04-The Barony City
The Ice Sea finally relented, and when it did, it withdrew completely. It fell calm, even asleep, and the water became like glass. Meanwhile, the sun rose on the eastern horizon of Aldara and cast fire across the sky and onto the smooth mirror of the ocean. The creaky ship drifted ever slowly atop the pink, iridescent water, and Nelson finally untangled his massive arms from the riggings and exhaled. The other men who’d survived the maelstrom—less than half of those who’d departed—had collapsed to the deck, dehydrated and spent. Nelson only glanced out to sea, and once or twice his hand scratched his beard, which was wooly and matted like bear fur.
The ship began listing, as though taking on water, but it didn’t matter anymore. Land was in sight—the Barony coast was ever nearing. Nelson looked upon his land calmly, and felt something he’d not felt in some time, and that was a wave of exhaustion washing over him.
The ship angled toward open pier space. All along the docks were merchants and fishermen peddling their goods, a bustling open market. City officials awaited their lines, and after securing to the pier, they boarded the ship and began questioning, even interrogating. Nelson stood by and watched.
The captain pleaded their case—that they returned from the Northern Reach with goods for sale. Furs and minerals were in the holdings. The officials quoted the necessary duties and taxes they were required to pay, as well as the cost for the pier space. The captain heard the numbers in disbelief, and then pleaded once more that he also returned with a crew of heroes, those men who’d achieved the victory in the north. Where was the welcoming party?
The city officials looked at each other questioningly, and then proclaimed that the war had ended some time ago.
With that, Nelson had heard enough, and made for the gangway.
“You will wait,” one of them said. “We haven’t finished our statements yet.”
Nelson stopped, and then turned to the one who’d spoke. His stare lasted a few moments, and it seemed to punish the man almost physically. When done, the man stammered, but said no more. Nelson continued toward the gangway.
“You can’t bring that with you down there,” another of the officials said, pointing to the massive ax secured to Nelson’s waist.
It was as though Nelson didn’t wish to waste any breath speaking to these men, so for this one, he merely lifted him up, as though he were a bag of refuse, and simply launched him off the deck and into the dirty harbor water below, where the man landed with a splash. He surfaced moments later, muttering and sputtering.
Nelson stepped onto the pier, and, so accustomed his body was to the heave and pitch of the ship, the firm earth sent through him a wave of disorientation. Meanwhile, the merchants and townspeople all gave him cautious, questioning stares. He was, after all, draped in furs, and his beard was long and ragged. He looked very much like the same barbarians he’d fought against.
Those same people gave him a wide berth as Nelson walked among them, first through the markets, and then into the city streets. Around him were all manner of folk, from passing nobles who looked down upon him in distaste, to the ragged and homeless, who gave him blank stares. Nelson looked at no one, and he kept his eyes only on the castle that loomed before him. By the time he reached the outer curtain, he’d removed the furs draped across his body, showing his bare chest, wet with sweat. It had been some time since he’d felt such heat.
“Halt!” a guard called. “What’s your business?”
“I wish to speak to the king.”
The guard smirked. “Are you mad? There are procedures to request presence in the royal court. I suggest you—“
“Tell him I’ve returned from the Northern Reach after having fought his war.”
“The Northern Reach? You mean the Ice Wars?” His face wrinkled in disbelief.
“Yes. And I bring back with me something that demands his royal notice.”
The guard scoffed. “And what is that?”
“Victory.”
The guard only stared, incredulous. Sensing the disturbance, additional guards gathered beside him. One of them looked upon Nelson with the strongest air of distaste yet.
“You’ve a lot of nerve requesting the presence of the royal court while looking so. I’ve half a mind to toss you back in the slums where it appears you belong.”
Nelson continued, his voice grave. “Stand aside, little man, lest you become part of this story.”
Steel whispered to the air as the guards drew their swords. They began to encircle Nelson, each of them moving cautiously, as though he were an ogre or some creature of dangerous and unpredictable disposition.
But an interruption came as a horse-drawn carriage approached from within the curtain, the heavy hooves thumping the earth with haste. The flag atop the carriage drew the eyes of the guards, each of them noting it held the crest of the king. The gates opened to allow its passage, and the official leading the charge was already on his feet, his voice loud and piercing.
“Stand down, all of you,” he proclaimed. “Cease this madness.”
The guards watched the horses come to a brisk stop as the man leapt off the carriage.
“Do you know who stands before you? For this is Nelson Garcia, from the Eastern Barony, Sergeant in the Ice Wars of Aldara, his heroics well accounted in the battles up north. Put down your arms and show the proper respect.”
The men slowly backed away, many of them in awe. Not at the warrior’s accomplishments—of which they knew nothing, not really—but that he’d been gone all this time, for so many years, and was only now returning.
Prompted by the official, Nelson was whisked into the carriage, and with a slap of the reins, the horses pulled forward. Within the courtyard, the crowds cleared, making way for the carriage marked with the king’s flag. The portcullis to enter the inner courtyard began to rise as they approached, timed such that the carriage’s movement through the curtain was seamless. The portcullis closed immediately after their passage, and Nelson was led out of the carriage and into the belly of the great stone keep.
Despite the haste with which they’d entered the castle, once inside, Nelson sat and waited for some time in the great room. There were rows of plush chairs and stout tables, and at the far end was the rounded dais upon which sat the throne, framed by the many flags that showed the crests of each Barony in rich colors.
Finally he heard a bit of arguing from a hall adjoining the room, even heard the king’s raised voice, proclaiming that he didn’t need others to speak for him, that he’d speak to damn well whomever he pleased.
Doors slammed open and armored guards lined the walls. Trumpets sounded, but they were dreadfully late, as the king spilled into the chamber, accompanied by his advisors, nobles with upturned faces and snooty expressions. Only the king appeared jovial, and from his gait, and the red hue on his nose and cheeks, Nelson saw that he’d imbibed, and it hadn’t been a modest amount.
“My friend!” the king said, as he strode swiftly up the dais, his robe trailing along the steps behind him. Nelson very clearly saw his advisors wincing, as though expecting a misstep to occur at any time. Perhaps miraculously, it didn’t come, and the king fell onto his throne, coming to rest like a bundle of deposited kindling.
“Where have you been?” the king asked, his jaw agape, his eyes lazy and wandering.
Nelson stood, looking up at the thin man in the plush purple robe, the crown worn crookedly on his head. He quelled the disgust washing over him.
“Fighting a war, m’lord.”
“That’s still going on?” the king asked.
Nelson cast a burning gaze about the chamber as the king backtracked awkwardly.
“Oh, yes, the war, yes, of course it is! And, tell me, how did all that go?”
Nelson had sent letters back to the base camps. Obviously, none of these had made it across the sea. Or, if they had, they’d been routinely ignored. Or, perhaps the most likely scenario, they sat on a city clerk’s desk, unread, perhaps unopened. He felt a wave of frustration wash over him, the likes of which he hadn’t felt in some time. It was an anger of more intensity than he’d felt at any time during his march over the frozen wastes. As arduous as the journey had been, as trying as it was to eradicate the evil that had spawned in the ice, at least the mission had always made perfect sense—unlike this farce.
Nelson’s voice boomed like thunder. The king was taken aback. Many of the guards even reached for their arms. “M’lord! The barbarians you sent us to war against had themselves been victimized. Contaminated! The true evil was one born straight from the dark domain of hell!”
There was a gasp about the chamber.
“I’ve defeated the beast, and I’ve taken his head and carried it back with me, to present to you now, and as proof to all. Behold!”
Nelson reached into his pack as the guards drew their swords out of caution. Heedless, Nelson grasped the demonic skull of the dastardly creature and threw it onto the stone floor before the king. The skull landed with a heavy thunk, in a cloud of bone powder and dust.
The assembly looked upon the skull, which was that of a giant, and twisted unnaturally, with slanted eyeholes and curved, serrated fangs. From its head were the bases of the horns, the very stalks of the twisted extensions that grew straight from the skull. The assembly gasped and murmured.
“It seems we’ve been poorly informed, great warrior,” the king said, after the assembly hushed. “We stand before you humbled by your great accomplishments, for you are a true hero. And this is a cause for great celebration!”
His last sentence was spoken in a raised, triumphant voice, and the king actually stood atop the throne, as though to magnify his proclamation. Inexplicably, he did a pirouette, and the entire royal entourage collectively winced, again anticipating the spill. But luck was with him once more, and the maneuver actually appeared quite deft, as the king spun about, landed firmly on his feet, and then looked eagerly to his servants, saying, “Let us drink!”
They rushed off to retrieve wine.
The king sat back down on the throne, breathing heavily from his maneuver. Nelson remained screamingly quiet all throughout, and held his burning gaze on the drunken king.
“A drink appears to be your answer for everything, King,” Nelson said, and a shocked hush arose from those assembled around the great room.
The king’s expression became dead sober as he locked eyes with Nelson.
“I could have you killed for being so bold,” he grumbled.
“I always knew that would be the death of me,” Nelson replied.
Everyone looked on, riveted, the silence deafening.
Finally, the king’s expression eased and he sat back in his throne, grinning. What started as a meager chuckle slowly became hearty laughter that echoed up and down the large chamber. Gradually, the assembly joined in, albeit in a forced manner, hesitant and halfhearted.
“It would be as simple as it would be effortless, Nelson, to dismiss me as just a negligent drunkard, one you might think back on with a distinct disgust as you proceed onward in your journey,” the king said, speaking in a surprisingly calm, candid tone. “But I challenge you instead to see a more complicated picture, one of good intentions but beset with great plight.”
“M’lord—” a noble interjected.
“Consider that it might actually be a horrid trap, sitting here, on this throne, where there is no one who can save me from myself.”
To either side of him, the royal entourage all looked at one another with wide eyes and exasperation.
“Perhaps I should keep you around, Sergeant Garcia, since you’re unafraid to speak your mind.”
“Please don’t,” Nelson said, in total seriousness, and genuine laughter burst forth throughout the court, the king’s included. It trailed off quickly though, with a raised hand or a sharp elbow into one’s side.
The timing immaculately superb, a young squire, wholly oblivious to the conversation, rushed in with a metal cup filled with wine. The king took it, mockingly saluted the air, and then drank deeply. Silence pervaded the great room as people looked awkwardly to one another.
His tone became slightly sarcastic as he spoke once more. “Okay, great warrior, savior of Aldara—it appears from that ghastly skull you’ve thrown at my feet that you’ve actually slain the devil himself. Though it was far away and out of sight, you’ve done this land a great service, I’ve no doubt. What is it you’d like for this great triumph? What is your reward? My problems aside, I am a generous king. Just name it, Nelson Garcia, and it shall be yours.”
Nelson looked up at the grinning, troubled king.
“Go ahead. Nothing is off-limits.”
The king looked disappointed when Nelson still didn’t speak.
“I’ll get you started, then. How about gold, jewels, and riches? Any interest in that? How about land, or a barony, even? No? Well, how about notoriety, then? You’ll be made famous. Your achievement will go down in song and legend. Minstrels will sing of your deeds for all time. How about that?”
Nelson still didn’t speak.
The king’s grin became sinister. “You can have your run in the brothels and pleasure houses. They’ll be informed, by king’s decree, to service you for now and for always, free of charge. Is that what you wish?”
Still Nelson made no acknowledgement.
The king’s grin vanished. “I’m crippled by sex addiction, too. I go entire days with nary another thought or interest. It certainly does impede one’s ability to rule, when tormented so.” The silence again pervaded throughout the court.
“Behold. No one speaks. It is as though everyone pretends not to hear me.”
Nelson also did not speak.
His expression rife with sudden agitation, the king asked, “Does this man have any personality whatsoever? Say something, would you? What would you have, Nelson? Tell me, great warrior, for I am completely stumped.”
The assembly became deathly quiet as they all awaited his words. “I only wish to return home, m’lord.”
Having given up, the king was mid-yawn, a deep, heavy one. “Please do. Spare me, please, before I die of boredom.”
Whispers and conversations resumed all around as Nelson turned toward the door, the guards moving forward to accompany his departure.
“Nelson, take heed,” one of the nobles said, in a shrill voice. The audience glanced in his direction. “For there is trouble in the outskirts of the kingdom, trouble that has arisen from the Wild Lands. Know this, Sergeant, for it has struck the very same village that you called home, and your people are all on the march.”
Nelson’s face was grim. “To where?”
“Well, to here, Sergeant. To the safety of the castle.” The noble grinned contemptuously.
“And what is this trouble from the Wild Lands that we run from?”
“’Tis not just the Tribe, Nelson, rest assured. I’ve heard numerous reports of a dragon in their allegiance, a fiery mountain hopper from Kull. Carries the moniker of Nester, so I’ve heard. ”
“Nester, eh?”
“Nester, indeed.”
Nelson looked back to the king. “Then I do have a request, m’lord. A substantial one, as it turns out.”
“Name it,” the king said, sleepily.
“Give me arms. For my people. And rations, for they will be travel weary.”
“What is it you intend, Nelson?” the king asked, his interest piqued.
“They will accompany me back home. I require wagons, and horses as well. M’lord, we will battle back the Tribe. I give you my word.”
“It will be done,” the king said unthinkingly, and several nobles and advisors in his entourage groaned audibly.
“One more request, m’lord. Send ravens. Far and wide. Tell the people on the outskirts to stay put. For we will take our land back.”
“But what of the fire breather? What of Nester?” the noble with the shrill voice asked. “How do you expect to defeat such a creature, one that rides on the wind and sends fire from its mouth?”
Nelson’s voice boomed forth. “With my bare hands, if I must!” The assembly gasped once more as they all gaped at him. Nelson only stared at the king. “Please grant me these tools, m’lord, for we fight in your name. And send word to my people. For we will not abandon our home, not while my heart still beats.”
The King grinned widely, now fired up. “See that it is done,” he said to his underlings. One of the scribes began taking notes immediately, as more nobles and advisors groaned.
“And I do you one more, Sergeant Garcia, for your great deeds and your confidence have inspired me to join this fray. I give you a legion of the king’s army, to lead east into battle against the Tribe.”
“Oh, come now!” an advisor yelled from somewhere in the courtyard.
The king ignored him. “Once you reach the far end of the kingdom, those soldiers mobilized along the border will join your charge as well.”
“I am grateful, m’lord,” Nelson said.
“Use them wisely. End this nonsense with these wild men, Nelson, and be done with them.”
“Oh, I will, m’lord.” Nelson glared at the king and at everyone in the court. “I’ll send them all to hell. Each and every stinking nomad who dares stand to me, and their dragon, too. I’ll send them all to hell, or my name isn’t Nelson F. Garcia.”
With that, he gathered up the skull, turned, and began to walk away.
As though inspired by his words, the king stood abruptly, saying, “Hear, hear!” He tilted his head back and drained his wine cup rapidly. Afterward, his body spun in a purple flash, perhaps to do another pirouette, or perhaps he just wished to make a dramatic clamor for more wine. But it was then that the long-anticipated spill finally came, and the king tripped over the lengths of his own plush robe. Both his wine cup and his crown, followed by his body, tumbled violently down the steps of the dais.
The noble entourage again winced collectively while rushing to help him.