04-May-2018
I didn’t know that a Monkey Paw was a knot.
But that isn’t what this story is about.
The Prince stopped his horse and stared at the blood-soaked street. He could smell the tang of iron and the finality of death coming from the thousands of bodies in the city that had become a battlefield. The sun hung at the horizon, throwing rays of light that cast long shadows. A few once-men still moaned. The Prince’s soldiers were putting them out of their misery.
“Your majesty?” the Prince’s squire said in a meek voice. Somehow the boy had stayed on his horse through the entire battle. He’d even killed quite a number of the once-men.
“We need to find the Duke’s body before the sun sets,” the Prince said. “Fan out.”
“Yes, my lord,” the boy muttered. On any other day the Prince might punish him for his tone, but not today. Today was for much bigger things.
The Prince urged his horse forward, and the battle-hardened stallion picked his way through the bodies toward the intersection where the Duke had made his final stand. The squire paralleled his position on the next street over, also searching the ground.
The shadows elongated, and the bottom tip of the sun touched the distant mountains.
The Prince sped his horse up. They had to find it before dark.
“Here!” the squire shouted, waving his hand.
One pull of the reins was all it took for the Prince’s stallion to turn and gallop toward the squire.
A few of the Prince’s soldiers also ran toward the position.
The squire had dismounted, and was turning a body over. His eyes widened—a stark contrast to his dirt and blood-covered face. He looked up. “It’s him, my lord.”
“Step away,” the Prince commanded.
The squire obeyed. Soldiers came from each street, creating a loose circle around the intersection.
The Prince pulled his horse to a stop and jumped off. If not for the magic holding a deep cut on his leg together, he would have fallen, but the med mages had done their job, and he would live to fight another day.
Unlike the traitorous Duke.
The squire had indeed found the man. His gleaming armor had somehow come out of the battle almost unscathed. The arrow through the side of his head must have taken the Duke down.
And once he had died, the power had died with him. But it would reawaken if not claimed by another.
The Prince squat down and checked the Duke for a piece of leather around his neck. There was none. Frowning, the Prince began to search the man’s cloak.
“Surely he would have kept it closer than that,” the Prince muttered to himself.
He scowled when he found nothing.
“What are you looking for?” the squire asked.
“Be silent!” the Prince snapped. He pulled the Duke’s shoulder and turned him on his back.
The sun dipped farther, and what light remained turned grey. The soldiers around him began to shift. A moan came from a few feet away, and the squire turned to face away with his hand on his sword.
Eyes darting over the dead man’s body, the Prince finally saw what he was looking for. “Ah.”
The Prince gently took hold of the Duke’s gauntlet and tugged. It came off with little effort, and the bauble the Prince had been searching for spilled out.
“He kept it close.”
One soldier looked over his shoulder, caught a glimpse of the object and quickly turned away. None of the others were brave enough to do even that.
The Prince stood, holding the thing by a tiny chain that he’d had his royal jeweler put around it. The remaining sunlight illuminated the small, gnarled thing. Brown hair clung to the fingers and knuckles. Blackened claws curled into the palm. It was about the size of his big toe.
The moaning stopped.
Another soldier made a religious sign and started muttering prayers.
The squire, ever eager to learn, turned to the Prince. “What is it?”
The Prince glanced at the squire, and then back at the paw. “The Duke wanted to save his people from the plague. I’m sure he wished that those who had died would come back to life.”
The squire swallowed. “And it did this?”
“It did.”
“You gave it to him?”
“I allowed it to fall into his hands.” The Prince watched as the sun set and the gleaming chain darkened.
“Because he was plotting against you.”
The Prince smiled and hooked the monkey’s paw to a leather strap around his own neck. “He dug his own grave.” He looked around at his triumph. “This plague cannot spread. Burn the city to the ground.”
