Tales of the Vangen: The Dead King of Danic (Book 3)

Chapter 39: They All Come Tumbling Down

Fenris was crazy. He had to be, considering he'd nearly believed the lies Loken had tried shoving down his throat. The thought alone made his blood boil as he trudged angrily back home, hacking at any nearby bush or low hanging branch that dared to cross his path.

"Bastards," he growled through gritted teeth. "Rutting bastards, the both of them." All that talk of keeping him on the right path, all that effort keeping him alive, and for what? So that he could kill the very king he swore his life too all those years back?

Fark all that.

Say one thing for Fenris the Forsworn, say he's loyal to the core. Corvere, Darendel, and all the other rats scurrying about were little more than rutting savages. Cruel, petty tyrants, with cruel, petty ideas. But he was different. He possessed the one thing they could never have. The High King's approval. Why else would the witch have summoned him to the throne room, if not for his dogmatic loyalty?

Fenris stopped abruptly in his tracks. Why had she summoned him? He tried to remember, but he only recalled the words he'd murmured in his saddle back then, not the visit itself. A memory of a memory, but not the original. He tried to think past it, but his mind's eye only came back gray, as if he were staring into a deep fog.

Like Nan and the box, all those years ago.

"Fenris! By the seven hells boy, but you've got a soldier's march."

Fenris hissed out a sigh and peered over his shoulder, saw Harald clambering down the path towards him, great black hammer gripped tight in one meaty hand.

"I'm glad I finally caught up to you," Harald panted out, silver wheat beard swaying about as he came to an awkward stop. "Thought I was going to chase you there for a second."

"What do you want," Fenris demanded. His grip tightened around the handle of his blade.

Harald's eyes flickered as he took a watchful step back. "How about we put the sword down first?"

"How about you tell me before I gut you like the worthless traitor you are?"

"Aye, you've got a point there, and a very sharp one at that." Harald took another wary step back, but Fenris quickly closed the distance.

"I remember what you told me. Back in that filthy hole of a cellar. About your plan to kill the king, and that I was somehow destined to beat you to it."

"Rings a few bells," Harald said, lips pursed tight, his eyes never leaving the blade. "Goes to show what the truth gets you around here now-a-days. Should have kept my big mouth shut."

"Well, lucky me then to be there when you blabbed it all out!" Fenris hadn't meant to shout. He was trying to stay calm, stay in control. If you show any emotion in Danic the jackal's will pounce on you, but he was just so angry, so tired, so...hurt.

Why? Why did it have to be this way?

His thought's lingered over Loken's soft embrace. How the man had brought him back from the brink of death not once, but twice. They'd been so close to each other, so close their lips could have touched had he only the courage to do so. Even now, he wanted nothing more than to feel the witch boy's touch again, but desires such as that were a weakness in Danic, and weakness only got you killed.

Tears burned at the corners of his vision, but Fenris refused to cry. Not now. Not here.

"Fenris." Harald planted the hammer down slowly and held up his hands. "I know you're angry, and I understand where that anger comes from."

"Do you?" Fenris snarled, muscles twitching in his arms and legs. He wanted to run, wanted to rip and tear at Harald until everything felt right again. "Do you really think you can stand here and tell me you actually understand?" He winced as his voice cracked into a pathetic whine. "The people I owe my life to are telling me to commit treason. To betray my king, my country and my own integrity, all at once."