The Shattered Crown

FORTY-EIGHT

Merrick stared up at the ceiling, his finger tracing the two-inch scar just below his left nipple. When the witch had laid her hands on him and he’d felt life flooding back into his body it had been the worst thing he’d ever experienced. It was as if his soul was being twisted and torn, dragged back from somewhere dark and cold. Now, as he lay there thinking about it, his mind was plagued by the memory.

He should have died in that arena. Then he’d have been a hero, lauded as the queen’s saviour, celebrated across the land. They might even have built a statue in his honour.

Not now, though. Now he was just another casualty. Just another nameless servant of the Crown, wounded in the line of duty.

Still, it beat the shit out of being dead, so he reckoned he shouldn’t complain.

The door to the chamber opened. Merrick assumed it would be someone come to check on him, perhaps bring him food or water. So far he’d been treated like an invalid, even though the wound barely troubled him. It wouldn’t do to let on though; he could easily get used to this treatment; being waited on hand and foot. Someone even came to clear his bedpan for him which was a privilege he was in no hurry to forego.

As he glanced across the room though, he realised the last thing his visitor would be doing was getting rid of his shit and piss.

Tannick Ryder closed the door behind him. He regarded Merrick, judging him, finding him wanting, as always. This time though there was something else in that glare. Was it compassion? Was it concern?

Don’t be fucking stupid. Tannick Ryder doesn’t know what compassion means. And he’s likely more concerned about his horse than about you.

Despite his loathing for this man, Merrick still struggled to sit up, still slid his legs over the side of the bed. It wasn’t just that he didn’t want his father to see him lying there weak and vulnerable, he still felt the need to stand and show the man some respect. Merrick hated himself for that.

‘Don’t get up,’ Tannick said. ‘You need to let yourself recover.’

‘I’m fine,’ Merrick replied, rising to his feet. He was surprised at how easy it was. His wound merely felt tight, as if it had only recently knitted back together.

They stood there for a moment, and for the first time Merrick thought his father looked awkward, lost for words even. The old man just sighed, looking his son up and down.

For his part, Merrick didn’t know what to say. The last time they spoke Merrick was made to feel a fool. Then his father had set one of his attack dogs on him. This relationship was anything but healthy.

‘They say you showed great bravery,’ said Tannick finally. ‘They say you saved the queen’s life. Some even say you should be granted lands and title for your courage.’

‘They say a lot, don’t they?’ Merrick replied, though he had to admit, he quite liked the idea of lands and title.

‘Look …’ Tannick looked at the floor, at the walls, anywhere but at his son. ‘I suppose what I’m trying to say is … you did well. I’m … I’m proud of you.’

Proud of him? Tannick Ryder was proud of him? It took all Merrick’s strength of will to not glance out of the window to see if there was a pig flying past.

‘I’m glad the fact I almost died finally made you proud. If I’d known it was that easy, I’d have looked for a fucking bridge to jump off years ago.’

Tannick bunched his fists, his jaw setting as he ground his teeth. He took a deep breath before speaking again. ‘This isn’t easy for me, Merrick. I know I may have misjudged you-’

‘No,’ Merrick replied. ‘You’ve been right about me all along — useless, feckless, lazy — a selfish little bastard. That’s what I am. That’s what I’ve always been, and who have I got to thank for it?’

‘I had duties to perform. There were more important things to consider. More important than me, than you-’

‘Than mother?’

Merrick saw a flash of emotion cross Tannick’s eyes at the mention of his wife. For a moment Merrick felt guilty about mentioning her, about using her as a weapon to stab at his father, but the old bastard deserved it.

It was clear her memory caused Tannick pain. He had lost her after all. Had been hundreds of miles away when she died. Merrick had always thought him a cold callous bastard, but looking at him now anyone might think that wasn’t true.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Merrick. ‘I shouldn’t have brought her up.’

‘No, you’re right.’ Tannick’s voice had softened. It was almost gentle. Merrick had never heard his father speak in such a manner. It made him seem almost human. ‘I wronged her, and I wronged you. I know that now. But I’ve come to make amends.’

Merrick shook his head. ‘Make amends? You’re going to give me back my childhood are you?’

‘No,’ said Tannick. All the strength and authority had returned to his voice. His moment of sorrow was past. ‘I’m giving you the chance to join me. There’s a place in the Wyvern Guard for you. A place by my side, if you’ll have it.’

‘A place by your side? What in all of Arlor’s godsforsaken country makes you think I want to stand by your side?’

Tannick shook his head. ‘I understand how you feel about me. I understand there’s a lot of bridges need rebuilding. I am trying.’

Merrick looked at his father. He was trying, that was for sure. The fact he’d even come here to see Merrick must have been a real struggle for him. Was this his way of apologising for all he’d done? Should Merrick throw away this chance for conciliation, just like that?

‘I’ll think on it,’ Merrick said.

‘Good. That’s all I ask. I’d be … proud to have you.’

With that the Lord Marshal turned and left Merrick alone.

He stared after his father for a long while, just standing there in that room, thinking about what had just happened. Back when he had thought his father was dead, Merrick would have given anything to see him again, to be offered a place by his side, to be told Tannick was proud of him

Now he had it, he wondered if it was worth a shit.

In the past few days Merrick had been through the hells and had almost died. Now his father deigned to come see him, to offer him a place in his Wyvern Guard, to call him a comrade. It was a poor second to being called a son. But then what had he expected? Tannick Ryder had never indulged in emotion, even before he’d abandoned his family. They were never going to hold each other in a warm embrace, never going to talk long into the night and share a jug of wine.

Merrick donned his shirt and put his boots on. When he opened the door of the chamber he felt the evening chill. He breathed it in, glad to still be alive. The dark shadow of death still played on his mind but he shut it out as best he could. No point moping. The Lord of Crows got everyone in the end, whether you worried about him or not.

Kaira was exactly where he thought she’d be, polishing her armour; her sword and whetstone sitting beside her waiting for her attention. Merrick waited rather than announce himself. The last time they’d spoken she had beat the crap out of him. Surely she’d be better disposed towards him now, after he’d saved the queen?

‘Are you going to stand there all day?’ she said, without looking up from buffing her breastplate.

‘Wasn’t planning on it,’ Merrick replied taking a seat opposite her.

He watched her for a little longer, wondering if she’d say any more, wondering if she’d commend him on his bravery. The silence just wore on.

‘How is the queen?’ he asked finally.

‘She’s fine,’ Kaira replied, still polishing. ‘A little shaken, understandably, but unhurt.’ Another pause as she rubbed vigorously at a troublesome spot on the armour. ‘You did well.’

Will wonders never cease? A compliment from the ice maiden. Praise be to Arlor and all his beardy priests.

‘I only did my du-’

‘Don’t,’ said Kaira, looking up. ‘Don’t start talking about duty now. We both know it was nothing to do with that.’

Merrick felt himself getting annoyed. He’d saved the queen’s bloody life, surely he deserved a bit of respect for that. Didn’t he?

‘No?’ he replied, feeling his healing wound itch uncomfortably as his ire grew. ‘So what was it to do with? I don’t go around throwing myself on the end of swords just for the bloody laughs.’

‘You tell me. Was it a chance to prove you’re not a coward, or was there just no alternative — were you cornered?’

‘Fuck you!’ Merrick said, standing up and turning to leave. He stopped when he heard her chuckling.

‘Whatever happened to that famous Ryder sense of humour?’ she said with a smile. ‘Started taking yourself seriously all of a sudden?’

‘Being stabbed in the chest will do that,’ he said, sitting back in the chair. ‘When did you become a bloody jester?’

‘Maybe I’ve learned from an expert.’ She eyed him wryly.

‘Anyway,’ he said. ‘I only came to tell you my father’s been for a visit.’

‘Really? Have you put the past behind you?’

Merrick shook his head. ‘Not yet. He asked me to join him. In the Wyvern Guard, I mean.’

‘And you’re not sure whether that’s the right thing to do?’

For a humourless, stone-cold maiden of the sword, Kaira had certainly become insightful.

‘What do you think I should do?’

Kaira laughed and went back to polishing her armour. ‘I think you should follow your heart, Merrick. What else can you do?’

‘I could stay here with you and Garret. I could be one of the Sentinels. I think I’ve more than proved my worth.’

‘Yes, you have. But is that what you really want? There’s nothing for you to prove here, but to your father perhaps there is …’

‘I don’t need to prove shit to him,’ Merrick replied.

Really? Don’t you need to prove you’re a fighter, a warrior deserving of the Ryder name?

‘We all have to prove ourselves worthy, every day of our lives,’ Kaira said. ‘The hard part is picking what or whom you want to be worthy of.’

This was starting to get a bit deep, but perhaps she was right. Was Tannick Ryder worth all the bother? Would he even be able to make the old man proud? Did he really care?

He stood up. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to go … polish something.’

Kaira gave him a nod and went back to her work.

As Merrick moved through the barracks his hand strayed to the wound at his chest. Was it all the proof he needed of his bravery? Or was it just a reminder that he wasn’t quite as good with a blade as he’d have liked?

Who really gave a fuck? He was Merrick Ryder — he didn’t owe anything to anyone. He’d done his part, saved the bloody queen, for Arlor’s sake. What more could anyone want of him? What more could he give?

He guessed in the days to come he’d be likely to find out.