The not-immortal Blacksmith

John stood up from the floor of the king’s dungeon. He looked around at the blood on the floor, the blood on his hands, and the elderly man who had been the Necromantic King. The Necromantic King with a dagger protruding from his chest. “Well crap.”

-

Before

John had had a long day toiling in his small field. As the light of day began to fade, he trudged to his small two room home and prepared dinner for himself. He would have liked to have a meat and vegetable stew, but there was no meat in the larder, so he just made a vegetable stew. Tubers, two different root vegetables, a handful of grain, and two quarts of water. He watched as the pot started to simmer on the old wood stove, stirring the pot, and poking the coals as needed. It amazes me that some people think that you need to cook over the flames themselves. The coals of the fire are where the real heat comes from.

After several minutes of simmering (timed by singing songs) he plopped some tied together dried herbs into the stew to add flavor. Several songs later he removed the herbs, slit the old pot away from the heat, and slowly added fresh cow’s milk to the stew, stirring slowly every so often so as to not separate it.

Finally, he placed the pot on his roughhewn table, alongside a bowl, spoon, and half a loaf of bread from his breakfast. “Finally done. Time to eat.” He tucked in to the meal.

That night he lay awake for a while, listing the things that needed doing in the morning. “Need to milk the cow; feed the chickens; clean out the chicken coop; fix the front step; water…Zzz”.

He didn’t hear the two ‘men’ enter his home, tie him up, and take him away.

-

John did wake up when someone cut his arm and started to drain his blood. His eyes flew open, and he stared at the man with the knife. The Necromantic King. A few moments of struggle showed that he was tied to a reclining bench of some sort, right arm outstretched and bleeding into something on the floor; left hand bound to the back of the bench, and being poked by a nail. He slowly moved his left arm out of the way, and began running the rope across the nail. “My lord?” He grunted in pain as the nail nicked his arm, perhaps a bit too close to his wrist. “Why are you doing this? What have I done to offend?”

“Nothing at all, my good man. I just needed an ‘innocent’ soul to fulfill the spell to make me a Lich.” The Necromancer drew another line across his right wrist. More crimson blood spurted out, and John was surprised at the lack of any real pain from the cut. “As soon as you settled out there,” the necromancer gestured in what John thought was a random direction, “I started the preparations to turn you into the blood sacrifice I needed.”

John started to move his left hand faster, hoping the nail would cut the rope more quickly.

“Now John, don’t worry. Soon you will lose enough blood and pass out. From there you won’t feel anything… Speaking of blood, it’s time for me to open up, as it were, and contribute my own so that the ritual will complete in a timely manner.” The old man rolled up his sleeve and traced a pair of lines across his left wrist. “Now, when you die, I will become a Litch, gain undead immortality, and be able to give that damn arse of a king James a good punch in his draconic face!” He smiled a grandfatherly smile at John. “Soon my boy. Very soon.”

Mind swimming, John felt the rope finally part enough to snap his hand free. “So… For revenge against the Dragon king’s slight last year, you are sacrificing me? Just to punch him in the face?”

“Yes, dear boy, yes. Being immortal, when he breathes his flame at me, I will just revive here, instead of suffering the injustice of a painful burning death. He will never be able to kill me!”

“And if I get this right, if you die first, right here and now, I would become this ‘Litch’ thing you are talking about?” John asked, clenching and unclenching his now free left fist.

“Yes boy. Not that you could ever break free---”

John snapped out his left arm, punching the old man in the face, knocking him down. The necromancer looked up from the floor, blood streaming from his now broken nose, “How? How did you?” He gestured wildly at John with the dagger still in his right hand

John stood up, stumbled, and fell into the Necromancer. Both flailing for the dagger, they scuffled across the floor, spilling the container of blood on the strange symbols that had been exquisitely drawn on the floor. The struggle came to a sudden end when the Necromancer slipped on a piece of chalk, and fell. Onto the dagger. John lay there, back against the wall, and watched the last of his life’s blood flow from his veins until the darkness took him.

-

Now

John felt himself up and down. No open wounds. No broken bones. Castle shaking. Arms working. Legs… Castle shaking?!? He stared around the basement room, and felt more than saw the castle heave slightly. Crap! Time to run! “Legs, don’t fail me now!” He ran from the room, and up a conveniently placed stairway. At the top of the stairway was a small barred window. Too small. Too many bars. He ran past it. Through another door. Guard room. No guards. Piles of bones on the floor all over. He kept running. The castle kept shaking. More than once he tripped on piles of bones that had been left in the most inconvenient places. Someone needs to hire a cleaning service to fix this place up!

He ran for what seemed like hours, but was in reality only minutes, eventually arriving at the main hall of the castle. He collapsed, breathing hard. Then made the first of several discoveries. First of which was that he wasn’t breathing. The second was that he wasn’t actually tired. Third, and most distressing, was the wolf sized raven sitting in the doorway.

The raven stepped forward, and spoke “HAROLD, SON OF BALTHASAR, YOU HAVE STARTED ON A PATH OF… YOU ARE NOT HAROLD.”

John took a slow step back, “Um, no?”

The raven took a half step back and shook its head. “You are John, son of John. You are not on today’s list.”

“Um… I’m sorry?”

“I only stopped in to warn Harold that he was making a stupid mistake. Looks like I was a little late. Oh well. Enjoy your undeath.” The raven turned away from John.

“My what?”

“Oh,” the raven started to fade as it turned back to John, “you may want to reassure the castle that you will be a good master. You don’t want it to have tantrums.” And it disappeared.

“Okay. I will do that.” John turned to address the castle’s throne at the end of the great hall, “I will take care of you, so behave, Okay?” He stopped for a second. “Hey, wait a minute?”

-

Three days had passed, and John had explored most of the castle. He was amazed at the treasures in the treasury, the weapons in the armory, and the state of the kingdom’s finances. Mostly the finances, as the kingdom was in the red. What am I going to do about all this? I can’t back out on the castle; it would become sad. He looked over the ledger again, maybe if I sell some of the treasures? Put some of the art pieces into a paid display building?

-

As he was thinking, people had started gathering outside the castle. One in particular was wearing expensive silks and bedecked with jewels, and surrounded by guards.

“If that idiot doesn’t have his payment, I’m going to have to foreclose on this place. Do you have any idea how bad we will look with the king living like a farmer in his own country?” The well-dressed man asked his lackey.

“Lord Devon, one does not expect the crown to pay off its debt collectors. Nor does one evict the king from his castle.” Said lacky replied.

“I know Johnson. I know. I’m just so very tired of the situation. We are already the laughing stock of the area, what with that stupid drake yammering on last year at the festival.” Devon said.

Johnson nodded, then looked around, “My lord, let us go and knock, as it seems the guards haven’t noticed us yet.”

“Do you have any idea why there are so many piles of bone and rags around here?” Devon asked as the traveled over the open drawbridge. “I’ve never seen such a thing!”

“I have absolutely no idea, my lord.” Johnson replied.

-

John looked up at the sound of someone knocking heavily at the main hall’s door. He closed the accounts book, and yelled “I’m coming!” and jogged from the room behind the throne to the door. He almost took a breath, before remembering that he didn’t breathe anymore. He threw the main door open, and stared. Lord Devon of Dis was on the other side. He slammed the door closed. Am I late on my taxes? Did dad die? Why is he here? Then it hit him, Shit! He’s here to see the king! I’m so screwed! He opened the door.

-

Devon stared in shock as the door to the castle was slammed in his face. “Well, I never! How dare he!”

“My lord, I don’t believe that was King Harold. He looked much to young, and very dead. I believe something may have happened.” Johnson said.

Then the door opened again. And the dead young man behind it waved them in.

-

John opened the door, and waved the pair of visitors in before speaking, “I’m sorry lord Devon, but I think I’m up to date on my taxes.”

“You aren’t King Harold, are you.” Davon stated, more than asked.

“No, my lord, I am not.” John replied. “I am---”

Devon drew his sword and pointed it at John, “Have at the villain! Where is King Harold?”

John threw up his hands and leapt back from the blade. A blade he had seen decapitate an ogre several years before. “Lord Devon! It’s me! John son of John!”

Devon paused for a moment, “John? What in the hells has happened to you? Why are you here? Why are you dead? Why are you still walking?”

“Um…I was kidnaped by the king? He tried to kill me as a sacrifice to turn into a Lich, but I accidently killed him trying to get away? I woke up as a Lich instead?”

Devon stopped and stared at the second-best farmer on his land. “Since I know you are a terrible liar, I’m going to believe you. But you need to back up and explain the whole story.”

John began to recount his tale, and explain what he had found since waking up.

-

“So, the raven came to visit, told you to enjoy your un-life, and directed you to quell the castle?” Devon asked after John had finished the story.

“That is the jist of it.” John replied, now sitting on a chair that Johnson had found somewhere. “I don’t know what to do! I don’t want to be executed for regicide! I don’t want to become a lich. I certainly don’t want to become king!”

Devon let out a sigh, “Well, not much for it. King Harold didn’t have any children. No close or distant cousins or siblings for that matter. I think you are stuck as king by rite of conquest.”

“I didn’t conquer anything! I just accidently killed him!”

“In self-defense.” Devon replied. “Now you are king. Johnson! Go grab the crown from the dungeon!”

“On it, sir.” Johnson replied, already on his way to the dungeon.

“Here is what is going to happen.” Devon gave a wan smile. “I’m going to crown you the conquering king, and you are going to rule the kingdom of Dis.” He held out his hand, and Johnson placed the crown in it. “Kneel.”

John knelt.

“In the name of all that is holy; I Lord Devon, ruler of the capital city of Dis; do solemnly declare that John, son of John, is King of the kingdom of Dis!” He placed the crown on John’s head. And across the land of Dis was heard the tolling of a small silver bell.