AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter 10
The Northern King
King Algar sat at his large wooden table in his dining hall. Despite all the candles that were lit, and the crackling fire in that enormous stone fireplace behind him, the gray stone walls of his castle turned the room into a gloomy darkness. How often had other kingdoms joked about his rainy and cold lands? About the way his people dressed and how primitive his rock castles were compared to the golden palaces of the West, East, and South? Even the beliefs of the Northern people seemed to amuse the world. In the North, everything had its own god—from the green grass to the mighty mountains—which seemed ignorant to those who believed in only a few or just one god.
The North was rumored to be just as poor as it was brutal. The North hadn’t been seen as a major player in politics or wealth for the last five generations of kings. Algar had witnessed his own father deplete the kingdom of its last coin, squeezing noblemen and peasants for more and more, only to barely scratch at the debts his crown had accrued through lavish lifestyles and wars. As a man of reason, he understood why his people had rebelled against him on more than one occasion. Their very existence was threatened. And yet, the crown came first. The crown was this land, and as king beneath it, Algar did what he had to in order to save his name and bloodline, no matter the cost.
“My King,” Gibing called out, pushing the large wooden door to the hall open. There used to be guards for these doors, but most men of age had been drafted into Algar’s army, which was currently camping outside the castle, ready to fight should the truce with the noblemen end. Gibing, who was old and short, struggled with the large doors like a gnome entering a giant’s house. But despite his disadvantage in physical strength and his ugly smallpox-scarred face, Gibing had served Algar’s grandfather and was one of the few people the king trusted.
Algar placed his chicken on the metal plate in front of him and wiped his mouth and grayed beard with the side of his woolen shirt. He leaned back in his seat, already weary of the news old Gibing might bring. It should be Algar’s son, Yutrik, to bring him messages, but only the gods knew where that useless boy was—most likely whoring and gambling. Unlike Algar’s bastard son, Rune, who was camping with his army right outside this castle. Loyal, fearless, and ready to fight even if his morals often got in his way, Rune was everything Yutrik should be, yet the throne would go to the rotten brat.
“Has the mighty King of the Rhine chosen a suitor for his spoiled bitch?” Algar asked.
Gibing limped over to Algar. “Rumor has it she will choose a suitor soon. After she spends time in the North herself.”
“Here? With her mother’s kin?”
Gibing nodded as his lips twisted into a grin.
“Then why are you so jolly? Louis has already warned us that he won’t support my war if the Rhine King marries his daughter into these lands.” Algar slammed his fist on the table, shaking his silver wine mug and metal plate. “Mylands!” he added.
Still grinning, Gibing handed the king a small note, rolled up like the ones carried by his courier birds.
“This note just came in from my special little bird. The blue pigeon.”
Algar straightened in his seat. There was only one special bird Gibing called blue. This note must have come straight from one of his spies at the Rhine King’s castle. Impatiently, his big, greasy fingers unrolled the little paper. He read every word twice. Then he collapsed into his mighty chair with a smirk, paper still in hand.
Forehead wrinkled high, Gibing stared at the note. “My King, I take it this is good news?”
Algar nodded. “Very.”
“Is the princess not on her way to the North, then?”
“She is.”
Gibing scratched one of the scars on his cheek. “Then what amuses my great king so?”
Algar slammed his fist on the table again, this time in joy. “Tell me, Gibing, if I could win this war by ending a single life, would you agree it’s justified?”
“Of course, My King. Butthe lifeHis Majesty might be referring to will be heavily guarded. And the retaliation for sucha lifetaken would extinguish this great house to nothing but ashes.”
Algar’s mood flipped again to anger. “It’s good you have that much faith in our soldiers and your king.”
Gibing bowed. “My King, I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t bother. I won’t punish you for speaking the truth.”
Gibing straightened his old spine, a pinched look on his face.
“But what you don’t know, my old friend, is that the tides have greatly turned in our favor.”
“How so?”
Algar handed him the note. “The princess, she’s not traveling with the king’s guards on the main road.”
“What?” Gibing read the note repeatedly until his grin returned. “But...how?”
Laughing, Algar’s long, silver beard moved up and down with his chest. “Gibing, who cares about the how. Go fetch my black knights.”
