“Promises are the foundation of civilization. Especially the promises of kings.” Valish proverb.

“Impressive,” Morgwar said, clapping. “I expected killing the bastard to be harder than that.”

“Glad to have ended it early,” Garassk said, leaning against his sword. “If we can just take a moment to rest, then I’d like to negotiate our payment, and we’ll be on our way back home.”

“Indeed,” Morgwar said, taking the crown off of Hrogvorth’s head and placing it on his own. “I will have to start preparing to end the war soon. Right now, I have… other matters to tend to.”

Garassk almost froze at the sinister tone, but managed to raise his shield in time to block the attempted cleave from Morgwar’s axe.

“Morgwar!” Thora shouted. “What are you doing?”

“Tying up loose ends,” he shouted. “Now tend to the wounded. I want my army ready to leave as soon as possible!”

“Hrogvorth warned us that you couldn’t be trusted,” Garassk snarled. “Looks like he was right.”

“Fat lot of good it does you now!” Morgwar snarled, putting pressure on the shield. “I have the crown, I have an undead army to make up for the men I’ve lost today, and I still have plenty of fight left in me. Every jarl is about to bow down to their new king. But you? You’re not leaving here tonight.”

Garassk thrust his pommel right at Morgwar’s chest. He tried to follow up with a bash from his shield, but Morgwar was quicker, and backhanded him away. Garassk scurried away as Morgwar tried again to cleave him in two. He managed to prepare himself for another attack quickly, but saw no opportunities. He dodged Morgwar’s repeated swipes and hoped that the orc would exhaust himself before he could land a hit.

“This would have been easier if you’d just paid us and walked away,” Garassk said, trying once again to dent the king’s armor. He struck his foe in the head once with his sword, and again with his shield before Morgwar slammed him to the ground.

“You might have lived another day if you hadn’t tried to make demands of your betters,” Morgwar snarled, stepping on Garassk to pin him to the ground. “You tread before an upcoming king, and kings are above the demands of their inferiors.”

“I’ll be sure to bow to you when I get up,” Garassk hissed, trying to claw at Morgwar’s ankles. Morgwar responded by pressing his foot down on the varanian’s ribs, and placing his axe against his neck. Garassk continued to struggle, but the orc was heavy, and his efforts were in vain.

A dull thud caused Morgwar to roar with fury and step off of Garassk. He spun around just enough for Garassk to see a bolt sticking out of his back.

“You two-faced bastard!” Rathorn roared. “You couldn’t have picked a better place for your last fight. A pity you weren’t smarter about which fight it was!”

Garassk wriggled out from under Morgwar’s foot and got as far away as he could, while Rathorn loaded another bolt into his crossbow. Morgwar hurried to the nearest dead soldier and grabbed his helmet. Rathorn was forced to roll to ground level to avoid getting hit by the throw. He landed separately from his club.

Garassk lunged for Morgwar’s legs. The orc staggered but managed to stay on his feet. Garassk ran around and prepared to strike again. Morgwar punched him in the face, hooked Garassk’s shield with his axe, tossed it against a wall, and pounded Garassk to the ground again. Garassk groaned and rolled over, every inch of his body aching from the blows. Rathorn snarled and shot him again.

“You should have shown me more respect!” Morgwar snarled, charging towards Rathorn as he struggled to reload. Rathorn struggled like a rabid dog, denting Morgwar’s armor with his fists, and even ripping out the bolts in his back at one point. But Morgwar was younger, strong, and had two good legs. He eventually grabbed ahold of Rathorn and tossed him away.

“Morgwar, stop!” Thora cried out, jumping down. “They helped us! Just pay them and let them go!”

“You dare order me around!” Morgwar snapped. “Perhaps you’d like to join them!”

Thora jerked back for a moment as if she’d been shoved before gripping her axe and assuming a fighting stance.

“Very well,” she said. “There’s no greater honor than to die in battle, and I’d rather die with honor than serve a king like you!”

She charged forward and swung for Morgwar, who stepped aside and kicked her. He charged forward and slammed her against the wall a few more times before deciding that she wouldn’t get up again.

Garassk struggled to his feet, and fumbled to get the proper grip on his sword. As Morgwar approached Rathorn to finish him off, Garassk moved in closer, blade in hand. He took care to move as fast as he could without tipping Morgwar off that he was coming. The orc king moved slowly, axe in hand. Rathorn crawled feebly towards his club, but it was obvious that he would never reach it. Garassk lunged forward and thrust his blade straight at the tear in Morgwar’s armor left behind from the bolt.

Garassk heard Morgwar grunt and felt blood splash across his face as the blade buried itself into the king’s back. King Morgwar staggered around the room, stared at Garassk for a moment, and lumbered forward to kill him. The murderous intent never left Morgwar’s face, not even as he sunk to the ground and started crawling towards Garassk. Only once he reached Garassk’s feet did he finally collapse, never to rise again.

“So perish all kings who forsake their promises,” Rathorn spat, crawling towards his club and back onto his feet.

“So how did you hold up against the horde?” Garassk asked, noticing that Rathorn had several new nicks in his scales.

“I’ll live. More than the other soldiers can say.”

Garassk turned to see an open tomb.

“Looks like there’s a spot for him,” he said, turning his head towards it again so Rathorn would notice.

“Really?” Rathorn asked. “After he just tried to kill us?”

“He can’t anymore,” Garassk protested, taking the crown off of Morgwar’s head. “Feuds are for the living. Let the dead have their dignity.”

The older varanian snorted and dragged Morgwar’s corpse into the tomb.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Now what?” Garassk asked.

“We get the hell out of here,” Rathorn grunted. “You think you can kill a king and just stay the night wherever you want?”

“Well no, but I was wondering if perhaps we had a more solid plan of escape. We’re on an island. Where do we even go from here?”

“I can help,” Thora called out. Both varanians turned to see her leaning on a wall.

“Can you now?” Rathorn asked.

“We need to sail out of here,” Thora said. “And then you need to escape from the rest of the land. I can help. I know this land. And I don’t want to be here either. Not anymore.”

“She did fight alongside us,” Garassk said.

“Not for very long. But I suppose we don’t have much choice. Lead on.”

The two varanians followed Thora out of the crypt, retracing their steps. The gory remains of the men they’d fought alongside decorated the floor, walls, and ceiling, somehow. It didn’t take long for them to return to the surface, though it felt like hours. It was as dark outside as it had been underground. A chorus of crickets announced their return to an audience of no one. Cold wind pressed down on them as soon as they reached the surface.

“Oh this can’t be good,” Garassk said. A new longship had docked nearby, and soldiers were already on land. He tasted the familiar scent of men he’d fought alongside among them.

“You there!” one of them called out upon sighting Garassk and his friends. He ran over to them, alongside several other soldiers.

“This really isn’t a good time,” Garassk groaned.

“So you’ve found it,” the man said, eyeing the crown in Garassk’s hands. “I never thought I’d see it with my own eyes.”

“Why do you have it?” one of the men asked. “And where’s Morgwar?”

“Couldn’t we discuss this back at the castle?” Garassk asked. “And speaking of which, why aren’t you there? Aren’t you in charge?”

“The thralls have revolted,” the captain said. “They’ve fled the castle, and we need help getting them back. We were hoping Morgwar could assist us.”

“Well, he can’t,” Rathorn grunted. “Now let’s get out of here.”

“We’re not going anywhere until we know where Morgwar is,” the captain said sternly.”

“He’s dead,” Thora blurted out. A shocked murmur spread throughout the soldiers.

“You… killed him, didn’t you,” the captain said, hostility seeping through his voice. “That’s why you’re holding the crown… and so intent on leaving.”

“He betrayed us,” Garassk cut in. “I killed Hrogvorth, and he tried to kill me for it.”

“What?”

“It’s true,” Thora said. “He tried to kill me too when I tried to reason with him.”

No one moved or said anything for a moment after she spoke. The captain looked uncertain of what to do next. Garassk watched tensely. His hands never left his sword. The captain eventually stiffened and glared at them.

“So, this is how it ends, then,” he said through clenched teeth. “Treason.”

“What? What are you doing?” Thora said apprehensively.

“You killed our king,” the captain said. “There is no forgiveness for those who kill mortals chosen by the gods.”

“Are you mad?” Thora cried. “I just told you he tried to kill us!”

“And what’s his side of the story? Can he tell us?” the captain snarled. “No, I don’t believe he can. And there’s only one way to resolve this now.”

Garassk wasted no time reacting. He swung his sword immediately releasing a spray of blood from the man’s throat. A few more men moved to retaliate, but Rathorn and Thora were ready, and struck them down first.

“Stop!” one of the men in the back shouted. “No more! The crown isn’t worth this! We yield!”

Garassk looked up to see the surviving soldiers throw down their weapons.

“We’re leaving now,” Rathorn growled. “If any of you try to stop us, you’ll die. Understand?”

Everyone nodded.

“Good,” the older varanian growled. “Now go further inland, and don’t come back until we’re gone.”

The soldiers looked at each other, unsure of what to make of the command.

“NOW!” Rathorn bellowed. That scared them off.

“Now then, how to get out of here,” Garassk said. “There’s only three of us, so a longship is probably out of the question.”

“I’m sure I saw some smaller boats around here,” Thora said. “We can sail back to the mainland on one of them.”

“There,” Rathorn said. “Right next to Hrogvorth’s ship.”

The three of them made their way towards the nearest boat.

“So where do we go now?” Garassk asked.

“Beyond the south,” Rathorn answered. “There are monasteries along the way, and different lands somewhere on the other side. We can rest. We can find work. Whatever happens, we won’t be here.”

Garassk nodded. It would have been nicer to have a more concrete idea of what to do next, but what Rathorn had to offer was better than nothing.

“Right,” he said. “But first, there’s one thing left to do.”

He gripped the Crown of Bones in his hands, and tossed it with all his might. The crown splashed into the water below, sinking to the bottom of the sea.

“What are you…?” Thora started.

“I don’t know if anyone else will ever make their way here,” Garassk explained. “And I don’t know if anyone else has a chance of getting the crown, but I don’t want to give any of them the satisfaction. Let whoever the next king is make their claim based on their ability to actually rule, not one wearing some teeth on their head.”

No one had a response to that, so the three of them sailed back to the mainland, leaving the dead in their graves.