Tonight’s is a little longer than usual. I don’t often get to write about loss and death. I think most authors probably don’t like to deal with such things, but in fantasy especially people should die. An exception to that is the use of magic. With magic you can heal bad wounds and life threatening diseases. This story doesn’t have magic though. People didn’t live very long lives in general in medieval times. 50-60 is perhaps a long life at such a time.  Obviously, that depends on cultures, but in general it is true.

I hope this one is as good, I definitely pushed myself out of my comfort zone. As always, if you’ve missed previous parts, find them here.

The queen’s guard surrounded her as they approached the gates of Tatigen.  It was customary, but something felt wrong today.  Kiarsi Modros was used to looking for things that were out of the ordinary.  Micharo and Benjim exchanged a nervous glance as the men changed positions.

She knew it was too late to do anything about it when she heard a blade slip quickly from a sheathe behind her. All at once the scene erupted in violence.  From beside her she Sir Jorda cried out, “TO ARMS, MEN, TO ARMS!” and his horse lurch forward.  She turned in time to see the knight’s weapon was only half drawn as Micharo’s blade cut deep into his neck.

Without thinking Kiarsi gave a cry of her own and let a dagger from her sleeve fly forward. Her aim never missed at this range and blood filled his neck where the dagger slipped in.  She knew the man was dead before he even fell from his horse.  She turned to see Benjim fully surrounded, two of her men had lost their saddle and one’s hand pressed against his side that was turning red quickly.  Pure hatred filled the eyes of Benjim Taragor, he was looking directly at her.

“Let him live!” She commanded as more than one of her guards pulled at their reins to stop.  Another second and the man would have been dead.  “He is worth more to me alive for now.”

“He killed Sir Jorda! You cannot mean to let him live?” One demanded.

“I must know who sent the orders. Give him this,” she took some of the herb she picked earlier from her pack and handed it to Zacharias Petrall. The chance of something like this happening today was why she got it after all. “It will take away his ability to move.”

Zacharias took the herb obediently.  He was her last guardian now. The last one now alive anyway, she thought.  She turned to the man that had protected her since she was in a cradle.  The fallen old knight had been the father she never known.  She dismounted and inspected the garish wound, the gash in his neck was deep enough to give him a quick death at least. She said a prayer for him silently.

She knew who was responsible for this.  She didn’t need Benjim’s tales to see the work of Lord Byron.  Even still, she would learn something before having the man executed.  Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to rid the world of that bloodline once and for all.  She was lost between feelings of anger and sadness.

The path up to the bailey was a continuous winding up and down of hills.  She could see only the top of it above the gates of the inner city.  The entire city had been founded two centuries ago for its strategic location high on a tall hill that rested against an even taller cliff.  The additional hills had been cut into the earth to give invading armies even more ground to cover while arrows assaulted them.

Atop that hill were the wooden poles of the inner city gates rising high off the ground.  The top of those gates alone could hold hundreds of archers.  She gave orders even as they approached to have Lady Jorda brought to her.  She chose the personal meeting chamber to tell the woman. A place she rarely visited.  That her husband died to betrayal would make the news much harder.  He had chosen the personal guard after all.

***

Kiarsi looked over her shoulder at the long line of men and women following behind her. The widow Lady Jordah walked at her side in all black as they lead the funeral procession down to the ocean’s edge.  Behind her, Zacharias led the rank of knights carrying the wooden boat containing their fallen brother’s corpse inside.

A large white flag depicting the Modros sigil of two howling wolves was wrapped tightly around her guardian’s body.  The sword that had taken his life had cut deep into the neck, making an open send off impossible.  It only added insult to injury.

Kiarsi felt empty inside.  Three men were assigned as her guardian’s when she was born.  It was their duty to die for her, but she never wanted that to happen.  Now it had happened twice.  Would she bring the same fate upon Zacharias?  How many people did she have to lose in her life? Everyone she loved was taken from her eventually.

The stretching line of candles ablaze would be the only lights in the city tonight.  As the people gathered around the shore the knights let the boat down softly onto the water.  They filed in quickly and quietly out of tradition as much as respect to the fallen knight.

She stood as the Queen atop a raised platform and the crowd fell silent.  “We have lost a great man this day.  For fifty-two years Sir Stephen Jordah lived as one of us, for thirty-nine years he has given his life to protect our kingdom.”  How long could she fight back the tears inside her?  “This man was a father when I had none, a brother to his fellow knights, and a husband to my closest friend.”

The widow Jordah smiled up at her, her eyes were bright red from a night of crying.  The two had been married when the woman was fourteen.  It was customary for a knight to find a bride after his service to the army.  He had chosen to be her guardian only after their marriage.  Despite the difference in their ages, Kiarsi had never seen such love in a marriage.

“We give up this great man back to the earth that gave him life.  His spirit and energy we offer to Gods above.”  The knights cast off boat and the crowd watched as it floated away.  When it was far enough she called out.

“Archers to the ready!”  As one, four men pulled back on their bows and four more lifted their candles to the tips of the arrows.  “Archers, loose!”

The Gods were watching tonight, she knew.  All four arrows flew true and the small boat erupted in flame.  With the ceremony complete, many of the people turned to return home.  Kiarsi knew she wouldn’t leave for many hours though.  She whispered a prayer to her fallen guardian, and promised to avenge him.

Tags: Fantasy, podcast, The Conflicted Zeegrak, Tuesday Night Stories, Writings

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