Short Stories From The World Of ARTK

The Priestess And The Knight, Part Two

The following morning, Ser Gifford walked into the throne room with a smile so big it hurt his face. It remained a few moments, even when he saw that his king were not smiling- as his mind were elsewhere and he'd been given no reason to believe the king's anger were directed at him.

"Good morning your grace-" he started. "Oh what's with that face? Has your wife been in one of her moods? I know how she can get sometimes but-"

"This.is not.about.my.wife." The king's hand slammed against his armrest so hard Ser Gifford flinched. He were prone to angry periods, but this..... "Step forward Ser Gifford."

He did so silenty, still not sure what this were about- until the king leaned forward. His hair fell over his shoulders, he got that crazed look in his eyes that Ser Gifford recognized all too well from hours of standing by him while he delved out dungeon sentences- and then he opened his mouth.

"You were seen." He pauses purposefully, giving Ser Gifford time to grow nervous. "Leaving the house of a man known to be a bachelor."

Ser gifford forgot how to breathe. If they'd done anything to him...

"Well that's hardly a crime your grace-" Ser Gifford tried to play it off by laughing, but to the king his body language made everything clear. "Adult men are allowed to have friends."

"Of course they are." The king nodded. "But when a fellow kingsguard knight walks by and hear said friend call out your name in a... very friendly manner... there can be but one explanation."

Ser Gifford knelt so fast it hurt, but that pain were the least of his concerns. He couldn't hurt Ali. He'd rather have his own death be a spectacle, be tortured to death in front of thousands of people as his crime were declared-

  "Your grace please do not touch him I beg of you-"

  The king began laughing, and Gifford had never hated him more. "I know what my obligation is when these... disgusting crimes are brought before me with an audience- but I couldn't give two fucks what a private citizen does, so long as they're smart enough to keep their activities private. This is a dangerous world. And stand up, for fucks sake- begging is unbecoming of a knight."

For the thousandth time in his life, Ser Gifford did as he were told.

  "But when those private citizens decide to do such...vile things with my knights- when those knights are very willing participants.... I cannot let this go unpunished." He shook his head. "Ser Ferdrar- and the rest of you fuckers, you know what to do."

  Ser gifford had only a moment to frown. A moment to process- before he were being dragged by some of the strongest men on the kingsguard. At first he didn't realize what were happening- then they were dragging him up the stairs on the side of the room, to the balcony area that overlooked the throne room. He screamed and fought, knowing this could not be good. He managed to create a few bloody wounds on faces, but then they were dragging him to a small part of the balcony where the railing had been ripped out and renovated. Now there were two solid blocks on top of the rails, on either side of the empty space.

Now it were the perfect size for....

  Tying a person to.

  Ser gifford had seen this happen before, back when the king had a dedicated torture room in the basement. When a session were active, he would bar anyone from even going down that hallway- to ensure none would try to interfere or help.

  He was going to leave him hanging for days.

  He was going to kill him.

  Ser gifford started screaming and cursing, but it were of no use.

  For moments later, his wrists were being nailed to those wooden wooden blocks, and his feet dangled.

———-

  The king's once favorite knight lasted just over one day. Longer than some, but not as long as others killed in that manner. And as luck should have it- he didn't stay up for long after his first death.

You see, in those days the punishments on blood magick weren't quite as strict- as King vegruguay refused to believe it were performed within his borders. He'd adopted the "if we don't talk about it, it doesn't exist" mentality so intensely that laws on the matter were often neglected.

And so there the priestess Aisha was, staring up at Sir Gifford's dead body after using her charms to get into the throne room. She hadn't been sure what, but something called her in here- and who were she to ignore the will of the gods?

  "Take him down." She told her two devotees. "And try not to strain yourselves too much. You'll be carrying him back to my home."

  She could, and she would save him.