Deeper shadows of faerie, p.24
Deeper Shadows of Faerie, page 24
We walked towards him, and the soldiers parted before us as if forming an honour guard. The King reached out and caught my hands.
“Once again I owe you a great debt.” His voice boomed in my mind. “You have saved me and my people. Without your warning and magics they would have overrun us.”
“But at such a cost,” I said.
His smile faded. “He left me no choice, and now there is only one path for him.”
I could feel his sadness at this grim outcome and had to feel sadness at his loss, even though I was glad that Lord Faniel would be reaching the end of his road. “A path built by his own actions.”
“He is not fit to lead our people, and he would be a danger to the one who follows me. I cannot let that happen.”
That sounds pretty final to me, but I wanted to see it.
“You have earned the right to attend.”
“So has Michelle.”
“So she has. If she wishes to attend.”
I thought she would be happy to watch the man who attempted to sacrifice her meet his end.
“Come to the palace and bring her. By the traditions of our people there should be a feast to celebrate our victory, but this does not feel like a victory. Perhaps one day we will feast, and you will be my honoured guest, but not today.” He released my hands and called for his horse. He mounted up and with the remains of his escort rode off towards the palace.
“You made a great difference,” said Jack who had sneaked up on me unnoticed. “It would have been a much harder fight without your rockets breaking their formation.”
“Good. That was what I was hoping for, I didn’t know if it would work.”
Around us the people on foot were beginning to make their way towards the palace following the King; the wounded supported by one or carried between two. The most severely wounded were gathered together where they could be watched over until carts came from the palace to carry them. Jack and I assisted one poor fellow whose left leg was blood-soaked from hip to ankle and who grunted in pain at every step. Michelle followed carrying the remaining fireworks.
When we reached the palace, we left the fireworks with the door ward who directed us to a hall where the Queen and her ladies were busy tending the wounded. We handed our casualty over to them and went in search of the King. I wondered how many would survive without the treatment that could be offered back home, but it seemed deeply impractical to bring them over. For a moment I imagined the shit that would fly if I turned up at Southampton General with two dozen guys who had major blade wounds, spoke no English, and had no ID.
We found the King in the Great Hall with a cluster of Great and nobles around him in a subdued atmosphere. He had shed his bloodied armour but still wore his sword and had a goblet in his hand. He said very little and looked generally grim. A servant offered us a cup. It was rather rough red wine, but after the day we’d had I was happy to accept it.
More folk came in behind us, took a cup and stood around waiting like us for something to happen. We were the objects of polite curiosity for most people; though no one spoke to us it was clear they knew who we were.
Eventually the King looked around the room, drained his cup and gave an order to the guards at the door. They disappeared and returned a short time later with Lord Faniel. He wore no glamour; his real self was scrawny and pale, his eyes wide with terror. He knew what was able to happen. At his first sight of his father, he pulled away from his guards and threw himself down at his feet, gabbling away no doubt pleading with for his life. The King silenced him with a word then reached down and pulled him to his knees. He growled another word, presumably something along the lines of “stay there,” and drew his sword.
Michelle gripped my hand and the whole room held its breath as the King laid his sword beside his son’s neck. He spoke a few more words then thrust downward with all his weight. Lord Faniel cried out once then slumped at his father’s feet. The King, stone-faced, left his sword in the body, turned away and walked out without a word. The rest of the room stared silently at the body of Lord Faniel. I reminded myself of the men who had died today because of him, of the harm he had done to me and my family but found I could not rejoice.
A few people began to move towards the door, still saying nothing. The movement grew so we joined it. No one around us spoke until we were out in the open air.
“I didn’t think he had the strength to go through with it,” Jack said quietly. “I thought he would pardon him at the last moment.”
“What will he do with Lord Faniel’s followers?” asked Michelle.
“It depends on what they do. I would advise a period where he seeks reconciliation, but if it is refused then bloodshed will follow, and we cannot afford that.”
“No,” I said. “Enough people have already died.”
“I agree,” said Michelle. “I think I would like to go home now.”
Martin Owton, Deeper Shadows of Faerie
