Autumn Empire 1/3
Part one
The warriors know about the enemies of the Kingdom. They are trained to fight, to win, because defeat means death. Their lives are hard and short, with wounds and scars. The King's warriors are the best, better than soldiers, or the sheriff's bailiffs, or the hunters providing meat for the King's table.
They are men and women who fear neither the pits of Hell nor the Wood dwellers.
The fae are feared for their deviousness. Hiding in the foliage and brush of the Great Woods, they kill with poisoned arrows because they are weak cowards, with beautiful faces, but faint hearts.
The dwarves are broad-shouldered smiths, winning ore and forging weapons. They don't like humans, but they kill rarely without warning.
Demons are huge black beasts, ripping their quarries to shreds with bare hands. They roam about the Woods in groups, and very seldom do humans survive a confrontation, usually badly mutilated.
Jared has killed fifteen demons until now, being victorious with only a few scars.
Jared started training when he was ten. Now he is reaching his thirtieth year, and he is the best, elite of the elite. No other warrior is as tall or strong as he, no other has killed as many enemies. So it's no wonder that he is sent alone to bring the most talented weapon smith to the King.
It takes him three days to find a lumber camp where they tell him about the Ackles.
“There're no other axes like the ones he forges,” they say, eyes shining.
“He lives alone in the Woods. He uses magic to protect himself.” They nod, drinking strong mead.
“No, no, he's big as a bear so no creature dares touch him.” They nod.
“I know someone who knows someone whose friend bumped accidentally into the Ackles. He cut his arm off.” They nod, drinking more mead.
Obviously, this Ackles guy is dangerous. Jared is glad that he brought his fighting armor instead of his parade armament, which is shinier but far less effective.
It takes him another week, killing two fae, one demon and one bear, and bribing a bunch of dangerously drunk dwarves, to find the Ackles' dwelling. It is at the edge of a dwarf village, far away enough for Jared to enter the workshop unnoticed.
He expects to find a huge man, a giant, near the chimney, but the man wielding the sledge-hammer is not overly big. He is well-built, face and bare chest streaked with sweat, soot and grime, but he is not a serious adversary for Jared. He stops hammering, looking curiously at the entrant.
Jared bows, keeping his eyes on the smith.
“Greetings to the Ackles,” he says. “Mighty King David, Ruler of the fertile Plains, most trusted Leader of his powerful people, sends his regards.”
Obviously, the Ackles is staggered. “Oh. Hi. Ahm, I mean... greetings.”
“I am the Pada Lecki of the Mighty King David, Ruler of the fertile Plains, most trusted Leader of his powerful people. My name is Jared. I come in peace.”
“In peace? Oh, that's... nice. I'm... uh, I am Jensen, blacksmith of this nice village, and uh. Yeah, blacksmith.”
“I lay the King's generous offer at your feet to come to Stronghold. You will be the Most Reverenced Instructor of his Majesty's blacksmiths and teach them to forge the fine weapons you are known for. I am here to escort you to Stronghold, averting any harm or danger on the way.”
The blacksmith puts his hammer down. It's obvious he is thinking things over, looking into the blazing flames of his forge, and after a break, he looks at Jared, his eyes hard.
“You want me to come with you, to give up my life and everything I own, in order to teach the King's men to forge weapons they can use to kill everyone who is opposed to the King and the Kingdom?”
Jared shifts on his feet. When put that way...
“That is correct,” he says.
“Alright. Then I'm sorry to say that you came all this way in vain. Return to your King and tell him that I'm unwilling to teach anybody, least of all his men. I ceased forging weapons a long time ago, and I won't start again because he wants me to.”
Jared tilts his head. “I acknowledge your choice, even though I am grieved. And I am truly sorry.”
“Sorry? What for?”
“This,” he says, grabbing the club that is leaning right next to him against the wooden wall. It only takes one targeted blow, and the blacksmith is collapsing in a sooty heap.
The King said Bring the Ackles alive, and Jared is bringing the Ackles alive. No one ever said a thing about voluntariness.
Packing the blacksmith's belongings into a heavy bundle doesn't take long. After loading it onto his pack horse and tying the unconscious man on his own horse, he sets the house and the workshop on fire.
He regrets destroying the home of an innocent man but orders are orders, and burning the house down will distract the villagers long enough for them to leave unnoticed.
With the precautions Jared has to take in the Woods and two horses in tow, the journey takes a whole day longer than he thought. He can't risk the blacksmith running so when the man starts coming to, he first makes sure that he is unharmed, then feeds him the sleeping drug he borrowed from the healer.
Of course he is taking good care of his captive. He wants him to be thankful (maybe a bit cowed, too) so that he will change his mind about working as the King's instructor. King David is not a bad man, but his commands should never be rejected, even if they come in guise of a request.
After setting up a camp near a clear brook, he begins cleaning the sleeping man. There was so much soot and dirt that his skin looked almost as black as a demon's, but now it is pale and pink, sprinkled with yellowish-brown dots. Jared has never seen anything like this.
He does this every night, cleaning his captive, helping him to relieve himself, and then feeding him bread, and meat, and the sleeping drug. Sometimes he can see a hint of glazed-over green eyes before the drug takes hold again, and they close.
The need to use drugs is annoying. Jared just caught a glimpse of the real Ackles - a strong-minded man with great physical power, wielding a sledge-hammer like it was nothing. Now he's just a pliant kitten.
Jared can appreciate strength when he sees it.
After five days of slow traveling, they arrive at Stronghold. It's the Kingdom's biggest stronghold, sitting defiantly on the river bank, all stone and power.
The King is pleased.
“Well done, my Pada. He is alive and unharmed, I take it.”
“Of course, sire. He's in my chamber sleeping the drug off. Unfortunately, he was not willing to come voluntarily. I had to resort to violence.”
“Otherwise, he'd be a weak man. Prepare the chamber next to yours as a holding cell. I put you in charge of his well-being.”
“Sire?”
“He's your charge now. I give you one week, then he'll agree to tutoring my blacksmiths or we'll adopt other means. I'm pretty sure he won't like them.”
“Of course, sire.”
“Very well. Now tell me about your journey. The Queen is indisposed, and I'm in need of diversion.”
Jared is a warrior, not a storyteller, but if the King wants him to tell tales, he does it. Unfortunately, the King is frequently in need of diversion, as it is an open secret that he is detested by the Queen. After giving birth to the crown princess and her brother, she turned to a liaison - the King though is too stubborn to do the same.
After almost an hour, he is dismissed. Now he can finally take off his fighting armor, take a bath, and get some rest - of course after arranging the accommodation of his captive.
“I think it's better to constrain his mobility, my Lord,” his body servant says while washing Jared's hair.
Jared opens one eye. It's too cozy in the warm bath water to move more than necessary. “Hmm? What do you mean, Steven?”
“Shackles, my Lord. The Ackles is a man of great strength, with a strong will. He'll never yield unless coerced. You should beat him into submission.”
“No, that's the last resort. I want to convince him, not...”
There is a loud crash in the chamber next door.
The Ackles is awake. Jared sighs - so much for some well-deserved rest.
“Remove the bathtub and prepare another bath for our - hmm, guest. Two guards,” he orders, getting out of the tub and grabbing a towel.
Two servants are carrying the wooden tub out of the room while Jared dons his parade armament. In this matter, he is the King's official representative - he has to be dressed accordingly. Sighing, he puts on his formal headgear, the helmet with a royal stag's antlers.
Though he is still proud of it, he hates wearing it indoors. It is pretty much impossible to go through doors, and he has to watch out constantly not to hurt other people when moving his head. It's part of his formal attire though, so he wears it.
When he was nineteen, he killed the stag as part of his initiation rite. It was the biggest red deer ever killed as initiation. At the time, Jared was glad he didn't have to face a wild boar (and he didn't want to wear tusks as helmet decoration) but now, short tusks have greater appeal than giant antlers on his helmet.
He only makes it into the other room through the narrow door because of many years of practice. Straightening himself, he strikes an imposing appearance, and Jared knows it.
The Ackles is sitting on the floor, his back resting against the sturdy bed. Though he still looks rather out of it, he's holding a big piece of the earthen jug he smashed on the floor, threatening Jared.
“Who are you? Where am I?” he rasps, trying to keep his shaking hand steady.
“I am Jared, the Pada Lecki of Mighty King David, Ruler of the fertile Plains, most trusted Leader of his powerful people. You are guest at Stronghold, the most splendid city of Mighty King David, Ruler of the fertile Plains, the home of-”
“Cut the crap. What do you want from me?”
“Alright.” Jared sighs, taking his helmet off. “King David wants you to instruct his blacksmiths to forge weapons. At the moment, you're his guest and allowed to move about freely in his castle, even though guarded. If you don't agree after one week, your status will be revoked, and you will be treated as a prisoner.”
“You're the guy that came to my house, aren't you?”
“Yes. I apologize for hurting you. My orders were to bring you to the King, and when you refused, I had to take drastic measures.”
The Ackles lowers his hand. “You call a blow to the head 'drastic measures'?”
Like Hell Jared will tell him about the drugging or burning of his house. “I did what I had to. Do you agree to instruct the King's blacksmiths?”
“Certainly not! A long time ago, I vowed to never forge a weapon again. I won't break it because the King's men are untalented dabblers.”
“Very well. I arranged a bath for you. After, a servant will bring you food. I strongly advise you to reconsider your answer. The King's dungeon is not a nice place.”
Saluting the Ackles with a tilt of his head, Jared retreats into his chamber. He hopes his 'guest' won't be as pig-headed as he seems to be.
Jared is enjoying a meal in the common hall when Lady Felicia flops herself in the seat next to him.
“Hey, Jared,” she greets.
“Lady Felicia,” he replies, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
“How's your special guest? I heard he's pretty stubborn. And handsome.”
“He's strong-minded. And I don't know about handsome, I didn't look.”
She laughs, sparkling and light-hearted. “Oh Jared, I know you looked, everyone looked. He earned some fame, being a dwarf and all.”
“A dwarf? He's not a dwarf.”
“No? I thought they said he was:”
“That's just gossip. He's not dwarfish at all.”
“Too bad. I'd like to see a handsome dwarf for a change. Recently, we had some butt ugly bastards here.”
“Lady!”
“What? They can't hear me, can they? We're not in negotiation with them, their spies are dead, I can say what I want.”
She steals Jared's bread, leaning back against the back rest and popping chunks of bread into her mouth. That kind of behavior is tolerated because she is royalty and not expected to have heirs of any kind as she is the Queen's older sister.
“Anyways. My sister's birthday party...”
“I'm on duty that evening. Full attire.”
Felicia pauses eating, squinting her eyes disappointedly. 'Full attire' means the antlers helmet, which means no moving the whole evening, which gets in the way of her plans.
“Oh. Alright.” She continues eating.
The following silence is like awaiting his execution. Finally, Jared rises, saying, “Please excuse me, I'm... needed elsewhere.”
“Of course.” Felicia smiles disarmingly. “Maybe we can have a picnic or something soon...”
“Oh. Yes, of course. Soon.”
Jared bolts. Felicia is a great woman, smart, and a fierce warrior. She's also his superior though and a woman. And that's the problem.
He is not interested in her as a possible spouse (he is not interested in any woman), but to be able to act on his feelings, he needs to be married (and have children) first. As it is, as a single man, he can't have either husband or liaison. And he just can't bring himself to marry a poor woman solely in order to be able to live out his proclivity. All that remains are stealthy trysts with...
“Jared!”
...Him.
“Hey, Tahmoh.”
“Hey, Jared. Look, I made a bet with Corin. Your prisoner, that blacksmith guy, he's a dwarf, isn't he?”
“No, he isn't!”
It is the third day of the Ackles' house arrest. He hasn't left his chamber and, until now, never spoke a word to Jared, only gazing through the window opening at the city below the castle. He acknowledged the servants tending to his needs with little head tilts and small smiles though.
“Fae die,” he says, lost in thought, “when locked up all alone. They wither and fade away.”
He looks at Jared, just turning his head, embracing his own arms with strong fingers. He didn't eat much during the last few days, only bread and vegetables, and the dark circles under his eyes make them shine brighter, greener than usual.
“You won't let me go.”
“No. The King's word is law. The only way for you to leave unharmed is by agreeing. You teach - you live. As I already said, the dungeons are not a nice place, I highly suggest avoiding them.”
The Ackles turns back to the window, making a dismissive noise.
“I highly suggest killing me now, it would save all of us a lot of time and trouble. I won't yield, and you know it.”
“Yes, I know. But I won't be derelict in my duty. I'm the King's warrior.”
“Sense of duty should never make you close your eyes though.”
“I'm not...” Jared breaks off because - what should he say?
After a minute of awkward silence the blacksmith says, his back still turned to Jared, “How many people are living in the city?”
“Approximately nine thousand.”
“It's huge. I've never seen a city this large. The dwarves live in little hamlets, the fae in small groups, but only the humans build cities of wood and stone.”
“You got about a lot.”
“The clan chief made me come along.”
“The dwarves' clan chief?”
But Jared never gets a reply.
The next day it is late when Jared visits his involuntary guest. He went hunting with three of his comrades, and it took them the whole day to kill the herd of wild boars that was devastating the northern villages.
The blacksmith is sleeping, his clean-cut features relaxed.
He really is handsome, too handsome to be a dwarf who are squabby and proud of their body hair. Admittedly, he is bowlegged.
“You're a creep, watching other guys sleep?” the not-dwarf says, his eyes still closed.
“I just didn't want to wake you.”
Opening his eyes, he gazes at Jared, intense and piercing in the night's pale light.
“Why not? I don't have much else to do but stare at the walls or out of the window. You're the only one visiting, and all you want me to do is yield.”
“Yeah, well, that's the general idea. Is it working?”
“No. I swore a blood oath that can be broken only by blood. I'll never forge a weapon again.”
“A blood oath? So you are a dwarf?”
“No. No, I'm not.”
“Then you don't need to keep your oath. There are no gods to punish you.”
“I don't believe in the dwarves' gods, but they do. There may be no gods, but it would be me, I'd punish myself for the rest of my life, and that would be so much worse than any god's wrath.”
The sadness and bitterness in his voice is chilling Jared to the bone. He can't disagree because he knows the gnawing teeth of self-doubt, of I should have made better. He never broke an oath, though, never had to.
“So you're not a dwarf but you live with them, and you don't share their belief yet you conform. What are you?”
The blacksmith hesitates, then sits up, pulling his legs against his chest, embracing them. “I'm half-dwarf,” he says, resting his chin on his knees.
Of course Jared can see it in his mind. The poor woman raped by an especially ugly dwarf because she is too weak to fight him off, then giving birth to an ugly halfling... or not so ugly. Wait...
“You're a halfling?”
“Why, yes. My mother is dwarf, my father human. That makes me halfling.” He sighs. “Dad never liked living in stone houses and caves, so we lived in the Woods. It was pretty easy for mom to get used to... What?”
Jared still gapes open-mouthed at the blacksmith.
“Your father is human?”
“I think I just said so. Why, is it important?”
“Uhm... no. No, absolutely not. It's not important, not at all.”
Dark eyes squint incredulously at him. “I don't think I believe you.”
“But it's really not important what your parents are.”
“My parents are happy together, they are in love, and you can fuck off!”
The Ackles swings around, turning his back to Jared who is quite flustered. What did he say?
Tahmoh is petting Jared's bare chest in slow, easy strokes. After the literal roll in the hay, they are lying comfortably in a haystack in a secluded corner of the horse barn, coming down from their orgasmic high.
“A copper coin for your thoughts,” Tahmoh teases.
“Hmm? Oh, I'm not thinking,” Jared replies.
“Yes, you are. Pretty loud even.”
After a short, significant pause, Jared says, “You know, I don't understand why he tells me all that. I'm his guard, and he tells me about his parents... I just don't get it.”
“You're talking about the Ackles? Do you retell what he told you?”
“Of course not! It's personal.”
“So you don't know each other, and yet he tells you personal stuff?”
“Hm-hm.”
“Well, it's obvious. He doesn't believe to survive.”
“What? What do you mean?
“He thinks it doesn't matter whether he airs the laundry or not because soon, he'll be dead. If he really is as stubborn as they say, that's quite possible.”
“No! I don't want him to die, I'd fail in my duty if he died!”
Tahmoh sighs. “I don't envy you, dear. You're assigned to make him obey the King's orders, if need be with violence and torture. He's determined to not yield...”
“It's a blood oath.”
“What?”
“It's a blood oath. He won't forge a weapon ever again.”
“Oh crap. A blood oath can only be broken by blood. He'd bleed to death. Now that's a dilemma.”
“The best part about this is, he's not a dwarf, he doesn't even need to keep the oath.”
Rubbing his hands over his face, Jared sighs. “I tried to talk with him today. I told him stories about the King, about the conflicts at the Wood's edge, and how the settlers are suffering from the fae and demons. I say we need to protect them, we need good weapons to keep them alive, and you know what he does? Nothing! He's standing there in front of the window, closemouthed. I only have tomorrow left, and he's not talking to me anymore.”
He has a hunch that the Ackles may still be mad. Somehow Jared managed to offend him or his parents. He knows that he is prejudiced against halflings (he never met one personally until now). They are said to be descendants of weak women, too powerless to fight against their attackers, therefore weak and frail themselves. Jared can't imagine the Ackles being a weak man though.
“Only tomorrow? Hmmm... how about showing him what he may gain if he agrees? Let him have some delicious food, some pot roast or venison, and maybe he'll see the amenities of working for the King.”
Jared thinks. “He doesn't eat meat, only bread and vegetables. But he can have other treats, like pie or pastries. And today, he asked for mead.”
”Oh, that's good! Show him how life at court can be. He'll surely prefer it to the dungeons.” Thumping on Jared's stomach, he adds, “Now, let's raid the kitchen, I'm hungry.”
The Ackles hardly touched anything of the food Jared had sent. There is still goat's cheese, apple pie and sweet bread rolls, pears and freshly baked bread, butter and a bowl of vegetable stew left. Apparently, all he ate was some bread and cheese, but the mead jug and wine tankard are both empty, and the blacksmith is - drunk.
“There he is, my favorite jailer,” he welcomes Jared. He is sitting on the floor in a corner, kneading bread crumbs into little balls and aiming at a cup a few feet away. Half the floor is littered.
Sitting down on the bed, Jared needs to restrain a smile. The other man looks too cute, pink cheeked, trying cheerfully to hit the cup with the pellets of bread.
“Looks like you're having a good time,” Jared says.
“Oh yes. Your wine is eggs-... extraordinarilily delocious- delicious.”
A pellet hits Jared's boot. He picks it up, rolling it between his fingers. Unfortunately, he can't point out the court's splendor anymore.
“Actually, I wanted to take you to the Queen's birthday ball. Though looking at you, I think that's not a good idea.”
The Ackles snorts with laughter. “I can't stand on my own two feet anymore. It's really not a good idea.”
Jared sighs. “Today's the last day. If you don't accept the King's offer, you'll be in the dungeon tomorrow. I don't want this.”
“The King's offer,” the blacksmith says, snickering. “Nice offer. Accept or die, that's the choice. Betray everything you believe in or rot in the dungeons. Nice offer.” He is wiping his face with his hand, and Jared can see the glitter of tears.
“I'm so sorry. I don't know what to do. This life is everything I know, I can't antagonize the King. I just can't.”
“You'd help me?” Green eyes are looking hopefully at him, making Jared squirm on the bed.
“No, I can't. I wanted to be a warrior since I was five years old. I can't betray my warrior's oath for a man I hardly know even if I think the King's orders are objectionable.”
There's sadness and hurt shining in the green eyes now, then resolve and resolution.
The man raises his cup of wine to his lips, emptying it to the last drop. Dropping the wooden cup to the floor, he says, “You never asked me why I made that unbreakable oath.”
He sighs, his hands resting in his lap. “Sometimes I wish I'd been born without hands. They take pieces of metal and forge the deadliest weapons. The dwarves only permitted me to live in their midst because of what my hands could create. They enticed and urged me on, and I was proud of my work.
“One day, the clan chief made me go to war so I was able to repair the swords on the battlefield. I saw them kill, they killed women and babies with the swords I had made, and I saw them die, my friends died a miserable death in the mud. We- they were victorious and returned home, laden with treasures, but I was... I was dead, inside.
“I refused to go on working on weapons, only forged trinkets and household items. The chief tried to force me, threatening my family. That's why I made the blood oath. There was no need to hurt my family anymore because I couldn't resume forging even if I wanted. But I don't want to, not at all. I feel like I'm drowning in blood, sometimes, in the night.”
He searches for the wooden cup. It's empty though, and he throws it against the wall, without heat. The Ackles is baring his soul to the core, and Jared knows that Tahmoh is right. He doesn't expect to survive long.
Jared comes to a decision. He'll ask the King to set the blacksmith free - this evening, sometime during the party. Maybe he'll need the Queen's help.
Leaving him makes his heart hurt. He wants to console the shattered man, but instead he orders Steven to bring him more wine.
The party is a blast - for the people who aren't working, that is.
Jared is bored to death. Tonight, he's the King's bodyguard but it's more about performing official duties, impressing the guests from other countries and kingdoms. And he does impressing really good.
Being the tallest man at court, he is the only one who is able to wear the antlers helmet, his armor shimmering in the candle light. The ladies' glances at him are lustful, the lords' ones envious (and lustful). He knows he is good looking (maybe even really good) and usually enjoys attracting attention, but he hates official gatherings.
His body is thrumming with energy, with the need to move or fight (or fuck) but he can't. He is expected to represent the Kingdom's strength and power, not to enjoy himself.
He really could do with a cup of wine.
It's not because he needs some liquid courage. There's nothing the King would do to him, he's too valuable to be downgraded or exiled or the like, and the King indeed is able to take justified criticism.
Nevertheless, Jared could do with a cup of wine. A big one.
It would just help with his aching back and feet. It's not easy standing still (impressing) with that damn heavy helmet. Some nice little tusks would be significantly lighter and easier to wear.
It's only a little party. The noble guests are enjoying themselves with chatting, swaggering and flirting. Soon, when the dinner starts, the servants will bring tables and food, and they will be allowed to participate. That's the part Jared is looking forward to, when he is free to join his comrades and the domestics at the tables.
Lady Felicia is looking really pretty tonight in the embroidered uniform of a warrior Maior. Surely she will soon find some pretense to join Jared, and he will need some pretense to twist himself free.
She shouldn't waste her time. He will never marry her, but he doesn't know if she knows, if she understood his subtle (or not so subtle) rejection. She's a proud warrior princess, it wouldn't be wise to offend her.
Like her, there are a lot of other girls and women who would marry Jared here and now. Jared in turn came to terms with the fact that he will never marry, never have a liaison, never find love. Of course there's Tahmoh, and his wife knows about them - but they can never be officially liaisoned as long as Jared is a single man. He likes Tahmoh, maybe even loves him in a certain way, but there's something missing in their relationship.
Out of the corner of his eye, he notices movement - it's Steven, trying frantically to gain his attention. With a little gesture, he has Colin take his place by the King's chair and walks over to his body servant.
Steven's face is ashen, a bloody fingerprint on his cheek.
“What is it?” Jared is worried - Steven would never fetch him for little problems.
“Pada, it's the Ackles. He... he killed himself.”
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