A tightly bound Radviken found himself presented to King Cian. The knights feared him, even while disarmed, and pushed him with swords toward their sovereign. They saw only a madman, one who slayed twenty of Norgaard’s finest and rampaged against his lord and father. Every noble in Enatherr stood in attendance, filling the throne room with mutterings and whispers of murder. The loudest of these whispers came from the Duke of Enat.
Despite his bindings, the young man bore himself with dignified confidence. The king would listen to reason; would dismiss at once the notion he had slain twenty-one trained warriors with a single blade. Thankfully the carriage driver and wheelwright had borne witness to the events, despite they had hidden in the carriage like women. No one, not the king nor the nobles would be able to dismiss the truth when presented by two eye witnesses.
“Radviken,” King Cian commanded, “approach and be judged.”
The bindings, though tight, allowed Rad to step forward and shakily genuflect without completely losing balance. “I throw myself upon your merciful judgment, my liege,” he said, eyes locked on the granite steps before him.
“Look at me not at the ground. A man’s eyes are the window to his soul.”
Radviken lifted them, taking in the sight of the king on his throne. It should have been my father’s, he couldn’t help thinking, and hoped his face had not betrayed his hatred.
King Cian was cut of the same cloth as Lord Ronan, a weapon from a different age forged with obsolete views of the world. There would be no mercy from this man, only harsh penalty as he judged how the events really happened. Radviken let his eyes briefly wander to a chair at the man’s right-hand and to Prince Rashmere who filled it. The boy was exactly as he remembered, bookish and small in his father’s shadow. He stared annoyingly, transfixed on Radviken.
“As is custom, I will call upon the witnesses first, before we hear from the accused,” Cian pronounced.
To Radviken’s surprise, Oliver, his father’s house butler, stepped forward with the driver and wheelwright. The older man’s eyes briefly met Rad’s, hot coals melting with hatred as his finger intentionally touched a phantom injury on his lip.
“I will instruct the witnesses to restrict testimony to the day and event in question,” the king declared. The justness of his words caused Rad to relax. But then Cian added with a chuckle, “Because everyone in this room is well aware of the boy’s lack of character and blighted reputation!”
Everyone in the room, the nobles, their servants, even the witnesses laughed riotously at the king’s words, all except Radviken. He seethed inside as if his father had just scorned him instead. Yes, this king and Lord Ronan were indeed cut from the same cloth.
But not every nobleman had laughed. One had actually flinched at the king’s ill-meant joke. Prince Rashmere frowned up at his father, but tore his eyes away and gave Radviken a look of compassion while briefly shaking his head. He understood, this prince. Somehow they shared something in common after all.
Oliver spoke first. “I was Lord Ronan’s trusted house butler for twenty years, sire. It was the boy’s fault they left Norgaard so late,” he explained. “He did everything he could to delay the procession. His father was embarrassed by his actions. I heard him tell his child to ride in the carriage with his mother, so as not to delay them any worse than he had.”
“As his house butler, were you made aware of his reasons for bringing the boy to Midlandis?”
“Yes, highness.”
“Why did the boy think he was coming here? Was he told the truth?”
“The boy thought he was to serve Prince Rashmere, to be his squire as a final step before knighthood.”
“So he was not aware,” the king replied with a frown. “Tell the court why he was coming here, the real reason Lord Ronan told you in private.”
Oliver cleared his throat. “It’s my understanding, highness, that Lord Ronan had planned a surprise for his son and intended to petition you for early knighthood.”
The words left Radviken stunned, nearly lost among the “boys” and “childs” laced throughout the testimony. That his father believed him ready, and had revealed so to both Oliver and the king, came as total surprise.
It also made sense. Mother was with child, a girl child despite his father’s late age, he realized. He finally decided I was his only option for an heir!
The king continued. “Do you believe, Oliver, that Radviken’s anger toward his father would lead toward murder?”
Oliver hesitated, meeting eyes with the young man one more time. This time the look he gave almost amounted to pity. “No, highness. I don’t believe he would ever hate his father so much to commit murder.”
Radviken let the words from this man sink in. That this servant, whom he had treated so badly, would lie on his behalf left him reeling. Of course he knew he wished his father dead. He had been there each time Ronan’s hand had fallen on both him and his mother, cleaning up the mess created by his sworn liege.
“Thank you,” King Cian said. “You may step down. Which of you was the carriage driver?” he asked of the two men.
“I, My lord… Your highness.” The commoner stumbled on both his words and his feet as he stepped forward.
“Why did you stop the carriage mid-journey? On whose command and why?”
“By the order of Lord Ronan, sire! He saw his son do something he did not like and ordered the carriage stopped so he may…” the man paused, unsure how to proceed.
“Spit it out!”
“He ordered it stopped in order to discipline his son.”
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“Discipline? Why? You were in a position to hear what was said inside? What did Radviken do that angered Lord Ronan?”
“I heard the young master say it was his father who should be king, then spat out the window and said, ‘Shadow take King Cian and his weakling son too.’ Please forgive me, sire, I am only repeating what I heard.”
The court fell into chaos then, full of mutterings and chatter. To blaspheme against the king was the highest form of treason.
But Cian shrugged it off and quickly gained order. “And that’s why the father disciplined his son? For insulting my bloodline?”
“No, sire, I don’t think Lord Ronan heard that. No, I heard his mother slap him. Then I heard a discussion about the boy offering his mother’s soul to the Cat Síth if she told his father what he had said. That’s when I heard what turned out later to have been when Radviken slapped Lady Alana. That was why Lord Ronan stopped the carriage and disciplined his son.”
“Liar!” screamed Radviken. This man was twisting the truth. “Mother blasphemed and invoked Síth Morkur! That’s why I slapped her! She invoked the devil himself!”
“Silence,” King Cian demanded. “You will get your chance to speak after the witnesses.” To the driver he asked, “What else did you see? Did you witness Radviken murder his parents and their protectors?”
“I…” The driver lowered his eyes. “When the Shadow rift opened, I hid my eyes and cowered on the floor of the carriage, sire.”
Again the room erupted with a cacophony of disbelief, but this time the king made no attempt to regain order. He instead shouted over the murmurings. “A Shadow rift that opened during the day?” he demanded. “That’s preposterous!”
“It’s true, sire!” the wheelwright agreed. “I saw everything! A host of the undead and a legion of hellhounds spewed forth!”
The carriage driver nodded violently, emboldened by the second witness. “And it was all the fault of the young master!” All eyes turned to Radviken, full of scorn and fear. Murder explained the incident more simply than a supernatural occurrence.
“How so?” King Cian demanded.
“I heard him curse his father, sire! He told Cat Síth to take Lord Ronan’s soul!” the driver explained.
“Wait!” Prince Rashmere interrupted. “You claim to have seen nothing of Shadow, but you heard him speak to the Cat Síth? Did you see him at least?”
Both wheelwright and driver exchanged a look then both nodded. “Yes, highness. After the Shadow Creatures had slain the others, including Lord Ronan, Lady Alana raced to her husband’s side. It was then that Cat Síth arrived to complete his deal with the young master.”
“That’s another lie!” Radviken accused. “He came to collect on Mother’s pledge, the blasphemy for which I struck her.”
“Did you offer your father’s soul in her stead?” the king demanded, his voice full of accusation and contempt.
“Yes,” Radviken admitted, “but he would not take what already belonged to Shadow.”
“Did you fight alongside your father or against him?” King Cian pressed.
“Alongside.”
“So this court is to believe that you fought and survived what twenty knights and my strongest, most loyal vassal could not? Are you such a great warrior as that, Master Radviken?”
Radviken stood as tall as he could, staring defiantly up at his king when he said, “That much and better!”
“Clear the room!” King Cian had heard enough and decided so too had the court of nobles. “Radviken, only you and my son shall remain.”
“Yes, my king.” Radviken bowed while the muttering nobles and guards ambled from the room.
“Blasphemy and lies!” the Duke of Enat proclaimed as he departed.
Once the doors shut out the murmurings, King Cian demanded, “What really happened?”
“Must you continue this farce?” Radviken demanded holding his bound hands high in the air. “The nobles are gone. There’s no reason I should be made to appear guiltier than you know I am!”
“Fine,” Cian agreed. “Cut him loose,” he directed his son.
Rashmere stood and made his way down the dais, drawing a long dagger worn at his side. As he leaned in to cut the bonds, he whispered, “I believe you, but for gods’ sakes, humble yourself!”
Radviken, ignoring the prince’s advice, cleared his throat and continued. “It was as I said, your highness. My mother had lost her mind, swearing her soul to Síth Morkur. Then she slapped me in the carriage and accused me of hitting her. She told that lie to my father. He raged blindly and forced the driver to pull the brake, snapping the axle. Then he pulled me out and beat me unconscious.”
“Then what happened?”
“When I awakened, Father returned with the wheelwright and they sent me off to find pine resin to be used as pitch. By the time I got back, the Draugar were attacking and I picked up a sword and helped. I fought alongside my father as I said!”
“When did Morkur arrive?” The king noticeably avoided saying the word Síth.
“At the end, after Father was slain and Mother lay dying. Like I said, Mother swore her soul to him and he came to collect. But Shadow Beasts killed her before he could claim it, and he fled just as your men arrived on scene.”
Cian looked doubtfully to his son. “What do you make of this, Rashmere? You’re the scholar. What do you know of all based on your knowledge of lore?”
Rad watched the boy decide. They were of the same age, despite the prince was smaller and unathletic. Rashmere scrunched up his nose and thought. “It is possible. Though there haven’t been any other reports of Shadow attacks during the day. But it was near twilight. As for Síth Morkur, his presence could have driven off the Shadow Beasts.”
“This is all too much to believe,” the king muttered.
“My liege,” Radviken asked carefully, “what will become of me? Will I now inherit my father’s lands?”
“Most certainly not!” the king proclaimed. “I was ready to knight you at your father’s request, despite your reputation for striking servants, dueling for sport, and being an all-around braggadocious little cur! No, despite your father’s final wish, you’re just a child, not ready for the responsibility knighthood entails. You blew it, Radviken! Ronan was bringing you here with hopes you would finally learn to behave like a noble!”
“I am ready, your highness, I…”
“You’re not!” the king insisted. “I hereby strip you of any claim to your father’s title, and bequeath his lands to my own son.”
“But Father,” Rashmere intervened, “you cannot strip him completely of his titles. He is noble born, and he’s a gifted fighter. Few men have stood against Shadow and survived, much less defeated so many.”
“So many? Says who? We only have a number by his own accord and two cowards who hid away in a carriage! For all we know he may have summoned Shadow along with Morkur.”
Radviken’s world, his entire life, crashed in around him. “I swear, your highness, I am not in league with that… that creature! It happened as I said, I swear it to you on your son’s life!”
“You leave my son’s life out of this!” King Cian roared. “By his advice I won’t cast you out of the court, but I will strip you of title. You alone can rebuild your reputation and will do so from the bottom up! Report to the dean of squires and he will give you an assignment!”
“A squire, my liege?” Rad felt his heart being torn from his chest. “I was ready for knighthood but now am to be a squire?”
“A squire to common pikemen no less! Now begone!” Cian demanded.
Radviken had no choice but to turn and leave the throne room. As he did, he swore an oath—to regain his path to knighthood. Then I’ll kill this king who’s so much like Father!