I’m More Dangerous Than You
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It was dark. The only light came from the moon, which shone through the cracks in the old wooden walls of my new room in the castle’s dungeon. In front of me were two chairs—a large one for myself and a smaller one with a backrest made of a single piece of wood that could be folded out on top.
It must have been very uncomfortable to sit there for extended periods of time, but it did give me an idea as to what they’d planned for me: torture by boredom. But I couldn’t afford to rest until I knew who had sent the men after us and why they’d been so determined to get at me.
My sword lay next to the chair. I wasn’t sure if anyone would dare take it away from me now. The king probably hadn’t given orders to his troops not to touch it, or else he wouldn’t have let them keep me alive—but then again, he might have ordered my execution, too.
No one knew about me except those few servants and guards who had helped rescue me from the dungeons. If the royal family found out about me, I would either be put into protective custody and hidden somewhere far away from the capital or maybe even killed outright.
And yet the king had no need to worry; I still didn’t know everything there was to know, nor did I have all the answers.
There was another chair opposite mine, just wide enough for a guard sitting behind the table between us. A heavy iron-banded door stood behind him, but I had already guessed that I would never see the light of day. At least the ceiling was higher than the cell where I’d been kept before this.
That cell had been barely six feet across, and the ceiling had been low enough to allow me to stretch out my arms fully when lying on my side. My cell in the dungeon also had a window in the wall opposite the door, with the night sky visible beyond. The other cell had only looked out over the dungeons’ courtyard.
If you were going to imprison someone in a place like this, at least provide some basic comforts: a bed to lie down on, a pillow, a cupboard with some clothes, maybe a small table and writing desk… There weren’t any of these things, though, nor was there a mirror.
They wanted me here alone without knowing that I’d be stuck in here forever. Well, perhaps not entirely forever—they might decide to execute me sooner or later. But the question remained: how long would they want me to suffer?
Would I have to endure months or years of isolation and loneliness? Perhaps they would send me away for questioning once every few days and then bring me back again; or would they want me dead immediately, or perhaps sooner, if they felt I was telling too many secrets? Or would they want me to die slowly, in excruciating pain?
The worst thing I noticed about the dungeon was the smell. The floor beneath my feet had been laid with stone slabs, but there were still plenty of holes where rats and mice had gnawed at them and left their droppings and excrement in the crevices between them.
The stench of decay was so strong it hurt to breathe. If I stayed here for longer than a few hours, I would soon grow ill and start suffering from hallucinations, which would help explain why I hadn’t seen anyone else since I had first arrived.
The smell was likely due to the fact that we were underground, but even so, I couldn’t understand how such an unpleasant odor could have permeated my cells throughout my imprisonment up to this point.
I sat down and placed my right hand under my chin, thinking. I’d tried to find out as much as I could about the king before I’d left the castle. He had been king for thirty-two years, and he didn’t seem like an evil man.
When he’d come into power, he’d inherited the throne from his father, and he had always been known as a kindly ruler who ruled fairly and justly. His mother was Queen Sigrid of Rümlang, and while she wasn’t exactly loved among her people, she was well-regarded because she had married against her own father’s wishes.
She had been a skilled warrior who had fought in the war against the orcs when King Olav of Värmland and his family had died in the Battle of Einö. It was said that Queen Sigrid herself had played a key role in defeating the enemy troops; she had been the leader of the defense forces, and has led the charge with a small troop of knights on horseback.
She was renowned even today as being one of the most talented swordsmen of that age, along with Countess Elisabeth, the daughter of Duke Wilhelm of Nürnburg. While she was certainly not the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, I would never have doubted her skill or courage.
The king’s wife was known as an excellent healer as well, and the whole country benefited from her knowledge. And while they might be considered strange bedfellows—the king was a commoner and the queen a knight descended from royalty—their union had produced three daughters and two sons who had made their marks on history.
I would have liked to know more about them, but I didn’t know anything more than that.
As far as I knew, the only thing the king and queen were famous for was their ability to produce healthy children, and they must have done it several times because the royal line continued to exist despite the deaths of so many children before they reached adulthood.
In all of their years on the throne, the royal family had managed to survive intact, with both queens having borne ten children each. Their last child had died a year after he was born, leaving only the youngest prince, Jarl Sigurd. So if this boy was my nephew, then the only living member of my family was now the king.
“I’m sure you are wondering why you’re being detained,” began the guard. “It is because your behavior has been inappropriate. You should show respect towards your betters.”
“What do you mean?” asked a voice behind me.
I looked over my shoulder to see another guard standing nearby with his arms folded across his chest. This one, judging by his clothing, had to belong to the palace guards. The man had black hair and blue eyes, a pair of bushy eyebrows, and a mustache.
His skin was tanned, probably because he spent lots of time outdoors. He wore a chainmail hauberk over a sleeveless tunic, along with leather greaves, boots, and a short sword. A dagger hung from a belt at his waist.
“He’s talking about your behavior while you’ve been confined here,” explained the other guard. “You must admit it was inappropriate for one as young as yourself to be so disrespectful of those whom you are supposed to serve. Your conduct was shameful, and it cannot be allowed to continue.”
The man with the bushy mustache shook his head sadly. “I am afraid I can’t allow that. We need you here. The kingdom needs you.”
“And what exactly does the kingdom need with a sixteen-year-old boy?” I countered.
His eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you just answer the question? I know it isn’t because you’re too proud to speak for yourself. You want to say something rude, and I will stop you from doing that. Is that clear enough?”
My heart raced as I realized the seriousness of the situation. They were going to put me on trial again, and there was no doubt as to where things would end up. If I lost, I’d be killed, and if they won, I’d have to live out my days working for them, serving the kingdom.
I couldn’t help but think of my friends back at the barracks, of Gyda and Björn and everyone else. How many of them would still be alive if I hadn’t gone into the forest? But how could I tell them that they would all be dead if they didn’t do anything when the king and queen sent men like these to find me? My mind whirled with all the possibilities.
What would happen to me if I told them everything? Would they kill me anyway? If they did, would anyone ever really believe my version of events, or would I just become a martyr without a cause? Was I better off telling the truth and dying, or keeping silent and letting them lock me away?
A thought came to me then, a memory of something that Father Oda had once told us: “Better an honest man than a coward.” It wasn’t a very poetic turn of phrase, but I took it to mean that if someone was going to accuse you of being a liar, then you were better off admitting it.
But I didn’t know if that was true, and I didn’t know what the king and queen wanted. Could I trust them not to do anything to me if I spoke?
“Answer the question,” repeated my tormentor, his expression darkening. “Are you a coward?”
“Yes,” I responded. “I admit to being a coward—and a thief.”
The two guards exchanged glances.
“How dare you?” cried the first man. “I’ll have you executed on the spot for daring to speak to your superiors in such a manner!”
“If that is what you desire, then that is what we will do,” replied the second guard. “We must warn the palace guards to prepare a gallows.”
“No!” screamed the woman. “That won’t be necessary! That boy is clearly unbalanced. Let’s just tie him up for now, and send word to the capital—”
“You will obey orders given to you by those who are your superiors!” shouted my captors.
With that, I knew that I would never get out of this situation alive. No matter what I said, even if I admitted to stealing from Lord Arbistrath, they would take me to the palace dungeons and kill me.
The first guard grabbed me by my wrist. “Do you realize you’re lucky we didn’t execute you on the spot for speaking disrespectfully?”
I winced at the pain of my arm, but I kept myself quiet.
“But we will give you one chance to redeem yourself.”
My captor tugged harder on my arm. “Tell us everything you know, and we may let you go.”
I nodded reluctantly. “Very well,” I muttered.
I told them everything.
***
The king’s guards arrived at our house late one night. They found us huddled together in the living room as always, but instead of taking Björn and Gyda into custody, they hauled me off to the dungeon at the castle. It felt more like a holding cell than a prison, though.
The walls weren’t made of stone as far as I could tell, but rather thick planks of wood, and I was forced to sleep on a thin pallet on the floor, with little else except for my clothes and a single blanket.
The door was barred and locked tight, and it only opened for those wearing a royal seal on their clothing. And I could barely understand that seal—it was nothing like the golden ring they used to identify royalty in the stories I’d heard of past kings, but I did catch glimpses of a crown before it disappeared into my vision.
Björn and Gyda were taken away to live somewhere in the palace dungeons. Björn didn’t seem happy about the idea, but he agreed that he needed to cooperate if he wanted any hope of returning home.
He spent every waking moment studying with the guards, learning as much as he could, which meant he wasn’t allowed much time for himself or Gyda. She often complained of having to sleep alone in a tiny cell while Björn was off studying, but she seemed more concerned for her brother than herself.
At least, it appeared to me since I rarely got the chance to talk to her directly. All the guards had to say to me was that I needed to learn from Björn’s example. It wasn’t long after that when I saw Björn’s eyes grow distant.
His gaze became fixed upon some point beyond my sight, his lips slightly parted as if to speak. He seemed to be looking through me, and all he ever said afterward was the same thing: “I love you.”
And I was unable to respond.
After my confession, I knew that I couldn’t continue working as Björn’s squire without revealing what I was capable of doing. But my father insisted on training me anyway, saying that it wasn’t safe to simply leave me locked in the dungeon at the castle, where I might escape and cause further trouble.
If that happened, I wouldn’t be able to return to Father’s farm. I could either work on the king’s behalf or be put to death, and he preferred to have my work for him.
Father also insisted that I keep my magic hidden, even if I could no longer use it openly. The only person besides my father who knew about my new abilities was Gyda; I still hadn’t spoken the truth about what had happened in the forest, and it hurt badly that she was now convinced of my guilt and unwilling to look at me with sympathy.
As much as it pained me, I realized that there was no way to prove otherwise without risking more harm to Björn, and so I continued to serve King Ramiro as his page, even if I hated every minute of it.
One night, however, I learned something else entirely.
A pair of guards came for me one morning, carrying a small casket. The king wished to see me before dinner, he said.
The guards placed the casket onto my lap and stepped back, but not before giving me an odd expression.
King Ramiro looked up from his desk. “What do you think it is?” he asked.
“It’s not—” But before I could finish, the casket split wide open, releasing a cloud of yellow powder. The two guards immediately rushed to my side and helped me to sit upright, but the substance soon spread throughout the entire room, blinding my eyes and covering everyone around me in choking clouds of dust.
A scream escaped Björn’s throat as the smoke covered his face, and he began coughing wildly until he fell to the ground, gasping for air. One guard tried to help him breathe better, but the other held up a hand to stop the man.
All three of us were breathing in great gouts of the stuff, trying to clear out our lungs and prevent any damage from being done. The guards kept shaking their heads, trying to rid themselves of the haze while King Ramiro sat unmovingly.
He didn’t seem to notice anything unusual about the situation, so I decided against pointing out the obvious. The king was a good man, but prone to occasional bouts of forgetfulness.
But then King Ramiro spoke, and the moment his voice reached me through the thickening mist, everything changed.
“My dear friends,” he said calmly. “You need not concern yourselves with the unfortunate circumstances that have led to this state of affairs.”
At once, the haze cleared completely from the room. The guards dropped Björn onto the floor and hurried to my side, checking to make sure my eyes weren’t injured. I breathed a sigh of relief as my vision returned. Björn had stopped coughing too. The two men were already kneeling beside my bed, helping me to stand.
The king leaned forward over the desk, clasping both hands together in front of him. “Forgive me for not telling you sooner,” he added. “We’ve been busy with preparations for tomorrow night’s feast.”
I looked down at the floor, feeling guilty for letting Björn and Gyda believe that I had caused his condition. As I knelt by my friend’s side, he grabbed one of my hands and squeezed it tightly.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered hoarsely. “There are some things I don’t mind dying for, but I won’t let them hurt you again.”
Björn turned to King Ramiro. “Master Ragnar is the greatest warrior that ever lived. It’s because of you that I found him, and I know that you’ll find a way to save me again, if we’re lucky enough to survive tonight.”
Gyda stood behind us both. She was still holding her sword in its scabbard, and I could see the tip glisten in the light filtering through the shuttered windows.
King Ramiro nodded at the young woman. “I’m sorry for your losses,” he said. Then he straightened himself, looking more like a king than ever before. “Now tell me what happened in the forest.”
***
When King Ramiro first approached Björn in the forest, Björn had known that something was off-kilter, though he couldn’t say precisely why. His gut told him it wasn’t right, so he ignored the urge to turn back toward Sköllsvik and follow the king instead, heading deep into the woods instead.
He hadn’t wanted to leave Gyda behind, but when he thought back on what had happened during the attack upon the castle, he realized he should have gone ahead anyway.
His heart beat faster at the memory, and he shook his head slightly, sending his bangs flopping across his forehead. He would never admit it aloud, but the fact that he’d been unable to do anything to protect Gyda and the others was driving him mad.
As much as I want to get revenge, I knew that there was no use getting involved in the royal business. That was Björn’s role; I would just slow us down. Besides, if anyone were going to die that day, it was probably going to be me.
I’m a little better trained than most commoners, but I can’t fight a dozen soldiers all at once, and I certainly didn’t bring any weapons to prove otherwise. If someone has a chance at surviving, it’s always best to stick close to someone who knows what they’re doing.
But I didn’t know that then. All I cared about was getting Björn somewhere safe where I could tend to his wounds.
“Where did you go?” he asked the king. “Why didn’t you wait for us? We had to stop to help Björn after the battle started.”
King Ramiro frowned slightly, thinking for a moment before answering. “I went to speak with Duke Aron. When I got there, I learned that a few of my men had been taken prisoner. They didn’t know what else to tell me—they didn’t know how many of them remained alive or how badly they were hurt. So I took Björn to see if I could find the duke’s son, Prince Jalan.”
“And you found him,” Björn replied.
King Ramiro nodded slightly, then leaned forward and placed both hands flat on the table. “My dear boy, I wish I had better news for you. The prince is dead.”
Björn gasped, dropping to the floor beside my bed in an unconscious heap. Gyda ran to his side as soon as he hit the ground.
King Ramiro reached down and lifted him up by the shoulder, lifting him upright. “No, no!” Björn cried out, shaking his head violently in denial. “It’s impossible! No one can kill the prince.”
King Ramiro set Björn down again. “That isn’t true,” he replied evenly. “Your father—”
“Father died years ago.” Björn cut him off. “You don’t understand. Father couldn’t be dead; he could only be captured.”
The king raised a finger, cutting off his words. “If the prince is indeed dead, it means that the entire dukedom is now under the rule of Count Gunnar.”
Count Gunnar. I’ve heard the name before. The duke, I mean. There was a lot of talk after the last time the royal family was overthrown about how the new king would make sure he didn’t allow another war like the last one.
Count Gunnar was the first of the royal council to come up with such a plan. At the time, I’d thought it was ridiculous: what difference would it make if the king and queen weren’t around to command their armies? A hundred thousand men wouldn’t be able to conquer one man. Even King Ramiro, the great hero, might have trouble fighting a hundred thousand soldiers all by himself.
Of course, we all know how well that worked out. With Count Gunnar and his supporters ruling the land, things have gotten worse over the past few years. It hasn’t helped matters any that the people believe that King Ramiro ordered the assassination of the prince, either.
Now, Count Gunnar will be even more inclined to keep the kingdom under control through fear and terror rather than the rule of law.
King Ramiro nodded, seeming to consider this information. “That’s very likely to be the case. But we still have a chance to change everything. If we can convince Count Gunnar to put aside the royal pretense and acknowledge the duchy as mine, there may be some hope.”
Gyda looked at Björn doubtfully. “Do you think the count could ever see it differently from how it has always been?” he asked. “What reason does he really need to hold the lands against us? He doesn’t care whether our parents were kings or commoners, and it’s unlikely that the people would support any attempt to overthrow him.”
King Ramiro turned to look at him seriously. “My dear boy, Count Gunnar has never wanted to rule this entire kingdom—he only wishes to rule the dukedom itself. That is something we can use against him—a way to force him to recognize that the royal claim on the ducal throne has no real substance.”
Björn looked doubtful. “Even so, what would convince him to take the crown away from his own cousin, who happens to be the king? I can’t imagine he’ll ever do that.”
“There are things that Count Gunnar fears just as much as he desires,” the king said calmly. “He fears being caught by the gods before he dies. He has always wished for his son to succeed him, but the prince is not yet old enough to rule properly. If we can show him that I am more deserving of the role than the prince, he’ll surely agree.”
I looked over at Queen Elinor as she watched Björn and King Ramiro with a troubled expression. She shook her head slowly as she spoke quietly to myself. “No matter what the cost,” she said, as though reading my thoughts again. “The price of saving this kingdom will be too high, even for me.”
“How did you know?” King Ramiro asked softly, looking at her with concern.
Elinor shrugged her shoulders, looking away from the pair. “It isn’t right to let Björn become a martyr like his father and brother.”
Her eyes fell upon me as she said it, and I saw her face grow pale. She turned back to King Ramiro, taking his hand in hers. “We must find another way.”
King Ramiro held her gaze for a long moment, then sighed in defeat. “I suppose that means we’re going to have to try anyway. You won’t help me, will you, Queen Elinor?”
Queen Elinor looked up, meeting his eyes once more. “No, I cannot.”
King Ramiro bowed his head and closed his eyes. Then he looked up once more and smiled, as though to reassure her. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”
With that, he turned to go. As he left, Queen Elinor followed him outside.
A short while later, Queen Elinor stood alone, staring at the palace gates. I stepped closer. “Are you all right?”
She glanced over at me with tired eyes. “You knew what they would do to them.”
“Not that much, but I guessed part of it.”
Elinor turned to look into the distance as she spoke. “They were both so young when your parents died.”
I felt a lump in my throat as I listened to her speak. It had been nearly ten years since we lost our parents and our younger sisters, and the pain was still fresh in my mind every day. The thought of the sacrifice they made had weighed heavily on me ever since.
They’d known that if the king didn’t want the realm to fall apart, we would have to leave the kingdom for good, and they’d accepted their fate without complaint. I hadn’t even realized it until now, but I envied them for having been able to make such a decision.
Elinor finally seemed to realize that I was standing next to her. Her blue eyes flashed suddenly with a sudden light of determination. “But there is still time,” she whispered. “If we leave tomorrow morning, we can reach Eslen within two days. If the count sees that I have gone there, he may decide against attacking.”
“And if Count Gunnar attacks first?”
Her expression hardened. “Then I’ll do what needs to be done.” She raised her voice slightly. “I know how dangerous it is for someone like me to travel across the border, but I will do whatever I must. Even if it means dying.” She looked directly at me. “Is that something you’re prepared to allow?”
I tried to tell myself that I understood her motives as well as anyone else, but the words that came out sounded hollow to my ears.
“It seems that we are both willing to make sacrifices,” I said after a moment’s thought.
Elinor looked at me sadly as she spoke quietly, “Perhaps we aren’t all that different.”
The End