First Commander: A Short Story

First Commander Tocharian said, “Your grace, you wanted to see them,” holding open one of the study’s doors.

King David Callaghan peers up, still holding the dagger found in the library. “Send them in,” he responds, dropping it from his hands and rises to his feet, meandering around his desk to the Kingsman entering. He paces studiously down the straight line. His dark eyes were gliding from one man to the next with his hands laced behind his back. “Do you know why I ordered you all here?” he asks the twelve Kingman standing in front of him.

Some of the men nodded in puzzlement to his question, while the first commander observes austerely, standing behind the king.

“Which one of you gave this blade to the executioner?” he probes, holding

“If anyone shall endure your wrath, it’ll be I, not them. I take full responsibility for everything that has transpired in these halls.”

“First Commander,” the king said. “I’ve seen what in assets you are to my reign and relished in the devotion you’ve shown the crown and your men, my friend.” He soon catches a glimpse of someone from the corner of his eye. “That is why I can honestly say these words to you. This failure isn’t placed solely in your hands.” His eyes instantly shifted to another, as he boldly proclaims. “But it is, in yours.” He glares at a Kingsman with tousle short copper hair, sea-green eyes, and pale

He drives him back into a wall, knocking the dagger from his hand, and begins strangling him.

The room watches on in silence, with no one intervening.

This is not the first time they have witnessed their older, but agile king, exact his own brand of vengeance with his bare hands.

The copper hair Kingsman stares into the deranged eyes of the king, gasping for air. He curls his fingers underneath the king’s hands, tasting a metallic taste in his mouth. His eyes are turning a solid red color while the room and everyone in it are spinning in his mind, making his stomach churn. He continues to pull at his hands with no luck, feeling every muscle in his throat being crush under the weight of the king’s thick fingers. He becomes lightheaded; his eyes are slowly closing, with his hands falling to his side.

The King releases him, watching him drop to the floor. He turns and calmly approaches Seeker Gawin. “Is he the only one you seen?” he question, his face unreadable. “Or is there more, lurking in my halls?”

“He was the only one I saw, when I touched the blade.”

“Did you make out the face of the one that gave it to