Jester

Jester

(Dark Jester's Tale)

By Angelo Tsanatelis

Published by Saphire Realms

Copyright © 2016-2017 Angelo Tsanatelis, All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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No part of this ebook may be stored, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without express written permission by the author

This ebook is a work of fiction. Though some towns, cities, locations and REAL historical persons may be mentioned, they are used in a TOTALLY fictitious manner and the events, occurrences AND OPINIONS/WORDS are the product of my imagination or my own interpretation of a historical figure and should not be considered (EVER) a faithful likeness.

Edition 1.3

Author's Note

Most readers of my stories are probably mindful of the following fact. The LSC universe as I joyfully call it, has birthed aside from the books of the original trilogy -with one more planned at some later point- a number of other stories. Namely the Dark Hunters trilogy, now available in a single omnibus volume, two short stories, the Rootless a prequel to the Lodge & the Tribe and Menuet, a prequel to the Servant of the Princess. Also another trilogy, the King of Blades with only the first book -aptly named Scarred- published for the time being. It was while writing Scarred, the idea for a story about Jester came to me. I said to myself, as senseless people frequently do, why not write a book about the poor rarely-mentioned guy you've used as a comic relief whenever you fancied? Give the lad a chance to shine so to speak on a bigger stage, tell his story himself albeit in his less than impartial tongue. It was supposed to be another short story, a prequel for the coming second book about the big Nord, but as is usually the case with us storytellers I enjoyed writing about his loyal follower so much that Zeru got himself a full novel plus a sequel.

PS. For those that asked about the chronological order of the Living Sword Chronicles universe -and not the order of publication- here is the list.

Origins. (Living Sword Chronicles, Book I)

Scarred (King of Blades)

Shadowblade (King of Blades)

Jester (Dark Jester's Tale)

Freyja's Torc (Dark Jester's Tale)

Menuet

Rootless

Lodge & the Tribe (Living Sword Chronicles, Book II)

Dark Hunters Omnibus

Servant of the Princess (Living Sword Chronicles, Book III)

-

Dedications

To the places we loath to leave

then forget all about

Table of Contents

One way road

What words don't cut

The wrong pronoun

An abundance of choices

Dangerous, silky things

Plans 'n other foolish notions

What eludes us eventually

Cesar's way

A fool's toss

Glossary - Characters and terms

Life will taketh thee diff'rent ways if thou leteth h'r.

She will taketh thee diff'rent ways yea if thou don't.

-

Dark Jester of Bayonne (979 AD - 1041?)

One way road

.

[22nd day of Mensis Aprilis,

the year of our Lord 1009

Village of Cozze, Catepanate of Italy]

I really should've used another story…

"Frog-land?" one of them quipped, left side of his mouth rising to partially expose three very yellow teeth. Wh're are you getting at… frog-face? Them being my modest audience and hopefully potential benefactors, although the latter was probably quite afar from an accurate description of the small witless throng -I had to fight bravely to keep a straight face at that- waiting my answer to the rude comment.

Truth is, I could lose them with a snap of one's fingers if I faltered in my next words. Now I should add here that modest is also a bit of optimistic an estimate, if not outright dishonest. I mean, the inn could possibly accommodate twenty people in the most perfect of circumstances, but this not being one of them, well… it held just four. Two customers, the publican and his miserable-looking wife Fulvia.

I took a big-big breath and then a capacious grin appeared on my face, briefly before I rolled unfettered trying to finish the story pretending… I've taken it all in stride.

So soon the young frogs followed the example of the few braver of their clique in disrespecting, no… outright ridiculing King Log for his peaceful and unassuming nature. In their wickedness they cried to the heavens for a sterner ruler. They caused such ruckus croaking for days on end that Jupiter couldn't fail to notice them again and much displeased sent down King Stork to teach them a lesson. No sooner than he arrived King Stork gulped down most of the frogs, yes he did and Jupiter found his treasured peace again.

The publican cracked a smile. His wife paused as if thinking about it and then went about her business with a loud dismissive -as much as unladylike- snort.

So? One of the Lombard customers/would-be-brigands asked grimacing, the large mole on his cheek bobbing up and down in a hypnotic kind of way. His friend, a hulking man in his thirties, the one that commented earlier gave a slight nod of agreement. These people weren't going to pay me shit. I was a fool for even considering it in the first place. Granted a hungry one but a fool nonetheless.

You asked for my humble opinion and I being a sophisticated man, offered in return a tiny piece of wisdom in the form of an ancient fable by a man far cleverer than me self. The gist of it was that sometimes a change…' I paused emphatically '…can be for the worse gentlemen.

Sophisticated? The first one asked suspiciously, probably having paused mentally in the first uncommon word I voiced.

I swallowed. Well traveled.

Why not give yer own opinion instead of telling us this story about a bunch of stupid frogs?

I smiled adopting a patient expression scanning out the corners of my eyes the still mostly empty inn for the quickest way out. People in my line of work say, when your audience doesn't understand your prose you best stop telling it and retire graciously. I add, when it starts looking like they want to drag you off the stage and arse-fuck you with their fists, you better start running… preferably towards the nearest exit.

Grace be damned.

Like 'em frogs you fellas didn't know it. I said stalling. There were a couple of new faces, they'd probably entered the inn when I was telling my story or were sitting at the far corner table the oil lamps failed to illuminate properly and I'd missed them. A tall hard faced barbarian-of-sorts, wearing a heavy overcoat and next to him a slim shorter also covered from head-to-toe in a soggy overcoat nifty looking fellow, with a very sensual mouth -for a man.

Didn't know what? The mole asked frowning.

Didn't know they were stupid until it was too late. I elucidated smartly my mind on these new arrivals that had approached our little group.

His partner spat on the floor creating a huge yellow blob of phlegm, so impressive that stood out amidst the copious amounts of dirt and mud covering it.

You wanna say that again comedian?

Not trying to offend my lords, far from it. But if you follow this Meles bloke and rise against the Byzantines,' I said hurriedly pushing my uncombed hair out of my face 'you'll be making a similar mistake, I think.

The man with the mole on his cheek sniffed and glanced at his partner. There were no coins coming my way here that much was obvious. Time to take your talents to another joint Zeru, I told myself. I'd already started walking backwards towards the exit, assuming everything was still where it was, having resigned to a night spend among the stars and the biting cold of the sea. Hungry but alive.

Are you working for the purple tablet? One of them asked, hostility replacing suspicion.

I paused mid step.

I'm afraid, I don't understand.

Although I did perfectly.

Trouble comes in pairs.

The new anthypatos. The man with the mole added with a nasty grin.

I had to ask.

What happened to the old one?

Took an arrow in the eye. Did him an awful lot of damage. Then he died.

I nodded calmly, a silent agreement that such an injury is bound to be fatal in most circumstances.

Then turned and bolted for the door.

Four strides later I came upon the newcomers, more details emerging as I approached them at full speed. The crimson color of their cloaks, the dark blue of the tunic the larger man wore underneath as his cloak parted and opened, a hand sleeved in mail rising wielding a man-high battle axe, flat blade shining as it caught the light of the lamps.

The next moment I went face first on the dirty floor, tripped by the giant's nifty partner. My left hand shot out and managed to break the fall's momentum somewhat, my torso turning, legs rising towards the ceiling as I landed on my head. I banged my forehead hard on the floor, a pile of mud that smelled of horseshit saving me from a worse injury.

Men have broken their necks attempting less impressive acrobatics.

Holly Jupiter. I mumbled completely disoriented.

Something hit the opposite wall with a loud thud, the publican's wife screamed, someone cursed in Greek, even more curses in unidentified tongues mixed with screams and another crashing sound that shook the floorboards.

All this followed by the eeriest silence.

I raised my head slowly and turning still splayed on the floor checked behind me. There was a big red blotch on the wall next to the burning oil lamp that looked a lot like spilt wine. The large newcomer had his back to me and was wiping the blade of his battle axe using the tunic of a fallen man at his feet, but I couldn’t tell who the incapacitated man was as I was facing his dirty boots from where I was.

I have to get the hell out of the inn, I repeated my body already in the process of moving away while keeping in mind to make no sound, justifiably as more details of the carnage that had occurred in mere seconds became apparent. The fallen man was missing everything above the neck. I had to clench my teeth to keep a yelp in, my stomach turning at the smell of blood.

The door, go for the door, I urged myself. Once outside, you can outrun almost anyone not on horseback.

Putting words to actions I turned on my heels, head smarting and my vision still slightly blurred. A large lump had formed in the middle of my forehead but the time for evaluating injuries was not now.

Now I had to get my arse as far away from these crazy people as possible.

You. The slim partner of the murdering giant said materializing in front of me and I let out a frustrated as much as panicked 'umpf'' realizing my path was irretrievably blocked.

I almost pissed myself right there that's how startled I was.

Who? I asked him in a croak and that sensual mouth cracked a surprised smile.

Are you Dag Fevolt? He asked raising a thin eyebrow mockingly.

What in the name…

You're a fucking girl! I screeched half-surprised half-scared. Maybe seventy thirty scared, it's not an exact science and I'm far for the bravest of men as you've probably figured out by now.

Not a coward.

But far from a hero.

Unless I play the role of one.

You see it's what I do mostly.

I perform.

Entertain.

Most of the times.

Not this time.

I ain't no girl. The girl snapped irritated.

I take it back. I said readily trying to take in her face.

Well? Are you slow or something? I asked you a fucking question!

Who wants to know? I smarted regaining some of my composure. The fact of the matter is I could handle a girl, seeing I'm also a lover of some considerable renown.

The girl cuffed me hard on the side of the head and sent me sprawling on the floor with a pained gasp. It happened so fast I almost missed it.

A friend told me once that a shitty start usually turns to a cluster-fuck sooner rather than later. It is at times like these I hate the bald Norwegian almost as much as I miss him.

I opened my mouth to deny it -everything- while slowly getting up on my feet. I had already decided not to make much fuss about the blow. Mostly because I could sense the giant brute standing not a foot away and that was a powerful deterrent.

That's him alright! The publican cried out accusingly before I could make a sound. I glanced his way pissed, the coward had appeared from behind the wood counter all righteous anger and shit. Told us you was a comedian, brought all this stupid trouble here!

This was ridiculous, but easily explainable. I put the inconvenient matter of the two dead bodies out of my mind for the time being.

I'm an actor. I said coolly. For the most part. Then touched lightly the lump on my forehead and grimaced surprised when it stung. Thing was also huge, could feel it protruding as if ready to sprout Pan's horn between my eyebrows and I probably had a concussion or worse. But while I understand why this may confuse an ignorant buffoon such as thyself, the fact remains I'm not the guy you're looking for. This I said confidently to the striking although tense-faced female that stood facing me while I rearranged my well-worn tunic. She had beautiful olive colored eyes on an oval face, an elegant straight nose that spoke of distant Greek descent and unblemished skin.

I could almost forgive her hitting me.

You think he's lying? The brute grunted in Greek with a heavy Northern accent.

Of course he is! The publican croaked He was conspiring with the Lombard!

Why did he run away from them then? She asked in a deep melodic voice. Persian, no Syrian, I thought nodding with my head.

We had a connection going already, I let myself relax a little bit and put some conviction in my next words.

Exactly. I'm a loyal subject of the Empire.

Which one? The girl shot back with a hint of razz.

Well…' I made a gesture with my hand that didn't mean anything in particular 'seeing as I'm not from around here, whomever is in charge of this wonderful rustic village.

The girl grinned but it never reached her eyes.

What do you think Einar? She asked the brute. He answered with a grunt which could've been interpreted either way. I passed my tongue over my gums nervously. The smell of drying blood, piss and horseshit was making me dizzy or perhaps it was the blow to the head.

We're looking for Dag Fevolt. The girl finally said taking a step back as if to examine me more properly. I pushed my chest out unwittingly as her eyes run over my clothes and face for a moment. But I don't think you are him.

I grinned relieved I was finally in the clear.

Since we got this out of the way, we might as well talk about compensation. I said rationally aiming to regain the upper hand.

Now she was amused. Had my darn tongue gotten the better of me?

It's a minor injury, let's say a couple of bronze Follis. I really needed a bit of coin. I hadn't eaten anything in like three days. No illness is worse than hunger.

A thin eyebrow shot up at my save. Damn it, I thought even wrapped up in her thick cloak she cuts an arresting figure.

How about a hundred Tetartera? She offered instead that small and a tad disconcerting smile still on her rich lips. I thought she was pulling my leg there for a moment. Gold quarters were very hard to come by. People rarely gave them away, surely not for any kind of injury and when they did they usually asked a pretty hefty price in return.

The kind hapless people got killed for.

I puffed my cheeks out feeling the room getting smaller and glanced towards the exit.

I don't suppose we can call it even and be on our own merry ways?

I'm afraid not.

Which was, what I was afraid also.

Grab them legs. The barbarian growled.

I looked at the unfortunate bastard lying on the floor. The blood had pooled and clotted where his head was supposed to be, with the latter landing next to a bucket filled with extremely dirty cleaning water on the right side of the inn's counter. Thankfully not staring my way.

The barbarian grunted displeased at my stalling and bending he scooped up the dead brigand all by himself. Without much apparent distress he positioned the body across his shoulders like a trunk still bleeding from the one side. It was impressive.

Don't just stand there like an idiot.' He snapped seeing me admiring his machismo. 'Go get his fucking head.

I rather… ' His thick blond brows connected in the middle of his forehead in a troubled frown and I quickly changed my tune to the more accommodating -not to mention safe '…get right on to it then!

The severed head was surprisingly heavy and it didn't bleed thankfully but I kept it away from my clothes nevertheless. I had gripped it firmly from his longish hair and without checking to whom it belonged to, I followed the tall barbarian already heading for the inn's exit. Half-way there the head started slipping from my clenched but sweaty fingers and realizing after a few agonizing attempts to keep it from falling unceremoniously on the floor that I was fighting a losing battle,