Cooper Anderson - [BCS316 S02] Read online

  Instead of rising to his feet, the prince slowly shifted to one side, as if being lifted from underneath. The blacksmith emerged a moment later, gasping for air. The hot steam of spilt blood wafted around him. No one in the village spoke. No one even breathed.

  When his senses returned to him, the blacksmith leaned over the prince’s neck and grabbed something from the snow. He held it up to the light. The top half of the prince’s skull had been severed clean. The blade must have caught him between his upper and lower jaw then continued until there was nothing left to cut. The two golden eyes still burned in their sockets as the blacksmith put the half of a skull back where he’d found it.

  A high-pitched scream wailed from somewhere behind me and freed me from my self-induced paralysis. I saw a baroness of the royal family cover her mouth.

  “What have you done?!” cried the baroness.

  “Kill him!” shouted a duke next to her.

  In a mixture of shock and rage, the royal family ran towards their fallen prince’s killer. In what looked to be an extreme effort of will, the blacksmith stood. Deep gashes ran down the length of right arm, and his left leg bent grotesquely. With no other option, he faced the rampaging wolfpack and prepared for their worst.

  The one known as Radu got to him first. He wrapped the blacksmith’s hands behind his back. The blacksmith let out a scream as a fresh spurt of blood splattered the snow next to him. Furious, and with nowhere for their quarry to run, the royal family closed in, teeth ready for the kill.

  But before a single bite could be taken, a long, drawn-out howl cut through the air.

  The royal family froze, each one of them. They eyed one another, confirming that the howl had not come from any of them, and then peered up at the castle.

  Along the path, a lone man was making his way towards the village. He wore an all-black uniform with brass buttons that ran up the centre of his chest and a long red cape that fluttered behind him as he walked. The man’s face was nothing but sharp angles and deep-set lines. As though he’d been carved from a block of wood. A full head of dull grey hair hung past his shoulders, and it wasn’t until he was well within the village centre did I notice the crown.

  The royal family flung themselves to the ground in submission as the great King Ivar himself made his way towards the blacksmith. The blacksmith tensed as the king drew near but relaxed when he stopped a few feet away.

  “You rang the bell?” asked the king. His voice was clear and cut through the air like the snapping of a tree branch.

  The blacksmith, shaking from cold and loss of blood, nodded. The king glanced down at what remained of the prince.

  “And you killed my son, Adrian.” This was not a question.

  “Yes. I did,” said the blacksmith. Then, only because it was proper, he added, “Your Majesty.”

  A moment hung in the air while the king appeared to be contemplating something.

  “Where did you get the silver?”

  Low whispering broke out amongst the crowd that had, until just then, been as silent as a graveyard.

  “Hush,” said the king solemnly.

  The whispers stopped in mid-air.

  “It was a necklace,” answered the blacksmith. “Rachel, my wife, inherited it from her mother. It had been passed down through her family in secret since before you defeated Vlad Tepes. After Adrian killed her, he searched our home but couldn’t find where she’d hidden it. I dug it up and smelted it onto the blade in a forge I built out in the forest.”

  The king did not smile at this, but he did nod as if some great mystery had just been revealed to him.

  “You are the first human ever to kill one of my kind,” said the king. “What is it you wish for?”

  The blacksmith leaned back, surprised at the question.

  “Your Majesty?”

  The king eyed what remained of the prince, and for the slightest of moments I no longer saw the great King Ivar, killer of Vlad Dracula and absolute sovereign of New Wallachia, but instead a father who’d just lost a son.

  “The bell has been rung. A wolf has been slain. Rituals need to be completed and laws must be followed. Even by myself. I cannot give you the crown upon my head, but there must be something else you wish for.”

  Cries of astonished protests broke out amongst the still-prone royal family, but the king snapped for them to be silent. They whimpered against the ground as they backed away.

  The blacksmith shook his head and sighed, the weight of the morning’s events finally hitting him.

  “I made a promise to my wife that I would leave this country. To start a new life beyond its borders. To grow old in comfort and happiness. That is what I wish for, King Ivar. To go in peace.”

  With a heavy look upon his face, the king said, “Very well then. Let it be so. You may leave this country without interference from either me or anyone in my family. Go in peace, and may you never return.”

  They left soon after, the king and his progeny. Once out of sight, everyone in the village closed in around what remained of the prince, needing to be sure the monster had been slain for good. Everyone except for me and the blacksmith, that is.

  I went over and retrieved his coat and his bag from the snow. He didn’t thank me for this. He didn’t say anything at all. He simply held a finger to his lips and nodded to a place beyond where the dead prince lay. Where a small glint of silver caught the morning sun.

  Already the people of the village were laying claim to trophies. Things they could hang above their doors or mantle. There would be drink and dancing in abundance tonight. Songs would be sung in the streets, and there might even be talk of revolution. For the first time in centuries, there was hope, and through all the excitement, no one saw as I pulled the wooden handle from the snow.

  New Wallachia was still our cage. That much was still true. A cage where the wolves who ruled over us spent their time keeping us locked inside. A cage they themselves never ventured from. The blacksmith had already gone by the time I turned around, limping towards a future all his own, and the only thing I could think about was, who would be brave enough, or heartbroken enough, or proud enough, or foolish enough to play the game next? Then I gripped the silver dagger a little harder.

  © Copyright 2020 Cooper Anderson