# Betrayed



## LongfangFenrika93 (Jan 22, 2012)

my short piece I submitted to college for entry. Set in my own fictional world. Feedback would be welcome 

*Betrayed*


Andreas wandered through the darkness of the forest with nought but his long sword and his beating heart. Blood seeped from a dozen different wounds. His boiled leather straps and heavy steel weighed him down and his footsteps were heavy. The screams of the crows and the dying echoed through the woods. Horses roared and the clatter of their riders followed the screams. The night was as dark as it was cold, and frozen water hung from the branches still as the stars.

Shouts from behind made Andreas turn sharply, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow. In between two giant oaks, ancient gates of wood, an enormous black shadow rode upon the top of a red-eyed screaming mare. The horse was unnatural, too many legs and small tusks protruded from a many fanged mouth. Andreas froze as he watched his doom approach. The monstrous shadow wore a heavy cloak of black, and was adorned with glinting plate that caught the twin moons’ glare. His helm was the screaming, twisted parody of a soaring eagle, and his thick breath steamed through his mouth-grille. He growled like a dog as he charged.

‘May the gods protect,' was all Andreas could say. 

****​ 
‘The King’s army was smashed on the Golden Fields, Ser Janus. Fewer than fifteen thousand of his men made it back to Highgate. The Usurper will crash down upon the gates of this city and we will be slaughtered along with the rest of the King’s men. We cannot win this war,’ the old warrior said, his hand resting upon his blade. His beard was grey and his brow heavy and furrowed. His gleaming sky-blue silks were fastened around his white armour, and a great red cloak fell from his shoulders. His helm was tall, twice the length of his head and shrinking in size as it reached the top, and from it a plume of black horsehair fell down to his shoulders.

Ser Janus watched the old man with disgust. ‘What you speak of is treason, Ser. I will not betray my liege. We are sworn defenders of the King and his right to rule. You spit on your oaths too easily, Ser Gomley.’

‘Ah! You are a fool Janus, and you will die with the rest of the fools.’ Ser Gomley stormed off, his red cloak billowing behind him. ‘I mean to survive this war, Janus. See you in the four hells.’ His men marched behind him, similarly clad, save their armour was gold, beaten and thick, and the weapons they bore were great halberds and hard maces.

Janus wandered back into the throne room, his thoughts a maelstrom within his head. The children were playing in the courtyard, splashing in the fountain and enjoying the summer sun. Rays of sunshine and warmth spilt into the palace, but Ser Janus shivered. The Queen was dead and the King was mad, and the realm was lost. The rebels under the Usurper were growing by the day, and even the small folks were flocking to him. Over the last year half the kingdom was lost, and the King’s defences had been swept aside like leaves in the wind. More and more knights had defected or fled to their own castles, like Old Grontus had. They were cowards and traitors though, and Janus wouldn’t abandon his liege, no matter how doomed he might be.

Ser Janus walked up to the dais where his Grace was seated, watching the old man intently. His hair was the colour of newly-formed ice, beyond grey, almost silver. It fell upon his shoulders, dropping to his waist and curling around his lap. His old shrivelled head was grey with patches of blackened skin, where blood had burst underneath. Dark spots and freckles covered his brow and cheeks, weaving between the cracks and lines and broken flesh. His hands were paper-thin to the point of translucency, and his veins snaked up his arm, hiding under the extravagant gown he wore. His King’s attire was blood red, and golden patterns swirled around his breast in the shapes of battling dragons and lions. It became white silk at his shoulders, like snow-capped mountains, and began to curl up behind his neck. Gold chains wrought in the image of a clenched fist dangled around the King’s frail neck, protruding from his withered beard. His crown was a ring of shining gold metal, with five red-tipped spikes, which looked like they had been dipped in blood. Drool dripped from the King’s slouching mouth, hitting his glimmering jewellery and glinting in the light. He was asleep on his throne.

Ser Janus coughed, ‘Your Grace.’

The old King murmured some incomprehensible words as he awoke from his slumber. His new young Queen, Maria of House Geldar from the southlands, sighed ever so slightly. Ser Janus didn’t envy her in the slightest, she was a prisoner in this palace, comforted in the night only by her ailing husbands ‘accidents’ and groans.

One of the gleaming Knights in gold and white stepped from behind the throne, Ser Matthyew, Janus remembered. A young Knight from the East, near the distant seas and the borderlands he was an ambitious little man, and he picked up grinning maids as easy as he felled his enemies. ‘Your Grace,’ he said softly in the King’s ear, ‘Your sworn Knight, Ser Janus approaches.’ Something about the way that Ser Matthyew said _sworn_ and the way the young Knight’s mouth turned up ever so slightly at the side, made Janus smile. _Very ambitious_.

‘Yes, yes’, groaned the old man, waving his hand as if trying to swat a fly. Ser Janus took that as his cue to begin.

‘My King’, he began, ‘we have reports from that the Stone King has gathered four of the greater houses to his cause, one unfortunately was fighting for the crown but has since -‘

‘USURPER! His name is Usurper! I am the only King in this land...’ His King trailed off as he slouched into his throne and began to drool yet again. Janus could smell his soiled clothes from here. This was useless, if he was a man of lesser honour, like Old Grontus, he would have fled long ago.

Another Knight approached him from one of the pillars supporting the high ceiling. Janus’ face brightened as he recognised his old friend. ‘Ser Davin! It is good to see you! I thought you fallen.’ The clasped their wrists together in the ancient way. The man was greyer than Janus had last seen him, grey all over in fact. His cloak was a dusty white, etched with the badge of his house, a dancing mare, and his leather tunic was stained with the dust of the Highroad, his boots even worse. _Still, he was alive_.


‘It has been too long Janus, I do hope you are still terrorizing that ever-suffering wife of yours’ Davin said, laughing.

Janus flinched. His wife. He had a wife. Grief surged up through him; it was still too soon to even speak of her. ‘She is gone to another place now, my old friend.’ He smiled sadly. 

‘Ah. I’m sorry Janus, she was like a sister to me.’ He touched his Janus on the shoulder. ‘But we will talk of that on another sunrise. I must talk to you about our King’. Davin’s look was forlorn, almost regretful.

‘Yes he is getting very frail, I think he forgets my name’, Janus chuckled, ‘still, he has good days.’

‘I forget your name now and again you old crow’ Davin laughed. ‘But yes one of these days will cost us our lives.’

Janus was instantly hesitant, and the air seemed to become ever so slightly colder. ‘What are you coming to, brother?’

‘We need to accept that the King is not going to win this war, and do you know what the Usurper does to defenders of the crown like us, no? He cuts of their hands and feet and he burns them at the stake.’ Davin was very still.

‘What is going on Davin, you turn up here after me thinking you have passed through the four gates of hell and you talk of things bordering on treason? We are his sworn Knights, Defenders of the Realm, and Guardians of the Throne.’ Janus said, taken aback. More shadows appeared behind the pillars, the sun’s rays in his eyes blocking the best part of his vision.

Davin ignored him and walked out into the balcony, gesturing for Janus to join him. He put his hand on the hilt of his longsword and took one last look at the King. He had fallen into a deep sleep and Ser Matthyew sat grinning at his side, nonchalantly standing there with one arm resting on the top of the throne and the other wiping some blemish from his golden armour. He laughed with the young Queen, who was so obviously smitten with him. Rumour had it that Queen Maria had bedded half the King’s Knights, including dashing Ser Matthyew. She had only married the King two months passed.

The air was warm as he went to stand beside his friend, vaguely aware of the imposing silhouettes to his right and left. Highgate sprawled out before him. A teeming city of nearly half a million, it was the most impressive thing that Ser Janus had ever laid his eyes upon. He had seen the shimmering waters of the Blessed Lake, far to the southwest, and that had taken his breath away. The crumbling monuments of the desert lands had brought him to his knees. But the vastness of Highgate sparked something deep within himself. It brought both the crushing feeling of insignificance and the sheer wonder at man’s capability to outdo itself. He couldn’t let this ancient city be burned to the ground by the Usurper’s horde. It had been here for longer than any scholar or scribe could remember, older even than the first settlers. Some of the more pious peoples of the land whispered that the Gods themselves had descended from the stars and built the great city. Much to the annoyance of the High Priesthood of course, they were just pissed that they hadn’t wrote it in their holy scrolls first.

Ser Davin stood against the cream stone railing overlooking the city, his burnished steel wrist plates scraping slightly as he leaned forward. ‘This city won’t be shining quite like this in a few weeks, Janus. The Usurper’s horde will rape, murder and loot their way to the four hells, and you know its coming. We need to save it, you and I’ Davin pointed at Janus as he finished, turning round and reclining back, resting on his elbows, his persona blasé and his face smirking.

_This is not the man I fought beside all those years ago_. He eyed his old friend’s sword. It was literally glowing with wealth and stature. A gift. That sent a shiver down Janus’ back. Who has given Davin his gold and why?

‘The world is changing Janus. Our enemies become our friends and our friends become our enemies.’ Davin said dryly as he watched the old King as he slept on his throne. ‘I have made a deal that will see this city and this land saved, brother. But I need you.’

He let the words hang in the air for several seconds, and they stayed there like a bad taste in the mouth. Janus gave a slight shrug, ‘The King needs me as well, he needs all his _loyal_ subjects, Ser Davin.’

‘The King is weak,’ said Davin as Janus began to walk back into the gloomy throne room. The words were like a hammer blow. Like the sudden rush of a freezing wind. Janus stopped, his fist tightening around his hilt.

‘What did you say?!’ He hissed as he spun. ‘Have you lost your _mind_, Davin?!’ Janus was seething. He raised his hand but a little, shifting his blade in its sheath.

‘Far from it, old friend. I’d be careful with that blade if I were you, Janus.’ The hint of a threat lingered in his old friend’s words. Janus glanced round as the shadowy silhouettes seemed to grow in number. He looked back at his own men. They were dressed in heavy mail and long tunics, dark grey in colour and with Janus’ personal house sigil, a hissing mandrake, etched on their leather shoulder pads. They stood casually near the entrance of the Grand Hall, and their helms shone in the central pyres’ light. Their helms hung at their belt as they joked together. Seven guards weren’t enough. Janus cursed.

‘Why are you here, Ser Davin?’ Janus asked, intently aware of Ser Matthyew’s glare. The boy’s sword was half pulled from its sheath. The young Queen was gone, as were her maids, and one of the lesser Knights stood close to the King. Too close. Something glimmered in his hand, shining in the -

‘Knights of the Realm, protect your King!’ Janus roared as he pulled his blade out in an arc. He forgot Davin and his shifting shadows as he pounded across the marble floor to the dais. He had reached the first step as the traitor drove his knife into the King’s neck. By the third step, the knife had torn out the old man’s frail throat, and a crimson tide poured down over his priceless silk gown. The King’s gold jewellery fell to the marble floor as the knife cut through the malleable metal. The silence, save for Janus’ pounding steps, was haunting. The court had frozen. The King was being murdered before their eyes and they hadn’t said a word. Not even let slip a scream. Blood continued to stream from the old man as he attempted to stand. His killer laughed as he pushed his dying victim down the carved steps.

Janus swung his longsword in an arc over his head, bringing it screaming down to where the traitor stood but a moment before. The shining metal sparked as it struck the marble floor, vibrations shaking up through the sword. He turned just in time to see Ser Matthyew’s blade drive for his chest, but he parried it aside and kicked the boy down off the dais. His men were battling black cloaked assailants across the hall. They were hopelessly outnumbered. Another man came at him screaming, fresh blood on his surcoat gave him a foul smell, and his black beard was matted with dirt and other things. Janus drove his blade deep into the man’s heart and his screaming stopped. The body fell like a sack of mud, blood pooling. He watched his first house guard die but six metres from him, cut with a halberd from collarbone to groin, almost severing the man in two. Blood pumped like some unnatural fountain as the man died howling. The second guard was stabbed several times as he was surrounded, his garbled screams echoing throughout the Grand Hall. Ser Janus cut another man across his face as he jumped at him, and severed the right leg of a fourth. By the time he looked up again, three more of his guardsmen were bleeding on the floor, and only two remained. One was pushed against an ancient stone pillar and butchered against that. Blood splatter covered the ground gruesomely as the man slumped to his death.

Janus screamed the Gods’ names as he tore through five more men. _Where in the hells did these men come from... Davin_. Janus scanned the balcony where his old friend stood just moments before. He was still standing there, smiling that new smug smile. He began to scream his friends name as an ice cold feeling crept across his right shoulder. Searing pain followed, and his clothes began to stick to him, it was warm and slick. His hand came away red when he felt it, and he was on his knees, blood on the floor. The marble was beautiful when he looked at it, intricate patterns and such. His life fluids were ruining it.

A figure walked through the blur towards him, and knelt down. He could smell the dust off of the warrior’s boots. The man’s smile was disarming, and his voice was soft. ‘Janus, my old friend, do you remember your son? Such a charming young man he was. Died before his time, at the start of the war I believe.’ Janus could only grunt as blood seeped through his lips. ‘Do you remember who killed him, Ser Janus?’

‘The... Slayer of... Rosewood...’ Janus coughed.

‘Indeed. Gartan! Out here, come on.’ Davin waved the hulking beast over. His mouth-grille looked demonic in Janus’ failing eyes. Gasps steamed through the metal bars, visible even in the heat of the summer sun, and his eyes were off, like how stars trailed in the sky when they fell. They shone with an unseemly inner light, and bore deep into him.

‘Andreas? Your son?’ The monster laughed, and turned away to the balcony where his men were throwing fair maidens and children of the court to their deaths.

‘Why...?’ Janus croaked, his disbelief mixing with the tears of the betrayed.

‘Because I want to be King, my brother. Just like we did when we were children.’ Davin smiled and faded with the world.


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## Tempessst (Sep 9, 2012)

Beautiful, id love to see more written. The story is fantastic, and the world is perfect from what i can tell, Unique differences yet ultimately relatable.


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## Dave T Hobbit (Dec 3, 2009)

A good take on the story of two brothers separated by ambition.

There are a few spelling and grammar errors (e.g. "the" instead of "they", missing commas after speech) but they did not overly detract from my enjoyment.


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## LongfangFenrika93 (Jan 22, 2012)

Thankyou for the feedback much appreciated. Yeah was trying to find that bastart 'the-they' mistake before because I noticed it but then couldn't find it before I posted  Glad you guys liked it.


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## Ambush Beast (Oct 31, 2010)

*Wow*

What a story! Great detail and belevable. I could not stop reading.


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