and thrusting in a hundred different ways. He was sure Roman was a more competent swordsman, but being forced to use his left hand stole his advantage. Their blades never spent more than a second apart before sparks flew and metal grinded against metal.

  Merek never even thought about it. Here he was, the avatar of freedom fighting against the epitome of darkness and enslavement, and he didn’t even know. Their battle, their single swordfight, would determine the fate of everything he’d ever known. Lives depended on him not slipping up once.

  Merek was completely unconscious of it all.

  All that mattered to him was that his blade was diagonal in order to catch a strike. That he reversed and jabbed forward and was prepared when Roman swatted his blade aside and attempted to cut him in half lengthwise. That he crossed his blade in front of him to deflect the blow.

  That was all he thought about. That was all he permitted himself to think about.

  “You know,” Roman said as he disengaged, breathing heavily. Merek allowed him the moment of respite, his breath only slightly more rushed. “It was a pleasure to twist his head all the way around,” he said as his face split into a smile. “Very satisfying crunch it made.”

  Merek said nothing, ignoring the words. The fresh wound that was Tyrigg’s death would hurt again, but not now. He wouldn’t let it hurt him just yet. He would grieve, and he would cry, and he’d wake up from his nightmares covered in sweat, but that was later.

  Now, all the darkness in his mind pulled back and allowed him this moment of clarity.

  “Taunts?” Merek replied. “You truly must be desperate.”

  Roman’s sick smile faded. Then the two reengaged.

  Roman pressed hard, pushing forward with every strike. Merek gave ground, fighting defensively. His blade was never truly fast but always just fast enough, catching and turning away Roman’s strikes a moment before they would harm him. Roman kept coming forward, trying to beat a mistake out of Merek. Merek didn’t give him the satisfaction, maintaining his wall of steel.

  He backed away as far as he could until he nearly ran into his own troops. A quick roll brought him safely away, and Roman’s frustrations just mounted further.

  Merek could feel it in the sharp blows Roman rained down on him.

  His right arm was getting tired from blocking the seemingly endless parade of strikes that Roman was unleashing. If this kept up, he wasn’t going to be able to defend himself.

  So he simply switched hands.

  Roman looked shocked at the switch, and backed away a few steps. This time, Merek didn’t give him a moment to breathe, lashing out with a flurry of strikes. Roman was fo
rced to give ground, being driven back. Clearly not used to mounting a defense, he tried several times to regain the advantage. But his sword arm was tired too, and his right hand was not an option.

  All Merek had to do was not lose focus.

  “You know how I got in, right?” Roman said as he jabbed his blade forward. Merek swatted it aside and retaliated with a solid punch to Roman’s face.

  “Am I supposed to care?”

  “Of course,” Roman replied, “don’t you want to keep it from happening again?”

  They crossed blades and stood literally toe to toe, faces inches apart.

  “Someone let me in,” Roman continued, trying to overpower Merek. Merek stood strong, bracing the other end of his blade with his free hand.

  “I don’t believe that,” Merek said, waiting for an opening. To strike first would guarantee his defeat.

  “Oh, but you should. After all, isn’t this pretty convenient? A new king gets a chance at owning two kingdoms. That’s a lot of power. Makes people do things they normally wouldn’t.”

  “Wait,” Merek said as he shifted position, trying to keep Roman at bay. “Are you saying… Thorald?”

  “I’m saying Thorald. He hired us to kill the king, so he could take the throne.”

  Merek said nothing for a long moment. He stared at Roman, eyes narrowed, as he absorbed the words.

  Then he started laughing.

  “That’s fantastic. You must know I’m going to win if that’s the best lie you can tell. Thorald? Hire assassins to kill his own father? If you had picked anyone else in the kingdom, I might have believed you. But Thorald?”

  Roman’s face fell to worry, and Merek’s smile faded.

  “Pick a god. And pray.”

  Roman pushed him off, wildly slashing at his face. Merek ducked it and rose up, his blade aimed for the flesh of Roman’s hand. Roman pulled his hand back just in time, but the force of the blow was enough to knock the sword free.

  Roman fell back, breathing heavily, and drew his mace. Merek, knowing his sword would be ill-suited against the weapon, sheathed it and withdrew his staff.

  “We’ve already… had this fight,” Roman panted.

  “I think you’ll find I always win the rematch,” Merek replied with a smile. The fact that he’d had all of two or three rematches… that didn’t count.

  Roman came at him recklessly, the mace swinging for his head. Merek dodged aside and whipped his staff into Roman’s gut, where the two connected with a dull thud. Roman backed away, injured hand holding now injured ribs, and stretched out his weapon arm.

  “Surrender. There’s no shame in it,” Merek said.

  “Death first,” Roman spat back.

  Merek sighed. “So be it.”

  Roman lunged. Merek parried, the metal of his new staff taking the blow far better than his old one. Roman took another blow, this one to his face.

  Roman stared at Merek. Merek stared back. There was no more need for words between them.

  Roman lunged, mace aimed for Merek’s head, and Merek swatted the weapon aside almost contemptuously. Then he jabbed Roman in the gut, then raised the weapon and smacked it against the underside of Roman’s jaw.

  While he was dazed, Merek backed up a step and swung the staff for all he was worth, connecting with Roman’s face. A metal crack rent the air, and Roman hit the dirt.

  His mace fell loosely from his hand. Still alive, still barely conscious, Roman crawled away from Merek. His bandaged hand found the dirt, while his left hand found the handle of his sword.

  Merek knew exactly what was going to happen the moment before it happened.

  Roman was on his feet in a moment, amazingly pushing through the terrible pain to keep fighting. He threw dirt at Merek’s face as he turned, following it up with a thrust that would have buried his blade in Merek’s stomach.

  Or at least it would have, had Merek not moved out of the way the moment Roman started moving. The dirt fell on nothing, and the sword was met with air.

  Roman turned to face him, defeated, distraught, but still without surrendering. He made on final slash that Merek blocked with his staff before he dropped the weapon.

  He sunk his left fist into Roman’s gut. His right slapped the sword out of Roman’s hand and into the air. His left caught Roman’s jaw.

  His right caught the sword and plunged it straight through Roman’s chest in a spray of blood.

  Roman stared at him, standing because he wasn’t quite aware he was dead. Blood trickled from his lip as his eyes widened in shock. Merek released the blade, and Roman fell to the ground. His eyes stared without seeing, the ghost of his last shock etched on his face.

  The Wentanan soldiers took up a mighty cheer, one that deafened Merek. Thorald came forward, his injuries forgotten, as he moved to embrace Merek. Julia walked as she fast as she could, her smile making her tears all the more endearing.

  Merek held up a hand, haltering them both.

  Now it was time for the shoe to drop.

  “Grevoria, your champion has fallen. Due to the pact made, you will listen and acquiesce to our demands. Do you acknowledge this?”

  “NO!”

  The shout came from the king on the cliff, staring down at them with loathing Merek could almost feel.

  “We will never surrender to the likes of you! Soldiers! Destroy the invaders!”

  The soldiers looked at one another, clearly confused. If nothing else, it appeared they actually had some honor. But above all else, they had their duty, and their King had given a command.

  “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you, boys,” Merek said. Then he pointed a finger at the Grevorian King, who looked at him with narrowed eyes.

  An ax was placed against his throat a moment later. John, Milly and Raven stood a few feet away from the now former King with weapons drawn.

  “Good plan,” Thorald said as he finally reached Merek.

  “Yes, I thought so,” he replied. Then he said to the Grevorians, “will you honor our pact now? We have but a few demands. First, you will cease all hostilities against Wentana. We will renegotiate our trade agreements, and we will have peace. Second, this worm on the hill will no longer be your king. The people will choose another to lead them, and I hope you make a good choice. Is anyone there that can speak for you?”

  There was a general murmur before an old man came forward wearing long green robes and rather large hat.

  “Ah, the Chancellor,” Thorald said, “he’s a good man. I talked to him before, on my last trip.”

  “Good. Thorald, talk to the man. Make peace.”

  The last sentence was said in a huff as Merek hunched over, hands on his knees.

  “Are you alright, my friend?” Thorald asked.

  “Just… just very tired. Need… need to rest.”

  “Go. You’ve earned it. I’ll handle negotiations.”

  Julia led Merek to a tent that had been set up, according to her, specifically for him. He found a bed there, and promptly fell into it.

  “You did it,” Julia said, smiling from ear to ear. It was a mark of how proud she was that she didn’t look at anything else but him.

  “I didn’t… think I would…”

  With that thought, Merek went to sleep for the first time in a very long time with no trouble, and he wasn’t bothered by a single nightmare.

  Epilogue: Two Years Later

  A fine mist had spread across the castle in the early morning. The guards laughed, ready for the change in shift. The knight’s all slept quietly, save for the Trainer who was busy preparing for the day’s activities.

  In the castle itself, Merek and Thorald were busy playing a game of chess. Merek had the upper hand, but Thorald had a habit of making things interesting in the late game.

  “You know,” Merek said, “people are starting to wonder when you’ll choose a queen.”

  “Oh, I know,” Thorald replied without looking up from the board. “But I’m just not ready for that yet. Get married. Make
heirs. I don’t even want to be King, let alone a father yet.”

  “Oh, being a father isn’t so bad.”

  “Says the man who is playing chess with his best friend instead of taking care of his daughter.”

  “She’s asleep. And right down the hall with her mother.”

  “Fair.”

  The two lapsed into silence as they heard a small cry from down the hall.

  “You had to say something,” Merek said, getting up from the table. He walked towards the door, Thorald’s laugh echoing behind him.

  “Hello, dear,” Merek said as he entered the chamber. Though Merek and Julia had their own home, they stayed in the castle with Thorald so much that this was practically a second bedroom.

  His baby stopped crying as Merek lifted her into his arms. “And how is my dear Cynthia today?”

  “She misses her father,” Julia said sleepily from the bed. “Though I don’t know why, you see her every day.”

  “She just has poor taste in who she misses, don’t you sweetheart?”

  The baby cooed once, curling up and falling back asleep as Merek sat down on the bed.

  “Go back to your game, I’ll watch over her.”

  “Oh, he can wait for a few minutes.”

  Julia laughed before kissing his cheek. She then slumped over and fell back asleep. Merek carefully put Cynthia in her crib before leaving the room again.

  “How’s Thoralda?”

  “We are never calling her that,” Merek replied.

  “Oh come on! You were supposed to name your children after me. All of them!”

  “If we have a boy, then maybe.”

  Thorald laughed before making a move. “So, are you ready for the meeting today?”

  “With the Grevorian King? He seems a decent fellow.”

  “He wants to hang the old King for crimes against the people. Makes him very decent in my book.”

  Merek chuckled as there was a knock on the door. John and Milly stood there, with Milly’s belly significantly larger than it was seven months previously. There was also a golden ring on her finger, which she showed off as much as she could.

  “Sir, Raven and his sister are due back any minute,” John said, “they sent a message ahead saying they secured enough fowl to feed the entire kingdom.”