Dead Man's Warning - Part Two

The beginning of the adventure is starting to heat up.

The King stuttered, his gaze flitting between his son and his hand. He was lost for words.

“Rise,” he said. Saul looked up and failed to hide a smile of amusement. He brought his lips to the ring

one last time and whispered his last words. “May Revailles avenge.”

“Mother sent me to watch your duties, unfortunately I will have to do this one day.”  The boy held laughter and truth in his voice, he had no interest in taking the responsibilities as a king but he had accepted that he was born to take on the task once his father was too weak to carry on.

“What in the hell do you mean, unfortunately? You should be begging to be doing my duties, not just observing every step I take damn it.”

The boy moved closer his father, in his mind each step brought greater risk but the boy knew his father well enough to trust that no harm would come to him. The anger on his father’s face was nothing but a bluff in his eyes, but Saul thought otherwise. He said nothing to stop the boy from walking closer.

“When it comes to laughter, you aren’t the best at it. Calm yourself I �"“

The aftershock of his father’s hand remained on the side of his face, an angry red mark in the shape of the king’s meaty palm began blossoming on his cheek and began to throb with pain.

“Don’t tell me to calm down until you‘ve experienced the stress of idiots demanding things only the gods can grant them!”

The boy dared not move his hand to comfort the pain of his face.

“Apologies” the boy said, looking to the ground in shame.

Saul was the next to get at the boy, but he had a different approach. Firmly, he gripped the shoulders of the boy, wrinkling his shirt,

“Dante, walk through the doors and sit on the throne, serve the people who will one day follow you.” There was no kindness in his voice.

The king angrily turned to Saul, “you may be my hand, but don’t forget that I am your king, and he is your prince - you will not use your power to bite him, or one day he will bite back, and as his father I will not stop him.” Saul’s face fell but he refused to look away from the boy. Dante straightened his spine in hopes that his father would let him do what he was sent here to do, to simply watch the people become rejected and return back home to their miserable lives.

“Many thanks father, I -” His words were of no use to Hugh.

“Do not thank me, I said you would bite back if Saul made you do this, but I am more than just your king, you wouldn’t dare strike your father - go on and sit on what will one day be your throne.” Without another word Dante found himself obediently facing the door, his hands grew wet and sweaty once they had reached the handle.

Smile and agree; lie �"whatever makes the time go faster, and the line quicker. I am not king yet, I can still cut corners.

“Go on then, a king is never late,” Saul said, mockingly encouraging Dante. He did not turn, but his grip on the handle loosened. Dante knew he was in a higher position than Saul, he was of the royal blood when Saul was nothing but a man chosen and favored by his royal highness.

“A king is never late, that’s a fact known by all men. But those who come to see the king himself, all come early in their excitement.”

Dante could feel the grin of his father shining against his back, which gave him enough confidence to open the door. But his confidence left him as quickly as it had come as he let the screams of angry subjects into the hall.  Although he was the first to open the door, both Saul and his father were the first to pass through them, as Dante watched from the invisible line that was the even division of the hall and the throne room as his father tried to gain control over the screaming subjects.

“Kill the man!” Voices came from all sides of the room. At the head of the room, was a man sitting on the steps that lead to the king’s throne. He sat with his arm covering his face, protecting it from the small pebbles being thrown by the men and women and the children that followed the examples of their elders.

“Rip his tongue out!” Chaos was held in the throne room, all of the villagers were covered with sweat and exuding rage. The man on the steps shrunk himself into a smaller target. He had nothing but rotting clothes to cover his body, and a dingy old pin tied on to his arm with a pathetic, thin rope. His skin was pale, there was no hair to warm his head or cover the wrinkles that sat in his jawbone. His bare and dingy feet continued to flinch when they came into contact with the cold grey marble floors, or when he was hit by a stone that a child had thrown at him.

“Enough!” Despite the amount of angry subjects before him, the room was large and cavernous enough to carry his voice out.  Saul was behind the king, but said nothing, and Dante still hadn’t moved any closer to the throne room. Silence spread through the room like a plague until the only sound came from the echoes of the previous screaming that still bounced off the walls. The king waited until all sound drained from the hall before he spoke.

“Why do you all fight against this one man, what has he done to receive such hatred when he appears to have less than all of you?” The man looked up, eyes widened before he covered them once again with his hands. The king thought nothing of it, and gave his attention to the group of angry subjects.

There was more silence until someone finally gained the courage to speak.

“He speaks stories of evil, nightmares that our parent’s parents suffered through, and stories that our children cry constantly in fear during the day as they walk alone in the markets and woods.” The man that spoke had winter’s disease in his voice, and snot running from his nose to touch the hair that covered more than half of his face.  

“He speaks of the seven, and the forbidden �" he speaks of tales no soul should hear of.”

More and more had begun to shout, until the silence was once again replaced with the chaotic screams and shouts from before.

This time however, the king did not scream. He passed the old man on the steps without giving him as much as a glance, and sat upon his throne and waited.

“Hugh.” The voice was faint, but close enough for him to hear. It was the old man, all beaten up in his ripped rags, and covered in bruises from the beatings and stones.

The amount of dirt on his face made him impossible to identify �" he was just a dirty old man with no name.

Saul seemed to be a bit more uncomfortable than the king himself was. The way the old man had spoken his King’s name was polluted with deep history.

“Dante, come here and sit.” The King had no intentions of speaking to the man just yet, despite the man crawling closer and closer towards his feet, and the subjects becoming louder.

He did not have to speak twice, the boy was at his side upon the thick arm of his throne looking down at the man, trying to hide the fear that had crept up within him.

“Well, what are you waiting for boy? Speak!” The king demanded. Saul began to slouch in the smaller chair beside his King in annoyance, everyone knew that Dante hadn’t the slightest desire to be king, nor was he afraid to say so. Of all times, this is the moment you give your son power. I sleep with a fool who knows nothing of being a king. Saul continued ranting in his mind about the King’s poor decisions, but chose not to speak out loud the strong words he wished to say.

              “Father?” Dante didn’t want to say anything to the old man, the way everyone else had spoken of him was enough, and taking on the duty of decision was too much for him.

“Don’t ask for mercy boy, you will do this, now go on.” Hugh’s voice was stern, and committed to his decision. If it were because he himself didn’t wish to do the task it couldn’t be read on his face.

“What is your name?” Dante spoke with no emotion and practically no voice, but the man heard and tried to respond.

“My name is  . . .” The three words were too much for him to handle, each breath did nothing but weaken him. He looked up at Dante. The man’s eyes were dull and dark, pointing towards obvious sleepless nights and nightmares. Whatever the man had to say was important, or he was a gullible man who was losing his mind to the cold nights.

“What is your name?” Dante jumped at the sound of his father’s voice and touch of his father’s hand on his leg, “speak up boy, you must dominate him. Don’t be weak.” There was no encouragement in the king’s voice as he spoke to his son. He didn’t bother to look at his son as he spoke either. Once he let go of the boy, Dante began to open his mouth to speak again, but the old man had beaten him to it.

The old man was looking down upon the glimmering steps that he sat on, and extended his hands to touch the King’s feet, Hugh didn’t bother to move.

“Xane Salvando”   

Author's Note

I hope this one wasn't to slow for you guys, hope you enjoyed, please comment and send me read requests :) thank you so much.