“What? Unhand me, General, I demand an audience with my father that I may understand this treachery!” Cret struggled.

“Your father was assassinated.” Replied the fiend. “As were your brothers.” “All at once!?” Cret shouted in disbelief.

The general’s eyes shifted, as a snake does slither. “On the same day, but on separate accounts.” He looked to the crowd that had formed around the scene. “You’d think he would know, since he was the one who did it!”

“What!?” Cret stood rigid. The audacity of the general to conjure such a notion slapped Cret in the face. “How dare you accuse me, sir! Where is your proof?”

“We have two eye witnesses and I’m sure your men will attest to your absence.”

“General, I protest! This is absurd.” Shouted one of the men behind Cret.

“Silence!” Rode commanded. “I have orders to hold you in the dungeon. Bring him along.” The general motioned two guards who ceased Cret to drag him along.

Several of Cret’s men charged at the two guards to stop them, but Rode commanded more guards to seize and imprison all who opposed Rode’s duty. The cell door slammed and he was shrouded in blackness.

“I haven’t got time for indecision, what is your answer?” Came the raspy but now more concerned voice.

“Yes.” Cret abruptly came back to the present. “I meant every word of it. My father was murdered, I want to know who did it, and why I’m being accused for it.”

“You’re that traumatized?”

“You would be too, if your family had been murdered by the hand of another and you had no power to stop it!” Cret growled back.

He heard the deep and slow breaths of the man with the groggily voice. It seemed to be coming from about waist height. “I have lost my family too, but I know who has killed them. That wretched man who believes himself to be Ruler of the Bishmar, Grot.”

Cret swallowed his pride, hard. “Then, will you help me to reclaim my family’s name?” “Yes. For both our father’s good names.”

Cret heard the lock click and the cell door squeak. Slowly he crept from the cell, knowing that the man who helped him might be trapping him.

“This way, there’s a small passage way that I can crawl through, if you wait right there, I can open the secret corridor.” The gruff voice beckoned.

“Secret corridor?” Cret asked. “How do you know about that?”

“The servants upstairs use it every once in a while, to get family out of prison. Apparently, they don’t care for your uncle either.”

With that, there was a shuffling sound, a deep grunt and the sound of pebbles sliding. In moments, Cret heard another door creak open.

“Come along, no time to waste.”
Cret treaded carefully behind his rescuer. “Why do you want to help me?”

“I heard from some of your men that you have been falsely accused. That you are the Bishme that should now be sitting on the Ruler’s throne, not Grot.” He coughed, then continued, “I thought of all the Bishmar, you might be the one I might like. And you are.”

“What have you against my people?”

“As a whole, I have nothing against the Bishmar, yet it was General Rode and his army who killed my brother and father. As a slave in the castle for the last month and a half, I have encountered many of those kind of Bishmar. Still, your men were the closest to honorable that I have met.”

“What? My uncle is enslaving other races?”

“Yes, he attacked us Smidgens not two months ago. We might have over taken them, had the Levians not betrayed our trust.”

“They have the Levians also?” Cret pictured the massacre that could have ensued. Levians are an underground, mole-like race of sentient beings that are efficient ambushers. They can stealthily creep up under their victims and attack without much warning. The Bishmar had perfected a method of resisting them in their war strategy, but it had not been deemed necessary to share the trick with other races as of that time. “Were there significant casualties? I pray there was not.”

A reverent pause filled the catacomb.

“I don’t know numbers, but at least a third of the Smidgen army was slain or wounded, the rest were ordered to fall back to the woods. My brother lay dead next to me, my father was pierced by an arrow as he called for the retreat, while I lay in my own blood, unable to run.” Cret noticed a sound of shuffling that he had never attributed to his comrade before, but now he pondered if he was still injured. “I was found and brought to this castle as a slave of war. I have been doing the grunt work for the general since then, by order of Grot, and I’ve been getting lashings when I do not satisfy, which is often on account of this blasted leg.”

Cret heard a shuffling of cloth and a slight moan come from the Smidgen that led him down the long dark corridor. Cret stopped for a second or two, he thought of something he deemed preposterous at first, but then he thought, “maybe it might work.”

“Here,” Cret reached out for the Smidgen and hoisted him on to his back, as an older brother might carry a smaller sibling.

“Really, this is undignified for a soldier.” Grumbled and wiggled the Smidgen.

“Not when he is injured. Besides I know my way through here better than you do.” Cret began jogging down the long passageway. The two continued their discourse, but soon saw a crack of light around a door. As they neared, they came upon a hollow alcove in the wall next to them. As the path widened Cret was struck over the head and fell backward onto the Smidgen.

“Ow!” Cret rolled off of the small man. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “What hit me?” he muttered. Cret heard footsteps walking down the passage toward them. “Who’s there?”

“You know well who I am you scally-wag! Thought you could follow me, did you? Well you got another thing coming!”

“Rand! Stop! It’s Cret!”

“Cret?!” Rand’s tone changed from anger to joy. “I thought you were in prison? Oh, I am so sorry my lord, I thought you were some of Grot’s men after me for our escape.”

“Our escape?”

“Yes, about five of us now. We set out from the barracks to escape. We planned to retaliate and return for you, but that was when we had twelve of us.”

“What happened?”

“General Rode, he knew of our plans somehow, or at least part of them. He sent men to stop us. We lost Wain, Cori, and Seth. The other four got captured or surrendered.”

“You mean they were killed?”
“Yes, the General seems to think himself the judge and executioner for Grot.”

“We must go, if they know of your men’s plans then we must hurry.” Spoke the Smidgen, who had now just recovered his wind.

“Who’s there?”

“His name is Thaylor. He’s a Smidgen, I was escaping by his hand.” Cret explained as the trio left the corridor through the large wooden door.

One month later, Cret and Thaylor walked through a garden of an ally Bishmar Rulerdom. “This waiting business is unbearable!” Thaylor exclaimed.

“If we want to succeed we must gain as much help as we can.” Cret explained. “I only hope that the Trov’s will be willing to aid us, now that my uncle has attempted to seize their land.”

“Cret, my people are ready to fight. Now that we know the way Levians attack, we have been weakening their strongholds. The castle is all that is left to overtake.”

“Yes, but the Bishmar castle is still a master architectural design of fortitude. I believe it may take more than an army of Smidgens and Bishmar to break through the gates.” Cret sighed. Even the sweet smell of the spring flowers could not satisfy his distress. It had been far too long without a reply from the Trovs or the Coocoos. “My greatest fear is this: I have planned that even if we do not get a reply today, we will be marching out tomorrow. We should be there in a fort night and then only the Conductor knows what will become of us.”

“It is nasty business that we could not use the expedient system the Levians hold for communication.” Thaylor grumbled.

“Indeed.”

“My lord, Cret!” Shouted Rand as he met up with the duo. “I have a letter from the Coocoo king.”

“Excellent!” Cret rubbed his hands together. “Quickly, we must tell Ruler Ford. We must read it in his presence.”

Cret and his two companions raced into the castle and requested a meeting with Ruler Ford. As they waited, a Bishma in a wheel chair came upon the three men.

“You all look rather anxious, my lord.” She addressed Cret with a girlish smile.

“We have received word from the Coocoos. We are awaiting your father at present.” Cret explained. His heart fluttered and his serious, depressed, mood melted into a smile that sprawled his face.

“Oh! I have been anxiously praying for such a correspondence. May it be an affirmative!” She smiled back. “Only, I shall be lonelier without your companionship, my lord.”

“I also, my lady.” Cret bowed woefully. “I hope that such a time as this will only bring our families closer together.”

“Indeed,” she smiled once again.

Thaylor leaned over to Rand, “Maybe then they can actually talk about important matters, like what to name their first child.”

Rand grinned and held back a laugh. “I would guess Brüs, after Cret’s eldest brother.”

“Sorry to keep you waiting!” Ruler Ford strode down the hall with swiftness. “We may meet in the room over here! Oh! Good afternoon, darling.” Ford kissed the lady Tela on the forehead and ushered the men into the meeting room.

From outside, faintly, the sound of paper rustled, the murmurs of a man reading the letter then quiet. Cret burst from the room and stormed down the hall. He jumped up a flight of steps and

stood at the balcony in the grand library. He breathed heavily. It was sometime before he heard squeaking of some mechanics, then presently, Tela was next to him.

“What is it? What’s the matter?” Tela patted the hand of her maid servant as to say, “thank you.” The servant girl left her immediate presence and stood about 20 feet off.

“The Coocoos refuse to aid us.” Cret sighed. “They say that they are still ‘licking their wounds’ from the battle they had with my uncle.” Cret’s broad shoulders heaved as if under a heavy weight. “Why has the Conductor brought me to this point, only to face such a force alone?”

“Because He loves you.” Tela set her hand upon Cret’s. “And He wants what’s best for you, but you will only inherit that by relying on His power.”

“It is hard sometimes to see how this is best.” Cret closed his eyes.

“Do you think it’s easy for me to see how this is best for me?” She motioned to her wheel chair. Cret looked into Tela’s eyes. “Sometimes I hate myself for the agony and hardship I put Mera through,” Tela looked back at her handmaiden. “But I can do nothing to change what I am physically. But I do what I can to bless Mera because of what she does for me.”

They both looked at each other for a while, then Tela said, “Now, go. Bless those who have suffered and toiled for your sake.”

Cret stood erect, gently held Tela’s hand, and kissed it with a slight bow. “I pray that we shall see each other soon.”

“I too.” With that Cret walked from the balcony and ordered his men to prepare for the journey to Forn Castle, where his uncle ruled.

«»

Overlooking the valley where Bishmar and Smidgens bustled, making fires and practicing their tactics within small huddled groups, Cret looked beyond to the castle of his father. It loomed, large, and hideous, like a dark thunder cloud ready to explode with rage. He thought long and hard over what he must do in the next few days. Cret dreaded the thought of killing his uncle for treason, must he order such a task? He sighed heavily as he heard the small footsteps of Thaylor behind him.

“You nervous?” Thaylor grinned slyly. “It’s fine, but, don’t be so obvious about it.”

“Thaylor Ael…” Cret’s heart groaned as he sighed. “I never have asked you, why did you save me from the dungeon? I mean what did you hear about me that you thought, ‘yes! Him, I could like him.’” Cret looked to his friend.

“I had heard your men speak of you with reverence. A man who knew what was right and stuck to it, no matter the odds. A man who set his eyes on the Light, and if the Light was not making

His presence known, he encouraged everyone to fight and hold on till the Light came, for he knew, deep within his soul… that the Light will pierce every darkness that has ever shadowed the world he lives in.” Thaylor looked at Cret with an overwhelming sense of confidence in his eyes. “There is no difference now, sire.”

“Thank you, my friend.” Cret smiled.

There was a quiet pause as the two friends stood thinking. Then there was a Kazoo sound that rose over the hill. The two saw a party of about 40-50 men riding into the camp on horseback. Rand run up the hill to meet them.

“Sir, the Prince of the Coocoos has requested a meeting with you!”

“I shall see him right away!” Cret looked to his friend, “perhaps the Light has given us a glimmer of hope.”

The trio hurried down the hill to the party of scraggly warriors. Among the party that followed the prince were Levians, Trovs, Trohls, Averians, Aquarians, Dobies, Logians, and some more Bishmar. The prince dismounted and met Cret.

“Indeed. I know first-hand, I have ridden a Borx. It is not easy, being as little as I am.” They both laughed.

At the cover of night, Cret led his troops to the dark and foreboding castle walls. The wind whistled eerily through the trees. Cret stopped his troops before the clearing.

“Rand, send the Trovs first. With the Smidgens and Levians not far behind. If my uncle’s Levian friends know of our coming, our men know what to do to keep them off the Trov’s.”

Rand nodded. He turned to the group and whispered a secret command. It ran down the line of warriors. Bursting forth with the speed of cheetahs, the Borxes ran ahead. Before a minute had passed they had climbed the wall and were opening the large gates into the courtyard. Cret had signaled his men to wait at the gates. When the gates flew open, Bishmar flooded in on all sides, from every crevice within the castle courtyard. Cret realized his uncle had been waiting for this attack. Now the only advantage he and his men held, was the high ground of their being mounted upon horses. They charged into the court yard and burst through the lines. Cret signaled to the Trovs to secure the perimeter by wall. As the Borxes jumped across the edges of the walls, Cret and his Bishmar warriors were making their way through the mobs. They were getting Cret to his uncle.

“We are not far now!” Rand shouted encouragement. Just then, Rand’s horse was speared in the backside and he was pinned down by his horse.

“Rand!” Cret exclaimed.
“I shall endure, my Lord!” Rand grunted painfully. “Redeem your family!”

Cret looked ahead, a dread sat within his stomach like an anvil. He shuddered from an inner coldness.

Once through the castle doors, Cret and his men dismounted and ran through the hallways. Constantly, Cret was losing men left and right to fighting other Bishmar that were between them and their goal. As Cret burst into the throne room, he was alone. His uncle was alone. Sitting on his father’s throne. He stood. Sword at the ready, he charged at Cret. The steel clashed and echoed in the empty hall. The ice that sat in Cret stomach exploded. Each limb felt cold and brittle. His vision became blurry. Was this all a dream? Was this a nightmare? Was this not what Cret feared the most since he started his military days? Facing his uncle, to the death. Cret’s uncle had been an expert swordsman, while Cret had always tried to compete, he had never measured close.

Their steel clashed a few more times before Cret was scratched on the wrist. He held tight to his sword and stepped back.

“Your treachery is beyond my comprehension!” His uncle spat.

“My treachery! You are sitting on my father’s throne, who assassinated my father and brothers?!” Cret screamed as the clashed again and again.

“How can you play dumb?” His uncle asked in between the clanging. “Rode told me of your jealousy of your father and brothers, he told me that he himself saw you fleeing the castle on horseback, and he had other eye witnesses that confirmed his report, even some of your own men!”

“Uncle, they all spew lies! I never laid a hand on my family.” Tears were rolling down his face. “I only, ever, wanted to be a warrior! Is that not the highest honor that a third son of a Ruler can be?!”

“Silence you, viper!”

As a note to the reader: if a Bishmar is called a viper, it is the greatest insult that anyone can say. They are then compared to a creature with no remorse, the vilest of people, and a deceiver of the worst kind.

At this last remark, Cret dropped his sword and fell to his knees. “Uncle,” his soul wept.

Grot grabbed Cret’s chest and put his back against a wall. He held his sword up to Cret’s throat. Cret locked eyes with his uncle. For a few seconds, nothing but Grot’s grunts could be heard.

Then, “Uncle, I have not done this. I did not kill my family.” Cret kept his eyes fixed on his uncle’s.

There is an old Bishmar tradition, that if family can look you directly in the eyes and say anything, then it is true. Cret knew this tradition. Grot knew this tradition. Grot dropped his sword.

“My son,” His uncle cried. “Please forgive your deceived and distraught uncle.” They embraced. Both of them crying tears of joy over their reunion.

“I am so sorry. I am so sorry.” Wept Grot. His head hung as he clutched Cret’s shoulder. “Please, forgive me. Please! forgive me.”

“Uncle, you were deceived. As was I. I thought it was you, my beloved uncle, who had killed my brothers and father.” Cret paused. “But now I see you were just as deceived as I.”

“Who then, nephew? Who killed my dear brother?”

ZIIIIIINNNNGGG! An arrow flew through the air and struck Grot in the shoulder.

“Aaaahh!” Grot fell to the floor, moaning.

“Uncle!” Cret kneeled.

“It was I! I killed your family, just as I shall kill your uncle. Then you.” From the shadows, Rode swaggered. His eyes were bloodshot with the very idea of power. Malice dropped from his lips. “Then there will be no one in your family line to take the throne, and I, the highest ranking general, shall rule, as it is written in the Bishmar Constitution.”

Cret dived for his sword. Yet, Rode was there already. He stepped on Cret’s wrist. A crack reverberated grotesquely about the hall.

“AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!” Cret shrieked.

“Hahaha! Weakling! Now…” Rode unsheathed his sword, raised it high over his head. “For the murder of your uncle!” He grinned villainously.

The sword came down.

It missed by a considerable margin. Cret opened his eyes and saw Rode fall to the floor, a spear head sticking from his chest. Cret looked across the room, there stood Thaylor, panting, as if he’d ran the whole way.

“Thaylor!” Cret cried tears of joy at the sight of his small friend. “I owe you my life!”

“We are both of the Conductor’s Way. You owe me nothing.” Thaylor kneeled over his friend.

“Please, then, look after my uncle. He is badly wounded. See if there are any Trohls who can assist!”

Thaylor ran off, while Cret let his head drop to the floor. He sighed heavily. “Thank you, my Lord. For you have made me a conqueror this night. But I am most thankful, that I have my uncle back, and for my small friend, Thaylor Ael, who is indeed, Loyal of Heart.”

«»

“My darling, there is a visitor who is here to see you.” Ruler Ford spoke to Tela.

“Who is it?” She was aware of his mischievous and playful behavior. “You will have to come to the study and see.”

Tela rolled her eyes and let out a playful scoff of annoyance. She wheeled her way from the east patio to the study. Her father opened the door for her and her maid and they walked in. On the far side of the room stood a tall Bishme. His tale swayed back and forth, methodically, but also, nervously. He wore a large cloak, which was a dark forest green, the royal color of the merchant Bishmar.

“Oh!” Tela gasped.

The Bishme turned. It was Cret.

“You’ve come back! I heard that you were coronated and I assumed you would be busy, my lord.” Tela wheeled closer and Cret stepped closer.

“I have come back,” Cret swallowed hard. “I have come back for one last thing.”

Tela’s heart skipped a beat.

“My lady, my father always told me that it is never good for a Ruler to have no helper. That he can only be a wise and compassionate ruler if he has a wife who is a firm believer in the Conductor’s Way.” Cret knelt by Tela. “Will you marry me? Will you help me to make wise decisions, will you challenge me in my knowledge of the Conductor, and will you share with me the rest of your life, as I hope to share the rest of mine with you?”

Tela was crying tears of joy. “Why my lord? Why me? Of all Bishma.”

“Because, when I see you, I see so much more than superficial things. I love you. I want to be the one to take care of you in your need. You have been such a comfort, a dear friend in my life since we met 10 years ago, and I cannot imagine a life without you by my side.” Cret held Tela’s trembling hand in his own.

She nodded. Cret, gently, kissed her hand.

© 2017 The Whimsical Sort® This document may not be distributed in part or in whole for purchase or any material gain.