“Why
did you run?” the Emperor asked as if he truly did not know the answer. “You
wasted other people’s lives. Your sister, the guardsman, even your
journeyman—they will all be caught and killed in time. Do you see your folly?”
Brandol
said nothing.
“Of
course you do, but you won’t admit it. I understand this.” The Emperor of
Neverak seemed very genuine. He stepped closer to Brandol, but clamped the
handkerchief tightly over his nostrils. “Between the two of us, Carpenter, my
respect for you has grown through all of this. Ultimately, you have done me a
great favor.”
Still
uncertain how to respond, Brandol lowered his head. The Emperor watched him,
and with every step closer he took, he pressed the handkerchief farther into
his nostrils.
“You
talk so little. At the inn, this wasn’t so. Why the change?”
“I
have nothing more to say.” Brandol steeled his nerves, trying to be Henry in
every possible way. He could not stop the trembling completely, but he did his
best.
“Not
yet, of course” The Emperor’s voice sounded as soft as silk.
Brandol
closed his eyes and asked God again for help. He heard the echoes of footsteps
approaching the hall from the same entrance the guards carrying Brandol had
used.
“Not
yet,” Emperor Krallick repeated. “At one time I swore to do terrible things to
you, Carpenter, but I no longer feel that’s needed.”
“Why?”
Brandol whispered.
“I
realized that I would have done the same as you if our positions were reversed,
and I now believe that I swore my oath in a vain temper. Even I make follies.”
More
servants came down the carpet carrying Isabelle to the throne. She had been
quickly bathed, dressed in a robe, and placed in a new cage with new poles to
support it. She looked healthy and clean.
“My
dearest Isabelle,” Emperor Krallick said with great delight. He walked to her
cage, put his gloved hand through the bars, and took her hand in his. Isabelle
withdrew back into her cage. The Emperor looked upon her with compassion. “All
things in time, of course. The carpenter and I were chatting while we awaited
your arrival.”
Brandol
imagined that if he were Henry, he would be anxious for a sight of the woman he
loved. He pushed his head into the bars of his cage. “Isabelle,” he said in his
hoarse voice, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” He knew she could not see him, but
wanted to make certain she understood what he tried to do. “Please . . .
forgive me.”
The
Emperor left Isabelle’s cage and returned to Brandol’s. “For what have you to
apologize? You made the greatest sacrifice anyone can make for another person.
You have no need to ask for forgiveness.”
“Unlock
the man’s cage,” he ordered to one of his servants. “Now we will see how you
choose to die, Carpenter. Like a man or like a dog.”
Brandol’s
trembling began again, and, for a moment, he thought he would not be able to
stop himself from spilling out the truth and pleading for his life. Tears fell
from his eyes. His chest heaved in great breaths. The cage opened and he
stepped out. When he did so, the Emperor gave him a strange look—a suspicious
look.
Brandol’s
heart froze. He had failed. Something had given him away. He shuffled on his
bare feet, which the Emperor glanced at next. “For a moment, I was concerned,”
Emperor Krallick said. “You were taller in the inn, but, of course, you are now
barefoot.”
A
servant entered the hall carrying the most beautiful sword Brandol had ever
seen. While he did not feel it an honor to perish by the blade, he stared at it
with an odd fascination.
“This
will be the means of your death in a few moments, Carpenter. Not many people
know how they will die. Do you think it makes you fortunate or unfortunate?”
“Unfortunate,”
Brandol answered.
“Why?”
“Because
of the future you take away from me and the woman I love.” He looked in
Isabelle’s direction as he finished his sentence, but in his mind, he thanked
God he had said all those words without stammering or sounding like an
imbecile.
“I
take away nothing which is not mine.”
Isabelle
began to weep again. Brandol turned toward her. “She will always be mine.”
“We
shall see. You have done me a grand favor, Carpenter. One I wish to repay you
for, in a way which I am able. Have you a request?”
Brandol’s
heart beat rapidly inside of him. This would be the one place to either seal in
the Emperor’s mind that he was Henry or bring it all to ruin. What would Henry
ask for? “Please, God,” he asked silently for the last time, “help me fix my
mistakes.”
He
cleared his throat as best he could, but the words still came out with great
effort. “A kiss.”
The
Emperor examined Brandol with great interest again, but Brandol did not sense
any suspicion. Isabelle continued to cry in her cage, but the hall was quiet. A
smile appeared on the Emperor’s lips. “Yes, of course. That is appropriate. My
servants will dismiss themselves now.”
As
the Emperor’s command was obeyed, Brandol walked to Isabelle’s cage awkwardly.
He didn’t know how she would react. He had never kissed a girl. Perhaps his
mother had given him kisses when he was a baby, but he did not remember. He
knelt on the floor, as tenderly as Henry would have done if he had been there.
He placed his hand in the cage. Isabelle took it.
“I
love you,” he managed to say despite his weak voice. And in his heart, he felt
real love for her.
“I
love you, Henry. Thank you. Thank you for everything.” They held hands for many
seconds, and Brandol wept because he had never had a chance to experience
something so wonderful as the love between Henry and Isabelle. He wept because
he had never known the joy of someone touching him with such tenderness. And he
wept when she pressed her lips firmly against his, grateful that he had been
allowed one such moment in his life when he saw who he was and liked what he
saw.
“Thank
you,” she whispered again, holding his hands tightly in her own.
Her
eyes locked with his, and Brandol knew she forgave him. He stood up on his own
accord, like a man, and walked back to the Emperor. His knees hit the floor and
he bowed his head. The weariness and pain in his body was gone. He had been
renewed.
“I
don’t kill you out of hate, Carpenter, you are a brave man. As such, were I to
let you live, you would never rest until either I died or you had your love
back safely. Isabelle is rightfully mine, and so I must protect what belongs to
me.”
The
Emperor of Neverak and Brandol surveyed each other. As the Emperor watched him,
he rubbed the scar on his neck where the blade of Henry’s own sword had been
pressed against him.
“You
die well, Henry Vestin. You die well.”
He
raised his sword.
Brandol’s
lips pressed tightly together and whispered reverently, “Thank you, God, for
helping me fix this.” Then every color dissolved as the entire world
transformed into something pure and beautifully white.
“The
sword came down
and Brandol the journeyman perished under its
weight. Isabelle cried out the name of her love, and her heart experienced real
pain. The tears that fell were no less real than if Henry had died in front of
her.
“The
Emperor cleaned the blade of the sword with his handkerchief and placed it back
in its sheath. As he removed his gloves and dropped them with the handkerchief,
his focus stayed on Isabelle. ‘For him, it is finished, but your new life
begins today, and your cleansing begins now.’”
* * *
* *
Silence
reigned when the old man stopped speaking. His voice had grown tired, and yet I
had never heard a storyteller with such an ability to captivate an audience.
Listening had been as natural as breathing, and my imprisonment had been a joy.
The comfortable silence was broken as the crowd slowly realized that he had
ended the story for the day. Whispers came first, as no one wanted to break the
enchantment that had fallen over us. Even I, writing as furiously as I had,
could not mistake the power in his ability to weave the tale.
Someone
dared to raise his voice: “Keep going!”
Several
others lifted their voices in agreement, though less rudely. The old man did
not respond, instead, he stood and picked up his walking stick and supported
himself on it, no longer using it lightly as he had when he arrived at the inn.
The owner took the stage while the old man stepped away and slipped
unobtrusively into the crowd.
“Now
hear me, folks!” the owner said. “Hear me! The story is over, but it’s going to
pick up again tomorrow night. Come early for drinks and dinner to make certain
you’re not late.”
“Why
can’t we have it now?” one asked. “I want to know—”
“Because
I can’t stand to have you in my tavern for that long.”
A
roaring of laughter accompanied the owner’s comment, and that seemed to do the
trick. Without further argument, dozens of bodies turned for the door and the
joust began to see who could get out fastest.
I
tried to keep my eye on the old man as he made his way through the throng; I
wanted to speak to him—thank him—for the employment, but the sea of people made
it impossible. His cloak looked like so many others. I could not give him chase
with my stacks of papers and ink bottles cluttering the table. I hastily
gathered my things, looking up every few seconds to try and spot him through
the masses. By the time I’d jostled my way through a sea of large and small
bodies, he had disappeared.
A
quarter moon smiled down in the clear sky when I stepped out of the inn. When
my feet touched the street, I turned all around, even jumping in place for a
hint as to where he’d gone. I heard nothing, not even a tap of his stick. The
old man had left as strangely as he’d arrived. Perhaps his enchantments
extended beyond his ability to put an audience in a trance. My
questions—pressing questions that only he could answer—would have to wait. I
sighed in place as more patrons brushed past me, chattering about what was to
come. They, too, would have to wait until tomorrow night. And if I wanted a
good seat, I would have to arrive early.
The End Of Volume One
Afterword
My dear Fellow Bookworms,
Thank you for reading
the book I have lovingly dubbed
Tale
. I admit that I am more
apprehensive about publishing this book than I was for either of the
Psion
books.
Tale
represents a departure from the norm for me. It doesn’t rely
on magic, sci-fi, sex, or (gasp) vampires to sell itself. It’s just a story
about a man and woman and their friends on a great—maybe even epic— adventure.
I hope you liked it so far.
As it was with
Psion
Beta
, the future of this series depends on sales and reviews. If the book
is popular and well-liked, I’m happy to crank out the remaining, planned books.
If I find it’s not worth the time and effort, I will focus on other projects.
That is the life of the self-published. You can help guarantee more books by
telling your friends and family and leaving positive feedback on Amazon and
your other favorite sites to review books. Those reviews are always
appreciated, and so is your continued support.
My best wishes to all
of you,
Jacob Gowans
P.S. Long Live . . . er
. . . Henry and Isabelle (and Ruther and James and Maggie)!