Fleas - Songs of the Gnolls I

SHATTERED TIES 6.4

Nimeral had reluctantly accepted the sovereignty of the Empress. There was little Lei Livilan could do against the alliance with Lea Beranta and Turquena. Dannke knocked at Bekwin's room. The young man opened the door and smiled. His face was familiar, but he could not remember where he had seen him before. When he entered his room and looked at all the paintings and canvases, he tied the knot.

"Dannke, it's been a long time. I suppose you know your squire is in captivity."

"That's why I'm here. I brought these documents."

he wanted to give them to him. He refused to take them.

"My father insisted that I come. I admit that being emperor is tempting, but on the brink of a war of extermination, a rebellion of the enslaved species, and so much death, I am somewhat dissuaded. Red is a powerful color, but it can over-saturate the eye. These scrolls, are they what I think they are?"

"I don't know your thoughts. This are the acceptance of Turquena and Lea Beranta. The son of Lorent will be the successor of Her Majesty."

"The two most influential cities in the empire, after this one. I heard of your wanderings when the little Lord of Turquena received me. Perhaps I should have gone to him earlier, but the sea was so beautiful that I had to paint it."

"The Lord of Lei Livilan also accepted the sovereignty of Helibel. Only you and your cousin remain."

Bekwin snorted and looked out the window, perhaps at the birds piercing the clouds dusted with the orange glow of the sunset.

"I agree, on two conditions: the first is that Mírrim refrain from war. I see no sense in fighting for something that is not ours."

Dannke frowned. Was he serious?

"Mírrim is part of the Empire. And we need your help to defend it. Besides, if this is a war of extermination, as they say, they'll come after you once the capital is destroyed."

"I understand that, but I also know that it is unlikely to happen. Those rebels may be very powerful in hand-to-hand combat, but besieging a city as fortified as this one is something else entirely."

"And the second?"

"You said you were here for the cub's freedom. I suppose the condition for his release is that you convince the main contenders to give up the throne. And my cousin will make it difficult for you. If you succeed, I want Fleas to go with me."

"What interest could you have in him?"

"Once, while hunting, I saw a bear use the bark of trees to scratch its back. I have also heard that animals called otters, which are like river dogs, open shells with rocks. It's fascinating to see how much other creatures can learn. In that sense, finding a savage who can make art, the pinnacle of human sensibility, is something that doesn't happen every day."

"Do you want to study him? As if he were an animal?"

"I want to watch him grow, see if he has limits and if he can overcome them with effort."

Dannke hesitated for a moment. He clenched his fists and answered:

"I will give him the choice. But the final decision will be his. And if he accepts, I want compensation. After all, he is still my slave."

Bekwin laughed a loud, irritating laugh.

"It is ironic that you reproached me before. Which life is worth more, an animal's or a slave's? Anyway."

He held out his hand. Dannke shook it.

Before leaving, Bekwin added:

"As soon as he is released, tell the little one to come here. I want to show him something."

Dannke did not answer. It was time to face his greatest challenge: the Bloody Terror. He had met him in the war, and before that he had heard stories of other battles he had won almost single-handedly. He possessed a madness that was hard to describe; he was cold and calculating, but also fierce and unpredictable. He never fought the way other men would, and that made him dangerous. And he was very strict, both in battle and in court. His nickname fit him like a glove.

It took him a while to find him because he was not in his room, but training the guard near the stables. Watching him, he realized that "training" was perhaps a generous word. He entered the circle of knights until he stood in the front row. The Bloody Terror, without armor, wearing only a shirt he would wear to bed and a pair of tights, held a bastard sword in both hands, curved like a heavily weighted branch. And as branches looked his arms, thin and flimsy, but not because they were green, but because they were dry. The only reason the young knights did not laugh out loud was because they knew who he once was. Celleck looked at him questioningly until his mind reacted.

"Oh, you, you look strong, knight. Come, train with me. Then these brats will see how it's done."

The captain approached him and whispered:

"He's been like this since sunset. He can hardly stand, but he won't retire to rest."

"What about his men?"

"He sent them all to the front. He was the only one left, and that was because he didn't hear the trumpets."

The whole situation was somewhat pitiful. Now he faced a wreck of a man, not even a shadow of what he once was, for even the most reckless of warriors would tremble before his shadow. But this... this was not the Bloody Terror. He looked down at his own withered hands. Five or six winters had separated their births. Would this thing be him in the future? He stepped forward and held out his hand. One of the soldiers handed him a short sword.

"Oh, another contender. You look like a young man I once knew. Go on, attack."

Dannke noticed the trembling in his skeletal little arms and the way he rested the tip of the sword on the ground, as if he would not support its weight. He grimaced and threw the sword into its owner's hands, then approached at a slow pace. Celleck lifted the sword with great effort and let the weight fall on his head. Dannke moved aside, but not fast enough, and the blade found his right shoulder. It cut, but it was a very shallow wound. The ricochet threw him aside as Celleck was unable to take it. He looked into his eyes, surprised.

"I must admit you are very agile. You remind me of someone I knew in the war."

"Come, my lord. Your presence is required elsewhere."

He took his arm and patiently led him away from the guard.

"Oh, well. I hope it will be a new battle."

Little did the old man know that he had lost the greatest battle of all. For it was impossible to defeat time. Perhaps only the Imperishable Gods had that privilege. For a moment, his mind traveled beyond the Range of Storms, straight to the Immaculate Lands.

He dragged him to his room, sat him on the bed, and took a parchment, quill, and ink. As he wrote, the old man shifted from side to side, tried to open the latch, begged for his weapons, and grumbled. Dannke sat him down and placed the parchment in front of him. He placed the quill in his hand and brought it to the bottom of the parchment.

"And this, what is this?"

"A declaration of war, my lord. You must sign it so we can march into battle."

The Bloody Terror looked at him blankly for a moment, then nodded and signed the parchment without reading it. Dannke rolled it up and sealed it with wax and the seal of Wheezing Keep that they had foolishly left behind. He went to the door.

"You know, you remind me of someone I knew in the war," he repeated for the third time. Dannke closed his eyes tightly and drew his knife. "Yes, you look just like the bastard knight. What happened to him? He was a little grumpy, but good-hearted."

Dannke went out without looking back, locked the door, leaned against it and sighed. He looked down at the knife in his hand. It was not a dignified death for a warrior.