The Catastrophe of the Emerald Queen (30 page)

King James
had ordered way before the Caracalic came through the Shimmer, that
the warrior was to be securely clapped in irons from the moment
they had hands on him. Now he was in a tiny one man cell. Iron
bracelets secured his wrists and ankles and the chains attached to
his arms were retracted into the walls, pulled to the limit of
their reach. His legs were manacled together and his neck was
secured by a collar with two chains either side, also running into
the walls. The cell was almost pitch black. Mordalayn made no sound
and his face was impassive. He gave no sign that he was in
discomfort. His tri-blade was gone as was his pack. He waited, his
mind concentrating on being serene. The news from the messenger had
to be taken back to Alegria immediately and as only he had heard it
he had to remain calm if he hoped to ever get out of this
place.

 
The
door in front of him suddenly opened and the light flooded into the
tiny space. He did not squint against the brightness.

 “
Ahhhh,
the Queen’s Sword,” King James said in a mocking tone. “Caught like
a fish in a net.” 

Two guards
were either side of the king, looking nervous as their monarch
approached the imprisoned warrior. As the king moved forward they
quickly moved, to flank him. Sidestepping to remain slightly ahead,
hands on their swords, ready to defend their ruler.

 
The king sensed their unease and chuckled.
“Calm down my good fellows, this warrior has lost his teeth.” He
walked up to the imprisoned figure, who glared at him silently. He
held up Mordalayn’s sword in its faded, red leather sheath, the
straps dangling. “You won’t be needing this any more.
However as I’m sure you’re aware, one of my
guards lost a hand trying to withdraw it from the
scabbard
.”  

Mordalayn smiled
thinly. 

“
Booby
trapped swords, what will you little Alegrians think of next,” the
king shook his head and tutted. “And to think you look down on
others with your supposed peaceful pacifism.”

 
Mordalayn looked at him and spoke for the first time. “Next
to every peaceful ruler there needs to stand a warrior of
steel.”

 
King
James smirked and glanced at his guards “That’s very good. My,
my…such eloquent poetry from a hired thug. Did your little queen
think that one up?” Adjusting his grip on Mordalayn’s large sword
he snapped to his guards. “Come!” he barked and clicked his
fingers. The guards backed away, not meeting Mordalayn’s relentless
stare and backed out the door, gratefully slamming it behind
them. 

King James moved up the stairs
from the cell and turned to one of his guards. “Are the other
prisoners ready?” 

The guard
answered quickly. “Yes your majesty, we have the traitors ready.
Plus those that were on guard duty in the inner chamber when the
spies breached our defences.” 

“
Good, good,”
the king said absent-mindedly then grinned. “Well, there’s not a
second to lose.”

 
He
walked quickly up the wide marble steps to a much bigger set of
double doors. Two guards bowed as he approached and the doors swung
open, inward. King James walked into a private balcony and two of
his counsellors were there. They turned as the door opened and
bowed their heads. He walked past the lavishly ornate, golden
chair. As he stepped up there was a roar of cheering. He stood and
raised his arms, then slowly lowered them to rest his hands on the
cool black marble in front of him. 

Below him was
a circular floor completely covered in a vast metal grill.
Surrounding the floor was a tall wall about eight metres high,
curving to enclose the entire area. Seated behind it in curving
rows of stone benches were around four hundred men in armour. They
cheered loudly as the king greeted them and with a crash of heels
they stomped their heavy boots on the floor. On the fourth stomp
shouting as one voice “KING JAMES!!!.” 

This was King
James’s private amphitheatre. Only his most trusted and favoured
subjects got to watch spectacles played out here. The king grinned
and lowered his arms. The room slowly fell silent and after a pause
he addressed his assembled audience.

 “
Loyal
soldiers of Anghofio. Tomorrow we march on Alegria.”

 
There
was another loud and prolonged roar of approval from the men. The
king waited until it had died out. “For years we have lived in
Alegria’s shadow but now the queen has forsaken her realm and
Alegria is weak. No longer will they be there to gloat and look
down on us. Soon we will have Alegria for
ourselves!” 

He raised his voice on the last
sentence and there was an even louder roar of approval from the
assembled men. They wore the black and orange cloaks of the elite
King’s Daggers and all were bearded. His most loyal and highly
trained men. 

“
As my gift
to you all,” the king said loudly. “I give you a spectacle you
probably thought you’d never see.” He gestured with his right hand
and through some unseen mechanism a hole opened in the floor and
slowly Mordalayn rose up into the arena. After a moment’s pause the
men screamed louder than ever, all standing to roar with delight at
the prisoner displayed before them. 

As the platform Mordalayn was
on reached the surface it stopped with a loud clang and he glanced
slowly from side to side, his face betraying no emotion. 

The king
signalled for silence and the clamour gradually died away as the
excited mob of men sat down again. 

“
Behold,”
king James said in a mocking tone. “The queen of Alegria’s sword.
Caught like a common street rogue.”

 
There
was much laughter. 

“
Now I
present him here for your pleasure, as my loyal soldiers.” King
James gestured again and crossbow men appeared on the wall, their
bows primed and pointed at Mordalayn. One by one they took up
position. There were twenty in total, fingers over their triggers.
Then a portcullis opened with a grinding noise and four guards came
out at a quick march, their black cloaks flapping behind them,
their swords drawn. They nervously approached the Caracalic and
proceeded to unlock his chains. Mordalayn knew he could take at
least two of them before the snipers could loose a shot but he also
knew he had to remain calm for the time being.

 
As the
last chain was released, the guards stepped back, swords still
pointed at the huge figure.

 “
Now my
friend you will not be alone,” King James told him. There were
sniggers amongst the seated crowd. The king shouted loudly. “Bring
out the rest.” 

Another iron
grilled gate ground slowly upwards. Mordalayn glanced back as
around twenty men, some frightened some defiant, were pushed and
herded into the arena. When they were all in front of him King
James addressed them directly.

 “
Those
of you who betrayed my trust, you have one chance to redeem
yourselves now.” The guards used long staffs to push the men into
the centre of the grilled floor which was rusted and menacing
looking. They prodded the prisoners, some of them their former
equals, towards the centre of the room. They were placed in groups
of two, facing each other. As a guard approached Mordalayn he bared
his teeth and snarled at the man. The guard blanched and swallowed
hard and instead gestured to the Caracalic to take up his position.
He stood facing a man of average height. The man’s face betrayed no
emotion as he looked the huge figure up and down. He instead looked
over at where King James stood waiting patiently for the men to be
partnered off, his face lit by a wicked smile. When the pairing was
finished Mordalayn mentally counted the number. Twenty one in
total, one man stood alone, looking relieved but also
frightened.

 
The
buzz in the room was powerful. Everyone could feel the excitement
and the gleeful anticipation of the audience. After waiting for a
few moments more King James spoke again. 

“
Those of you
below are there for betraying your king or for being enemies of
Anghofio. You now have one chance to receive the king’s mercy.” He
paused at this and the room was silent, all attention was on him.
He continued. “The floor you are standing can be either lethal or
benign, depending on where fate has decided to put you.” There was
subdued laughter at this and the king paused again. “Those of you
on benign platforms have to defend them. Those of you who are not
will need to steal one.”

 
Some of
the men in the arena clearly knew this and had already seen this
game played before. The others looked terrified or angry and
glanced around frantically for ways of escape. There were none.
Mordalayn slowly scanned the arena and saw that of the men
assembled here maybe half were hardened soldiers. The others simply
looked bewildered and scared. Normal men who had earned the wrath
of an evil king. 

“
Before we
begin…a few rules,” King James said raising his voice and again the
audience cheered. “If you are not on a benign platform when the
bell strikes its third tone, you will die. If you try to share a
platform with another, you will both die. If you refuse to
fight…you will die. Whoever is left at the end will be granted Our
mercy. Any questions? Thought not.” 

Guards came
forward from the open portcullis gates clutching crudely made,
short swords and King James spoke clearly. “Do not pick these up
until the first trumpet sounds. Anyone who tries is a dead man.”
The guards unceremoniously dumped the blades at the feet of each
person, with the exception of Mordalayn who was left without a
weapon. They retreated rapidly through the open gates, the
portcullises slamming down as they stepped through. A trumpet
sounded a high note through the room and the men bent down to
retrieve their weapons. King James sneered. “The mighty Queen’s
Sword will fight unarmed. Let’s see if this haughty warrior can
show us all how he earned his status with the odds a little fairer
to his opponents.” 

Mordalayn
glanced down and around the arena floor. The grill was vast and
covered nearly all the circular space beneath them. The platforms
beneath the grills were about one metre by one metre, large enough
for two men to stand over but also big enough to defend by allowing
a defender free range of movement. At another signal from King
James the metal platforms beneath them began to slowly move around
with a grinding noise. They scraped underneath the grill in
unpredictable patterns under the feet of the men above. The man who
had no partner suddenly dropped his sword and shrieked “NO! This
isn’t fair!” and tried to run for one of the portcullises in the
wall. He got to make three strides before four crossbow bolts
thudded into him. He fell heavily to the floor, dead before he made
contact with the grill. There was more laughter from the assembled
audience and several could be seen making bets as to the outcome,
many pointing with enthusiasm at Mordalayn. 

“
One more
thing,” King James said, rising from his ornately carved chair once
more. “Feel free to change partners at any time.” Still more
laughter and a loud cheer went up from the audience and they leaned
forward, elbows on their knees to watch the spectacle below. With a
grinding crunch the circular metal platforms locked into position
under the floor and as Mordalayn glanced down he saw his partner
had the safe point. The man looked at him. “Think I’ll change if
it’s all the same. See you in the final,” he said quietly. As the
trumpets blew loudly to signal the start of the contest he leapt
sideways at the man next to him and grabbed him by his collar,
yanking him back and hurling him against the arena wall. The man
cursed and scrambled to his feet as his usurper took a defensive
stance, ready to repel any attempt to reclaim the
position. 

All around men began
struggling, no one in the arena knew how many safe platforms there
were but they all knew there would be less than the amount of men
alive there in that moment. No one came near Mordalayn, content
with easier possibilities and amidst much shouting and grunting
they tried to shove one another over the exposed metal of the
grills, swords clashing together. Mordalayn quickly looked around
in every direction, primed to defend his position but the desperate
men around him knew their best chance was against each other and
not against him.

 
To his
left an inexperienced man, not used to sword play fell to the more
prolific moves of his opponent. With a silent glare at the man who
had beaten him he slumped forward onto the floor. A cheer went up
from the men watching and in a couple of places coins began to
change hands. The victor in that round stepped back into the
central spot of his platform and glanced from side to side quickly
in case anyone tried to flank him.

 
One or
two men on the outer edges of the group were not being bothered by
the others, most of the fighting was in the centre where only
Mordalayn was left unchallenged. King James watched the spectacle
intently, his hand resting on his chin as he watched the Caracalic
standing unopposed. 

The first
bell began to toll and the men who had safe positions checked where
they stood once more to make certain they were safe, swords held
ready. Two men were down and as the second bell tolled the victor
of the second fight frantically grabbed the body of his beaten
opponent and pulled it clear of the platform and onto the grill.
The third bell sounded and all the safe points had been claimed,
there was no one left to fight in this round. After what seemed
like a horribly long time the final bell tolled. Suddenly with no
further warning, blue flame shot from every place in the grilled
floor except for the safe areas blocked by the metal plates. The
flames were three metres tall and as the audience cheered
enthusiastically and the men in the arena looked on in horror, the
bodies of the two losers and the man who’d tried to run, vanished.
Just as quickly as they had come the flames disappeared and there
was no sign the men had ever been there except their fallen
swords.