The Fragmented Oath

The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. King Colevaire dipped his hand into the warm, agitated water. He stared at the man he used to recognize. Gone was the youthful pull of his skin, the hairs on his head and chin were fading from black to gray, and the light that used to burn behind his hazel eyes was now cold and hateful.

The king pulled out a tattered piece of parchment from his cloak. He smelled the orange blossom perfume stained on the sheet, and traced the curved script as he read:

Dearest Beloathed,

if you are reading this then I have finally escaped. I do wish I could see the anguish painted on your hideous face, but alas, freedom is much sweeter than retribution. Tell me, do you already feel the magic slipping as I flee further from your icy hold? If not, you soon will. I’m going to remove the bond we made on our wedding night all those years ago and be rid of you once and for all.

I do fear for the people of Midsterra. If I know you at all, which I am most positive that I do, you will lash out at those below and make their life more miserable than they could ever imagine. I do hope you spare them and focus all of that energy on something other than your ego.

As I sit here, scribbling on this parchment, I can’t help but chuckle. I can picture you brewing on our bed as you read this, slamming the mattress with your fists. Have you broken anything yet? I can hear you shouting how selfish I am as you shatter the paintings and the furniture. I do hope you obliterated that hideous painting of me.

I can feel your mind winding, trying to piece this all together. You blame me. You yell at the portrait of me. You tell her how you brought me up from the serfs and how you made me a goddess among men. Which are all true, but even gods can suffer and being with you these past thirty years has been insufferable.

Selfish? Perhaps, but once our oath is broken you will be no better than the people you spit down on. What do you think they will do once they know you are just as weak as they are? Of course, our vassals will probably kill you before the serfs do. Either way, I wish you the best of luck. I also wish you a long and gruesome death.

Stabs and Lashings,

Darya.

King Colevaire growled and crumpled the parchment. He threw the creme colored wad into the river and watched as it carried it upstream towards his home. The castle itself was quite large, but the mountains that the stone structure was built into made it comparable to a pebble. He would have to fix that when he had the time, but there were other matters to attend to. Behind him were three men and three women clothed in garments almost as fine as his. To remind them of their place, King Colevaire fashioned a mound of rock around their wrists and neck forcing them to bow at him. Each had a rag stuffed into their mouth to prevent any from spoiling his fun with ignorant questions. He paced in front of them. The river gurgled, the pine trees swayed, and the cool evening breeze tickled his beak shaped nose. King Colevaire snapped his fingers and an orb of fire, barely bigger than a thimble, floated above it. He played with the tiny spark as his vassals stared at him with fear.

The King devoured their discomfort. Make them suffer, he thought. They actually thought they could stop me. First Darya’s disloyalty and now these weaklings? They will wish they had never crossed me.

King Colevaire stepped in front of an elderly woman with silver hair. She wore a red dress, decorated with silver stitched flames. He made the spark on his finger bend around the others as he asked, “Marell, did I not give you the most powerful magic?” The woman nodded the best she could. “Then why do you try to burn me with it?” Marell whimpered and the king continued, “I let your blade control flames much like how I do now with my hand yet you, and the rest of this lot, come to my doorstep and think you can challenge me?” The woman’s whimpers turned to bouts of terror, she shook her head, praying that he understood she was innocent.

King Colevaire rubbed the back of her head. He then commanded the spark in his hand to feast. The flame consumed her, smoke filled the forest sky and the smell of charred flesh burned the other vassals' nostrils.

Moving on to his next victim, King Colevaire stood in front of a tiny man dressed in a green tunic. He had silver trees stitched into his clothes and his matching eyes darted around in search of an escape. King Colevaire removed the cloth from the small man’s mouth and asked,

“Emmett, perhaps you can enlighten me on why The Queen believed you and the rest of these vermin would succeed in taking my throne?”

“My Lord,” sputtered Emmet, “we don’t know what you speak of, we are but your humble servants. We have not betrayed you in any way. Let us prove our loyalty. Please.”

King Colevaire released his fire and began twirling his plaited beard. “That is an interesting proposition, Emmett. I think I will take you up on that offer.” He then snapped his fingers and the stone pillory holding Roarke and Elowen crumbled. Both of the vassals massage their sore arms and neck as King Colevaire added, “If you wish to prove your loyalty then I command you to fight to the death.” He then tossed them each a sword and ushered them to begin.

The two friends stared at each other, not sure if they should fight or try and call the king’s bluff. Elowen picked up her sword and water flowed from its steel. She gave her friend one last look, then turned towards the king and charged. She arced the blade over her head and sent it crashing down. A large wave spewed from the blade and barrelled towards the King. The King flicked his wrist, causing the breeze to quicken. The water dissipated and Elowen stared in horror.

“Please,” pleaded Elowen, “I had to try. I’ll tell you where Darya is, just please don’t kill me.”

The king’s brow rose, “Speak then.”

Elowen started to speak, but before a word could be uttered, Roarke plunged his stone covered sword into her back. The woman convulsed and then fell into the river, to be carried upstream to the mountains.

Hatred burned in King Colevaire’s eyes, but before he got the chance to punish Roarke, the man dressed in brown wool took his blade and shoved it into his chest. He died before he touched the ground.

King Colevaire screamed. His lungs rattled from the effort and the whole world shook. When there was no more air to give, the King straightened and fixed his cloak. He stared at the remaining three vassals and removed the piece of cloth from the man dressed in green.

“Emmett,” began the King, “Do you know what Elowen was going to say before Roarke stole her life?”

“I… I don’t know your, Highness.”

“Useless swine!” Shouted King Colevaire. He then took control of one of the tree’s roots. The fibrous appendage burst from the ground and wrapped around Emmett’s leg and began pulling him into the dirt. “Are you sure, Emmett. If you can tell me where Darya is, I will call off the tree.”

Emmett was sobbing, and the words that left his mouth were incomprehensible. The king waited a moment, but when the man could not compose himself he called another root to quicken the pace. This made Emmett lose all control. He wiggled and writhed, trying to escape the roots’ hold but once his chest was underground he stopped, accepting his fate.

Once Emmett was fully submerged in the earth, King Colevaire stepped in front of the woman dressed in white. She had crystals stitched in blue on her dress and her head was covered by a matching veil. King Colevaire pulled her blonde hair, forcing her head up so that she had to stare into his fury filled eyes.

“Gwyndolyn, congratulations on the wedding. It is unfortunate that Darya couldn’t be here today to celebrate. I know she was looking forward to it.” The woman shivered and King Colevaire smiled, “Cold? How fitting for the Vassal of Ice. Tell me, will Gareth be cold towards me once I kill his wife?” Before she could answer, King Colevaire sent a shard of ice through her skull.

Wasting no time, King Colevaire moved to his last vassal. He removed the gag from his mouth and the man asked, “Are you going to kill me too?”

King Colevaire smiled, and smacked the man’s cheek. “Come now, Ambrose, why would I kill my best dog? You warned me about the others, it would be improper to return the favor with death.” Ambrose’s shoulders relaxed and King Colevaire added, “however, you did not warn me that my wife was leaving nor do you know where she is and for that you do need to be punished. Since you always admired my wife” Ambrose tried to deny this claim but the King silenced him with a wave, “Don’t deny it. We all know. Because of that, I will make you my dog. I will turn you into a monster whose only purpose in life is to wait on me and do my bidding. You will find my wife, you will bring her back to me.”

“What if I refuse?” asked Ambrose.

King Colevaire cackled, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I gave you a choice,” he then turned his hand to stone and smacked Ambrose across the head. The man stiffened, his head dropped, and rolled in its cell. King Colevaire then removed Ambrose from his pillory and slung the man over his shoulders.

Making his way upstream, The King looked at his home and wished the circumstances were different. There should be a stag across his shoulders, not Ambrose, and Darya should be home waiting for him to return from his hunt.

He sighed and said, “Look what you have taken from us, Darya. You thought I was a beast when you were here? I was merely a wolf cloaked in sheep’s skin. Now that you are gone, it is time for the world to see the monster that I truly am.”