A Spoiled Rule

Chapter 8

Liam felt as if his brain was bathing in warm soup. He thought sleep would overtake him, but the voices around him would not go away. He could hear Stephen, though he sounded distant. He could hear the guards and even remotely detect their hold on him, though he could not move any part of his body. Liam was now hardly aware of the rag in his mouth. He did not feel the water pulling him towards the king's palace, nor his body falling to the turtle-shell floor. For what seemed to be hours, he lie helpless, hearing muffled voices all around and echoed footsteps. He assumed he was dreaming, for the voices around him were almost dreamy and soft. He couldn't move nor open his eyes, so he must be asleep. Perhaps he was only half-asleep. Liam remembered himself as a boy, pretending to be asleep only so he could hear his mother and father speak softly to him. He'd pretend to fall asleep while they took turns reading him stories, sitting beside him in his bed. Sometimes they'd catch him pretending, and they'd tickle him until he broke laughing. Those days seemed so long ago.
"I knew your true identity since before you spoke."
The voice was distant, though Liam felt as if it was separate from a dream. The voice was too personal, and held a note of familiarity that unsettled Liam, even in his drugged state. He realized that he was not dreaming; that he, in fact, felt worse than as if he were asleep. He felt too paralyzed to be asleep, and too drowsy.
"King Liam of Harksgold," mocked the voice.
Liam held onto the voice. He knew who it belonged to, though his lazy mind could not put a name to it. Deep in his heart he knew who was speaking to him, and he held onto that, for he feared if he did not hold onto it, he would slip into sleep and never wake.
"Won't you show respect to the king?" said the voice.
"M-Mettiam," Liam mumbled, though he did not feel his mouth open. In fact, his voice did not sound as if it belonged to him.
"There you are," said King Mettiam. "Why did you hide your identity from me?"
"I f-feared... f-feared which protocol..."
"I follow the protocol that I find suits the situation best," said King Mettiam. "As such, you shall die, and the war shall end."
Liam did not respond. For a moment, he wondered if he had slipped into true sleep.
"You returned this long lost blade to me, and for that, I thank you," said Mettiam. "It was meant to impale my father's heart, but its vengeance shall now rest."
Liam knew there were important things to be said, but he could not come up with the words to say them.
"I have much technology to keep me on this throne for years to come, and Harksgold cannot stop that. You must be jealous, correct? Jealous that you banished my family?"
"I didn't know..."
"Your father was an unjust king!" said Mettiam loudly. "He was unfit to rule and left his inexperienced son to lead his people to waste. When you die, I shall go up to the land and claim your kingdom, ridding it of those plagued and freeing those who still live. I will be the ruler of both Dínam and Harksgold."
"The plague comes," said Liam.
"Zombies cannot come beneath the surface!" scolded Mettiam. "You do not know what you speak. Now, report to me how many were on that ship."
Liam did not want to answer. He could not give up Stephen, though whether Stephen was dead, Liam did not know. He did not want to sentence William to his doom.
"Find the others," ordered Mettiam.
Liam could not recall speaking.
"Leave them in the dark," ordered Mettiam.
Whether Liam was floating in the water, he could not tell. He could not feel anything, and either none were speaking or he simply could no longer hear. Wherever he was, he wondered if this was what death felt like. He was not in pain, neither warm or cold. He was simply there, though his thoughts were not as before. No, his mind seemed to move at a different pace; one that produced slightly incomprehensible thoughts, apart from reality. He imagined his mother and father lying with him in bed, reading to him. Golden light reflected off his mother's beautiful smile. Her and his father exchanged loving glances as they cared for their son, ruffling his hair and kissing him goodnight. How happy they were.
Something sour filled Liam's mouth, and its distaste forced his eyes open. He gasped, trying to rid the taste from his mouth, but something heavy sat on his face, and he began to panic. His heart was suddenly beating too fast. He could not see, for whatever was before him proved to be one blurry mess. His hands reached for his face, and they laid shakily upon a piece of hard material.
Abruptly, whatever was on his face disappeared. Liam gasped again and lifted his head.
"-hear me? Liam? You're alright! Liam, can you hear me?"
The voice was harsh in his ears. His vision cleared, and he noticed Prima crouched before him.
Prima.
Just then, Liam remembered what had happened. He could remember a rag being forced into his mouth, Thorne lying on the ground, Stephen crying out to him. Then, there was a blank hole in his memory. But he remembered the names of the people around him and Dínam, and King Mettiam.
He was shaking. He did not feel well at all. He'd often lie sick in bed as a youth, though there was always love and medicine to care for him. He was not used to recovering on his own. Years of loneliness had taught him no valuable lessons.
"Liam, can you hear me?" said Prima, her dark eyes wide with concern.
Liam nodded. "W-What happened after..." His voice trailed as he recognized that he was soaked.
"We rescued you," said Prima simply. She grabbed onto his shaking hand. "I'm deeply sorry, but we must hurry." She helped him up, and did not let go of his hand. They were in some sort of cave-an actual cave, its walls rough. There was no light, only the faint sound of dripping water somewhere nearby. Prima led him deeper into the cave, and Liam was grateful that she did not let go of him, for he was unsure if he could walk steadily on his own. His mind was swimming, and a sour taste was still in his mouth. He felt as if he were sweating, and he wished that he did not appear in such a manner before Prima. Nevertheless, she did not seem to notice. They turned and twisted further into the cave, and Liam began to hear distant voices. "Y-You hear that, too?" he asked. He was worried that whatever poison he was given had disrupted his mind permanently.
"Yes," said Prima. They turned a corner and found multiple people standing at the end of the tunnel. There was a lantern on the floor, which brought to light Stephen, Gresham, William, and Thorne.
"Liam, thank the Good Lord!" said Stephen.
"I don't understand," said Liam.
"We will explain later," dismissed Gresham. He was standing before a ladder that climbed up into a hole dug from the ceiling. "Prima." He gestured for her to come.
Prima did so, activating her mask as she went.
"Go up first," said Gresham. He handed her a dark blade, seemingly made of stone.
Prima took the blade, looked worriedly at Gresham, then climbed up the ladder and disappeared.
"You're next," said Gresham to William, who had now acquired an Aquadínito. William climbed up the ladder, though he seemed to move slower than usual.
Gresham turned to Thorne. "Will their masks hold?"
Thorne nodded. He still looked pale despite the glow of the light. "Only for one trip. I cannot guarantee anything else."
"Very well," said Gresham. "Who's next?"
Liam heard a faint commotion from somewhere in the tunnel, though no one else reacted, so he dismissed it. Perhaps he was delirious.
"You go, Liam," said Stephen.
Liam took a breath. He stepped to the base of the ladder and looked up. Beyond the hole seemed to be deep blue ocean, though there must have been pressure so great above him that no water fell down. He touched the band on his wrist and activated his sour mask. He climbed the ladder, though his grip on the rungs was weak, and stopped briefly at the top to spot the same technology found at the base of the doors in Dínam. He reached up tentatively, and as soon as his fingertips touched the ocean above, he was pulled into a current that carried him very fast through the water. The ocean seemed to grow lighter, and he realized too late what that meant. He was suddenly falling toward sand, and he landed roughly on his feet, though his knees collapsed. Liam retracted his mask. He blinked, trying to rid away blurry vision. The sour taste was still in his mouth.
"Liam, are you alright?" came Prima's voice.
Liam's vision cleared, and he stood roughly to his feet. He took off his band, which immediately broke and fell into the sand. Stephen appeared beside him.
Prima gasped. "There is one!"
Liam followed her gaze. A zombie was coming toward them, though it did not run or crawl. It walked at a slow pace, as if it held all the time in the world. Prima readied her knife.
Thorne landed unsteadily in the sand, and Stephen had to grab his arm to steady him.
The sour taste was getting stronger.
Prima dodged the zombie's gnashing teeth as it neared, and she stabbed it in the shoulder. The zombie let out a guttural scream and clawed at her, but Prima dodged again and stabbed it in the head, her blade sinking too easily. The zombie collapsed to the sand.
Prima wiped the blade on her dark pants. "So the head will do it?"
"Yes," said Stephen.
Prima looked down at her feet and wiggled her toes. "How freeing it is to be on land."
Gresham finally emerged from the sea and landed in the sand. He noticed the dead zombie and then Prima. "This sand is odd... Right, well, where shall we go?" He looked to Liam.
Liam tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. "There is... There is a bathhouse not far from here with a roof only accessible by ladder."
"Lead the way," said Gresham, pulling out a knife of his own.
Liam started forward, butterflies in his stomach. He was not nervous. Perhaps he was a little afraid, but he was not nervous. He began for the path that wove through the ports, when he heard a commotion. He looked around. A group of zombies was running toward them from several directions, as if angry at the killing of their friend.
"Run!" Gresham shouted.
Liam did not need instruction. He ran, hearing the others follow behind, and he was surprised at his speed. He did not feel capable of running, for he still felt sick, but there he was, running as fast as he could. The snarls of the zombies grew louder. He could feel their presence near. While he ran, he scooped up a rock. He passed the poorer houses near the water and the middle houses, gardens and lounge spaces, small stores and empty vendor stalls.
Suddenly a zombie crossed his path and snarled at him. Instincts slammed the rock into the zombie's head. It fell, though Liam knew it was not dead.
A horrible cry came from behind. He turned and saw William, who had somehow ended at the back of the group. A zombie had scratched through his chest and was scrambling for his throat.
Prima was slashing any zombie who got near, but her blade did not have the fine cut that a blade of Harksgold did. Zombies still lived after her slashes, and were getting dangerously close to her. Gresham seemed to be holding his own, though his teeth were gritted with the effort. Thorne was cowering behind Gresham. Bless Stephen, who was trying his best to kill the zombies who clawed at him, though he was using a rock and could not muster enough strength to bash their brains in. And William had picked up a shard of glass.
"No!" Liam shouted. He did not mean to be so loud, but he could not control himself.
William gave one last sorrowful gaze to Liam, then slashed the glass across his throat. He fell to the ground, blood spurting, taking a few zombies with him, who could not seem to unhinge their jaws from his skin.
Liam felt something against his shoulder and turned, instinctively smashing the rock in his hand against a zombie's head. Two more were there to replace their fallen. Liam kicked one in its chest with all his might and heard a few cracks as the zombie stumbled backward. He palmed the other zombie in the face with the rock, taking no thought of its dress and gray womanly features.
A zombie tumbled into Liam and knocked him to the ground. Liam knew in an instant that it was all over. It would only took one bite, one scratch, for it all to end. In that moment, his breaths no longer belonged to him. He did not even feel the weight of the zombie on top. He could feel nothing.
The zombie on top of him was suddenly thrown aside, and Liam lifted his head. The zombie was entangled in a net.
"Your Majesty!" came a distant yet familiar voice.
Liam stood, though he could not search for the source of the loyal cry, for a swarm of zombies was now directed at him. He jumped over the fallen ones and ran, praying that the others would be able to follow, mud sticking to his shoes. He could see the bathhouse nearby, along with a particularly fast zombie intersecting his path. It was immediately entangled in a net.
Liam reached the bathhouse and slipped inside. There was only one woman lying as a bloody heap in the water. Liam would not be able to tell if woman or man, were it not for the dress that floated with her. She had been ripped to shreds. Liam thought she was moving slightly, but he did not linger. He ran to the right wall where beyond a door stood a ladder. He clambered onto the roof, where he saw Jackson and Harvey, along with one of Harvey's men. Jackson, who had been leaning off the ledge of the roof shooting at zombies, leaned away and gave a respectful nod toward Liam. Then he raised his gun abruptly, and Liam stepped aside instinctively. Stephen, Gresham, Prima, and Thorne all hurried up the ladder. Seconds later a zombie reached the top, but Jackson entangled it in a net and it fell backwards, snarling all the way down. Liam gazed at the ladder. At the bottom where the zombie had landed, a crowd was forming. Those who managed to climb up were shot down by Jackson, and this repeated until there were bodies crammed in the space, forming a sort of blockade. When it was evident than none were getting through, and when the sky was beginning to turn purple in preparation for the night, they were able to breathe.
"I've exhausted my net shooter," said Jackson. He set the gun on the ledge of the roof, which rose to Liam's chest and was patterned with cobblestone and golden trim.
Liam gripped the ledge and closed his eyes, feeling the temperature drop slowly as night began to fall. A soft breeze felt refreshing against his face.
The sour taste was overwhelming. He could hardly breathe.
"My King, are you alright?" asked Stephen softly.
Liam took a deep breath. Then, he bent forward and vomit spilled from his mouth onto the ground below. In that moment, he felt no embarrassment. He simply felt confused. When he was done, he wiped his mouth and turned toward Stephen. "You will still refer to me as Liam."
"Of course," said Stephen shortly. "Liam, you should sit. You're shaking."
Liam looked down at his hands, which were indeed shaking. In fact, now that he pondered, he realized he felt tired. He sat down against the ledge and rested his head against the stone.
Thorne sat down near Liam, slapping him on the shoulder. "I am going to lie down now." He spread himself out on the roof, his shoes touching Liam's leg, and closed his eyes.
Stephen ran a hand through his hair and knelt down, taking a deep breath. "We need some food, though I am uncertain whether nightfall is the best time. Food would help, with the poison in your body. How do you feel?"
"Well, I feel confused, mostly," said Liam honestly. "How is it that you both were not in Dínam?" he said toward Harvey and Jackson.
"When my ship sunk, bless her, only myself, my one man, and your guard resurfaced," said Harvey. His "one man" was standing off to the side, looking nervous, shifting his weight. "One of my propellers still had some life in it, and it had detached from the ship. We hung on to it 'til we got to shore," continued Harvey, while Jackson nodded. The guard still wore his armor.
"Jackson, I am afraid that the captain of the royal guard has died," said Liam sadly. He knew true sadness would fall soon.
Jackson's jaw clenched, though being a man of reservation, he stood tall and gave a small nod of acceptance.
"While I know this is not the appropriate time, I must ask you a few questions," said Liam.
"Liam, perhaps we should wait," said Stephen quietly. "You should rest."
Liam took a breath. He ran his fingers along the cut in his hand while he thought. He appreciated Stephen's concern, as natural as it was, though he had more pressing matters to attend to. "Jackson, why were the walls not erected around Chroal?"
Jackson didn't hesitate to respond. "It was under William's command, from the revision of Protocol Ninety-Three, that the walls should not go up. It was to allow those who were not infected to escape."
"Who commanded William to do such a thing?" asked Liam, though he knew the response to come.
"He acted with the advisors, if that is what you mean, Your Highness," said Jackson.
"Please refer to me as Liam," he replied.
"One of your advisors has found favor with King Mettiam," said Gresham, who folded his arms.
"Oliver," said Liam. "He was the quietest of the advisors, though just as harmful." He gazed at Jackson, whose cut on his face was healing, though still visible. "How is it that you received the cut on your face?"
Jackson met Liam's stare, and Liam detected fear and hesitation in his eyes. Nevertheless, after a brief pause, Jackson responded. "When you sent us guards from the portmaster's house to look for resources and the missing advisors, we neared Chroal. There were many of the diseased in our path, and we all held our blades. The captain stopped us and ordered us not to go further, and though I know it is wrong, forgive me, I protested. I could hear-I swear I could hear-a girl's voice crying out, and the odd thing was, none of the diseased were inside Chroal, or so it appeared. Either they all were attacking the woman I could hear, or there were simply none and I was delirious. But I voiced this to the captain and suggested we investigate. Furious at my suggestion he turned and clipped my face with his blade. I remained silent afterwards and we returned to the portmaster's house, finding the advisors along the way."
"I appreciate your loyalty," said Liam quietly. "Do you know why the advisors had left?"
Jackson shook his head. "I do not. They appeared to be returning from the general direction of the palace, though I cannot confirm that is where they had gone."
Liam took a breath. He did not believe the advisors had gone to the palace, for they could not have gotten there without getting killed. The palace was overrun with hundreds of zombies. Regardless, whatever they had been doing, it was no longer of any concern. "William was a good man and a great friend who succumbed to the darkness of a royal life. He was unable to break free from it."
"I'm sorry for your loss," said Prima, who was standing beside Gresham.
Liam remained quiet for a moment more. He could feel his face grow hot with tears, but he could not let them fall. Not yet. He cleared his throat. "Harvey, have you seen of an older blade inside any of your ships?"
Harvey stiffened and glanced at his crewmate. "Well, I have seen many, though I must admit that there was one blade aboard the ship that we were on... That blade was beautiful. A masterpiece, really. Simply elegant. I did not recognize it to be of Harksgold or Dínam craftsmanship, though I am not skilled in that area."
"Aye, some of us crew would talk about it," said the man. "It was amongst the blueprints to place the blade specifically in that ship, and we hadn't touched it since."
"There is a rumor in Dínam," said Gresham, who was now looking beyond the rooftop ledge at the city of Harksgold, Prima at his side. "The rumor goes that a young king made that blade. It was intended for his enemy, though the stories all end in failure."
"Yet King Mettiam never spoke of rumors," said Prima bitterly. "They usually came from one source." She nodded her head at Thorne, who was deeply asleep.
Liam detected the same bitterness toward Thorne that he detected earlier in Prima. "He saved my life," said Liam. "He was attacked by a Veelam."
Prima's gaze softened.
"Was anyone able to make contact with the rebels?" asked Liam.
"What is Dínam like, I wonder?" mumbled Harvey.
"We've tried that for years," said Gresham. "I'm not certain sending a message through sound waves is considered contact when we know not where to send it nor if anyone is alive to hear it. Alas, we have tried with no conclusion."
"Very well," said Liam quietly. When he spoke no more, Gresham and Prima sat nearby while Jackson took a position near the ladder. Harvey nodded toward Liam and sat down, though his crewmate knelt across the roof and buried his head in his hands.
"You have not yet rid your system of the drug," said Stephen quietly. "Though I am without my scanner, I can still do as much, and shall throughout the night."
"I wish you to keep watch on Thorne," said Liam. He gazed at the sleeping thief, then at the others. Liam could not rule over these people, nor give commands. Even if he were to do so, a thief would not obey. Thieves never obey in Harksgold. Liam no longer had a kingdom to rule. He was no longer a king.
"I feared they had killed you," said Stephen quietly. "I thought they must've, but that was not the worst part. No, the worst was when they interrogated you, and you had no choice but to accept it. You are a great king, Liam, as you were raised to be. No great king should have to suffer like you have for so many years."
"I suffer for a new cause," said Liam. "I suffered for my people, and now I suffer for my own life."
"I am glad we have made it this far," said Stephen. "We shall rebuild the kingdom."
Liam wanted to laugh, but he had no energy. Rebuilding Harksgold was an unattainable dream. He knew Stephen was staring at him, so he hid his emotions by focusing his attention on Thorne. "Were you able to help him?"
Stephen sighed. "I began to clean his wound, which woke him. I didn't finish because I feared for your life, but when he'd woke, he told me it was the greatest he'd ever felt."
That saddened Liam more. He could easily imagine Thorne suffering alone in his cave from poison, having to endure days of pain. Stephen had barely touched his wound, and the man exclaimed that he felt great. The poor thief was probably ignorant of what it felt like to be taken care of-a feeling Liam was forcibly indulged.
Liam gave a small nod, dismissing Stephen. Stephen stood and moved over to Thorne, peeling back the cloth around his leg. Liam laid back his head and closed his eyes, and a bitter sleep overtook him.