Underestimate Me

Branden shot from his chair as if he had been fired from a cannon. Merek should have been in the room to support the foot soldier, but his drunkenness forced him away. Branden did not want to face the man before him alone with the words that those vicious rebels left him with, but he had to.

“Sire, I must inform you that all the men from the regiment you sent into the wood are deceased. All save Sir Rowen and I. The treacherous leader left me to the task of brining you word of your eldest son’s capture.” He bowed his head as he spoke, hoping Elrik would take mercy on him if he showed grand gestures of respect.

“And you left your leader with these dangerous people without trying to procure his safety yourself?” Elrik’s words were as pointed as the depths of his soulless eyes as he stared at the useless soldier.

“Aye,” Braden muttered shamefully, “but I thought he would be safe for the whole lot of those rebel scum were mere women, some just young girls. A woman bested my leader. She was going to murder him then and there. ‘Til a woman shouted. She knew him, Sire! I swear it!” Branden tried to stop his trembling hands, but they were not the worst of his problems for his armor clinked and clanked with the fury of the rest of his trembling body. Elrik’s eyes managed to grow darker though Branden could not conceive such trickery as he started toward the foot soldier.

“You left my dearest son, the village’s unproven hero, to a tribe of reckless, insufferable, stupid little girls?” Elrik’s voice boomed over the last words rattling Branden’s brain between his ears. The trembling man fell back into his seat as Elrik loomed over him. “Do you know what the sentence for desertion is?”

The soldier gulped. He knew all too well the punishment that fit the crime. Branden watched his father’s head roll when he was just a boy at the hands of the tyrant before him. He made not a sound before he closed his eyes. The man never saw Elrik’s blade coming.

“Wench!” Elrik bellowed for the young house maiden. That disgrace of a boy, Merek, tried to get his hands on her every chance he got, but Elrik liked this one for she did not accept the idiot’s affections. He thought he would keep her if she could stomach his messes.

“Yes, Sire?” She answered softly from the kitchen door frame.

“First, send word to the council that a deserter has been taken care of. Second, send word to my man in the armory; tell him I need another, better, search party fashioned with the best weapons and I need it now. After those are taken care of, I need you to clean up this mess.” His tone was casual but he watched the girl like a hawk, studying her every movement.

She turned her back and walked to the writing desk, penned a few lines on two different papers before asking, “Shall I call the letter carrier or would you like to, while I clean here?” Her voice did not waver nor did she tremble. Yes, Elrik liked this one…for now.

~~~

Merek awoke just before dusk from his stupor with a barrage of pains in his poor skull. He made the usual lied promise to himself. I shall never have another mug of ale or horn of spiced wine as long as I live. Something interrupted his lie, however. Cries echoed through the streets through his window. He ran to see the commotion.

“Goodbye!” Some crying wench called again and again. While others yelled, “Come home safely!” Merek stood by an older woman whose face were as cold as winter while her husband rode off as the oldest member of the party.

“What say you about this?” Merek asked her, more for facts than her feelings.

“I am glad the shit is leaving,” she stated without looking to her conversation partner.

When her eyes did meet Merek’s she cringed. “I did not mean it like that, Sir Merek! Please…” But he shook his head.

“I’ll trade you my silence for your information. Where do those men go with armed by my father?”

“All the men in the first party are dead. The Head told us so himself. He said a note appeared, but would not give the contents of the paper. Those men are going after those rebel terrors and to see if Sir Rowen has been spared,” she answered quickly.

Merek shook her hand gratefully before he turned with a scowl. Elrik lied yet again to these people. He always lied to everyone; everyone except Rowen. The young man found his father’s gaze and marched toward it. “This is not right!” Merek hissed.

“Savor that tone, boy,” Elrik growled. “I can and will have you beaten for such insolence toward me!”

“You know,” Merek said more calmly but no more softly, “I should be in that party. My brother needs my help!”

“What if another of those men come back with word of your capture? I have no one to run the village if something, Balor forbid, happens me. Keep your lips sealed and your eyes open. Someone might get word to those wenches.”

“Why did you lie?” The question rolled of his lips before he could stop it, just as Elrik’s hand flew through the air before he could see it.

“I do what is right for the people. What is it you do, boy?” Elrik’s eyes bore into Merek’s soul. He was hopeless, and alone.

I endure my mother’s tortures for the people.