Sven paced the tent, face twisted in a grimace of annoyance. “Just so I be understandin’,” he began, stopping to glare at Malcolm. “You were goin’ behind the King’s royal back, and were talkin’ to his nasty son?” Malcolm nodded. “Then you be tellin’ the Prince that his UNCLE be spillin’ all the King’s royal secrets?”
“The Prince left before I could reason with him!” Malcolm said, exasperated. “I’m not even sure if Armedious is correct. His theory makes sense, but there could be more we don’t know yet.”
“Great,” Sven groaned. “Now you don’t even be knowin’ if the royal kid be right or wrong!” He flopped down on his cot. With practiced ease, he pulled his dagger from the sheath, flipping it from hand to hand in tall arcs. After a minute of thought, he spoke, “We can’t be leavin’. It will only be makin’ the royals more suspicious.” Sitting up, he sheathed his blade. “Let’s go talk to the Prince. Perhaps we can be helpin’ him not be…crazy!”
Malcolm followed Sven out of the tent. The mass of soldiers extended before them, stretching almost as far as they could see. Their chanting ceased, the crowd stood calmly, quietly muttering among themselves. Some of the men had begun to leave, walking back to their tents.
Grabbing the hem of Malcolm’s shirt, Sven led him through the crowd. The men quickly moved out of Sven’s way, eyes wide with surprise. Some muttered fearfully, shrinking behind their companions. They’ve never seen Sven before! Malcolm realized.
The mob seemed never ending as they trudged through the camp, Sven shoving his way to the front. In places, weapon racks and empty tents lay on the ground, knocked over by careless passersby.
At last, the Royal Camp loomed into view, its enormous flags towering over the rest of the encampment. A two-rail wooden fence had been erected around the area, preventing entry. Lines of guards marched back and forth, cautiously eyeing the crowd.
Pushing to the front of crowd, Sven shouted at the nearest guard. “We be wantin’ to talk to your Prince!”
“No visitors!” The man replied, not bothering to look. “Return to your tents! The King will address you shortly!”
“I think the kid might be wantin’ to see us!” Sven retorted.
The man turned to look at Sven. “I said no…” His face lit up with surprise. “Of course. The imp and his human! Armedious told us to let you in!” He gestured for Malcolm and Sven to pass between the rails of the fence. “I trust you know the way?”
Malcolm nodded, ducking under the top rail. Splinters caught his tunic, poking holes in the rough cloth. The gap was barely big enough for him to fit through. His foot caught in on the bottom rail, almost tipping him off. Steadying himself, Malcolm tried a different angle, passing through headfirst. He could hear the guard chuckling behind him, no doubt amused.
“Great fence they be havin’,” the Goblin muttered, effortlessly ducking under the lowest rail. “It really be hard gettin’ through!”
Malcolm grunted, squeezing between the fence rails. With a final groan, he got through, falling to the ground. “Really easy,” he replied, panting. Grinning, Sven pulled him to his feet. The Goblin muttered under his breath, no doubt commenting on the cumbersome size of humans.
Nodding a greeting to the guards as he passed, Malcolm led Sven to Armedious’s tent. “Armedious?” Malcolm said, knocking on the pole. Hearing no replied, they ducked between the closed flaps.
Armedious sat in his chair, feet resting upon his flipped-over desk. Piles of loose parchment, bottles, and pens covered most of the floor, along with various pieces of armor and gear. The Prince’s long sword lay unsheathed on the heap, the blade skewered through a dozen papers.
“What happened?” Malcolm asked, carefully stepping around a spilled bottle of ink. His heel brushed the liquid, staining the leather.
“I’m right. They have to see I’m right,” Armedious muttered, not bothering to answer Malcolm. “They saw the letter, they have the evidence,” he stared blanked at the wall behind Malcolm and Sven. “It’s my uncle. They have to believe me.” Sighing, he stood up, stepping over the mess. “My father is displeased with my actions, and has decided to conduct his own investigation. He claims I ‘acted without approval and falsely accused my own uncle’.” Armedious sneered the final words, practically spiting them out.
“I’m sure your father has reason to…” Malcolm began.
“Don’t defend him!” Armedious bellowed, kicking the desk. His boot shattered the thin wood, sending splinters flying. “My father is an old fool, too senile to recognize his own brother’s crimes!” Drawing a dagger from his boot, he stabbed at the wood, as if it was the root of all his problems. Leaving the knife quivering in the desk, he turned to Malcolm and Sven, tears rolling down his face. “If he finds my uncle is innocent, he will send me away to a farm near the coast. A temporary banishment. Apparently, a year of labor would ‘do me wonders!’”
“That be horrible,” Sven said, slowly stepping to the exit. He tugged on Malcolm’s sleeve, urging the human to follow him. “We really must be goin’. I hope the King be…”
“NO!” Armedious shouted, leaping over the desk. He grabbed Sven by the collar, pinning the Goblin to a pole. “You don’t understand! You think I’m crazy… everyone does...” Sven struggled in the Prince’s grasp, trying to reach his dagger. Seeing what his captive was trying, Armedious grabbed the knife, pressing it to the Goblin’s neck.
“Armedious,” Malcolm said, stepping closer. “Let him go, we can talk about this. Maybe your father will let you stay!”
“Don’t speak of him!” Armedious shouted. “The traitor is right! This kingdom could use a change of leadership!”
“Sure…” Malcolm said, backing away. Frantically he tried to remember where the nearest guard was. Could I reach them in time? He wondered.
“Don’t try to run,” Armedious said, pulling Sven closer. Sven grunted as the dagger nicked his neck. A thin dribble of green blood ran down the blade, staining the papers on the floor. “You speak one word of this to my father, and I inform him of your little charade.”
Malcolm stared at him, confused.
“You weren’t sent by the Almighty Toe,” Armedious added. “I’ve been learning about the Toe Goblins. Despite my father’s efforts, the Almighty Toe hasn’t made contact in a decade. Suddenly you two show up, claiming to be sent by the Lord of the Goblins?” He poked a rolled parchment on the pile. “A report came in a few months ago. ‘Toe Goblins’ attacked a town, taking a human with them.” Using his free hand, he pointed at Malcolm. “The human was named Malcolm.”
Malcolm tried to hide the shock on his face. How many people know? He wondered. “Armedious,” he pleaded. “Let Sven go. He did nothing wrong!”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“That’s the thing,” Armedious chuckled. “This is all your fault! If you hadn’t stolen the letter, I might have actually succeeded!”
His words hung in the air, as Malcolm and Sven realized what he’d said. “You!” Sven spat, staring disgusted at the Prince. “You be lyin’ about your uncle! Betrayin’ your own family!”
“I’m sorry!” Armedious replied, mocking Sven’s tone. “I didn’t realize you cared so much about him!”
“Why?” Malcolm asked. “You’re the Prince! Surely there is no need to ally with the tribes.”
Armedious chuckled. “No need!?” he mocked. “For years my father has scorned me! Condemned my methods!” He let go of Sven, shoving the Goblin to the ground. “Do you know I wouldn’t even get the throne? When my father passes, it goes to his firstborn; my sister! I devote my LIFE to his kingdom, and for what? A position in the court?!” He paced the tent, eyes burning with fury. “When I heard of the Tribes’ advances into our land, I finally had a chance. A real chance to lead, surrounded by those who respect me! The Throne was going to be mine!”
His eyes burned with fury as he spat the final words. Throwing Sven’s dagger to the ground, he pounded the desk with his fists, punching holes through the thin wood. Splinters sprayed the tent, imbedding in the fabric.
Sven scuttled across the floor to Malcolm, carefully grabbing his knife from the ground where Armedious had dropped it. “How is your neck?” Malcolm whispered. Sven touched the cut. His fingers shone with a thin coating of green blood.
“Fine,” he muttered back.
Murmuring to himself, Armedious turned to Malcolm and Sven. “It’s not over. I can still be King.” Bits of wood protruded from his torn and bloody knuckles. “You speak one word of this,” he threatened, “and I tell EVERYONE of your little secret!” He watched in amusement as Malcolm and Sven grimaced in fear.
“You wouldn’t be darin’!” Sven threatened, brandishing his knife. “We’d just be tellin’ the King what we be knowin’ about you!”
Armedious grinned. “If you prefer, I could arrange a little accident! Some of my men are still loyal. Would be a shame if you were hit by a stray arrow!”
“Alright,” Malcolm said. “We won’t tell anyone. Right Sven?”
The Goblin groaned, sheathing his knife. “Fine.”
“Excellent!” Armedious replied, flipping his desk back upright. It rocked on the mounds of papers, sending some tumbling down. “Now get out.”
Sven paced the tent, flipping his knife from hand to hand. A small bandage wrapped around his neck, stopping the bleeding. Behind him, Malcolm lay on his cot, staring at the ceiling of the tent.
“I never thought it was Armedious.” he muttered.
“He be a nasty boy,” Sven agreed. “And now he be knowin’ all about us. I should’ve been stabbin’ him in the tent.”
“And what? Have the entire kingdom hunt us for killing their Prince?”
Sven shrugged. “At least we’d be gettin’ away from this camp. Too many smelly humans, and they be lookin’ at me too much. It don’t be right for a Toe Goblin to be walkin’ around humans.”
“I know,” Malcolm consoled. “But we can’t leave. Armedious would just tell the King, and then we’d hunted by another kingdom. At least the Almighty Toe can’t send any Goblins after us.” He sighed, picking at a loose thread on the tent. “I wish we could just tell King Edvard the truth. Explain this whole situation and free the General.”
“That would never be workin’,” Sven argued. “The Prince would just be tellin’ what he knows. He’d be callin’ us liars.” Malcolm nodded, breaking the thread.
“The King would never believe us anyway. We’re practically strangers to him. Can you imagine if we accused his son?”
Sven wrinkled his nose is disgust. “His Majesticness might be jailin’ us just for suggestin’ it.” Sheathing his knife, he flopped onto his cot, kicking off a few pieces of gear. “I guess it be waitin’ time,” he said, rolling over to face the wall.
Reluctantly, Malcolm agreed. We can’t risk it. He thought. Not after Toehalla. We’re lucky we got out that time.
An hour slowly passed. Malcolm tried to get some sleep, but couldn’t get himself to relax. He could hear Sven tossing and turning across the tent, occasionally muttering his disapproval of the cot. Their conversation with Armedious kept replaying in his head. I can’t believe it was Armedious. Malcolm thought.
The camp was quiet, as every man waited anxiously. Most of the crowd had returned to their tents, but a few stragglers still paced the tent rows, muttering angrily to themselves.
Just after noon, a melody of horns broke the silence. Almost at once, Malcolm heard a faint rumble of footsteps as hundreds of men raced from their tents, eager to hear the news.
Thankful for the interruption, Malcolm and Sven joined the crowd. A small group had congregated around a small raised podium between two tents. The men shuffled around anxiously, muttering among themselves in anticipation. After a minute of waiting, a servant stepped up, bearing a short parchment. Clearing his throat, he began reading.
“His Majesty King Edvard, your Esteemed Ruler, has issued a Royal Proclamation regarding the accusations directed towards the Honorable General Demisatious!” he paused for second, eyeing the crowd carefully before continuing. “After an investigation into the claims presented by Prince Armedious, His Majesty has acquitted your General of all charges. He will return to duty tomorrow morning. Thank you, and long live the King!” with those final words, he stepped down from the podium just as the crowd erupted in shouts and cheers.
Malcolm glanced around at the men, their faces alight with joy. The sounds of similar celebrations drifted over from the rest of the camp, as other announcers finished reading the proclamation.
Sven tugged on Malcolm’s sleeve. “What?” Malcolm, asked, leaning over. He strained to hear the Goblin over the noise.
Sven stared at him gravely. “We should be tellin’ the King. Now he be knowin’ the truth behind the nasty Prince’s lyin’, he might listen to us.”
“But Armedious knows about…? Malcolm protested.
“The kid be caught lyin’ about his uncle’s loyalty. I doubt the King be trustin’ anythin’ he be sayin’ right now.”
“Alright,” Malcolm agreed. “But we should still be cautious. It does no good to upset him.”
Carefully he wove he way out of the mass of men, avoiding the many flailing elbows. Sven followed close behind, keeping hold of Malcolm’s tunic.
The trek to the Royal Camp was easier than it was that morning. Much of the celebration had begun to drift towards Bullhaven, leaving portions of the camp deserted. Most of the guards had deserted their posts, leaving their weapons behind at their posts. Malcolm glanced past the fortifications surrounding the camp and into the forests and fields beyond. If the tribes were to attack, he realized. We would have no defense.
The fence surrounding the Royal Camp had been taken down, leaving only the post-holes behind. A few guards still watched the area, casually leaning on their spears in the shade of a tent. One of them shouted to Malcolm and Sven as they approached. “State your business!”
Malcolm recognized him as the guard from that morning. “We wish an audience with the King.” he replied, gesturing towards the tents. “It’s about the traitor.” The man thought for second, glancing at his companions in the shade.
“Alright. But you’re going to have to wait. He’s talking with the Prince. Poor kid’s in a bit of trouble!” The other guards chuckled at the joke.
Dread fell over Malcolm, along with some faint sympathy for the Prince. Does he really deserve a banishment? he wondered. Remembering Armedious’s outburst in the tent, he steadied himself, pushing the thought away. “We need to warn the King.” he muttered to Sven. The Goblin nodded.
Waving to the guards, they found the King’s audience tent. Tall blue and gold flags marked its location; the perfect center of the Royal Camp. A single guard stood outside the tent, surveying Malcolm and Sven carefully.
“Where are the rest of the guards?” Malcolm asked.
The soldier pointed to Bullhaven. “Armedious dismissed ‘em. Told ‘em to go celebrate,” he stared longingly at the town. “I stayed behind. Not takin’ orders from him. I leave when my King says.”
“Is the Prince alone with the King?” Malcolm asked, trying to peek through the tent flaps.
The guard shrugged. “I guess so. Pretty sure everyone else left.”
Taking a deep breath, Malcolm pushed the tent flaps aside. Sven followed close behind, dagger drawn. “He ain’t gettin’ away this time.” he muttered, turning the blade over in his hand.
Armedious knelt in the middle of the tent, silently looking down. The King’s still form lay on the ground before him, an ornate knife protruding from his chest. His royal robes, once blue and gold, were stained dark with blood. A small pool lay on the ground under him, coating the tips of Armedious’s boots.
“You nasty, nasty human!” Sven shouted, throwing his dagger at the Prince. The blade sailed harmlessly past, tearing a hole in the tent wall. Malcolm tried to move, but found he couldn’t. Breathing was hard. Thoughts were hard. All he could do was stare at the King lying lifeless on the ground.
Armedious stumbled to his feet, staring at his father’s body. He pulled the knife out, shoving it into a belt sheath. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “It was the only way.”