Logan Kovach

The Injustice of King Weldon Cidolfus the I

Dust flittered about the throne room, visible only in the beams of bright light shining in
one side of the room and stained glass windows detailing the making of the kingdom of Noriveos
lined the walls. It was sweltering hot and drove the young king Weldon Cidolfus mad. Weldon
Cidolfus, first of his name, was born fifteen years ago in the year 287. His father, the noble king
Thrain Cidolfus, ruled a long and rejoiced reign until he died suddenly a year ago from unknown
causes, although rumors have spread quickly that Weldon poisoned his own father to steal the
throne. Nonetheless, with no other legitimate heirs or any others that could take the throne of
Noriveos, Weldon Cidolfus began his reign in the year 301, and has only sat upon the throne for
one year now, and the people of his kingdom were already in outrage over the changes and
reforms he made. He heavied the taxes and lowered wages to the peasant and common folk to
have more money to spend on less important things, such as the strengthening of the corrupt
City Watch, guards of the capital Lowestroft, that keep the citizens in order with unnecessary
brutality and extreme actions, or building more additions to the royal castle where the throne of
Noriveos sits. Everything King Weldon did made the citizens angrier and angrier at him. At
times, small riots broke out in the streets, which always ended in injuries, and more often than
not, the death of a civilian at the hands of the City Watch.
But despite all these things, I, Sir Tyrell Harrington, was the sworn defender and personal
bodyguard of the King, no matter what he did or who he was. Long, lank hair of a deep brown
colour fell to my shoulders, and a short beard of the same colour hung closely to my chin and
jawline, and wrapped around my mouth. I was tall and thin, but muscular altogether. My bright
blue eyes matched the accent marks of the gilded armour I wore at almost all times, and many

wrinkles stained my face from worrying over the years, despite my age of only twenty nine
years. I served Weldon, and I served his father before him. Never in the long line of Kings and
Queens has the chain of defenders been broken. I stood beside him as he sat at the highest chair
on his Table of Council, where he and his four advisors, Warton Clare, Travis Swales, Redwald
Bradshaw, and Kyla Ramsey, discussed problems and how to solve them.
What is the next dilemma before us? the King asked in a apathetic tone. He sat
slouched in his chair, his short golden curls dangling limply over his forehead, the crown nearly
matching the colour of his hair. He had teal-green eyes, and his face was as clean as the bottom
of a babe. He wore tight, regal clothes and a long cloak that he sometimes tripped over.
The next item on our list, mlord, is the assault in the Harbor District, Kyla Ramsey
stated as she read from a list of issues scrawled across a yellowed parchment, A peasant worker
apparently attacked and greatly injured his foreman after his wage was cut. How should we deal
with that, my king? Kyla had long, light brown hair that she liked to keep held back tight in
elegant braids and knots. Her style of hair accentuated her narrow face, high cheekbones, and
angled brown eyes, making her appear more sinister than she was. Deep set lines were etched
into her forehead, and I was never able to tell if they were scars or wrinkles. She was clothed in a
beautiful, high-necked dress of a deep, navy blue with patterns of darker blue swirling along with
the fabric and yellow-green gold trimming at the hems.
Hmm... how to deal with this... the King mumbled aloud, mindlessly swirling the rest
of his deep red wine inside the golden and jeweled goblet he held betwixt his fingers.
My liege, I suggest we hold a trial by combat between the worker and his foreman, the
winner the innocent, Warton Clare sputtered out in a raspy voice. Warton Clare was the oldest
of the councilmen. He was near bald, only a thin layer of wispy, grey hair still remained atop his

head. His eyes seemed drained of colour, a white-gray filling his irises. He had teeth as yellow as
the piss dumped from chamber pots in the streets, and breath to match. The wrinkles in his face
sagged and hung like wet clothes, and his body was small, fragile, and constantly trembling. He
had been a member of the royal counsel for decades; around seventy or so years ago, Warton was
a squire to the grandfather of Weldon, Myles Cidolfus the III. Warton was refilling the kings bed
warmer with hot water, when he walked in on Myles soundly asleep and an assassin standing
over his bed, knife in hand. Warton quickly threw the bed warmer at the assassin, knocking him
upside the head and drenching him in scalding hot water. When Myles woke to find his squire
had saved his life, he promised Warton he would grant anything he ask of him. Warton asked not
to be knighted, as the king expected, but for a spot on the council. Although Myles had thought it
a queer request, it was granted nonetheless and Warton had served Myless son and now served
his grandson.
Or we could have the assaulter pay his foreman the money it costs to heal his injury. An
eye for an eye sort of deal, Travis Swales offered. Lord Travis Swales was, is, and always will
be a merchant at heart. Doubling as the royal treasurer, money was always on this mans mind
and never seemed to leave it. To him, money was the pinnacle of existence and meant
everything. While being the youngest, he was also the fattest. He had a round stomach and thick
limbs to match. His neck disappeared under his fat, and a thin sheen of sweat always seemed to
coat his round, jolly face. Thick, dull dirty blonde hair set in a queer, almost outlandish style. It
was long, the back of his hair reaching the middle of the nape of his neck, but much of it was
oiled down, as if to keep the friz in check. He wore tight, purple clothes of fine silk that were
always too small for him and threatened to pop apart and launch buttons at any second, a
lavender sash belt, and golden, silver, and bronze rings on every one of his stubby fingers.

No! Justice must be served! Sir Redwald Bradshaw yelled, banging his fist on the table
and waving his other hand around wildly, I say, we toss the peasant in the colosseum, or maybe
sell him to the slaves working out East, or maybe we should just execute him in the main plaza
of Lowestroft! Redwald Bradshaw was large, muscular man who was quick to anger and
thought fighting solved everything. He wore nothing but leather, chainmail, and plate mail and
always carried his 4 foot long broadsword, Doomblade. He had a long black fu manchu that
drooped down below his jawline and a nearly bald head, with most of it shaved off except for a
spot of hair in the back with a long braid attached to it. Redwald was always the source of gossip
and whispers. Stories of him killing and eating his fathers hound when he was just a babe,
hunting peasants for sport, and skinning his enemies and wearing their skin as a cloak were
always tossed around at least once during any event Redwald showed up for, but it was always in
the exchange of whispers. A few months back, at a banquet, a very loud guest was spinning very
unflattering tales of Sir Bradshaw to the court, stirring laughter in nearly all of them. Sir
Bradshaw overheard, and soon the chorus of laughter in the room was replaced with gasps of
terror and screams of horror as Redwald buried Doomblade through the chest of the man.
Despite the aversion to these tales, Redwald had never denied a single one of them.
No, no. None of those will do. This is an act of treason against my reforms to help
Noriveos. If he could have, he wouldve come at me and probably torn out my jugular with his
teeth. He must be executed... the king paused, but the seed of treason spreads faster than ink in
water. All of his friends, co-workers, and family must join him in this execution. Tis the only
way, Weldon sipped the rest of his wine and set the cup on the arms of the throne. The way the
King talked about murdering so many people, so many innocents, in such a nonchalant manner
brought knots to my stomach.

My King, I know I am not one of your trusted advisors, nor do I have a spot on this
council, but I strongly disagree with that action, and believe you should rethink his punishment.
Executions of that scale wont teach him anything. I agree with Lord Redwald, and think he
should condemned to slave labour for many years, possibly the rest of his life, too. Killing him
wont teach any lessons and wont quell any rebellious thoughts. In fact, I believe it would only
make the upset civilians even angrier at you. Serving beside two kings and listening to the
politicians speak around this table taught me how to honey my words and persuade the mind of
others. But the King was still a boy, and boys are headstrong and stubborn as bulls.
I will not hear another word out of you, Tyrell. You are a knight, and a knight is the only
thing you will ever be. You have no place to talk amongst this council, and I should cut out your
tongue for your insolence, but I wont. The issue of the assaulted foreman and assaulter has been
settled; execution of the assaulter, his family, friends, and co-workers for treason against the
King. Council adjourned! The four councilmen quietly stood up, bowed before Weldon, and left
the room to return to their own chambers.
Tyrell, deliver a message to the royal printer, and tell them the details of the execution so
they can make posters to hang around the city. The King stifled a yawn and shifted in his chair,
motioning his hand for me to leave. I nodded, bowed, and left the room. You have made a grave
mistake my liege. Ive seen how kings must rule along the top of their citizens raised arms, or
fall the ground to be trampled by them. This will anger your oppressed masses, and they only
wish to see your head on a spike, mlord. I thought to myself.
Nowadays, most of those who resided in Laventhorpe Keep could not leave the castle
without coming face-to-face with an angry mob. King Weldon, the council, generals and
captains, myself, even servants and cooks had been confined to the palace for nearly a year. But

this knight knew his way around Lowestroft, for I was born and raised in the capital. All
Harringtons are.
Three hundred years ago, Ryden Cidolfus and his childhood friend, Lerris Harrington had
lead a small army to capture Lowestroft in the midst of a civil war for the throne of Noriveos that
had engulfed the land for years. Kings and queens, claims and titles had all come and gone in this
war. Sons and daughters, mothers and fathers, husbands and wives were slaughtered upon
battlefields and in villages. Castles and fields alike were reduced to nothing but ash. After news
of Rydens father dying in the midst of battle, he had decided to try and put a stop to the chaos
and madness that had consumed the land, so he asked the neighboring kingdom, the one ruled by
the Harringtons, to join him on his quest to bring order, peace, and stability to Noriveos. Lord
Lerris agreed and the two lead a sortie to Lowestroft. Their small army cut through the city like
a hot knife through butter, and soon they found themselves in the courtyard of Laventhorpe
Keep, the last group of knights that protected King Daniel Laventhorpe, the king who ruled
before the war broke out. Lerris and Ryden took on the kings personal guard by themselves,
taking one down after another. But unfortunate Lord Lerris took an arrow straight through his
chest and dropped to the ground as the last of King Daniels personal guard was defeated.
Spirited by rage and sorrow, Ryden lunged at the king and engaged him in single combat for the
true crown. Some say the battle only lasted a few minutes, while others say their blades were
locked for hours until King Daniel brought his sword down on Rydens shoulder. The young lord
fell to his knees and Daniel brought his sword above his head, ready to deliver the final blow,
when Lord Lerriss sword parried the downward blow. Both men were shocked to see Harrington
alive, to say the least. Lerris and Daniel then engaged in combat, but he was sluggish and dying,
the arrow still sticking out of his chest and blood staining his armor and tabard. Daniel quickly

parried a blow of Lerriss and disarmed the Lord. As Lerriss sword flew away, he wrapped his
hand around the shaft of the arrow protruding from him, yanked it out, and lunged for King
Daniels neck. And with an arrow used like a dagger from a dying Lord, the last king of the Elder
Ages died. Ryden Cidolfus then took up the crown and Lerris died of his wounds not long after
the battle. To make up for saving his life, Ryden promised that they Harringtons will forever be
the sworn protector of the king of Noriveos. But that was when knights fought to protect the
weak and kings ruled justly over the powerless and voiceless.
Months passed after the execution of the assaulter, whose name turned out to be Duncas
Leygood, and the others (including three family members, five friends, and eleven co-workers),
and these actions did not strike fear into his restless people. Instead, Duncas and his ilk were
seen as martyrs, reasons to usurp Weldon and restore the throne. On my secret strolls around the
city, I have seen and heard many rebellious schemes from nearly every man, woman, and child I
passed by, everywhere. It was unanimous that the people of Lowestroft, nay, of Noriveos, wished
the King dead. After his kill order to Duncas, the King no longer heeded the words of me nor his
council. He acted according to himself, and thought that the killing of more and more people
would make the masses waver, to extinguish the low flames of revolt, but it only added kindling
to the spark. King Weldon Cidolfus had gone mad with power, and even Kyla, Travis, Redwald,
and Warton had trouble obeying and carrying out his orders, He began to accuse everyone of
treason, and left and right he executed the higher and lower class alike. The young King was a
force to be reckoned with, no doubt. But I knew just the right knight to put an end to his reign.
On the night of his sixteenth birthday, he hosted an extravagant party full of lords and
ladies, knights and squires, war heroes and generals, all of that respected, higher-class type.
While the inside was filled with music, dancing, and laughter, the outside of the royal palace was

equivalent to that of a battleground. The City Watch and the resistance group calling themselves
The Usurpers fought gallantly. Steel against steel rang out, arrows whizzed to and fro, and bodies
upon bodies fell, until piles of them were stacked at the bottom of the staircase leading to the
main gate of the palace. Redwald, Travis, Warton, Kyla, and I had brewed a plan in the past few
weeks, of how to finally end the terrible reign of the young King, Weldon Cidolfus. During his
kingly speech, Warton was to open a side door to the castle and let a large group of The Usurpers
in, and in the midst of it all, I would kill Weldon and blame it on the the rebels. The plan was
ingenious and foolproof.
As Weldon ended his oration, a rancorous applause roared out amongst the guests; which
was the perfect cover to hide the sound of charging feet. Doors on either side of the large
ballroom burst open, and men and women in shabby clothes or incomplete/mismatched armour
came flowing in, weapons raised high above their heads. All around me, screams erupted, bodies
fell, and chaos ensued. King Weldon looked upon the scene aghast, and I ran towards him,
Tyrell, what is the meaning of this? Whats going on? he asked frantically.
No king rules forever, and the unjust are never brought up with kind words, I
responded.
What do you mean, knight? he spat back.
These people are here to end your reign, mlord. And I promise to do it myself.
No! This cannot be happening! My story will not end like this! My reign was supposed
to be remembered and held in high honor before all the kings and queens that shall rule after my
death! I did what I had to! I had the courage that no other king did, to do what I did! he
screamed at me.

My king... without justice, courage is weak. I unsheathed the blade at my waist and
swung it with all my might. A sighing noise was made when the sword severed the flesh
connecting the Kings head to his shoulders. His body slumped to the floor and his head rolled
down the steps and stopped lifelessly at the bottom, a blood pooling at the bottom of it. The
traitorous knight murdered the king! a familiar voice called out. I turned to meet the voice, and
the last thing I saw before something heavy hit me on the back of my head and knocked me
unconscious, was Redwald pointing at me.
The black-hooded man tightened the rope around my neck last. The large gathering of
citizens cried out, but I was unable to distinguish if they were booing or cheering at me. Or
actually, us; beside me, in ropes as well, were Kyla Ramsey, Travis Swales, and Warton Clare.
One by one, the executioner pulled the lever that opened the floor beneath the men and woman
next to me. First, it was Travis. Then Kyla, and then Warton. Last to die was myself, Sir Tyrell
Harrington, First of his Name, Knight-Protector of King Weldon Cidolfus and King Thrain
Cidolfus, Traitor of the Empire of Noriveos, and First to break the oath of the the Kings Knight.
The large, burlesque killer walked up to me.
Youre a courageous man, ya know? he asked.
No I am not. Without justice, courage is we- The last sounds I heard were the pull of
the lever, the squeak of the opening trapdoor, and the strain of the rope.