A gruff, middle aged man sits in a chair in the middle of the room, breathing a heavy sigh in boredom. It'd been months since there was a good fight, and his arm was feeling rusting. His men set around the room in similar boredom, his three elite guards playing a game which was similar to modern day rummy. The others had long been asleep in the barracks, figuring the chance of an assault wasn't very likely. The leader was known amongst the empire as The Beggar King, and he was the head of the best mercenary troop money could buy. He pulled a thick bundle of tobacco to his lips, and thought of the past.
He wasn't always the Beggar King. In his youth, he was a noble prince, in a land long forgotten after assault from Atrox. The prince was lucky to be spared, as he and his men were on an expedition to the far south, trying to conquer lands in the name of their kingdom. They failed, and returned to shambles and ruins. Having no money and no possessions other than their royally assigned gear, they saw nothing to do but sell their sword arms. Swift and deadly, they quickly gained a reputation for dispatching enemies with harsh precision and utter lack of regard for their foes. Their infamy attracted the eye of Atrox, though, who hired them to serve as his elite soldiers. By this point, the young prince failed to care that he was working for the man who had killed his family, friends, and kingdom, he just craved battle and fame.
He breathed in the smoke one more, then heard a cracking of the doorknob. Was it the doorman, that weak gimp who failed to even defeat a single of his men? Slouching lowly in his throne, he grabs for his sword, the royal crest barely visible in the torchlight. The door opened.
---
As the hero climbs the stairs into the Ascent, he can't help but think of the stories he's heard of the Beggar King and his men. He knew rumours of how they were once the prized Templars of the Gods themselves, fallen low and bought by Atrox with his very soul. He'd also heard they were nothing but low-lifes, begging scraps from their master. Regardless, they excelled at combat far mor than most mortals had even heard of. Fearless in combat, and seeing nothing but money in combat, they killed without worry or morals. He gripped his sword hilt tight, knowing his death could be at the top of the stairs.
Instead, he saw a tired old man and three others looking confused as they looked up from their playing cards.
"Oh. A fight, then? I just thought... Nevermind, I'm just suprised to see someone else take the Emperor up on his stupid offer. I mean, hey, your life. In that case," he breathed a heavy breath, and stood up, fully straightening his back, "I am the Beggar King, and I'll be overseeing your death today!"
The three dropped their cards and drew their weapons, standing in combat poses. They placed themselves in front of their king in his defense.
"Jenrick, you go first."
The soldier to his right, a plump, short man in red stained armor nodded, and charged full force. The Paladin raised his shield, as the charging man lifted a heavy hammer. His goal, it would seem, was to make the would-be hero resemble a cracked egg. And the footsteps closed the gap, and the hammer was about to be swung into his head, Paladin dropped fully to the ground. The hammer swung harmlessly overhead, and the plump mercenary fell on top of it, his feet seperated from his legs with a stiff swing from Paladin as he landed on the floor. He squealled as he fell, landing his unhelmeted head directly on his heavy steel hammer. Then there was no more noise.
The Beggar King look stunned. It had been years since he lost a soldier, but the change of pace was welcome. "Come on then, stand up. We're men of honor here, we don't kill a man when he's face down on the floor."
After a little work, Paladin stood up. He knew he'd made a mistake. Had the Beggar King chosen to send his other dogs after him, he'd have surely died on the floor their. He was fortunate, then, that these were men with a reputation, which he knew that they would not want to tarnish by killing an entirely helpless man. He wiped the blade, and readied his sheild again.
"You ready then, kid? You want a job? A position just opened up." No response. "Alright then, I offered. Go for it, boys."
The other two stepped forward confidently their swords braced in both hands. They cautiously circled the room, getting into position on either side of the hero. It was obvious what their plan was, flank the poor bastard and run him through. Paladin stood perpendicular to them, watching each out of the corner of his eye. With a very slight nod, they both attacked. Paladin closed his eyes, and held his shield to the left, harmlessly deflecting the first blow. His right arm parried the other sword blow. Again, they swung in unison. This time, he merely dodged to the right, while pushing his sheild in to foe on his left, effectively giving him no room to swing. The nodded, ready to swing again.
Unarmored, the men had a distinct advantage of mobility. Paladin knew that if he tried to withdraw from this position, he would soon be pierced by the the blades. He also knew, though, that eventually, he would fail to deflect these blows. He reacted quickly to the next swing.
Using his right arm to deflect the oncoming sword blow, he used his left arm to bash his other foe in the face with his shield. A broad surface, with little force behind it, this didn't kill the soldier. In fact, all it served to do was stun him briefly, which was enough for the hero. He drops his sword, and grabbed the stunned soldier and throws him to his right, the entirety of his body falling onto the other soldier, both collapsing in a heap together. Their swords harmlessly fall to the ground, and figure out what happened too slowly to save themselves. By the time they untangled themselves, Paladin had already retrieved his sword, and swiftly, but painlessly, killed them both with one blow each.
When he turned towards the Beggar King, the bolt of wood entered his left shoulder, just above his pauldron. The King dropped his crossbow, and pulled up his sword. "Sorry, knight, but I have to look out for my own neck, too. You fight well, I wish you'd taken up my offer."
Paladin dropped his shield, the weight too heavy at the moment. He walked forward to meet the king, his sword raised as well.
The two men moved closer and closer, each measuring the other up. The King looking forward to this, the tower was stuffy and he thristed for the battle it refused to give him. When within five feet of one another, the King smiled and raised his sword. The paladin fell to his knees, holding the sword up like a gift. The king frowned, and lowered his own.
"What trickery?" He grips his sword ready for an attack.
"Let me pass. I have no intention of killing another human until I find your master. I would rather avoid this bloodshed, and give up a relic of my own. This sword has passed amongst my family for many generations. The blade is forged of dalmascus steel, and can cut through the very stone of these walls. The hilt is made of solid silver, forged by man's own hands. This gem, on the pommel? An emerald that, if removed, is the size of a human eye. It's yours, if you let me pass." He bowed his head, and let the King make his decision.
"Hmph," he looked at the sword. It was of sturdy construction. Needed a good cleaning, especially after killing three men. The stone, in particular, was muddied, but he could see the Paladin spoke true. This was a weapon of value. It had cut bone like a hot iron cuts paper, and this would make a lovely weapon for his collection.
"Let me take a better look." The king cautiously sheathes his own sword, and takes the blade from the kneeling warrior. "Hmm... You got a nice blade here, indeed. Now, though, I have it. And what can you do to stop me? You don't have time to get to another weapon, and if you turn your back, this blade will go straight through it. So you sit here and behave, while I give this a once over." He smiled. He wasn't sure if he was going to kill him or not yet, but wanted to inspect the beauty. The weight was good, he could see himself cleaving into foes with it. The silver was tarnished black, but that could be fixed. And the stone...
The kings eyes grew wide as he looked at the stone, which flaked off as he ran his finger on it, like a weak paint. This hilt was just iron wrapped in black leather! That Paladin had tricked him!
But before he could exact his vengeance, the dagger pierced his gut. His interest in the sword had clouded his vision, and he failed to see the knight pull his dagger from his boot sheathe, and slip it carelessly into the gap in his armor. The King coughed once, and felt his strength draining.
"You... You fool! You lied! You're a knight, are you not? You can not break the chivalrous code!" The blade dropped from his hand and onto the floor, the King himself falling back onto his throne, sitting down.
"I never said I who I was. And I only lied about the hilt. The blade is true."
The king coughed, and laughed a little. Paladin lowered himself, and picked up his fallen sword. He raised it, and looked to the King.
"Soon, you will bleed to death. I can make it swift for you."
The King nodded, closed his eyes, and lowered his head. His reign had ended.
---
The Paladin stayed in the room for around an hour, patching up his shoulder. He gripped his shield, and headed towards the stairwell. He took a deep breath and lifted his feet to accept his next challenge.
(Original date 7/23/2009. Paladin is a yet unfinished short story I may return to once I gather the creative gusto. As of July 2010, it will go unfinished.)
No comments:
Post a Comment