A Spoiled Rule

Chapter 18

There was silence in the tunnel when Liam woke. He expected pain to follow after he opened his eyes, so it did not come as a shock when it indeed followed. He tasted dust on his tongue and coughed. He sat up and leaned against the wall. Next to him sat Stephen, his right hand buried in his coat pocket, his head drooped. He sat asleep. Beyond Stephen sat Ryan, hugging his knees. Jackson stood visibly near while Gresham, Prima, Tholle and Harvey either stood or sat awake, keeping a respectful silence. Coulím sat farthest away, his head turned away.
Liam was the unfortunate one to break the silence. "I hear no explosions," he said quietly.
Jackson ceased his pacing and nodded. "They stopped two hours ago. You have been asleep for ten hours."
"You suspect they will come through here," observed Liam. "Yet... Why haven't they done so already?" He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the beads of sweat that broke out on his skin.
Before the guard could give his best guess, Prima said, "Liam, are you feeling any better? It's day three."
Liam shrugged his shoulders lousily. "I'm standing with no aid, so that is good."
Tholle walked in a rather hurried manner toward Liam, gaining mean glares from Prima. "Liam," he said quietly, "I know it may be out of your hands, but I envisioned my theft to take place in the open air, not the water." He sounded nervous. "Of course, I can steal what I want in water at any given moment, but that's not what I envisioned."
Liam trusted Tholle, though he could be a stubborn thief. He trusted the man's instincts, like he trusted Ryan's. "I won't be retreating to the water, Tholle. Mettiam is waiting for me to make the first move, so I shall do so on land, in familiar domain."
Tholle smiled his crooked smile. "Thank you, Liam. Or do you prefer Link? Lume? Luke?"
"Liam is just fine," he said.
Tholle nodded his head and returned to his previous position near Prima.
"Jackson," said Liam, taking a few steps away from the wall. You will keep walking and keep standing until the day is done, he told himself as Jackson neared. "We will exit the tunnels through the nearest door and wait for the enemy to come to us."
Jackson nodded. "The nearest tunnel entrance is to our right, two hundred feet away."
"Lead the way," ordered Liam, and he turned, kneeling down before Stephen, who was still sound asleep. Liam waited a moment before the hot flash on his skin cooled, then reached for Stephen's shoulder, when he hesitated. His eyes caught on Stephen's hands. The swelling had gone down only a little, and some of his fingertips were purple. In fact, the bruises hadn't disappeared at all. Liam would have to question Stephen about this. He shook his shoulder and the doctor woke slowly, yawning before he realized where he was. He sat up abruptly and wiped hastily at his eyes with his hurt fingers. "Sorry, Liam," he said, pushing himself to his feet. "I must have dozed off while I was... Liam? How are you awake? It's only day three of the treatment!" He glanced around and noticed they were leaving. "We are leaving?"
Liam nodded, and together he and Stephen followed the group. "Why have you taken off your bandages?"
Stephen glanced at his broken hands. "I took them off initially to check the swelling... There is only so much pain a man can endure." His voice shook with the last few words, and Liam could finally see the true pain in Stephen's eyes.
"Why haven't you taken any of the medication we recovered?" hissed Liam. He was angry that his friend would keep such discretion, even if it would mean death.
"You needed it, and so did Ryan," said Stephen defensively. "It is my job to heal my patients before myself."
"You cannot heal me when you are hurting," argued Liam quietly. "I know you know that, Stephen. Do you have any more pills left?"
Stephen shook his head. "I can't find any more. Liam, I can survive with broken hands. When the battle is won, I shall then see whether Coulím has any doctors to spare."
"Your fingers are purple," said Liam. "Will you make it a day more?"
"I will," said Stephen, clenching his teeth. He looked at Liam with determination in his eyes. "I will do it for you, and for the sake of the kingdom. I'm not arrogant. I know the extent of the damage in my hands. I can make it another day."
Liam said no more. They reached the tunnel entrance above them and Jackson waited for an approval from Liam. When Liam gave it, Jackson traced the carvings in the wall.
"Do not use any knives if it will further harm your hands," said Liam to Stephen as the entrance slid open. "This is a time of battle. You are to be a field medic."
"Of course," said Stephen.
Liam followed Stephen up into the street. It took Liam only two tries to haul himself up, and considering he was still very sick, he congratulated himself. The street they emerged on was just inside the boundaries of Chroal, and again they were surrounded by ramshackle buildings and devastation. Liam reached for his knife. When he did not find it, he turned to Stephen. "Do you have my knife?"
Stephen shook his head. "Jackson has it."
Jackson was scanning their surroundings, and Liam was regretful to disturb him. "Do you have my knife?" he asked.
Jackson immediately unsheathed Liam's knife and handed it over. "My apologies," he said under his breath.
"That is alright," said Liam. He gathered his surroundings. One zombie was standing between two buildings. After a moment of gazing at its prey, it sprinted for Gresham. Gresham dodged it and allowed it to run straight for Prima, but he caught the zombie's wrist and stabbed it in the back of its head. Prima slapped Gresham's arm.
Liam knew they needed to get someplace high, for it was Mettiam's plan to wear them out. Jackson must have suspected this too, for he was already heading for a two-story dingy housing complex. Liam motioned for others to follow, and just when he turned to follow Stephen, an unnatural chill ran down his spine. Liam turned just in time to see a man with a long beard decorated with coral fire a gun into the air. Liam defied his weariness and ran for Mettiam, but the man was wearing some sort of armor that allowed him to jump into the air. It wasn't like the suspensors Liam knew, for golden spikes were melted into the armor's chest plate.
Stephen grabbed Liam's shoulder. "Run!" he said loudly, as dozens of zombies came from buildings and alleyways, hurtling toward them. Liam turned and ran alongside his friend for the two-story complex. He turned and slashed at the two nearest zombies to give Stephen time to run. Immediately Liam noticed his own reaction times were slower, and he took a few steps back, narrowly avoiding sharp nails against his chest. The zombies snarled and screamed.
Liam swiped again at them and caught one's face, blood seeping from a deep cut now in its cheek. It took him more effort than required to slice through a skull. He would not win this fight. He had overlooked his own weakness.
Someone grabbed the neck of his shirt from behind and yanked him through the doorway of the house, and he would have fallen had it not been for Prima. Jackson slammed the door shut and dug his heels into the floor, pressing his shoulder into the door as it was overcome by a wave of pounding and scratching. "Are there any latches?"
After a moment of silence, Liam shook his head. "We can't secure the door. We must hurry to the roof!"
"Where's Tholle?" Prima asked suddenly. He was no longer with them.
"I cannot keep this door from breaking!" warned Jackson. The wood was beginning to split.
Curse these ramshackle buildings, thought Liam wildly. "To the roof!" he said loudly.
No one objected. There was a back door behind piles of paper and spilled bottles of ink, where newspapers sat unfinished with the headline, 'THREE YEARS OF DECEIT.' Painfully Liam stepped over them and climbed up the stairs to the roof. From behind he heard a bang which sent worrisome pangs through his heart. When he reached the roof he turned and found Jackson slipping up the stairs, dozens of zombies behind.
Coulím hurried toward Jackson's aid, but Jackson waved his hand. "We must leap for the next building!"
Liam could think of no better plan. The mass of zombies were too startling to look at, so he turned and ran before they could catch him. He ran alongside Jackson and Coulím, in the back of the group, and at once they jumped for the next building.
Chroal was designed to house the poor, and to accommodate them all, buildings were constructed in very close, unhealthy proximity to one another. As such, landing on the next roof posed no problem at all. No, the issue was the zombies that followed.
"They can jump!" said Gresham in despair.
"For the next!" said Jackson, and they ran forward.
Liam heard the crackling before he saw it. The crackling did not belong to the vicious zombies on his heels but to the roof on which he had been running, which now was collapsing. Suddenly, the entire roof caved in and they fell. Liam's feet smacked against the ground and his knees buckled. Bits of the ceiling fell against his head and his shoulders and for a moment he could see nothing but hear everything. He heard the ceiling settle, and zombies snark from nearby, but he could hear none of his friends. Panic flooded through him, and for a wild moment he thought he had been drugged once more by Mettiam. But as his thoughts were still obeying him, he assumed that couldn't be, and that was when he felt the weight upon his back. He was buried under rubble, and he could hear snarling directly above. He couldn't move, for he knew he would not have enough time to recover his knife and kill the nearest zombies before he were to be infected.
From somewhere nearby, Harvey let out a horrific scream; a wail of despair. That sound dwarfed any fear of zombies and Liam pushed himself from the rubble. Through a haze of dust, he could see Harvey kneeling before Ryan, who was unconscious and sustained a bloody gash on the side of his head.
Liam found his knife and slashed at the zombies now turning on Harvey. He slashed in a red haze, oblivious to whether his actions had any considerable effect. Liam sensed a zombie near his left foot and he stomped. He sensed one at his back and he turned with his knife sharp in his hand. He sensed another near Harvey and Liam jumped over a disabled zombie, his knife falling roughly into one's head. He tore it out of the skull and turned.
"He's dead. My crew is dead!"
Harvey's words startled Liam. As if the zombies had known he had been caught off his guard, they turned and ran for him. One of them was already reaching, itching to dig its nails into his chest.
Suddenly, by God's merciful hand, the zombies all around fell. They had almost fallen simultaneously, though Liam recognized slight differences that suggested someone was to blame for this. In fact, after they all had fallen and Liam looked around to make sure he was not the only witness, he recognized rough stone blades buried into each zombie's skull.
Liam sensed others nearby. He gazed out of the hole which once used to be a wall and saw two dozen people standing firm in the middle of the street, some with armor not unlike Coulím's, others-many women-without.
Dínam had come to save them.
As much as Liam would have liked to welcome them, he worried for his friends. He faced the pile of rubble, upon which Harvey sat on his knees with his hat pressed to his chest. Jackson was just recovering from the fall, his face bloodied. Liam stumbled over bits of the ceiling, unable to hold back his fear. "Stephen!" he called, grabbing onto the nearest bits of ceiling and tossing them aside. Only wild adrenaline kept him up. "Prima! Gresham!" He fell to his knees and sharp bits of ceiling cut into his hands.
Coulím emerged from the rubble, a cloud of dust spurting from his mouth. He gasped and his eyes seemed to peer through Liam. Immediately he stood to his feet and held one palm into the air. "Protect the King of Harksgold!"
Liam sensed the people behind him shifting their positions, some of them coming near only to retrieve their knives, others hiding in an ambush toward nearing zombies. Coulím stooped down beside Liam and began digging through the rubble. No words were needed to ask for help. They knew that Mettiam held foreign technology that they may not be able to stop, so in that critical moment, who they had left was most important.
"Liam!" said Jackson loudly, his voice weaving through the crumbling walls. He had reached down and lifted a large stone.
Liam and Coulím both stumbled over the wreckage where Jackson had called. Liam grabbed onto the arm beneath the rubble and pulled, and he found that he had rescued an unconscious Gresham from the wreckage. Jackson grabbed onto Gresham's other arm, and they lowered him to the ground. Liam noticed more movement from where Gresham had been pulled. Prima was alive, crawling and gasping from the rocks. Liam grabbed onto her hand.
"Gresh... Gresham!" cried Prima, rising unsteadily to her feet. There was a cut near her hairline. Her wild, dark eyes met Liam's, and she squeezed his hand. "He saved me!" She let go and knelt down next to her brother. A moment later, she let out a cry.
Jackson stepped to Liam's side. "He's not in a good state," he mumbled under his breath. "There is a stone protruding from his chest."
Liam knelt down alongside Gresham and examined his breaths. "Do not pull the stone out. Stephen will know more when we find him. Prima," he called. He gently turned her head so she'd meet his eyes. "He's going to be okay. I'm no doctor, but I have a little medical training and I know that he can make it through this. Jackson, will you protect them both?"
Jackson nodded. "Of course."
Liam stood and found Coulím standing near the fallen wall, gazing at his people, who were keeping zombies away. The fight would have to end soon, else they'd be overcome. "Thank you," said Liam quietly to Coulím. "But don't add my safety to your priorities."
"This was the plan I agreed to," mumbled Coulím, his jaw clenched. "Where is Mettiam?" he spat.
Liam took a path that argued against the training he had taken as a youth. He stepped into the street and turned in a circle, raising his voice. "Mettiam! Come down and fight me, as you desire! It shall be a fight of honor, you and me alone!"
His cry was returned with the nearing snarls of zombies.
Liam knew time was against him not only due to the zombies but due to his own strength. His lifesaver adrenaline would not last much longer. He could feel the underlying gnawing of his fever against his skin.
In a blur from a neighboring roof came Mettiam, flying down using his advanced suspensors and landing haughtily before Liam. Liam could see the spikes in the chest plate of Mettiam's armor quite clearly now. They were positioned so the wearer would not harm themself, but that the enemy would certainly get stabbed if they got close. "King Liam of Harksgold," said Mettiam with a sigh, rubbing at his beard. "You do not look well, Liam," he observed, his eyes narrowing. "You look pale, and filthy. Are you suffering of a fever? Have you eaten?"
"I do not wish to grow lazy on spoils while my people suffer," retorted Liam, his fists clenched. He could sense Coulím's soldiers all around.
"Yet you do not prove yourself worthy to be a king," said Mettiam suddenly. "You stand here with guards to protect you, while I honor the battle by coming alone!"
"These people will not attack you so it shall be as if I came alone," said Liam, more as a warning toward those who could hear.
Someone cried out in pain, and from the corner of his eye Liam saw a man fall to his knees, two zombies attached to his arms. A woman nearby took care of the two and ended the man's suffering.
"Zombies draw closer," said Liam quietly. "Shall we settle this war?"
"First, the terms," said Mettiam, straightening his spine. "If I win, Dínam will have free passage throughout the land and these rebellious people will be punished. Harksgold will be mine."
"If I overtake you, Dínam shall be free from your burdens and allowed free passage in my kingdom," said Liam. He bent his knees slightly and grabbed his knife, preparing for battle. "The leader of this rebellious people will lead fairly and honestly, and your family's reign shall never return."
Mettiam snarled like a zombie. "Agreed!"
"Agreed!" said Liam. Immediately Mettiam pounced, aided by the suspensors on the heels of his boots. Liam gave in to his weakness and allowed his knees to collapse. He hit the ground and rolled to the side as Mettiam came slamming down.
An odd thing happened that Liam had never seen before: The knife Mettiam held in his hand seemed to extend from its handle, attached by a thick cord, shooting into the ground where Liam had previously been. The knife retracted back into its handle and Mettiam smiled at Liam. "You cannot run from a retractable blade," he said.
Liam scrambled to his feet. "You have told yourself you're a god!" he spat, his knuckles white on the handle of his knife. "You have mislead these people! You have dishonored your own father by displacing the true king of Dínam!"
"My father was cast into the sea by your own father!" shouted Mettiam suddenly. "He told you the war was fairly new! You're too naive to run a kingdom!"
Liam noticed the heightened aggression in Mettiam's tone. He was angry and young, and if Liam could bring him out of control, he could win. "How did you get a hold of the revised protocol?"
Mettiam paused, his cheeks reddening with adrenaline. "Haven't you learned to build networks as a king?"
"I've learned not to trust snakes like Oliver. He will only look out for himself!"
"I don't need anyone else to look out for me, anyways!" shouted Mettiam, spittle flying from his mouth. "Oliver can die if he'd like!" He flung his arm around, and his blade went flying straight for Coulím, who had been watching near the rubble.
Liam lunged at Mettiam, but not too close. He sliced at his outstretched arm and caught him beneath his shoulder, and Mettiam let out a cry. The knife retracted and Mettiam grabbed onto Liam's shoulder. Liam foresaw what was coming and he dipped his shoulder, grabbing Mettiam's arm and forcing it from him. He took a cautious step back and noticed a faint shift in Mettiam's posture. Mettiam leapt into the air, his suspensors catching his weight, but Liam outstretched his arm and sliced at the suspensors built into the heels of Mettiam's boots. Mettiam fell to the ground on his chest of armor. "I see you still use the same infrastructure," said Liam, allowing time for Mettiam to stand. "If only you had refrained from connecting the heels with the chest. I deem it poor design."
Mettiam let out a roar. He lunged at Liam, and Liam dodged. But his arm was suddenly caught, as if Mettiam knew which way he would dodge, and as Mettiam pulled Liam near, intending to impale him on the spikes, Liam dug his knife into the shoulder hatch of the chest plate. Immediately the armor collapsed, and Mettiam pushed Liam away. "Why do you not kill?" he shouted. "What is your goal in disabling my armor?"
"Now it is a fair fight," said Liam. "Though battles are usually postponed until both kings are well."
"Are you growing tired?" spat Mettiam. He pulled at his beard. "This is not a battle! It is the terms of a treaty to end a war!"
Liam's heart was racing. He could not lessen the pit in his stomach. "A war that we were born into! We have not had the chance to discuss-"
Liam saw the flicker of movement at the last second. Instinctively he dipped his right shoulder and attempted to dodge the flying knife, though a searing pain flashed in his face and he stumbled momentarily to the ground, returning to his feet as quickly as he could. He felt blood seep down his face. He could not control the anger that flooded through him. "You do not fight like a king!" Liam shouted. "You do not even allow your enemy to finish his thought!"
"All courtesies are set aside," snarled Mettiam. "You do not deserve any respect from me! You have no kingdom to rule! You have broken the loyalties of battle when you sent that thief after me!"
Liam could feel multiple stares on him now. "What have you done with him?" he asked, though he wanted to demand answers from Tholle himself.
"You think of me as a barbarian," observed Mettiam, eyes narrowed. "I will propose an alternative to this battle: If you truly love your kingdom, you will kneel and allow fate to overtake you. The thief and your friends shall have the freedom to roam so long as it is neither in Dínam or Harksgold."
Liam restrained himself from speaking and allowed a moment of thought. With citizens of Dínam near, it was difficult for Liam to speak. They believed Harksgold to be a land of justice and truth, honor and respect. If Liam were to decline this offer publicly, he would be seen as a king who cared only about his own life. He would sentence them all to certain death if he denied the proposal, for he did not truly believe he'd win this battle. His fever and the gash on his face caused him much pain, and he only hoped he was not swaying as he stood. He took a breath. When given this choice, his father would die for his people, sending his son to the throne. But Liam had no heir, and he was not certain his father would do such a thing had his lineage not been secured. Yet it was no longer his father's time to rule. "Will these terms last beyond the plague?"
"Of course," replied Mettiam firmly.
"How can I trust an enemy's word?"
Mettiam smiled a small smile. "By the law of a truce between kings." He stood tall and sheathed his knife. "King Liam Mauden Harksgold, ruler of the Kingdom of Harksgold, by the Royal Law of Battle, I shall not harm those who hold allegiance to you, should you fall."
Liam did not dare to avert his gaze. Even the nastiest of kings must obey the Royal Law, for it is one of the four foundations of a kingship. All Mettiam truly wanted was the land. Liam did not want to kill him. Mettiam's family had been wronged by Liam's, and he could not forgive that secret which had been kept from him. "King Mettiam of Dínam, by the Royal Law of Battle, I shall kneel and hand my kingdom to your rule."
"Excuse me, Your Highnesses!"
Liam and Mettiam both turned to find Tholle, stumbling past Coulím's guards, passing unknowingly near to a zombie. "That isn't necessary! I have this..." He fumbled for something hidden within a pocket of his shirt. Liam could tell something was horribly wrong with Tholle, though he could not see any visible wounds. The thief was unsteady and his words were slurred. Liam's stomach turned in knots. Had he been infected?
"Is that Tholam?" said Prima loudly, emerging from the demolished building and gazing at him with wide eyes.
"Here," said Tholle drowsily, and he pulled from his pocket an elegantly carved knife. With his other hand he pointed sloppily at Mettiam. "He... in me... my pocket..." Tholle's eyes closed and he fell forward into the street.
Liam knew now what was wrong, and anger flared within him. He could not disobey the terms he had just agreed to, yet before him stood a monster. Even during such a critical time, Mettiam could not play fairly. This was no king. Liam held too much trust for people, and he was beginning to realize that would never change, and his trust is what will end his life. It won't be his sickness, but his trust.
His father was to blame. Had he told Liam the hardships of ruling, Liam would not have trusted people to be kind toward him as their king.
Tholle, you beautiful bastard, Liam thought to himself. The thief had stolen the knife that Mettiam was going to use against Coulím. That blade had power in it. Coulím believed it was destined to kill Mettiam. Liam had to retrieve it.
"Kneel," snarled Mettiam.
Tholle could not run from this domain if he were unconscious. Neither could Gresham or Stephen. They would die.
Liam bolted for the knife. Like a child, Mettiam held out his foot and Liam fell to the ground, though this time, he did not hit his nose. Mettiam grabbed the knife and turned.
Prima kicked Mettiam in his groin and the knife dropped from his hand. She grabbed it, but Mettiam lunged for her.
Jackson emerged and grabbed Prima, yanking her from the reaches of Mettiam. The knife fell from her hand.
"You killed my crew!" shouted Harvey suddenly, emerging from the rubble, holding his hat as if it were a blade.
Liam scrambled to his feet and jumped for the knife, but Mettiam stooped down quickly. In the hurry, Mettiam's foot slipped and the knife slid to the feet of Coulím. He grabbed it quite easily, for they all had stopped in shock. Jackson pulled Prima back inside the wrecked building, grabbing Harvey along the way, and Liam backed near Tholle.
Though Coulím was shorter than Mettiam, he seemed to stand taller with the knife now in his hand. If the blade truly had power in it, it was destined for Coulím. Mettiam flung his own knife but it clattered against Coulím's chest plate. Coulím grabbed the knife before it retracted and severed the cord. He threw it to the ground. "This blade," he said, holding the elegantly carved blade before their eyes. "This blade is mine. You stole it from me."
"Coulím," Mettiam breathed, his mouth gaping, the coral in his beard quivering. "Coulím, you misunderstand!"
"You killed my father and tried to kill me," said Coulím in controlled calmness. "You stole my people, my kingdom from me. You restricted where my people could freely go underwater. You branded them, forcing them to wear armbands as a constant reminder of how great you are and powerless they are. You should not have come alone."
"The armbands were necessary," stuttered Mettiam.
"Even if that were true, it is you who creates evil things, and the evil shall be put to rest."
"My inventions are not evil!" Mettiam suddenly shouted. Liam could sense many more zombies nearing. "They are the hope of a stronger future!"
"You invented muzzles. You stripped Dínam of its glory and gave the people caves. You sent people out into the waters to die, and in your ignorance you never considered whether the rumors were true." Coulím looked at the blade in his hand. Mettiam reached a hand for him but Coulím grabbed his wrist and held the knife close to his face. "Long Live the King," said Coulím, reading from the blade. He suddenly dug the blade into Mettiam's broad chest, and Mettiam's eyes widened with pain. "Now my blade finds a home in your evil heart."
With a final sputtering, Mettiam fell to the ground, lifeless. Coulím tore the knife from his chest and wiped its blade. He did well concealing his emotions, save for the trembling of his hands.
Liam hoisted Tholle up, dragging him toward the building. With a nod from Coulím, Liam said, "Let the zombies through!" He and Coulím entered the building and found Gresham on his back, awake. Stephen knelt before him. Stephen's coat was filthy from the rubble and his hands were purple, yet he had managed to surgically remove the stone from Gresham's ribs and had sewn him, bandaging his wound. Gresham and Prima were exchanging loving looks only siblings shared.
"Jackson," said Liam, "Is there a safe place nearby?"
Jackson took Tholle from Liam and nodded. "Follow me."
Amidst snarling and gnawing coming from behind them, they all quickly left the building. Prima and Stephen both supported Gresham. Harvey seemed to be in a state of shock, and he followed with no word. They left through a gaping hole in the back wall and were led by Jackson through an alleyway. At the back appeared to be a humble bar. Jackson led them through the door and up a narrow flight of wooden stairs. They stopped in an empty attic space of the bar. Liam and Coulím took their places near the stairs, and waited should any zombies come.