An Insurrection (3 page)

Authors: A. S. Washington

Tags: #Action, #Adventure, #Fantasy, #Science Fiction, #Sword, #Sorcery, #Juvenile, #Horror

‘Hail Garvin Desh! Our king!’ One of the men proclaimed.

‘Long live the king!’ Another proclaimed with more eagerness than the last man. ‘Kneel before your king.’ He stepped to the center of the room, just before Beld’s guards and pointed his sword at everyone around him. One by one the fearful bent the knee to Desh. The unarmed guards followed soon after. ‘Kneel,’ the man said to Morn seeing everyone else upon the knee in supplication.

He should have known better. The man should have taken note of the armor Morn wore. Like Brack’s it was identical to Desh’s in every way. Sure, Desh was giving the orders, but nothing about his armor and cape was different. Maybe to this man, armor was armor, no matter how it looked. The fact that Morn and Desh wore the same emblem upon the left side of their breastplates didn't matter either. Sure Desh’s backside was on the throne, but Morn held Thurstan’s crown in his hand. Desh knew it. He’d watched him take it from the dead king’s head. He didn’t demand the gold circlet, nor did Morn offer it. Not even when Desh took the chair.

If none of those things moved the enthusiastic man to rethink his position, Morn’s eyes should have. Those grey dead eyes weren’t worn by a man who bent the knee. They were the frightening windows into the realm of the dead. His voice was the beckoning of Death’s Summons. ‘What is your name?’

He stammered for a moment as he looked around at Beld’s men who offered no support. Old friends he was with Brack, but he knew the legend of the Shademaker far better. Beld had quickly told them to stay where they were. The man turned his eyes to Brack. The bald man shrugged and rolled his eyes uninterested. Shock poured over his face. His expectation was drowned in silence and Desh clenched his jaw, watching Morn fervently.

‘Dane,’ Dane said breathing in deeply.

‘Dane. I would bend the knee to your king if you are capable of forcing my legs to fold,’ Morn said.

Dane moved quickly, covering the space between Morn and himself in a few strides. He was no coward. He bared his teeth as he readied his strike. His swing was packed with malice, but it missed. Morn had shifted sideways, too fast for him to see. Dane spun, swinging his sword high to slash at Morn’s neck, but again he found air as his sword sung.

Dane shifted fast, raising his sword high above his head ready to strike hard. He was sure that the blow would land and put an end to the man who wouldn’t bow to his king. Morn was foolish enough to stand still as he brought his sword down. He had to be begging for death.

As his sword came down Dane felt a jolt of discomfort shoot through his arms. The ringing of metal against the hard floor sung in his ears. He’d missed again. Disbelief clouded his mind. There was no way a man that big should be able to move that fast. Not that fast, not in full armor. Most certainly not with his long sword still stuffed in the scabbard on his back. His white cape was heavy too. The crown in his hand may have been a light burden to carry, but still it weighed a pound or two. No way.

‘Kneel,’ Dane spewed in anger as he lifted his sword to turn around. His shoulder collided with something hard and immovable and before his eyes could inform him, he felt a great weight close in around his neck.

Snap. The pain was excruciating and he dropped his sword as his senses began to flee him. The air he’d hoped to breath was unable to find its way into his lungs. He dropped to his knees in weakness as Morn released the grip on his neck. Dane was past struggling. Fear had been replaced by desperation. He clawed at his throat, feeling his crushed windpipe, and hoped that it could somehow be repaired.

Morn kneeled next to Dane and turned him toward Desh. He whispered in his ear softly. ‘Your king has not lifted a hand to save you. He hasn’t offered a word.’ Morn saw the question burning in Dane’s eyes and provided him the answer. ‘You yourself forgot to kneel. So I am glad that I could help you find your place before him.’ He listened to Dane whimper as tears began to stream from his eyes. ‘In your foolish attempt to gain favor with your king, you knew not that I am beholden to but one. The same man that Garvin Desh and Brack the Bald is beholden to. Yet, even to this man I do not bend the knee.’ Dane looked at Morn puzzled. The whimpers and failed gasps for air worsened. Each fit coming faster than the last. “There need be no more killing. If you would but allow me to show you mercy, your misery might end.”

Slowly, Morn slipped the blade into Dane’s throat and he fell silent. He fell forward and landed on the side of his face, blood running from the wound in his neck.

Morn stood tall. Those grey dead eyes fell upon Desh. A smirk crawled across Morn’s face as he walked toward the guards standing before the dais. The guards remained still and the Shademaker narrowed his eyes. With his jaw clenched he swiftly turned them on Beld Slimhand.

Beld had seen the look before. He’d been witness to the terrible aftermath that followed an offended Morn Shademaker. Ten men fell dead in his wake that day. All of them members of Morn’s own contingent. Beld knew there’d be no mercy for his men if that clenched jaw became a grimace. ‘Make way!’ Beld’s voice was packed with anger, but his heart pounded in fear.

The guards shifted out of Morn’s way. Morn offered Beld a nod. He took the short staircase in one long stride. Standing in front of Desh, he towered over him, two inches above seven feet. Looking down upon Desh, he shook his head
no
as if disappointed.

‘I already know what you’re going to say,’ Desh said, a stern look at war with anger on his face.

‘Then you’ve made your choice?’ Morn raised his chin slightly, awaiting the answer he knew well. Yet, unspoken intentions meant nothing in their order. A man may be brief, but a man must speak. ‘Say it and be done wit it.’

‘This land and her people are mine, and I shall rule here justly. I shall make this house my home. I am Lorencia’s protector. I am her king,’ Desh said, his eyes locked upon Morn’s; those grey dead eyes.

Morn strode behind the throne and held the crown with two hands over Desh’s head. ‘By virtue of victory in war, I proclaim Garvin Desh, King of Lorencia.’ Morn placed the crown upon Desh’s head and the hall erupted with applause.

Placing his hands upon Desh’s shoulders, Morn leaned in close to Desh’s ear. The edgy sound of Death’s Summons entered into his voice, darker and more harrowing than before. The hair on Desh’s arms stood up and a chill ran down the length of his spine.

‘Brave men, honorable men, and even hired killers become contaminated by power. They forget their virtues, and they forget honor. Drowned do they become in their own legends. Choked do they become by the suffocating grip of politics. Soon do they forget where their true allegiances align. Thus, remember well my dear brother that even kings have masters. Do remember that when they are called they must answer. Forget not that your oaths were sacred. For if you do, The Hurricane shall blow, and The Tide will coming storming through; and He leaves only Death in his wake.’

THE END

Thank You For Reading
An Insurrection
!

I would be very grateful if you would take a few minutes to write a
review
of your experience with my short story on
Amazon.com
. I want to know if you loved it, liked it, or hated it. Your review will help me improve the series as it moves along and become a better writer. Thanks again for reading. ~ A.S. Washington

READ VOL 2.

SHADEMAKER

About the Author

A.S. Washington
was born on the 19
^thday of September in 1983. He graduated from Temple University with a degree in Economics, and lives in New Jersey where he works with at-risk teenagers. As a boy he fell in love with books and began writing his own stories. In December of 2011, his debut novel,
The Virgin Surgeon
was published. In the summer of 2012, his first collection of poetry,
The Musings of My Epic Mind
was published
. The Twelve
was his third published work. In the fall of 2013, A.S. Washington published Book One of the Weary King Series,
Words of the Weary King
, a collection of poetry.
A Generation’s Journey
is his third novel and fifth published work.