It was several hours later that Hayden finally felt relaxed. Greetings had been exchanged, gifts given, and a small but nourishing meal consumed between the two men and Hayden’s highest officers. Now, with only himself and the Northern King present, he sat back into his chair at the table and sipped some more of his wine. Hacenyth took to twirling his mustache, as he had done for the majority of the evening, more and more frequently with each glass of wine he consumed. Lord Hayden smirked to himself, closing his eyes as he crossed one leg over the other and sampled some more of his wine. He couldn’t believe this man was to be his superior. Unrefined, the man’s ability to hold meaningful conversation was almost as poor as his table manners. Now, he was beginning to understand the benefits of holding the proper birthrights.

“Tell me how things are progressing in the stone quarry” Hacenyth spouted wistfully, looking to the ceiling and curling his mustache yet again. Hayden laughed at the man to himself. Wine stained the King’s jacket, and sat pooled on the table beneath him where it had been dribbling from his goblet each time he sampled another taste.

“It is all going according to plan my Lord” Hayden smiled, sipping more of his drink.

Oh? And how will you meet the deadlines we’ve placed upon you? Do you have enough men here in the camps? I think Cutio’s Castle is a fine example of what we need up north, and so far, the supply we’ve gotten is…” Hacenyth paused, then bared his now purple teeth “...lacking”. Lord Hayden choked down his laughter and tried to focus through a haze of wine to the fool sitting across from him.

“We’ve pulled men off of their specialties to lend a hand in your needs, oh King” he submitted, trying very hard to seem serious and sincere. Hacenyth threw his elbows down to the pooled wine at his place at the table to rest his head upon his hands.

“And they’ve had no trouble doing the work? How can they just switch like that to pounding rocks?!” His voice raised unnaturally high at this point, and Hayden guessed it was an attempt to sound intimidating, but as the future King let his head rest further in his hands, the weight caused his elbows to slip in the pooled wine beneath him, and the man’s faced smacked straight into the table. Hayden howled in laughter, and Hacenyth’s face shot up suddenly, glaring through wine streaks at the laughing man. Hayden’s mind raced, he had to recover.

“Oh well, it’s very funny you should mention that my King, we just captured someone the other day who was giving us problems… he’s in the prison as we speak!” Hayden cringed at the words – he didn’t want anyone to know of the problems he had been having ruling the Nicals, but now he could be in deeper trouble for laughing at the King. His mind swirled with the effects of the wine, and he kept talking at the still-glaring face of Hacenyth. “Oh yes” he chuckled. “It’s a very funny story… we were correcting a slave that works here in the castle, and this Nical fool just charged the mound to save her! Not that I blame him, she was mighty pretty as far as Nical women go – it’d like to have had her now for you. Anyway, we caught him alright, and he’s in the prison as we speak!” Hacenyth sat back into his chair, wiping the wine from his face. Hayden breathed a sigh of relief… the King looked satisfied for the moment.

“And where is the woman who he tried to save? Why is she not here for me then?!” He crossed his arms while addressing the question, and Lord Hayden realized he’d once again said too much.

“Oh, several friends of his saved her, we are not sure where she is now… or where they are for that matter.” He cringed at giving away more and more pieces of information like this… he hadn’t meant to say a thing, and now the entire story was told to a future King. Still, Hacenyth smiled and began playing with his mustache again for the first time, so Hayden felt hope once again creep into his mind.

“As I am the nephew to the High Emperor” Hacenyth began. “Many people believe that I have gained a position based solely on birthright and not ability.” Hayden attempted his best look of disbelief and King Hacenyth continued. “Yes… and so I think my coming here is a very lucky thing indeed Lord Hayden. I will use your plight to capture the outlaw slaves and restore order to your operations!” With that the King grasped his goblet and finished the last of his wine in one enormous gulp. Hayden felt himself relax… how lucky he was! Hacenyth continued.

“The first thing tomorrow, we will send half of my procession back north, to that tiny structure we now call my castle. There, he can be my trophy slave until we can finally start shipping Nicals up there en mass. He will do my bidding and remind the Dondels stationed there of my victory and wisdom. We will remain here as my trophy travels north then, to draw his worthless friends to us… to die!” With that he jumped from his chair and began walking out of the chamber, grabbing Lord Hayden beneath his arm at the armpit as he staggered past. Hayden stumbled from the chair onto his feet, rushing to Hacenyth’s side out of the room.

“Now Lord Hayden,” Hacenyth hiccupped, “show me to that wooden bridge over the moat that I saw on the way into this place, I should like to explain my master plan to you from there… for it is from that very spot that we shall stand victorious over these stupid little Nical people – mark my words!”

~~~

It was a full week later when Lord Hayden found himself once again brushing up in front of a looking glass, now with two different Nical slave girls straining under the weight of the large mirror. It had been a very busy and stressful week, and several times the small noble had almost lost his temper during the massive parties held by the King and his men, thereby revealing his true feelings towards the idiot nephew. It was only within the confines of his Royal Chamber that he found an outlet for his frustrations, and he retreated there at every possible moment, a prisoner within his own fortress to the fool from the north.

All of this was due to end today though, as the day of the pronounced execution for the Nical rebel had arrived. At Hacenyth’s request, proclamations and bills had been posted in the slave camps throughout the week, and all were encouraged to come see the belligerent rebel Nical get his just reward. Lord Hayden wanted nothing more than the anticipated trap to work, freeing him of the hiding rebels and the idiot-king all in one blow.

The Nical prisoner had already been skirted off to Hacenyth’s castle to the north, so that was one weight off his back. The replacement weight from the idiot-King and his men however, was much more to bear. A familiar knock on the door to his room announced that Hacenyth was in need of his company once more, but this time Hayden was glad to oblige. The time of the mock execution for the Nical slave was at hand!

Lord Hayden and his escort walked from his chamber to the west tower where they met Lord Hacenyth and his men at the ramparts. Hacenyth was twirling his mustache with both fingers again, facing the enormous crowd of Nicals below with a wide smile upon his face.

“See how they all attend when the Northern King calls them to order?!” He squealed upon seeing Lord Hayden approach. He strode to Hayden’s side, slapping him on the back with an excited welcome. Hayden could see the man’s hands trembling with anticipation… this was obviously the first time the King-to-be had tried such a spectacle, and it made Lord Hayden feel uneasy to be used as one of his guinea pigs; especially with these brave but impudent rebel-slaves.

Offering a light smile, Lord Hayden walked with Hacenyth to the battlements of the tower and stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes caught sight of and surveyed the view that came to him. Never before had he seen so many Nical men and women in one place. He knew there were many in the assorted camps, but he had no idea the population was so enormous. From the fortress moat stretching out to the swampland horizon opposite to him, thousands of Nical necks strained for a better view of the tower above, where the Slave Aidden Adaii was to be executed.

“The power of a King is supreme!!” Lord Hacenyth squealed again, spinning dramatically to face the Nical slave that would be posing as Aidden. “Now Lord Hayden, this man will be posing as the slave, and I will, from our place on the wooden bridge below, give the sentencing and order of death. From there… we’ll see if our dim-witted rebels attempt a rescue”. Lord Hayden frowned.

“Do you think they will be able to reach the top of this tower? Perhaps we should have the execution lower, on the wooden bridge, while we stand at the tower. It may be safer for us in the long run as we-“

“Do not question me, man!” Snapped Lord Hacenyth, still trembling as he positioned his men in their exact hidden locations for the show. “When the rebels show up here, give them a good fight… kill them!” He growled to the group, then turned back to Lord Hayden.

“Come now, we go to the bridge that I may address the masses.” With that, he motioned to Hayden’s men to lead the way, and the two nobles followed down the ladder to the fortress below.

~~~

Gurdor sat with Dolven in the swamp grass growing unchecked below, huddled on the opposite side of the large tower now overlooking the Nical crowd assembled. His stomach churned with anticipation at the rescue they planned to make, and the possible trap they could be walking into. All week, as the announcements for Aidden’s execution were posted or spoken, Tyla’s contacts had been scouring the fortress for some sign of the boy. He was not being held in the prison, she reported the first night. He was not in the wine cellars, storage rooms or guest chambers… he was nowhere! Gurdor felt his fists clench – the chances were that he was already dead, as Gardon had suggested, and his name being used as bait to lure the rest of them in. Still, there was someone up there on the tower top, chained for death… and they would save him. The others lie planted in the crowd, ready to come forth and spring the two older rebels from any trap that may be in place for them.

Dolven sat up, cupping his hand to his ear – on the other side of the fortress, Lord Hayden was introducing the Northern King. They listened for sometime, waiting for the drop-rope that would come from one of Tyla’s companions in the tower. Through her, many of the women in the castle had come to join their cause, searching every part of the castle for a letter, word or sign of the lost boy.

As soon as Hayden’s voice stopped, the shrill squeak of Lord Hacenyth began and with it came the end of a thick piece of rope, striking Dolven in the back of the head as it fell to their position between the tower and the moat. The gruff man jumped in fear, falling flat on his back in the mucky water and tall grass. Gurdor bit his arm to stop the laughter that fought to work its way out, helping the man and his cursing grumbles out of the weeds. In the next moment, they each had a large black hammer tied at their hips and the rope between their hands as they began climbing up the tower.

The task proved much harder than both of the well-muscled men had imagined, and they were suddenly thankful that the future king squawked so long to the poor Nicals. Gurdor grinned. Sometimes it really was hard being a slave. Finally, they reached the end of the rope, which didn’t take them to the top of the tower but a window in the fortress, from which they could access the tower ladder. Placed in front of the window were the large barrels of Ale, most likely brought by Hacenyth, as they were stamped from the Phoenix Mountains. In either event, they were placed there by Tyla's fellows for shelter, and the two men took a moment to catch their breath in the shadowed room.

Gurdor sat back against the stone wall of the tower, rubbing his hands and slowing his breath. A few minutes passed before a small but determined nod from Dolven indicated the gruff man was ready, his gray eyes burning with a deep and savage intensity that Gurdor had never before seen. With one hand upon their hammers, they began climbing up the ladder to the tower top.

Gurdor was first to reach the trap door to the tower, and raised it just enough to peak at the Nical man chained to be executed. His heart sank… it was not Aidden… and this was a trap. In a quick but quiet step, he lowered the door and signaled to Dolven to descend. They reached their hiding spot again before discussing what Gurdor had seen.

“I don’t care if it is him or not – we’ve got to save him! I’ll show those pompous bastards who the smarter man is!”

“Dolven –“ Gurdor began to protest, but the man was already tying their rope into a large loop to lasso a tower battlement with. A few tosses later, and he was climbing out the window they had come in through, heading up to the top. Gurdor cursed to himself and took hold of the rope behind him – this felt very much like a dumb thing to do.

~~~

Dolven felt the rope go taunt as Gurdor grasped it to follow, and he allowed himself a quick grin. He had hoped the old fool wouldn’t let him die alone, after all. It was a short climb to the top, and before long he was grasping the battlement that had helped them climb to the tower’s crown. Peaking over, the gruff man smiled deep and full, almost losing his grip at what he saw. Four blue-clad Dondels crouched hidden behind the contraption set up to hold the Nical slave, ready to pounce at the first sign of a rescue attempt.

“We’ll see how wise you Dondel scum are” he growled to himself, heaving his body over the battlement and onto the tower floor in one fluid movement. Quickly, he untied his hammer and took aim, hurling it at the nearest Dondel soldier. The hammer hit its mark, clubbing the guard in the back of his head and sending him clattering to the floor. In the next moment, Dolven was at the fallen man’s side, swiping the spear he had been holding in both hands. He looked up to see the other three guards standing nearby, looking at him with shocked stares as though he had appeared from the air itself.

“Let me help you here scum!” he barked, shoving the spear into the nearest warrior’s exposed gut. Gurdor suddenly materialized from behind the farthest warrior, landing an aimed strike to the back of the Dondel’s neck and spine. The man landed in a crash to the floor. Finally, the sound of the King’s voice stopped. He had either just given the order to kill the slave, or finally noticed the noise from the ambush above. The remaining Dondel looked to both men, then dropped his weapon and leapt from the tower to the moat below, landing with a splash in the front of the castle. Dolven walked to the front of the tower and let loose a loud and deep laugh that echoed off the fortress walls to the assembly below.

“That dumb old bastard just drowned himself, assuming he even survived the fall! How could we have let this idiot race ever overtake us?!” Gurdor grabbed the man’s arm, reminding him of the situation at hand.

“SIEZE HIM” screamed Lord Hayden from his point on the bridge, and immediately an entourage of red-clad soldiers burst through the trap door from below. Caught by surprise, the first soldier knocked Dovlen’s spear out of his hands, sending it echoing against the fortress walls before it splashed into the water. Gurdor threw his hammer, hitting the man’s cheekbones and catapulting him down after the spear - but another warrior came forward, weapon leveled at Gurdor’s midsection. Again Gurdor was swerving away from a spear-point, and this time he grabbed the shaft after doing so, kicking the man in the same movement and knocking him off balance, over the tower battlements. With blinding speed, the armed Nical now swung his body and the spear around, warding off two more approaching Dondels with the weapon’s pronged tip. Dolven picked up Gurdor’s hammer and took up position behind his companion as the trap door crashed open again, followed by a host of red warriors. Dolven turned to the Nical crowd below…

“KILDOR!! HELP!!” The crowd seemed to churn as it looked back on itself, searching desperately for a possible hero in their midst to save the rebels above. Lord Hacenyth let loose a shrill bout of laughter from his place on the bridge as the Dondel guards attacked again. A series of clashes echoed down from above to the crowd, and Gurdor sent a shower of red blood and chain mail to the moat below. Hacenyth, undeterred by the sight, remained giddy.

“See how they cry for help against the inevitable - my weak-minded noble friend!” He slapped Lord Hayden again on the back, and the lesser noble finally lost the temper he had been holding in check for so long.

“You fool!!” he screamed, spinning to the future king. “Do you know how this makes me look! He’s killing scores of my men with our own weapons!” Another Dondel came crashing down, with his helmeted head following his decapitated body to the green moat. Hayden grabbed his future king by the collar, forcing him back a step away from the railing.

“What kind of plan do you think you’ve –“the Lord was stopped short by a spear that whistled between them, planting itself in the wall of the fortress behind. Hayden stumbled down to the bridge’s floor in shock. That was no Dondel spear he was looking at – the workmanship was something he had seen only in the picture books from his youth… it was a Nical spear! He jumped to his feet in panic, looking towards Lord Hacenyth, who hadn’t moved, his eyes still wide and face frozen in shock. Hayden’s blood boiled at the sight of such a miserable, useless king. From far above, another Dondel warrior fell, this one with a large black hammer embedded in his skull.

“You idiot! Did you ever consider the consequences of massing all of these slaves together for your little trap?! I’ve worked too hard all my life to die in this septic hell of a-“another whizzing spear stopped the man short again, this time planting itself deep within the Lord Hayden’s forehead. A blast of blood erupted from his skull as his arms whirled up in shock. A second later, the Lord of the Nical slaves spun to the bridge floor again, this time very dead.

The crowd stood silent for a brief moment, shocked at the public death of their Lord and ruler. Through the tense silence that followed, the sobbing of Lord Hacenyth began to become audible above echoed sounds of the battle taking place high above on the roof of the tower. In the next instant, a choking scream pierced the sky from far above, and another Dondel came crashing down, impaled completely with his own sword. The moat swallowed the falling soldier up with a thick splash, and the crowd erupted in an angry cry of victory.

Before the ripples in the moat had dissipated, the world they had all known began to blur into an image of vengeance and war. Without thought of personal safety or consequences, the crowd surged forward towards the fortress gates.

Perched above the gates, a large red pipe, a cannon they would later find out, came suddenly came to life as they crossed the moat, erupting in black, smoky fire that pierced the first wave of attackers with rocks and metal scraps. Masses of Nical slaves died instantly and clumped into the thick water of the moat, but the fire and eruption only roused the mob further to life, and they doubled their charge at the main gates.

A string of Dondel spearmen ran to arm the battlements above, hurling their weapons down to the advancing crowd, but again the wave of attackers did not slow. Dondel swordsmen rushed to the bridge to be met with the tools of slavery – hayforks, pick-axes and shovels bashed against Dondel shields, swords, and heads. Whatever advantage the defenders once held now became lost – the swordsmen were swept aside and bludgeoned as the wave of Nicals crashed through the open gateway of Fort Kilgore.

From far above, Dolven leapt upon the back of the last Dondel warrior and placed his arms around the mans head. In a quick twist, the soldier was no more, his neck snapped by the slave-warrior. Dolven dragged his prey by the neck to the tower’s edge in order to toss him over, but stopped short at the battlements. Gurdor saw him drop the dead man and stare out towards the crowd below, and for the first time he heard the sounds of the battle taking place beneath them.

Jumping over the numerous dead soldiers to Dolven’s side, he looked to the castle and found Nicals fighting Dondel soldiers throughout every part of the fortress. Slave bodies littered the ground, and yet the Dondel warriors were heavily outnumbered. In most instances, each Dondel fighter was confronting two or more Nicals. He choked in disbelief – there was no way the Dondels could hold their ground… “By the gods...” he stammered… “Dolven… we’ve begun an attack on the fortress!” Dolven took a step back, raising his arms and howling to the clouds in triumph.

Far below, the Lord-King Hacenyth sat crouching in a section of his bridge where a 90 degree turn led it’s travelers from one wall to the other. All around him red-clad soldiers were being decapitated or beaten with the dulled and crude objects of labor… he had never seen such horrid and ugly deaths. Two soldiers stood on each side of him, in order to reject invaders from each side of the bridge, and in the next instant, a crowd of slaves broke down the last of a group of Dondel swordsmen and rushed on to meet them.

The two defenders leapt forwarding, slashing with their spears to the crowd and sending several Nical men over the bridge, wide gashes in their neck and faces. The crowd of slaves stumbled back in response, and then surged forward again, with similar results.

“Hold them baaackk!!!” screamed a frantic Lord Hacenyth from his place in the bridge, and the two warriors from his left side joined the suddenly fighting defenders to his right. From the rabble of attacking slaves then stepped a man with a spear like they had never seen before, brandishing it in expert fashion towards the four defenders. Instantly, they all stepped backward, crouching in either fear or anticipation. They knew this slave from their training days, and many times he had gotten the best of all of them – but this time it was no wooden pole he held, as in the sparing days of old.

~~~

Kildor took another step forward, a smile etched on his face as he pointed his weapon to the four guarding the Northern King. “Tis’ no Dondel spear or training pole I come at you with today lads!” he jeered at the four… “You’ve a right to know before I beat you one last time – the Nical spear is far superior to anything you’ve been working with – and today it will end my lessons!” With that he leapt forward, knocking two thrusting spearheads to one side and planting the shaft of his own weapon into the jaw of a the third red-clad warrior. The man fell immediately, unconscious to drown into the water below. With almost magical speed, Kildor was pivoting now and behind remaining warriors, his spear head poking up under a warrior’s helmet and into the back of his skull. The death was instant. The two remaining Dondel’s jumped back and away from Kildor to find safety, but they had chosen the wrong end of the bridge to do so. Almost immediately the Nical mob behind them came to life, engulfing them before they thought to even raise their weapons in defense. In another fluid movement, Kildor turned on his heel to face the now-sobbing King of the North.

Hacenyth caught Kildor’s gaze and, realizing there were no more men to defend him, jumped to his feet out of instinct. He reached to unsheathe his sword, but as he pulled it from its sheath, his elbow hit the railing of the bridge and he lost grip of the weapon. It fell lifelessly to the floor of the bridge, and then slid off into the water below. Kildor could not help but laugh at the man, and the crowd of slaves around him joined in his amusement.

From the other end of the bridge, Gardon then stepped slowly and deliberately to meet the King on the bridge. In his hand he grasped his large blacksmith’s hammer, now a strange, colorful mix of black and streaming red. His arms and face were sopped with blood from the battle, and streams of red ran jaggedly over the man’s sharp, grim facial features. Without a word he stepped further to the King, now cowering again on the floor of the bridge. The noble held his still-trembling arms up as Gardon approached, but before he could finish his first pleas for mercy, the hammer came smashing down, through the Lord’s helmet and into his skull – over and over again, until nothing of the man’s face could be determined. Gardon then stood up, kicking the corpse away from him as he straightened himself. The King of the Northern Dondel Kingdom was dead, and now lay next to his noble companion on the bridge.

Kildor raised his spear above his head, facing the mob of slaves behind him and letting loose a cry of victory over the fortress. The entire fortress took up the call, throwing the remaining warriors from their positions and sending them scurrying towards the swamplands. The hapless soldiers ran for whatever refuge they could find, trying desperately to avoid the hurling rocks and spears raining down on them from their former slaves.

High above the scene, Gurdor and Dolven stood in disbelief. The sunlight pierced through the morning’s misty gray clouds and touched their faces with a warmth they had never before experienced. In all of their lives, never did either man imagine he could usher in what they now beheld. It was a small battle and an even smaller fortress… but it had been conquered by Nicals! Their Lord and master was dead… the abusive thugs that had tortured them and their families from the time of their birth… dead! They were free! All around them, the echoes of their people melted together into one solid cry – of victory… and freedom!