Fist de Yuma - August 24, 2004

This and that It has been a nightmare week. Do to mistakes and lack of talk communication; I lost my Internet for a week. Fortunately it is up in time to submit my column. Unfortunately, there was nothing to write about. So rather than dig up some old stuff, or do a "Meet the Fists" column, I have worked on a story I wrote a while back. Few have seen this story. Those that did will find the ending changed. I'll be back to my normal column next week. The Hero King Rupport The man's gigantic build towered over the crowd of peasants. He was at least six feet ten. He was wide shouldered, he had a narrowed waist and a dancers legs. Dressed in black leather he looked evil incanted. His scowl was fierce and his voice booming. He held a sword only slightly shorter than himself. He swung the blade lightly back and forth at the cowering villagers. "I want all your gold and valuables brought to me. If any one of you holds back.", he paused to glare, "I'll dice you all for supper and feed you to the hogs." He neatly sliced a line in the chief's chest to enhance the point. The chief rubbed the wound and the red liquid ran down the cut cloth. A withering man was moaning at their feet, only to gasp his last breath and lay still. A child's voice interrupted the screams of the peasants. "Surrender now and you will be spared the gallows." The monster turned catlike to the voice. A small child stepped out from behind a barrel. At barely four feet tall, he would have invoked laughter, if not for the situation. He was holding a wooden training sword in one hand and a long kitchen knife on the other. His fierce face showed that he meant what he said. For a second the bandit was dumfounded. He then let out a guttural laugh and asked, "Who might you be little man?" "I am Rupport, first born of the Duke of Rasborn." He said without a crack. His voice carried out for all to hear, a voice demanding respect, despite his age. The giant laughed, tossing his head back, hands spread. "I have killed three Earls, a Count and someone who claimed to be a Prince, but never a Duke." He glared at the child. "After I kill you, I'll track down your father and make his lands mine!" "Your killing days are over!" The child shouts, and charged forward. Quicker than could be imagined the child stepped around the thrusting sword, and swiped the knife around the back of the bandits heal. The monster falls heavily. He screamed as the sword chopped down at his neck, "I am slain by a child!" The curtain falls and the bandit's blood curdling scream is cut short with a chopping sound. The crowd claps enthusiastically. The players came out to take a bow, while the crowd shows their approval with a shower of small copper coins. The announcer stepped to the center of the stage. "Thank you, thank you.", said the announcer, as the actors kneeled to gather up the coins. "This has been a production of The Hero King Rupport. We will have one more performance tomorrow, and then we are moving to Argeial. Please tell anyone traveling there to attend our performance. Again, we thank you for your generosity." The crowd started drifting away. The tall man beside the Bard shook his head in amusement. He stepped from beneath the canopy into the hot sun, and started towards town. His companion followed him as they moved away from the stage. "You didn't seem to enjoy the play very much sire.", said the Bard with a chuckle. The King turned to the Bard and shrugged his shoulders. "I have seen it a hundred times. Each time I'm younger, and the bandit is taller. In time I'll be slaying an eight foot man with a baby rattle." He slowed and looked sharply at the bard. "You're here to learn the true tale, although you'll not be believed if you repeat it." The King showed a heavy limp as they walk up the dusty street. They moved under an awning to escape the burning sun. Settling on a bench the Bard stopped a vendor selling drinks. As they sipped the slightly bitter but cool liquid, the King told his story. "I was 15 at the time. Being the Dukes only son, I should have been taught more about swords and battle, especially for the times. Mother being Mother, I had a lot less training than I should have. Still, I had a lot more training than mother ever knew about. I did not have a real sword of course. Still, the practice sword had been sharpened a bit more than my mother would have approved of." He took a sip and continued. We were riding out to Okenbary when we got word of bandits. My father ordered me to return to the fort, and assigned two escorts." He sighed, "They were more guardians really. I was rather head strong those days. It was their job to keep me out of trouble." The King's face relaxed, as if contemplating a humorist thought. "He loved me of course, but I think he was more afraid of mothers reaction to me being hurt than anything else." "We came across the burning wagon about a half hour later. My guards were trying to keep the lady and her child alive, but it was clear they would need more than what battle aid could provide. When their back was turned, I ran for help. I know they would leave those two to die rather than let me go alone. I thought there was a village close by, so I headed there." "You can imagine the anger and fear those two must have felt." He said, while showing his winning smile. "Being dismissed from my fathers service would be the least punishment they could expect if anything happened to me. As it was, they dug every shit trench we made for the next year or so. Of course, I passed them a few coins to make up for it when I could. It was my fault for running off." "As I entered the village, I saw the crowd milling by the well. I was to focused on getting help to comprehend the screaming. Then I saw that bastard, waving his bloody sword over a body. He was not nearly as tall as that play makes him out, but he was a rough sort." A couple walked by and the King stopped speaking. The king sipped his drink until they passed. He laughed, "So few know what I look like out here. It is pleasant to just sit and talk." "You must have been quite afraid when you saw him." The Bard prompted, not wanting the story interrupted. The King looked thoughtful. "Not afraid really, more excited, and very angry. It happened fast but I was already enraged over the rapes. I had never faced danger, and never really been harmed. My mother kind of had me sheltered, and father could not stand up to her. I had no idea how much evil there was in the world. Rape and now murder, it was too much. My world was crashing in, but I had a target to focus all that at." He turned to the Bard and flashed his famous grin. He continued his story. "His back was to me and the peasants were screaming. The bandit was shouting for food and water." He took a long look towards the playhouse. "No one in those plays ever asks how peasants would have anything but food in that village." He looked at the ground and shook his head. "Not as good a story, to save villagers from giving up food.", said the bard. "Why not? Food is life to them. What good is gold if you're starving.", stated the king. "In any case, the fool did not hear me ride up behind him. The ground was hard but the screaming covered the sounds I made. I had no plan. If I had time to think, I surely would have lost. Surprise and stupidity won me through." "I kicked the horse and rode directly at him. He turned at the last second, but I was on him before he could do anything. My sword somehow hit him a lucky blow. With the speed and weight of my horse, that was all I needed. We both fell into a heap. I was just hurt, and he was dead. One lucky blow by a brainless kid, and a hero is made." He sat back and drained the drink. "That is it, other than I caught my foot in the stirrups and about broke my leg when we fell." The King laughed, "That was the last time I ever fell off a horse too." The King rubbed the leg. He overturned a bucket and placed his foot on it. "I've had a limp ever since, but it was a small price to pay. I had a small cut on my side where I scraped something." The Bard grew aware of the rising thunder of horses approaching. A troop of about 20 horsemen rode up ahead of a cloud of dust. The few people still on the streets stopped to stare as they rode up to the King. Their non-descript dress did not hide the hard well-trained looks of the King's elite guard. The King stood and leaped into the saddle of a tall jet-black steed. He looked down at the bard. "That's the story for all the good it will do you." He swung the horse around with the skill of a man born to ride. As one, they galloped out of town. The dust slowly settled and the Bard finished his drink. "Excuse me your honor.", said a voice in back of him. The bard turned his head to see the old man coming out from behind the wall of the awning. He was typical of the men who inhabited this harsh land. He looked rock hard, even at an advanced age. His face was cracked and weather-beaten. His skin looked more like aged wood than flesh. "The King spins a fine story, but there is more you should know." The old man spit the dust out of his mouth. "I was there when the bandit came. 15, hell the kid couldn't have been older than 8. I didn't see any practice sword either. It was a kitchen knife, dull as can be. I think he grabbed it off a windowsill. It was no horse he was riding. It was a pony at best." The bard took a coin from his pocket and showed it to the man. "That's ok your honor, keep your coin. I want you to know the truth." The bard signaled the vendor and held up two fingers. The old man took the seat recently vacated by the king. He nodded in gratitude as he took the clay container. The two men sat and sipped the cool drinks while the old man told his story. "I saw the king at the play but I did not let on. I know he likes to have his time with the people. I was on my way to thank him for saving us when I overheard his tale." "It was wild days back then. Not tame like now. Bandits were everywhere. The Tobobon War had just finished, and soldiers from both sides were trying to get home. The war was bad luck for them, and worse for anyone meeting them on the road. Hungry and mean from 4 years of war they were. They cared only for themselves. Most did not make it home, and those that did never fit in. Some got on with a noble's guard but most turned bandit. They decorated the gallows for years after the war ended." "It was a cold day, of a colder winter. Ground so hard we kept bodies in a shed to bury in the spring. Lot of people died from the cold and hunger. We were not bad off, good harvest and the Duke's men kept most of the bad away." "Maybe the Duke knows more about what happened that day, but we never bothered to ask. Several of the farms in the outland were raided. Old Bobs wife and child raped and left for dead, just up the road. Can you imagine? Raping a child?" He shook his head in wonder. As if running from a bad memory, he paused. He then put his hand up to shade his eyes as he looked at the sky. "Might rain tomorrow, hope so." The Bard waited for him to take up the story again. "All the Duke's men headed north for a show of force. There was a group of soldiers passing through I think. I was told they were starving, and did not much care how they got their food." The old man turned to the Bard, "Eat their dead I heard. They might have started as farm boys, but after four years of that bloody mess, they were more animals than men. I'm guessing that mongrel was part of the group, and got left behind somehow. We were all in the square talking about the doings when he showed up." "He may not have been as big as that there actor fellow, but he was a might bigger than any of us. Held a sword like he knew what to do with it. One of the kids tried to beam him with a stone and got killed for his trouble. Sliced him across the middle he did. His guts fell to the ground. The bandit cut his neck to stop his whimpering. We were more in shock than fearful, and we were darn afraid." "You can bet we were going to do what he said after that. A few ran to pack him some food, anything to get rid of him. Mostly we were afraid that others would come to strip of us of our winter stores. If so, they would have had a fight. If the choice was to die fighting or starve, we would have died fighting." The flat matter of fact tone of his voice told the Bard it was not bravo speaking. "A hard land makes hard people.", The bard thought. "He was dressed in leather but it was bare thin and often patched. His boots were stretched and tattered. It looked like he had been starving for some time. I could not see his ribs, until later, but his face was gaunt. Despite that, he moved well and his sword was well cared for." "That's when the King there showed up. He came riding hard on his pony. He did not hesitate. Waving that knife and standing in the stirrups, he did not look 8 then." The old man looked thoughtful. "The King is known for his easy manner and that big smile, but let me tell you, that was not what we saw." He looked hard at the bard, "Maybe you could describe that face, but I never could. Scary to know that face is under that smile, ready to come out if need be." "I don't know who was more shocked, us or the Bandit, when that kid came barreling into him. Now the pony was not all that fast, but it was going fast enough. The kid was screaming his head off. The bandit recovered fast, and spun to face him." The old man became animated at this point. "I knew then that the Bandit was not some hack, officer maybe. He snapped his sword straight at the King's chest, like so." The old man demonstrated the move. "I was sure he was dead, until the King spun in the air to avoid being impaled." "Dammest thing I ever saw. He was going straight at the bandit's sword, with no way to avoid the blade, and then he spins around it like he was jerked with a rope. He drove that knife into the bandit neck, about near cut his head off. We were all splattered with his blood, and glad for it. Lot of that blood was the kids, dam bastard cut the Kings side, and it bled a lot." His leg was twisted bad, and he couldn't stand." "We patched him up as good as we could, and sent a runner for the Duke. The Duke got there the next day. You should have heard the hollering. Duke could get right loud when he wanted to. Course he was bursting with pride after he got the story." The old man took another look at the sky and stood up. "Anyway I wanted you to know the truth. When the old King died there was but one person to replace him. A few nobles grumbled, but they saw which way the wind was blowing." The old man stood and walked off proudly, not an old shuffle of many his age. The Bard put his cup on the table and sat back in thought. "Stories within stories, each view remembered different." This was but two of the many versions he had collected, but possibility the two closest to what really happened. He closed his eyes and used his skills to ascertain the truth. He thought he had the real story now. It all fit into place. An experienced swordsman should have killed the kid like slicing ham. The King jumps, totally out of control, and easy to kill. The King catches his foot in the stirrups as he jumps. The pony shies away, twisting him under the blade, so close that he gets a cut as he passes underneath the blade. All the momentum would be at the tip of the knife as he was whipped around. Jeffery dies and a legend is born. The bard shook his head and mumbled, "The King is right, no one would believe it, but not for the reason the thinks." From the shadows there was a slight whisper. "Did you kill him?" The Bard gave a slight shake to his head. Keeping his head forward, he spoke but did not move his lips. "He did not kill my brother on purpose.", said the Bard. "More a fluke than anything else, that much is true. Jeffery was likely half out of his mind by then, and he never had much smarts to begin with." The Bard looked thoughtful. "Jeffery's death about killed our parents. I vowed revenge but it was that stupid war that really killed him." There was no sound for several seconds. The Bard was not sure of his agent was still there. "The counsel will not be pleased. If he lives, we will repeat the war.", said the voice. The bard sighed, "They will get their monies worth. I took the job for revenge and revenge I'll have. I have a better way than killing, and a better revenge. Tell the counsel that I guarantee the King will not be waging war. Rather then kill the King; I'll kill the legend. His killing my brother made his legend, killing that will be a better revenge." There was a chuckle from the dark, "I guess there is poison, and then there is poison." "Not poison", said the Bard, "he was protected from that. I used something better." The next day the King slept late. While they had been hard riding in preparation for the coming war, no one had ever heard of him sleeping late before. When he awoke he ate a larger breakfast than normal. While they had traveled 150 miles the day before, they only traveled 20 when the King called a halt at a tavern for a large dinner. While the men ate well, they had never seen the King eat or drink as much as he did that night. Within a month the war preparations started to slow, and then stop. The nobles still made plans, but the King did not show any interest. A year later the King retired to his father fortress, the war forgotten. A rumor started that the King could barely walk. There were stories of worms that hatched in his belly and burrowed out his skin. Few saw his once hard but attractive features turn soft, and then fat, bloated and splotchy, but everyone knew the story. It was sung in the taverns, with several different versions, each one worse than the last. The land turned lawless as petty nobles fought for power and the King did nothing. They did not even bother to dispose him, as no one noble could gain power over the others. Those that did gain too much power, would die in mysteries ways. The King was blamed of course. The King lived another 20 years, and died in his sleep, alone and forgotten. He never rode again. It was said that he sobbed every night for as long as the servants could remember, even in his sleep. Over the years the play "The Hero King Rupport" died out and was forgotten. A foreign Bard produced a comic opera titled, "The Worm King Rupport."