Rise of the Red Harbinger (11 page)

Anger flooded Garrison’s mind every time his actions were mentioned. He was angry with himself for the things he’d done. “I still must try. Our uncle Roland committed his services to them long ago. Perhaps he has some influence with them.” Garrison looked off into the distance for a few moments. Rows and rows of soldiers stood. So much anger in their eyes and faces.
What was the point of all their anger?
Garrison recognized the irony of the situation he was in. Like Gideon, he would have to make sacrifices. He was no Harbinger, but he had the power to change things. He was one of these very soldiers that Gideon was trying to convince.

One day, he would come back to Cerysia and be king. One day the world would be fixed. But in order for that to happen, people would have to be willing to fix it. Just as Gideon had done. “I must go, Donovan. In my absence, I expect you and Wendell to do what is best for Cerysia. Do what you can to slow any plans father has. Father is hearing his subjects’ grievances later this morning. That is when I will tell him.”

***

The throne room was filled with Cerysians of all classes. Garrison’s father, King Edmund, was entertaining his weekly hearing of requests. Most of the day would be spent listening to the problems of his subjects. Usually, the gigantic room, adorned with sculptures and tapestries, maintained a low rumble of numerous conversations. The morning had started that way. However, no one was accustomed to seeing the Prince standing publicly before the King with a request. Especially when that request was to leave the nation in order to pursue something King Edmund strongly opposed.

“You have read a book. You are telling me you have read a book, Garrison, and so you no longer want to be a prince?” King Edmund projected so that every person of every class in the throne room could hear his words.

King Edmund was a grey-bearded, skinny, sinewy man, so much so that the golden crown atop his head had been resized when he became king. He had the tendency to speak to people as if they were invalids when their ideas conflicted with his own. Garrison had seen it happen enough with his own mother. “No father. That is not what I said. I only stated that I wish to pursue an education from The House of Darian.”

His father’s knuckles grew white around the golden armrest of the gilded throne. “You will address me as ‘Your Grace’ when in public! Or have you already denounced me as King as well?” Garrison’s mother, Queen Valencia, sat in her own throne next to the king, a beautiful sight with her long curly black hair and light golden skin tone. She’d been clenching her jaw since Garrison had announced he wished to leave.

“Forgive me, Your Grace.”

“Are you a fool, Garrison?”

Sometimes I do wonder on that, father
. “No, Your Grace.”

“Then why would I allow you to renounce your duties, especially to form an allegiance to the very people whom I have been trying to exterminate since before you were born?” Garrison had never met a different king, but from the time he was small, his instincts told him that his father did not act as a king should. King Edmund did speak properly and eloquently, but his language was not the issue. It was more
how
he spoke to his subjects, when he even spoke to them.

“I do not wish to renounce my duties, Your Grace, only to take a short leave of them, with your and mother’s permission. Donovan would act in my place and I would resume my duties as Prince on my return. Of course, if any emergency were to arise, I would return immediately.” Donovan had chosen not to be present for Garrison’s plea, as he assumed the outcome would be negative. Garrison searched his father’s face for any sign of letting up, of giving in. However, King Edmund constantly frowned or grimaced, no matter his mood. This news, if anything, added genuineness to the scowl.

“And a prince can do that? Simply decide to leave for a vacation and thrust his responsibilities upon others?”

“This is not a vacation, Your Grace.”

King Edmund shot up from the throne. “Cursed Stones it is not! You would leave for personal gain, defying me in the process! Defying your people! Your nation!”

“No father…Your Grace. I have seen the truth. The words of Orijin. There is no reason why the House of Darian and the Descendants cannot coexist with this world.”

King Edmund sat down again, “I am glad that you sought to discuss this in public, rather than in my chambers. Now all of Cerysia will know of your treason. That mark on your face is as meaningless as your mother’s love for me. The Descendants are nothing but criminals and infidels.”

“Then you believe the same of me, Your Grace. And what of the occurrence two days ago? The whole world went black in the middle of the day. How would you explain that, if not by some Descendant’s manifestation?”

“Is your head only filled with rubbish and dreams? The moon blocked out the sun, foolish boy! An eclipse! Have you not seen one before?”

“You always have some stupid explanation for the miraculous things in this world.”

The king surprisingly laughed at this accusation. “Garrison, you explain everything with magic and miracles, yet my explanations are being questioned? Enough!”

“No! Father, you are wrong. You have seen firsthand what I can do. As has your army and your Royal Guard. I have invented weapon after weapon for the army, all because of the manifestation that comes with the black line on my face! Why would the Orijin give me these gifts if he intended for me not to use them. I have been blessed! Let me learn to harness this blessing to its full potential.”

“If you leave this place, you will only return as an enemy. Your desires have been noted and I name you a criminal, an enemy to the nation of Cerysia, and the continent of Ashur. I will not do you the service of putting you in a cell, as we both know you will eventually find a way out. Guards! Kill him!” The entire throne room, full of peasants, city folk, servants, and knights, gasped at the King’s words.

Garrison’s chest tightened. He barely got the words out. “What? Father, no! I am no criminal!”

“Edmund, no!” the Queen interrupted. “He is our son; you cannot do this!” Queen Valencia rarely spoke a word in public and, in the rare cases in which she did, it was to agree with the King. The room had been deathly silent. Now, maids and servants dropped trays; others in the room cowered behind pillars, froze, or crept toward the doors at the Queen’s outburst.

King Edmund’s eyes bulged from his face. “Woman, you dare question my decisions? I am King! This criminal is no longer our son!” He stretched out his arm and swung at her, the back of his hand crunching into her cheek and jaw. The blow flung her so violently that she hung limply over the side of her throne. “Maids, take her away and clean her up. The Queen’s services are no longer required here.” Two maids rushed up the steps and helped the Queen rise from her throne. A red lump covered her cheek while blood flowed from her nose and mouth. The maids covered her face and rushed her from the room.

King Edmund returned his attention to his Royal Guard, ten armored knights who stood behind Garrison, and glowered at them. “I said kill him. Here and now. Let my son, my first-born son, be a lesson to all of Ashur what happens when you disobey a royal decree.”

The Royal Guard marched from behind Garrison and surrounded him, their hands ready at their sword hilts. They hesitated in attacking. Many had grown up and trained with Garrison. King Edmund saw their hesitation and issued a new threat, “Guards, kill him or I will have you all killed!”

Garrison wouldn’t let them all die on his account. His father’s threat was serious, and it would be followed through. “Do as you are commanded! Fight me! You are not to die out of sympathy for me!”

King Edmund would not be outdone by Garrison’s orders. “I said, kill him!”

One knight advanced. Garrison encouraged him, “Do not fear me, Broderick, I will not kill you.”

His opponent smiled at that. “You taught us everything you know, my lord. We are all hesitant because we do not want to kill you.”

“You are wrong,” Garrison corrected him. “I taught you well, but I did not teach you everything. A swordsman never teaches all of his tricks.” Before the words completely left Garrison’s mouth, he reached into his shirtsleeve and flung a dagger at Broderick’s face. While Broderick lifted his arms to deflect it, Garrison sprang at the knight, pulling two more daggers from his belt. He stabbed Broderick in both unprotected underarms until the tips of each blade broke through to the metal of Broderick’s shoulder plates. The knight doubled over and crumbled to the ground. “I told you I would not kill you.”

Three more Royal Guards engaged Garrison. As he turned to face them, others dragged Broderick away.
I could have used his sword
.
Virgil, Connor, Brandon. I need to disarm one of them…even out the number of blades on each side. Not Brandon. Connor, he is the most passive. I need to draw him away from the other two.

Garrison drew his sword from its scabbard. His three attackers inched closer. Despite their armor, their expressions were wary. Connor stalked to Garrison’s right. To his left, Virgil and Brandon still disagreed about who should attack first. Garrison seized the opportunity. He advanced on Connor, swinging his blade rapidly at Connor’s face and torso. Connor parried clumsily under the weight of a full coat of arms.

Garrison stalked closer to Connor. Swinging high, he hacked away at Connor so that the knight had to keep his arm extended in the air.
I will not get away with the same trick twice.
Garrison fingered the handle of another dagger in his belt as he repeatedly swung his sword with one hand. He was only an arm’s length away now. Feigning another attack, Garrison raised his sword. As Connor raised his arm to block, Garrison pulled the dagger and stabbed into the opening of the vambrace in Connor’s sword hand. Garrison pushed the blade until it ripped through the knight’s forearm and hand, and the sword clattered to the ground. If Connor wished to wield a sword ever again, he would have to do so with his left hand.

The knight fell to his knees, clutching his forearm while blood seeped through his gauntlet. Garrison crunched the heel of his boot into Connor’s face, sending him sprawling backward into two knights standing at the perimeter of the makeshift fighting ring. He then retrieved Connor’s sword and faced his other two attackers. Garrison realized that his fight with Connor had lasted only a few moments. Virgil and Brandon stood in the same place as before. If they were not hesitant before, then they were visibly so now.

“Remember with whom your loyalty resides, knights!” A hint of desperation tinged King Edmund’s voice. “And remember who has the power to execute you!”

That last threat drained any remaining respect Garrison had had for his father. In Garrison’s eighteen years, and even before, King Edmund had made many controversial decisions, orders, and laws. The one that had caused the most discord throughout Ashur was the decree that turned all Descendants into public enemies.

The law was made before Garrison was born; in fact, it was Edmund’s first order upon becoming king. However, Garrison, as Prince and Captain of the Royal Army, had led attacks against Descendants from the time he was fourteen. Quite often, he developed strategies to track down Descendants or expose them from hiding places. The irony in it all was that he was a Descendant himself. Garrison had assumed that was his father’s method to ensure that the Descendants would never accept him.

But now Garrison had had enough. In the past year, he’d educated himself on the Orijin, the Harbingers, and the Descendants. A king was supposed to be the voice of the Orijin on Earth. King Edmund was anything but that. Nothing Garrison had read of the Orijin had supported this treatment of the Descendants. If anything, they were to be revered more than anyone else, aside from the king.

Garrison needed justice and knew that the only way to attain it was to accept who he really was. The black line on his face reminded him of it every day. And if it meant he would also be an outcast to his own people, Garrison would make the sacrifice. Given his father’s reaction, Garrison found his decision easier to accept. Especially considering the knights’ hesitation to attack him.

“They are more my knights than yours. Father.” He spit the last word out forcefully. “I trained them. I gave them respect. All you have done is threatened to kill them if they do not kill their Captain.”

“It is a promise. Not a threat,” King Edmund fired back.

With that, Virgil and Brandon quickly flanked Garrison on both sides. He at least had two swords now. Garrison pivoted his head from side to side. Virgil charged first, holding his sword above his head with both hands. Garrison knew Virgil’s plan of attack the moment he moved.

As Virgil reached striking distance, he struck downward for Garrison’s unprotected head. Rather than deflect the attack and leave himself open to Brandon, Garrison spun out of the way and positioned himself behind Virgil.
Good, now they are both in front of me.
He sheathed one sword and pulled the last dagger from his belt, wrapping his arm around Virgil’s neck. Before Brandon could determine how to help, Garrison ripped the helmet from Virgil’s head and slashed his face diagonally from forehead to jaw with the dagger.

Virgil’s screams forced Brandon to action, but Garrison pointed the dagger to Virgil’s neck. Brandon froze, looking back and forth between Virgil and King Edmund. With Brandon’s hesitation, Garrison swept Virgil forward to the ground and smashed the knight’s face into the tiled floor.