the streets of Mordeina, blocking off a large portion of trade just so they might hear his truth.
“The gods started this war. The gods and their followers tore this land asunder, filling its rivers with blood and its fields with corpses. Yet now the puppets of the victor, these enforcers, these so-called angels, would lord over us. Who will protect us from them? Who will stand tall when they execute an accused thief yet let a confessed murderer go free? Who will represent us, who will be our voice to the heavens to shout in a loud and clear voice that we will rule mankind, not them?”
“The king will!” a man shouted from somewhere in the back, perfectly on cue. Easily worth the three copper he’d paid him.
“The king?” Kevin asked. “The king will protect us? The king will speak for us? Aye, a good king that is, my friend, so bring him to me. Show me. Tell me his name. Where is our king? All of you, I ask, I beg, tell me where is our king?”
Missing , the crowd shouted, and the chant soon was on the lips of all hundred. The Missing King! All hail the Missing King!
“To him I go!” Kevin shouted to them. “Let the castle hear my words, let the throne be painted with the truth. I will not walk to my death across a bed of angel feathers, nor bare my neck to gilded blades whose gold hides metal long stained red with blood. My fellow man, we will have a voice, one that will be heard!”
Their cheers urged him on, and as he walked down the street dozens flanked either side of him. Just before the hill he looked up to the floating city of Avlimar. Several angels circled the clouds, watching, waiting. Protecting, they claimed.
“Do you see me?” Kevin whispered to the sky. “Do you still think you can stand in my way?”
Up the hill to the castle gates he went, knowing they would not, could not, stop him any longer.
H arruq slammed the door shut, flung his back against it, and let out the most heartfelt groan his tired body was capable of.
“How?” he said. “How does Antonil not go mad?”
Aurelia looked up from where she sat on the floor. They were in a small room adjacent to the throne room. The furnishings were few, the windows slender and tall. The floor was carpeted, though, and Harruq flung his boots off so he could feel its softness on his toes. Before he could complain further he heard his daughter call out to him, using the name he was most proud of.
“Daddy!”
She raced barefoot across the room, instinctively weaving through the mess of wood-carved toys. Without slowing she slammed into his leg, hugging his thigh.
“Hey Aubby,” Harruq said, rubbing the top of her head and making a mess of her long brown hair. “Give daddy a chance to breathe.”
She squeezed tighter, then returned to her toys. Without bothering to find a seat, Harruq slumped to the carpet, still leaning against the door. He didn’t want to say anything, do anything, just sit there.
“Things haven’t gotten easier?” Aurelia asked him as she absently made one of the toys, a cat painted blue, spin and dance through the air as if on invisible strings. Aubrienna watched, delighted. Telling her mother to wait, she grabbed another toy, that of a dog, and began having it chase after.
“Easier?” Harruq said, rubbing his temples. “Dealing with Velixar was easier. These people are insane. Six hours I listened to them grumble. They want land, they want food, they want soldiers. Bandits are here, demons are there, and each person acts as if our entire army didn’t just leave for the other side of the continent. And they were the reasonable ones! I’m beginning to think the castle guards hate me, because they didn’t turn anyone away. For Karak’s sake, I had one woman ask if I’d touch her hands to cure her arthritis. Who do they think I am?”
Aubrienna looked his way, and he could see the vague worry in her beautiful brown eyes.
“Daddy…daddy’s upset because he had to listen to people,” she said to
Learning to Kill: Stories