A Tale of Blades & Blood-Chapter 34: Snow

With a quick step forward, I lunged my blade into the beast's neck as its head had jerked upward to claw me. My blade had plunged only at its side as it dug its rabid teeth into my shoulder on the right.

As if by mere some miracle, the area felt numb.

I released my blade from its rib cage, piercing it once more, now in the heart. Soon, its body had went limp, and its jaw soon released its grip on me. Its fall made a loud thud, dust hovering in the air as its fur rested nicely on the stone ground.

The only thought in my head was my beloved.

I turned to see her, eyes widened as she held tightly on the horse's hair. The second the hound had fallen, she had rushed from behind to horse to me as I began to lose consciousness. If it was by miracle that my wound at the shoulder had almost no pain, that miracle had run out.

The flare of pain went up suddenly. I grasped the wound as my body had finally given up to the wounds and the fatigue of winter unto the hound that laid dead.

As my eyes began to turn heavy, my hearing became soft. The soft ring of a high pitch had replaced the ambience. This is unfortunate, I said in my head. It was obvious. Dying on the very body of your foe as your wife mourns you? That was just tragic, certainly not the tale I would want bards to sing about.

At least I heard my wife's voice before I had fully gone into my own realm of dreams. My eyes finally closed as I heard my wife's comforting words.

Deep into the north, the armies gather...

The knights wore their iron armor, decorated with the patterns of red and gold partnered with a mountain goat stamped in the center. The morale was evident, with chants of glory and prayers filling the air.

All the northern armies had gathered in front of the capital of Ororer's Keep. With the mercenaries the crown had paid, the army of the Weslands totaled at around forty thousand. The extra five thousand were mostly farmers yearning for gold and thieves who desired amnesty from their crimes.

"Aerystor!"

I turned to my side to see the king. "Your grace," I began, "What troubles you?"

The king's shoulders slumped, and so did his body towards his left, holding on barely to the reins with his hip secured to the seat. "Are you certain this lot is enough?" he asked.

"Enough? These men are more than enough, your grace. We have five thousand more men than them. From what I have heard, they only have thirty thousand now."

"Numbers... don't win wars... remember that," he snarled.

He still is not the same, my mind had noticed. He might be worse now... from the looks of it. "Your grace, our best bannermen have mustered their forces to your aid. Surely, you must see that our chances of putting down this revolt is higher than you think-"

"You expect me not to worry?"

"It is not like that, your grace," I replied. "I am merely giving to you our chances of victory-"

"High or not, numbers alone don't win wars, Aerystor," he snapped. "As the Hand, you should be knowing that. Then again, you're not Ser Merien either."

"Indeed, your grace. I am quite inexperienced in strategy... but in dueling with a blade? I think not," I answered, giving a thought a light chuckle to lift the mood.

The king had begun to laugh as well. For the first time since the council, he finally let out a laugh. "True, Aerystor... you were always the strong man when we took part in the tournaments. I remember those days..."

"Good days, I might add."

"You may. They were, really."

As if the effects of the poison had returned, the king had began to cough, his body seemingly weakening as he slumped on his horse's neck. One of his guards had come to assist him, trying to get him up while the other royal guard had arrived to keep the horse controlled.

"I beg your pardon, your grace. You must be catered to now," I told him, insisting as I moved my stallion forward.

"No need for that--" he said, coughing repeatedly "--I must get this army marching before noon takes hold. We march on the south as soon as we can. You planned this thing, remember?"

"Aye, your grace. But we must consider your health. Please, I have a Ravenman in my quarters that can aid you. He is an experienced man in medicine, I assure you-"

"I won't let another Ravenman touch me," the king remarked. "I've had far too many awful tasting shit forced down my throat. Another period of medicine and I might not last long, Aerystor-"

"At least let me have him enter your quarters for a few nights," I insisted. "We must find the root of this... symptom."

"It's a fever!" he exclaimed, fixing his posture. "I've been telling that bastard Ravenman it's a fever! It is!"

"We can't risk that. Can we, your grace? Imagine it, the kingdom crippled from revolution with a dead king. We can't be having that-"

"You threatening me, Aerystor?" he asked, a slight childish laugh exiting him. "It's as if you're predicting my death."

"Hopefully not, your grace."

For a moment, the silence had overcame us. In my head, I knew that my Ravenman could heal him. Caean was nonetheless an idiot in medicine, but he was a major in advising politically. The man was grubby and cunning... at least, to me.

"Who would you have treating me?" asked the king.

"A man named Rudus, your grace. He hails from the South Cradle, a child born in the capital itself. He is a trustworthy man. You have none to worry for."

He paused to give the idea a thought, looking down unto the snow, then at me. "Have him treat me tonight with whatever he can. I give you a week, Aerystor... don't fuck this one up."

That chance was all I needed. Get Rudus. Now! my mind ordered. At once, I greeted the king farewell, making my way inside the wall sof the keep all the way to the Hand's quarters, just adjacent to the council chamber.

Inside, Rudus had kept the place clean and tidy. It was no wonder that the maids adored him. He was clean as clean can be. The Ravenman was quite young and handsome, his face fair, but his body quite large. He was, however, healthy. He was clean-shaven, his luscious hair of brown looking as if it were a woodpecker's nest.

"My lord? What troubles you?" he asked.

"You've got a big job tonight, Rudus," I told him. "You will be healing the king's illness."

Perhaps I was to swift. The very sentence had struck him hard, not giving him a moment to think or process it. "W-what? H-heal the king? What illness does he have?"

"That is for you to find out," I replied. "He has become weak, Rudus, slumping over his horse and barely being able to sit. I believe the king has been poisoned by the looks of it-"

"B-beg pardon, my lord..." my companion interrupted, "...do you mean to say that the king's mind is being manipulated by some sort of sedative?"

"Indeed. He has been tired since our last council. Even though a Ravenman had already taken care of him, his sickness just won't budge... are you thinking what I am thinking, Rudus?"

The young man fidgeted with his fingers, making his way to the bookshelf that stood at the end o the bed and plucking out a large book that was littered with dust. On it were the texts The Art of Potions, Chemistry, and Medicine : By Ravenman Geoff. "Perhaps this might make me realize what you are thinking, my lord," he told me. "Apologies, but I am quite lost here-"

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"Oh, I don't expect you not to be," I replied. "This is a mystery that needs to be taken care of. The king's life is in the balance. That is why I need you to heal our king, Rudus. You are the best man in medicine I know."

His doubt was palpable. His brows were knit, his hands not being able to sit still while his temples dripped down with sweat. His eyes looked left and right, trying to find an answer. "M-my lord, this is all too much to take," he protested, flipping through the book's pages whilst he stood. "What symptoms did you observe? Please, tell me."

I made my way to the chair as my mind tried to recall everything. "He was very much fatigued. Like I said, he was hanging off the side of his steed. He can't walk to his own quarters on his own anymore, Rudus. He is not himself at all," I explained.

"Is that all?"

"There is also the outbursts, yes. He is no longer the calm king he once was. His mind is... well, poisoned-"

"Like you said, my lord."

"Yes, like I said."

He was silent as he flipped through the pages, passing by the sections of disease and plague until he reached the part where poison became the main topic. There, he traced the text, his fingers crossing across the pages.

"Here!" he exclaimed, taking a closer look at the page.

"Have you found it?"

"Not exactly, but this might be the culprit of your case, my lord," he answered, a relieved look on his face. "The madman's daisy..." he began, "...native to the snow lands of the north and causes severe distress and weakness to those who consume or touch it. Upon being mixed with a beverage, the poison takes form, tasteless and odorless. Behold, you have made the Madman's Poison."

"You believe that is the poison we are looking for?"

"There is a chance, my lord," he explained. "This is the only poison I know to cause such an effect, but The Art of Potions, Chemistry, and Medicine is a large book. There are other options-"

"Is there a cure to this, Rudus?" I asked.

"The symptoms should subside within a day after drinking the beverage, my lord. That is the reason why I doubt my hypothesis..."

Within a day? The king has been like this for more than a day already, my mind noted. It was either the poison was something other than the madman's daisy or that it was... no, surely not.

"My lord?"

"Rudus," I began, "What would happen if the beverage is given repeatedly- more than once within a day?"

The scholar paused. For a brief moment, it would appear as though he began to see what I had in mind. "The effects would surely last longer-"

"What about worsening?"

"That is possible as well, my lord."

"Is there a way to lessen its effects? A cure, perhaps?"

Rudus took some time to ponder the thought, then went back to flipping the pages. "I believe I saw a potion like that somewhere here," he said as he looked restlessly. "Here it is!" he exclaimed.

"Is it a cure?"

"No, my lord," he admitted. "The madman's cure," he began, "brewed from the essence of milk, honey, and a mix of the droplet from a sleeping tree's leaf. Upon consumption, this will lessen the effects of the madman's poison, giving peace to the poisoned mind of the person-"

"That will do, Rudus," I replied. "Can you heal the king, then? Can I rest my hope on you?"

"Of course, my lord!" he answered. "I-I will fetch the materials now, if it please you-"

"And cater to the king's needs, yes?"

"As you wish, my lord," he replied, his head dipping slightly in approval.

It was at that moment that the young scholar had excused himself out of the room. I myself had made my way to the nearby courtyard to look upon the view. Below, the armies of red began to move in formation, with around five thousand handling the wagons that would provide for the army.

Beside the army was their leading commander, Ser Merien, who rode on his stallion. Behind the men was the king, accompanied by his guards, entering the keep to move to his quarters.

The snow was around a foot tall, with the men's iron and leather armor sinking slowly into the snow. The march would begin at noon, and it was only the morning. The preparations were already ready, and the army was suited to march. The time, on the other hand, was not yet right.

In the next two days, the army would reach the south, and the banners of red will flood the grasslands.