Hail To The King

Chapter Nine: Planets

The Shepherd had vanished when James awoke. The bed in the loft where he had slept was made, thin blanket straight and uniform over the mattress. It was as if he had never stayed there. James was frustrated that he did not wake early enough to see the man off, but he did not dwell on that. Nervousness ate away at his insides as he paced the small home, waiting for news to spread of the Shepherd’s success.

He quickly grew tired of waiting, and stepped outside into the early, foggy morning. He wandered towards the square, tossing a few scraps he had brought with him to a mangy dog, and sparing a few coins for a beggar. He was disturbed that he was so helpless at a time like this. He could do nothing, just wait for the Shepherd’s arrival.

The Shepherd dismounted Nightmare in one smooth motion, storming to the castle gates like thunder, striking fear within the hearts of the guards that stood watch there. “The Shepherd of Fire,” they murmured softly to each other, “how is this possible?”

The Shepherd wrapped a calloused hand around one of the bars of the gates. “I demand an audience with your king.” He declared, “At this moment!”

They scrabbled about for a few seconds before gathering their bearings, “The king has no interest in the likes of you, warlock.”

The iron where the Shepherd was holding it was giving off heat. Already it was glowing a warm shade of red. The men watched in horror as he bent the malleable metal, pushing it down and taking a hold of the next bar. He was going into the castle whether or not he received permission.

“It matters not if the king takes an interest in me. I will speak to him, and if you will not alert him of my arrival, I shall do it myself, stepping over your bodies on my way.” The man spoke calmly as he worked, bending the second bar and reaching for the third. The men scrambled about, nearly tripping over their own feet as they went to speak to the king.

The Shepherd smiled softly to himself as he bowed the third bar, slipping into the castle courtyard through the passage he had made. His footsteps sounded throughout the silent yard as he approached the castle doors.

“Ah, Shepherd, what an unpleasant surprise.” The king stood beside his throne, examining a sword with a jeweled hilt and shimmering blade. “My guards told me you are a mere spirit. That you used magic to damage my gates. Pray tell, why would you do such a thing?”

“I have come to fulfill my oaths. Those that I made to your people, and the one I made to you years ago.” The Shepherd replied, “I defeated your Dragon, and I am here in the flesh.”

“I see.” The king replied, eyes flicking behind the Shepherd to the door. The man raised up his hand, causing a ring of fire to spring up, surrounding the two. The guards who had entered the throne room stepped back, terror shining in their eyes as they stared, astonished, at the flames.

“Your guards will not aid you.” The Shepherd commanded, “We shall fight to the death, settle this dispute for the final time.”

The king eyed the man, clutching his sword in a deathly grip. “I am a god.” He hissed, “No one has the power to defeat me!”

The Shepherd scoffed, drawing his own sword from its sheath at his side. “You will be forgotten like the others, lost in time. Like a dead and desolate civilization left behind.”

The king’s nostrils flared in anger, madness burned behind his eyes. The Shepherd allowed himself a small smirk, further taunting the king. “Show me your anger,” he pressed, “rain your death upon me.”

The king let out a shout, an insane battle cry, and charged towards the Shepherd.

Like planets, they collided.

The king may have been mad, but he was not weak. The two danced together, leaping back and surging forward, slicing and slashing, aiming to lacerate each other. The Shepherd laughed at the man, trying to make him angry, to push him to his breaking point.

“You incompetent fool.” The king sneered at the man, barely dodging the Shepherd’s attempt to lop off his head. “This is not your fight.”

“Oh, but it is, dear king.” The Shepherd countered, springing away from his enemy on lithe feet, only to dive forward, brandishing his weapon.

The king landed a blow to the Shepherd’s side, and he cried out, stumbling to the marble floor. He clutched his wound, feeling blood seep through the cut in his armor. The king let out a maniacal laugh, striding towards the fallen Shepherd. “Don’t you realize, Matthew? You are but a peasant, a mere shepherd of the flames. You are weak, and you will die that way as well. Take this to heart, Shepherd, for it is the last think you will-“

The king was cut off in as gasp, looking down at the hilt of the sword that was buried in his chest. His own sword clattered to the floor as he dropped to his knees. The Shepherd winced as he stood, holding his wound with one hand, jerking the weapon back with the other.

“You underestimate me.” He whispered in the dying man’s ear. “I pray you burn in hell forever, maggot.” He pulled his sword back and as the king began to plead, silenced him for the very last time.

Breathing heavily, the Shepherd stepped back, allowing the ring of fire to recede, slowly vanishing from its presence on the floor. He was losing blood, he needed rapid attention.

The guards had fled from their places when they saw the dead king. The Shepherd wearily staggered out after them, calling to Nightmare once he was outside the castle gates. The horse loped to the man’s side, nuzzling at his shoulder and snorting, worried at the Shepherd’s behaviors. He heaved himself up onto the saddle, and murmured into her ear.

The Shepherd had succeeded, but it was not yet time for celebration. He was wounded, and staggered unsteadily into James’ home. James leapt to his feet, coming to the aid of the man. He had so much he wanted to ask, so much that was on his mind, but none of that mattered now. All that he could focus on was treating the Shepherd.

It didn’t take long to bandage the wound, it wasn’t crucially deep. The Shepherd would survive; he would just be in pain for a few days’ time. James then allowed the excitement to well within him, and he blurted out, “So you killed him? You slew our oppressor?”

A warm smile graced the Shepherd’s features as he nodded, “He has been defeated. Your people are free, James.”

Free.

James cherished the sound of the word. He leapt to his feet, throwing his arms around the man and crying, “Thank you, Shepherd! Oh, thank you!”