Chapter 24: Finale

Darian, cloaked in shadowy robes and bundled in a thick scarf, embarked on an ascent to the city’s highest point, on a snowy hill beside the castle. The heavy snowfall made it hard to see; he lifted the mask up and moved forward.

His gloved hand remained on the hilt of his sword, snug within its scabbard. At last, he conquered the summit, his breath visible in the frigid air as he removed his mask to survey the city below.

“In the shadowed halls of destiny, you once deemed me the feeblest among your progeny, the most inconspicuous of the Serpent-Slayers. But I achieved, father, something you deemed impossible. I ushered my mother into passion, into bed. I can do it with her many times as I want, have as many children as I want. Hear my vow. My legacy will be intertwined with the Serpent-Slayers, and your vaunted name, once held in reverence, will dwindle to a mere murmur, a distant whisper when my final strike lands, severing the head of your firstborn.”

He thrust his sword into the snow-covered ground and retrieved Nome’s letter from the pocket within the robes.

“I’ve had time to think. For the shame and the disgrace you have heaped upon me, for the theft of our mother’s love, on the second day of winter meet me at the place where our father met the flames - Nome.”

Darian threw the letter and clenched his hands around the sword’s pommel. The muffled crunch of footsteps behind him shattered the silence.

“Only a fool would seek advice from a traitor.”

“I know. But I want to believe that inside the traitor there is still someone I called my friend” Darian raised the torch above his head, illuminating the dark caverns of the dungeon.

The old man seated before him bore little resemblance to Counselor Narim, now reduced to a pitiful, wretched figure, unrecognizable from the friend Darian had known throughout his life.

“How do you defeat someone who could fight an army of barbarians? You could kill Inglud stealthily, Darian, but facing someone like Nome, his full-fledged doppelgänger, openly, would be suicide.”

“Just what a traitor would want.”

The old man sighed and coughed. “The air here is suffocating, damp. Turn Nome to your side. Show him my letters, tell him that the barbarians still pose a threat and that the army needs a general like him.”

“And then what? Hope he gets killed, or wait for him to return? Nome hunger for revenge for mother’s betrayal, and he won’t stop until he gets what he desires.”

Old counselor remained silent, staring at Darian with his lifeless grey eyes.

“I could have arranged an escape for you, Narim. But I don’t think you’ll stop to...”

“No,” replied the old man sharply and hoarsely. “No. Just let me die. Tomorrow is my execution. I’m an old man, I don’t want to die of old age, cowering, curled up in pain,” he looked at Darian again. “Let it be quick. This time I ask as a friend.”

Darian nodded, barely holding back tears. “I promise,” he turned around, lighting the way out with his torch.

“Exploit your brother’s weaknesses. If he’s anything like Inglud, you know what to do,” Narim said.

Darian paused for a moment, his face half-shadowed by the flickering torchlight. “Farewell, old friend,” he stepped out, leaving the dungeon.

“Farewell, My King.”

The footsteps intensified. Darian opened his eyes and pulled the sword out of the snow, turning around.

The snowfall began to settle. “So you’ve come, then. I must admit, I was afraid you wouldn’t have the courage even for this, brother,” Nome slung a massive battle-axe over his broad shoulder, his face overgrown with a thick red beard and greasy hair. Sunken eyes and circles testified to sleepless nights.

Darian looked him over, letting out a sigh. “Do you want to know something fascinating? Our father, a colossus in both leadership and warfare, a slayer of hundreds, triumphed in countless battles. And yet in his last seconds of life, he squirmed like a slug under my feet. He me called the worst of the Serpent-Slayers, but in the end, my face was the last thing Inglud the Serpent-Slayer, the Bear, saw when I slit his fat ugly throat. He writhed beneath like a serpent in its death throes. And I was a bear.”

Nome lowered his axe from the shoulder, rumbling and stepping closer. “No more evasions, then. You confess to the murder of our father. For this, I’ll gut your corpse and hang it over the castle gates. You betrayed our family, Darian. You slew our father not in honorable combat but because he deemed you feeble. That did you no honor or glory, brother.”

“You think I killed him because of that? No, he crossed the line when he dared to touch my queen, thinking I didn’t deserve her. You will die for the same thing. In this story, Nome, you are the serpent and I am the slayer.”

“These are bold words for a coward who sneakily stabbed a king in the back. We are no longer children. My axe will be the avenger for our father, and your name, Darian, will be erased from the scrolls of history. Forever! Your offspring will be spared, for our mother’s sake, to prevent her from suffering further.”

Darian raised his sword, “We shall see.”

A guttural roar erupted from Nome as he hoisted his axe above his head.

Darian gazed out of the window onto the castle square. The echoes of children’s swordplay played in his mind, taking him back to the days when he and Nome were just kids.

“When I grow up, I’ll become stronger than you,” Darian proclaimed.

“Yeah, dream on, brother,” Nome, the red-haired boy a head taller, swung a sharp stick and stabbed Darian in the finger.

“Ouch! That hurt,” Darian winced.

“Are you about to shed tears, little brother?”

“Stop it, Nome, or I’ll tell Mom!” Darian threw his stick away, shoving the bloody finger into the mouth.

“Come on! Fight me!” Nome swung his stick once more, putting all his might behind it. But this time, Darian dodged, and Nome’s stick landed sharply on the ground, the pointed end firmly stuck.

Darian couldn’t help but taunt, “Ha-ha. It looks like your stick found a new home.”

“My king?!” Someone’s voice from behind returned him back from memories. Darian half-turned at Lokir’s call. The counselor stepped closer handing him the sword. Darian pulled it from its sheath, inspecting it and swiping it through the air.

“A blade of exceptional craftsmanship, forged by the kingdom’s most skilled swordsman,” said Lokir.

Jason, who stood near the door, chimed in, “This is a good sword. Your enemies won’t stand a chance, Your Majesty.”

Darian nodded appreciatively. “Thank you, Lokir.”

Lokir’s voice turned more somber. “How are you feeling after Narim’s execution? Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. I don’t,” he returned the sword to its scabbard, staring straight at the counselor. “May I ask you a question?”

“Yes, of course. I’m here to answer King’s questions.”

“Why me?”

Lokir scratched his beard thoughtfully. “I don’t quite understand. Why you what?”

“You had so many opportunities to betray me and to help Nome, someone who is more like our father. You swore allegiance to the Serpent-Slayers, but you chose me. Why?”

Lokir and Jason exchanged a knowing glance. “Because,” Lokir began, “you didn’t resort to executing us after Narim’s ill-fated coup. Another Serpent-Slayer would have executed the entire guard just to intimidate the kingdom; he would execute even those who had helped him. You’re not like other Serpent-Slayers, Darian. That’s true. And Narim saw that as a weakness and tried to exploit it. I, too, initially viewed it as such, until I realized it is your strength. A kingdom built solely on fear is destined for ruin. You earned your respect, Darian. You earned your crown. You are our perfect king.”

He deftly evaded the ax, swiftly countering with a slash of his sword across Nome’s arm. With incredible force, Nome hurled him back into the snow with a massive hand.

The frost’s grip began to tighten on Darian’s muscles as he desperately crawled away, putting as much distance as possible between himself and Nome.

Red-haired chuckled, savoring the moment. “I enjoy it when events unfold just as I’ve foreseen. Crawl away, brat.”

Darian, rising to his feet despite the dizziness from Nome’s previous blow, faced yet another menacing strike.

But with calculated precision, he still launched a ferocious assault with his sword, the blade cutting through the air with deadly intent. Nome, however, was no easy adversary, effortlessly parrying the attack and retaliating with a counterstrike.

Darian parried and with a precise thrust he breached the armor on Nome’s chest, inflicting a minor wound.

“You are really worth something after all,” Nome smirked.

“Just shut up,” Darian attacked again, overconfident in his strength. Nome deflected the attack and, with his colossal gauntlet, delivered a crushing blow directly to Darian’s temple. The world spun as Darian screamed, thrown backward, his vision obscured by a blinding pain. The blow severely damaged his eye and cut the skin. Darian barely got up, swinging the sword, seeing nothing in front of him. The snowstorm intensified.

““That’s it?” a voice sneered from just inches away from Darian’s ear, and Nome delivered a merciless kick to his stomach, sending Darian tumbling face-first into the snow with a heavy thud. “I’m disappointed. What are you fighting for, Darian? For the throne or for our dear mother? Is she really worth it? I’ve only tasted her once, and it was a nightmare. I don’t understand your fervor; I don’t understand how you can do this.”

He thought about Nymira. “I won’t die like this,” Darian’s vow cut through the biting wind, his teeth gritted against the pain. The determination in his eyes, fueled by love, sparked a glimmer of hope.

“Where are you going in this weather?” Nymira was standing by the window breastfeeding a baby girl. She wore a green royal dress with furs at the neck. Her breasts peeked out through the slit of the dress, placed in a baby’s mouth. She looked tired and exhausted.

“There is one thing I should do,” he wrapped a scarf around his neck and dressed warmer.

“Why are you involved in something I’m unaware of?” she walked over, rocking the girl in her arms, and kissed his cheek. “You don’t have to lie to me, darling. I know when you do, after all, I am the one who cradled you in my arms and watched you take your first steps. You see how my life has changed, how much I’ve sacrificed for you, Darian. So why? Why are you lying to me now?”

He looked into her eyes. “To protect you. It’s ... about Nome. I have an informant who knows where he is.”

Nymira set the girl aside on the bed, she seemed too nervous to say anything.

“Nome is probably far away by now. He won’t forgive us for our marriage,” she forewarned.

He stepped closer. “Mom,” whispered Darian, his eyes searching her face, “can you truly be prepared for the possibility of him not making it out alive? It’s possible that our enemies could ... you know.”

Nymira gazed into the distance for a moment. “I would despise with every fiber of my being the one who brought harm to him,” she finally spoke. “I would harbor an unyielding thirst for vengeance, and with every beat of my heart, swear to see justice served.”

She turned and smiled with the corner of her mouth. “But there’s nothing to worry about, I know it. My firstborn son isn’t as easily felled as you might think, Darian.” Leaning forward, she pressed a tender kiss upon his forehead.

He breasts were still in full view. With a tender touch, he traced his finger delicately over her nipple, wiping away a droplet of milk, and then tasted it. “Be ready when I am back, Mom.”