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    The Cursed King and Other Stories
    The Cursed King and Other Stories
    The Cursed King and Other Stories
    Ebook198 pages3 hours

    The Cursed King and Other Stories

    By Shaun Kilgore

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    About this ebook

    Long an outcast from his beloved Senagra, the wizened warrior named Fendreg, garbed in his mystical gaden armor, wanders the world, but always with an eye towards returning to home. Honor compels him time and again to aid those in need. In The Cursed King and Other Stories author Shaun Kilgore brings together a few of his fabled Senagran’s exploits.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherFounders House Publishing LLC
    Release dateApr 20, 2017
    ISBN9781370462087
    The Cursed King and Other Stories
    Author

    Shaun Kilgore

    Shaun Kilgore is the author of various works of fantasy, science fiction, and a number of nonfiction works. His books appear in both print and ebook editions. He has also published numerous short stories and collections. Shaun is the editor of MYTHIC: A Quarterly Science Fiction & Fantasy Magazine. He lives in eastern Illinois.

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      The Cursed King and Other Stories - Shaun Kilgore

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      Table of Contents

      Copyright Information

      About the Author

      THE CURSED KING

      CHAPTER ONE

      The cries of the Free Companions filled the field, a charnel house of the broken and the dying. Fendreg, the Senagran, spun his mighty sword in flowing arcs of destruction. His cries were swallowed up in the roar of battle. He rushed forwards, never slowing down as he demolished the ranks of the Develsh mercenaries. His body gleamed with the magic of the mystical gaden-armor, blazing like a beacon.

      Rally to me! By the Two Mothers, rally to me I say!

      The Free Companions inched across the blood-soaked grounds, passing their fallen brothers just as often as their enemies. Fendreg had moved ahead of the others, trying to give them a chance to regroup and consolidate their strength. As it was, the battle had finally turned in their favor.

      Follow the Senagran, shouted one of the bloodied soldiers. There he is, glowing like the sun. There is Fendreg!

      The men came to him. Fendreg smiled viciously as his heavy blade sliced through the Develsh mercenary’s flesh, blood, and armor. May the Mothers be merciful, you wretched dog.

      The men were closer now. Fendreg drew more from the magical armor, increasing his strength and prolonging his stamina. The mercenaries kept sending in more troops, a seemingly endless line of fools ready to die.

      The field was partially sloped. As Fendreg led his forces up the slight hill, he was nearly undone by the blood-slick grass. He lost his footing and fell down on one knee. The nearest Develsh came at him, screaming in his harsh tongue, an enormous battle-axe whirling down towards him. Fendreg launched himself to one side, barely keeping ahold of his sword, while he struggled to avoid the axe. The power his armor helped him clamber to his feet just as the Develsh found him. The axe left his hand in a smooth motion, seeming to move slower to Fendreg’s heightened senses.

      There was a brief second where the blade grazed his neck on one side, before he was clear. The mercenary screamed and rushed him. The two of them fell to the ground, the sound of their armor grinding together loud enough to make Fendreg realize that the battle had moved beyond them up the hill. They were surrounded by a few smaller fights, but din of the blades had become quieter.

      Pain blossomed in his jaw when the Develsh struck him hard with his gauntlet. They rolled across the ground, getting covered in mud and blood, until Fendreg was free and pressing down on the other man. He struck him until he was senseless and sought his sword in the chaotic landscape. It was yards away sticking out of the ground. A few leaping strides got him to it. Fendreg yanked it free and stooped down to wipe the blade on a dead man’s tunic.

      The battle still raged. Fendreg left the man behind and ran towards the thickest part of the fighting, where the men were fountaining their blood from severed arteries and spears held the dead aloft. The Senagran came to deal more deaths and bring Lord Malban’s tyranny to a fitting end. Aglow with ancient power, he was the harbinger of justice down among the men of the Free Companions. The heat of battle soon consumed the warrior. There was no sense of time, just the steady movement of flesh and muscle. Down deep, in his soul, there was one thought only. Everhold. Home.

      In time, the field grew quiet, except for the forlorn cries of the wounded and the dying, lying among the dead. For the Free Companions it was a victory and Malban’s head was mounted on a spike. The warriors unscathed helped to gather their brethren. What remained of the Develsh forces fled into the forests of the north country.

      The skies were a dull gray and a mist fell across the fields of Alaba. Fendreg sat downwind of the carnage, staring into the fire. The others let him be for a time. The Senagran let his mind disentangle from the rage and let himself feel the sharp edge of weariness that lay hidden beneath the preservative powers of the gaden-armor. He had drawn deeply of those powers and needed much rest.

      One of the Free Companions approached the fire. He knelt down and bowed his head in respect. Lord Fendreg, we welcome you to our lodge in Tieral. My brothers and I are in your debt. You may take your ease the city and recover. You will have a place at the table of the Elders at the feast tonight.

      Fendreg glanced up at the Alaban. The man was a warrior, well seasoned by more than one battle, his brown hair streaked with patches of gray despite still being a young man. His armor was battered and dull. The mist was beading on the surface and running down the grooves in the plating.

      I accept your invitation, Calen. Fendreg reached out and shook the other man’s hand. I plan to drink to my heart’s content, by the gods.

      The gore of the fields was left behind and the memory already started to fade for the Senagran. Another battle, another victory that kept him from the path to Everhold. He followed the restored lords of Tieral into the smallish city, walking through the gates with the Free Companions. The cheers from the people rolled over him like thunder. He met the tear-blinded eyes of old men and women, saw the capering dances of young ones who did not know the costs of war. Many eyes fell upon Fendreg. His foreign features and gleaming armor set him apart from everyone. All that was missing was a good horse to walk him through muddy streets that threatened to suck his boots off.

      Calen and the others marched along the street, puffing their chests out with pride. The crowds swelled on both sides and some strained to reach them with wiggling fingers, hoping for the chance to touch the armor of their champions. Fendreg shied away from them, and picked up his pace. Damnation’s foot, there just no reason to laud praises on me like I’m one of the gods! Certainly would be news to my da, the Mothers keep him.

      Fendreg laughed suddenly, caught up by his own thoughts.

      The crowds never noticed. The procession of the Free Companions moved onward leaving the people behind as they marched up to the Keep. Tieral was barely worth the name ‘city,’ but Fendreg wasn’t about to offend anyone. He moved along, keeping his motions steady despite his bone weariness. More cheering met them ahead and the praises were bandied about in rich measure once they were inside the walls of the Keep. When serving maids came up to him in the courtyard, Fendreg smiled and accepted their bold kisses. He wasn’t the only one of the Free Companions to garner the attentions of such sweet young ladies.

      So it was that the celebrations began in earnest, even as the men removed their armor. The maids drew several of the leaders away and Fendreg was being beckoned to a fine room by the same red-cheeked beauty. Once the doors were closed, Fendreg let her minister to him, helping him with the clasps that held the gaden-armor in place. A tub of hot water steamed nearby. Fresh clothes had been set out. It had all been capably, though hastily arranged. As soon as the battle was over, Fendreg thought. As soon as they knew they weren’t going to die too by Malban’s hands.

      Soft hands removed the quilted coat and the shirt, both damp with sweat. The maid’s fingers plied the muscles of his bare arms and lingered in the hair on his chest. They were cool when pressed against his molten skin. Fendreg let the woman remove the rest his clothes. He watched her take a damp cloth from the small tub. She began to wash him. The heat from the water was just as pleasing as her touch.

      Fendreg sighed. Her hands moved across his body, massaging the aches and pains away, and stirring other sensations. Watching her work, Fendreg took hold of her wrists.

      Your name. What is it?

      Dayana, she said.

      Her eyes were large and glistening, the lashes distinct. She was painted up with subtle colors. Fendreg gazed down at her blue robes, the material thin so that he could see the shape of her body beneath. She waited, wet cloth dripping on the stone floor. Fendreg became aroused. Dayana kept her gaze fixed upon him. The Senagran pulled her to him, tearing away her robes, and letting himself get lost in the feel of her soft skin and sweetness of her perfume. Once he was spent, Dayana helped him dress for the feast. The night was swallowed up in drunken merriment. Fendreg sang, drank, and ate heartily while dancers undulated among the warriors. Drums and flutes wove hypnotic melodies.

      Fendreg awoke in tangle of sheets with Dayana draped over him. The woman had consumed just as much wine and ale as he had. He slipped out of his bed and sat in a chair watching her sleep until the sun shone through the window of his room. When full morning had come and gone and Fendreg finally pulled himself together and dressed. He gathered his armor and other things and left Dayana there. As he moved through the halls of the Keep the most important thing seemed to be avoiding as much noise as possible. The slightest sound sent waves of agony through his head. The celebrants were all slow to rise. Fendreg encountered several servants roaming the halls. A few paused to bow as he passed. He carried the armor over his shoulder, wearing the same clothes from the feasts. His boots had been cleaned. He sought Calen out, finding the man in a chamber gathered with a few of the other Free Companion leaders.

      Ah, Fendreg, nice to see you up and about. I was wondering whether I’d have a clear enough head this morning to go over the accounts with the Mayor of Tieral. Will you join us for some breakfast?

      It is time I moved on, Calen.

      Calen frowned. Right. He stood up and walked up to Fendreg, extending his hand. Is there any way I can convince you to stay in Alaba? We need someone with your skills to help us train the Free Companions. The work you’ve done so far has been nothing short of miraculous.

      I am sorry, Calen. I must be off. Everhold awaits.

      Calen nodded. Your homeland. I see. You said as much when we first met. Perhaps one day, I shall see this Vale of Everhold, Senagran. Until, may the Two Mothers protect you, and keep you safe on the road. You may choose a horse from the Keep’s stables. Our honorable mayor will give you whatever supplies you might need. Calen glanced at the plump, sweating man sitting behind a far table.

      Of course, of course. Whatever we can do to repay you for what you’ve done for Tieral and for Alaba.

      Fendreg bowed his head. My thanks, Calen. May the Two Mothers be with you too. The two men clasped forearms again and Fendreg left.

      The Keep’s stables were filled with fine horses of every size and stock. Once he’d settled on a black stallion, he had the beast saddled and secured his armor to its rump along with packs stuffed with food and other supplies. The day was as gray as the previous one, but the rains had abated during the night. The humidity was up so Fendreg removed his jacket as he and the stallion left the stables and rode across the court. The other soldiers who had lingered in the Keep waved at him or praised him in equal turns as he moved among them. He rode out the gates with much fanfare.

      The streets of Tieral were a nasty muck. Fendreg smiled down at his clean boots. Much better being on a horse again.

      The Senagran rode out of the city and found the nearest road heading west. West towards home.

      * * *

      The morning passed slower out on the road but Fendreg kept the animal at canter as they moved down the empty track. The stallion was easy to handle. He left the fields and forests of Alaba behind him and felt the better for it. It had been almost two months since he had encountered Calen and his ragged band of freedom fighters and found himself aiding them in their noble cause. It was as though the fates were working against him. Perhaps the Two Mothers were weaving their own designs around Fendreg’s life. All that Fendreg knew was that Everhold was still so far away.

      The Senagran pushed the brooding thoughts away and kept his eyes on the changing landscape around him. He urged the stallion into a gallop and they rode hard down the dirt road as it wound its way over broad open grasslands dotted with clumps of trees. There were several miles of open country ahead, but Fendreg saw the shapes of the forests, deep dark patches on the distant horizon. Even without the enhanced eyesight his gaden-armor gave him, he could see the hints of mountains jutting up among the trees. They were a league away so he paid them little mind at first.

      Fendreg rode on until the daylight waned. He found a small lake just off the path partially screened from the roadway by a stand of thick-growing maples. He brought the stallion beneath the drooping boughs of the ancient trees and led him to the water’s edge. The horse drank deeply. Fendreg pulled out his waterskin and dipped it into the clear water, letting it seep inside. Once the skin was bulging he drew it to his lips, careful to keep a firm grip on the stallion’s reins. Only after they had both had their fills did Fendreg make camp. With the horse tied to some low-hanging branches, he was free to gather some brush to make a fire.

      As full darkness closed around them, the fire shed welcome light. The trees seemed to sing in the gentle breeze. Fendreg listened to the faint music and hummed a familiar song from home while he gazed into the flames. He opened one of the pouches Calen’s people had stuffed in his bags. It contained fresh bread, some wrinkled apples, and some cold beef wrapped in cloth. He washed down the simple dinner with more water and leaned back against a gnarled tree trunk.

      The horse snorted some but eventually settled down. The only sounds in the night were crickets chirping and the occasional hoot of a horned owl. Fendreg felt his eyes growing heavier by the moment. He pulled his sword closer and eased it out of scabbard and adjusted the blanket roll so he could use it as a pillow. Then he noticed the old man sitting across the fire from him.

      Fendreg gaped and yanked up the blade. He was on his feet, his eyes darting from side to side looking for others hidden in the shadows.

      The old man stared off to one side, but moved his head slightly

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