The Guard
An Amanda Moonstone Short Story
By Dan Wright
By Dan Wright
Finbar placed a hand over his mouth in an attempt to conceal a yawn. His eyelids were struggling to stay up with each passing second – and he was losing the battle with sleep. He lightly tapped the side of his face, but winced as the metal of his gauntlet exacerbated the blow slightly. At least it was enough to keep him awake – if only for a few more seconds.
Behind him, he thought he could hear the snores of King Kimera behind the heavy oak door. The King sounded like he was well into slumberland now – which made Finbar all the more annoyed that he could not enjoy the same luxuries.
Where is the relief guard? he thought grumpily. He should be here by now.
Fighting to stifle another yawn, he leaned his head against his pike, allowing one of his eyes to close just for a second. Unfortunately his weapon did not provide ample support to hold him up and he found himself tumbling forward. He was only able to stop himself by quickly grabbing a crevice in the wall and pulling himself back up before gravity pulled him down. Finbar breathed a sigh of relief. Had he not stopped himself, his armour would have made quite the racket. Finbar remembered the last guard who woke up Kimera when he accidentally tumbled forward and fell asleep. Kimera made sure that he had a good rest afterwards – a permanent rest.
Heavy footsteps rung down the hall and Finbar instantly grabbed his pike in both hands and held it forward. The end of the pike weighed down a little and he struggled to keep his balance at first. “Who goes there?” He bellowed.
The ‘intruder’ was armoured as Finbar and raised a hand in surrender. “It’s the change of guard,” he replied.
Finbar lowered his pike, his nostril hairs flaring. “For Arkana’s sake, Brutas, don’t sneak up on me like that!”
“Long day?” Brutas asked.
“You could say that,” Finbar grumbled. “Feels like I’ve been stuck here for centuries whilst His Majesty snores the place down.”
“He’s asleep?” Brutas asked.
“Yeah – and so should I be now,” Finbar replied, a yawn muffling his words near the end.
“Go get some sleep,” Brutas said, tapping him lightly on the shoulder.
Finbar’s eyelids dropped once more and it took everything he had just to make sure they stayed open. “About time,” he mumbled. He laconically shuffled down the hallway, using his pike as a walking stick.
Brutas waited until Finbar was out of sight – then looked down either side of the corridor to make sure it was just him. Everywhere was empty. Nothing stood between him and the King’s bedroom.
He reached behind his cloak, his hands clasping the handle of the dagger he had concealed there. The dagger had an S shape to both the blade and handle, which was a sandy brown colour. The weapon was of eastern design – a speciality of Al Kazza, one of the towns blacksmiths. Looking at this weapon, Brutas could tell that a lot of care and attention had been put into making it and he felt bad for stealing it earlier – and for blaming him for something he was about to do.
Brutas moved slowly so that his armour wouldn’t make too much sound, taking the handle of the door and carefully turning it. He pulled the door as gently as he could, it creaked lightly and Brutas caught his breath. He peaked in to see if the occupant was alerted. The light peaked in from outside and partially illuminated the four poster bed. Green bed sheets barely concealed a massive bulk that grunted and snored so loud that it could wake the dead. However, the sleeper didn’t seem moved.
Brutas let out the breath he held silently, and then slowly moved around the door to enter the room, pulling it closed. His right hand grabbed the handle of the blade, amazed how well it fitted in his hand. He moved with only the smallest of effort as he crept in – his armour lightly clanking with each movement, but swallowed up by the snores of the King that was unaware of the threat shuffling towards him.
Three years Brutas had been a Royal Guard in Kimera’s service. And the things that Kimera had forced him to do had kept him awake at night. This King stole from his people, treated them like dirt – and when they tried to rebel against him, he ordered that they be ‘disciplined’. When the city descended into a riot, the Royal Guard were called to quell it. So many people were lost that day – it was the last day that he saw his family.
That was when Brutas realised that the King had to be stopped.
Until now, no one had thought to stand against King Kimera and Brutas couldn’t see why. Everyone was afraid of him. However many had secretly pointed out that Kimera had no immediate family – so if he died then it would leave the kingdom without a ruler. And that would create more chaos.
Brutas didn’t care about that. Kimera was a monster. He had to be put down. If he didn’t the kingdom would collapse under the weight of this man’s ego. For the sake of the country, for the sake of the people of Celtland – Kimera had to be stopped.
Brutas had planned everything to the last detail, including stealing this knife from Al Kazza. He would use this blade to end Kimera, then stab himself to make it look like he had been attacked. His conscience ate away at him, knowing that an innocent man would be sent to his doom. But Brutas saw it as a necessary evil to stop an even greater evil. A preferable option would have been to just poison his wine, but Kimera always had his food tested before anything passed his lips. This was the only sure way to put him down.
He was nearly in reach, so he raised the dagger up to the same level as his head. The King turned in his bed and grumbled slightly, his head turning to the right. Brutas froze, trying hard to stop his body from shaking. From the little light that covered the room, Brutas could see Kimera’s eyelids flicker slightly. He held his breath, hoping that Kimera’s eyes wouldn’t open any wider. One gaze would be all that he needed for his plan to fall apart. He held his position, his arms aching from the extra weight of the armour and the metal lightly rattling. He tensed his muscles in his arms to keep the arm still, his gaze mixing between the sleeping King and the arm that held the dagger. His strike needed to be perfect and the King had to be in a certain position. It had to be quick and easy. Any interruptions now would ruin everything.
Kimera turned back, his eyes remaining closed and his snores bellowing again. Brutas sighed quietly.
I have to do this quickly. I’ll not get another chance.
Using his free hand, he carefully pulled back the covers that Kimera had tucked himself in, exposing his neck. His right arm tensed, begging to bring down the extra weight he was holding. One swift move was all that it would take for the problems to the city to be ended.
This is for my family, you monster!
He would not hesitate. He would be resolute. His fingers danced around the handle of the weapon like moths around a flame. They then all gripped the handle at once and the dagger tumbled towards Kimera like thunder.
But the dagger never hit it’s mark.
His arm refused to move – no matter how much Brutas willed it to. The grip on his wrist was so tight that he almost broke his bones trying to move it. Gasping, he turned to his arm to see what could be holding him in place. He saw nothing except darkness. A cold air ran through his ear as a voice devoid of emotion spoke to him.
“I know you hate this man,” the voice whispered. “He provides hatred for many. And you, like many others, wish for him to be punished. Rest assured, his time will come.”
Brutas felt black fingers across the bottom of his chin.
“But not yet…”
Brutas’s head was suddenly forced to the right and he felt his entire body become limp. Before his vision turned to black, his eyes caught sight of a book on Kimera’s bedside table. The pages seemed to glow like a star – though they did not light up much of the room. He saw a picture amongst the writing, showing a woman bathed in light – her eyes burning with fury and power. And Kimera was on his knees, quivering.
He left this world with a smile.
Behind him, he thought he could hear the snores of King Kimera behind the heavy oak door. The King sounded like he was well into slumberland now – which made Finbar all the more annoyed that he could not enjoy the same luxuries.
Where is the relief guard? he thought grumpily. He should be here by now.
Fighting to stifle another yawn, he leaned his head against his pike, allowing one of his eyes to close just for a second. Unfortunately his weapon did not provide ample support to hold him up and he found himself tumbling forward. He was only able to stop himself by quickly grabbing a crevice in the wall and pulling himself back up before gravity pulled him down. Finbar breathed a sigh of relief. Had he not stopped himself, his armour would have made quite the racket. Finbar remembered the last guard who woke up Kimera when he accidentally tumbled forward and fell asleep. Kimera made sure that he had a good rest afterwards – a permanent rest.
Heavy footsteps rung down the hall and Finbar instantly grabbed his pike in both hands and held it forward. The end of the pike weighed down a little and he struggled to keep his balance at first. “Who goes there?” He bellowed.
The ‘intruder’ was armoured as Finbar and raised a hand in surrender. “It’s the change of guard,” he replied.
Finbar lowered his pike, his nostril hairs flaring. “For Arkana’s sake, Brutas, don’t sneak up on me like that!”
“Long day?” Brutas asked.
“You could say that,” Finbar grumbled. “Feels like I’ve been stuck here for centuries whilst His Majesty snores the place down.”
“He’s asleep?” Brutas asked.
“Yeah – and so should I be now,” Finbar replied, a yawn muffling his words near the end.
“Go get some sleep,” Brutas said, tapping him lightly on the shoulder.
Finbar’s eyelids dropped once more and it took everything he had just to make sure they stayed open. “About time,” he mumbled. He laconically shuffled down the hallway, using his pike as a walking stick.
Brutas waited until Finbar was out of sight – then looked down either side of the corridor to make sure it was just him. Everywhere was empty. Nothing stood between him and the King’s bedroom.
He reached behind his cloak, his hands clasping the handle of the dagger he had concealed there. The dagger had an S shape to both the blade and handle, which was a sandy brown colour. The weapon was of eastern design – a speciality of Al Kazza, one of the towns blacksmiths. Looking at this weapon, Brutas could tell that a lot of care and attention had been put into making it and he felt bad for stealing it earlier – and for blaming him for something he was about to do.
Brutas moved slowly so that his armour wouldn’t make too much sound, taking the handle of the door and carefully turning it. He pulled the door as gently as he could, it creaked lightly and Brutas caught his breath. He peaked in to see if the occupant was alerted. The light peaked in from outside and partially illuminated the four poster bed. Green bed sheets barely concealed a massive bulk that grunted and snored so loud that it could wake the dead. However, the sleeper didn’t seem moved.
Brutas let out the breath he held silently, and then slowly moved around the door to enter the room, pulling it closed. His right hand grabbed the handle of the blade, amazed how well it fitted in his hand. He moved with only the smallest of effort as he crept in – his armour lightly clanking with each movement, but swallowed up by the snores of the King that was unaware of the threat shuffling towards him.
Three years Brutas had been a Royal Guard in Kimera’s service. And the things that Kimera had forced him to do had kept him awake at night. This King stole from his people, treated them like dirt – and when they tried to rebel against him, he ordered that they be ‘disciplined’. When the city descended into a riot, the Royal Guard were called to quell it. So many people were lost that day – it was the last day that he saw his family.
That was when Brutas realised that the King had to be stopped.
Until now, no one had thought to stand against King Kimera and Brutas couldn’t see why. Everyone was afraid of him. However many had secretly pointed out that Kimera had no immediate family – so if he died then it would leave the kingdom without a ruler. And that would create more chaos.
Brutas didn’t care about that. Kimera was a monster. He had to be put down. If he didn’t the kingdom would collapse under the weight of this man’s ego. For the sake of the country, for the sake of the people of Celtland – Kimera had to be stopped.
Brutas had planned everything to the last detail, including stealing this knife from Al Kazza. He would use this blade to end Kimera, then stab himself to make it look like he had been attacked. His conscience ate away at him, knowing that an innocent man would be sent to his doom. But Brutas saw it as a necessary evil to stop an even greater evil. A preferable option would have been to just poison his wine, but Kimera always had his food tested before anything passed his lips. This was the only sure way to put him down.
He was nearly in reach, so he raised the dagger up to the same level as his head. The King turned in his bed and grumbled slightly, his head turning to the right. Brutas froze, trying hard to stop his body from shaking. From the little light that covered the room, Brutas could see Kimera’s eyelids flicker slightly. He held his breath, hoping that Kimera’s eyes wouldn’t open any wider. One gaze would be all that he needed for his plan to fall apart. He held his position, his arms aching from the extra weight of the armour and the metal lightly rattling. He tensed his muscles in his arms to keep the arm still, his gaze mixing between the sleeping King and the arm that held the dagger. His strike needed to be perfect and the King had to be in a certain position. It had to be quick and easy. Any interruptions now would ruin everything.
Kimera turned back, his eyes remaining closed and his snores bellowing again. Brutas sighed quietly.
I have to do this quickly. I’ll not get another chance.
Using his free hand, he carefully pulled back the covers that Kimera had tucked himself in, exposing his neck. His right arm tensed, begging to bring down the extra weight he was holding. One swift move was all that it would take for the problems to the city to be ended.
This is for my family, you monster!
He would not hesitate. He would be resolute. His fingers danced around the handle of the weapon like moths around a flame. They then all gripped the handle at once and the dagger tumbled towards Kimera like thunder.
But the dagger never hit it’s mark.
His arm refused to move – no matter how much Brutas willed it to. The grip on his wrist was so tight that he almost broke his bones trying to move it. Gasping, he turned to his arm to see what could be holding him in place. He saw nothing except darkness. A cold air ran through his ear as a voice devoid of emotion spoke to him.
“I know you hate this man,” the voice whispered. “He provides hatred for many. And you, like many others, wish for him to be punished. Rest assured, his time will come.”
Brutas felt black fingers across the bottom of his chin.
“But not yet…”
Brutas’s head was suddenly forced to the right and he felt his entire body become limp. Before his vision turned to black, his eyes caught sight of a book on Kimera’s bedside table. The pages seemed to glow like a star – though they did not light up much of the room. He saw a picture amongst the writing, showing a woman bathed in light – her eyes burning with fury and power. And Kimera was on his knees, quivering.
He left this world with a smile.