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“Ow!”
“I thought you knights were tougher than this.”
“It’s the engine.” Melody explained. “It runs all the time to hold back the pain, then when I take it off it all hits me at once.”
Karin dabbed at the cut on her cheek again.
“Ow!”
“You’ll have a nice new scar across that pretty little face of yours.”
“It won’t heal?”
“If we got you to a doctor maybe, but not on the road. I don’t have the means or the skill to deal with it.” Karin tapped at her muzzle where her own scar ran down her face. “That’s all I can do for you, I’m afraid.” She looked over Melody, at the scratches and bruises that were dotted across her body, some old, some new. A few had even grown or appeared since she had been treating her, the aftermath of the battle with the Wooden Knight. Melody leant to the side and ran her fingers over a fresh bruise that sat just above her hip.
“Ahh!” She hissed, the pain hitting her fresh as if the fight were still happening for her.
She sat on the wooden platform that hung at the back of Rook’s harness, leaning on one of the bags. Her armour lay scattered around her where she had dropped it as she tore it off to get at her wounds. It was always the same after a particularly tough fight, and fighting another knight was worse than anything she’d ever done before.
Karin looked at Melody’s side and made her twist so she could see her back.
“No no.” Melody said through gritted teeth. “It hurts.” She lay a hand on her side, beneath her arm. Karin pulled at the edge of her top and found a deep blue-black bruise there. She gently ran her paws over Melody’s skin and could tell from the noises she made how bad it was.
“I never realised Knights had to deal with this.” she said, sitting down on one of the bags, “I always thought you were… I don’t know. Indestructible.”
“Hardly.” Melody breathed, “We’re human, mortal, weak flesh and bone wrapped in magic. Strip that away and we live and die like everyone else.” When she coughed, she found a drop of blood on her hand. She didn’t tell Karin, just wiped it off on her shorts.
“I’d better get back. Here.” Karin handed her the scrunched-up cotton rag soaked in a strong-smelling Aarouan medicine, then climbed over Rook’s shell to sit on the high seat again so she could steer him. The beetles ran on as fast as the pirates could drive them. A river ran along to the left of the road here, but Cirrus had pushed them on past the first bridge to get as far as possible from the Wooden Knight they had left bleeding in the road.
Asten walked around the platform collecting Melody’s armour and stacking it in the corner. He stole glances at her as she lay there, his eyes running over the bruises and scratches. It was a shock to him to see a knight like this. He’d seen Tiran without his armour, but he lived a relatively simple life in the Roaming Isles and rarely had to fight anyone. Melody could see him trying not to look at her.
“I know I’m a mess.” she said, tilting her head back to rest on the bags with her eyes closed, “Not a pretty sight, huh.”
“Will you be okay?”
“I’ll be fine. I’m used to it.” She reached up and pulled the little wooden pin from her hair, letting the braid fall loose over her shoulder. “What about you?” She pointed it at him.
“I’m fine.”
“No you’re not. You’ve never been in a real fight before, have you? You froze.”
“Spirian never told me about the safety catch.”
“You could barely hold it straight. What happened?”
Asten turned away and busied himself shifting the order in which he had stacked the pieces of her armour.
In the middle of the pack, Ki rode on Ruckus with Grais behind her. She had always been better with people than her sister and took the time to teach the girl how to hold on, how to position her legs against the indented sides of the high seat, and the best position to sit in to stay upright when the stag beetle made a sharp corner. She pushed Ruckus on towards Cirrus at the front and leaned over to talk to her.
“Hey, Cirrus. I just noticed. Where’s Solbren?”
“What?” Cirrus twisted around. “I thought… He’s…” She looked at each beetle in turn, counting the members of her pack, and the three passengers who rode with them. “We lost him?” She thought back to the battle and had a vague idea that she hadn’t seen him after her first bolt hit the Wooden Knight. “He must have fled, that coward!” She called over her shoulder, her muzzle wrinkled in a silent snarl.
The pack rode on until long after nightfall. Cirrus refused to stop until she saw Jarrah struggling to stay awake beside her and Ki grimacing as her wound began to hurt from riding for so long. She spotted a little structure some way off and called everyone together there. It lay on a small rise, an unnatural hill built up from the flat grasslands and topped with a ring of standing stones that were ancient beyond measure, carved by hands that were long forgotten. When Rook caught up, Karin came down alone.
“They’re asleep. Melody’s had it rough. I just threw a blanket over each of them.”
“Let them sleep. We’ll keep a watch. I’ll take it first; I don’t think I can sleep anyway.”
“I’ll take second.” Karin patted Cirrus on shoulder as she walked past. “Please don’t sit up all night. Wake me.”
Cirrus climbed up onto one of the standing stones that had fallen on its side, a long rectangular block that she could sit on to look out across the wilderness. Nobody set a fire, Karin just threw down nestrolls and blankets from one of Rook’s cargo bags. Cirrus heard them all moving about setting up the camp, then slowly one by one falling silent in the darkness behind her. In her paws, she cradled the little stone rod that hung from her neck.
Karin woke to find Cirrus standing over her, shaking her by the shoulder. She felt drowsy and couldn’t work out how long it had been. When Cirrus saw she was awake, she wandered off and fell face down on her own nestroll. Karin stood up slowly and stretched her back to try to wake herself up more. She paced back and forth in the cold night air. It got into her fur, and she was dressed for sleep, not cold weather, but the shock helped keep her awake. She looked back at the pack, thinking about who she would pick for the next watch when she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer.
The stars sailed past overhead as the night dragged on, the long watch feeling like hours upon hours. When she finally decided to wake Sira, the sky was already starting to fade from black to a deep purplish blue. Sira kept watch until morning, sitting on the fallen stone until a paw touched her arm, stirring her from slow and sleepy thoughts.
“Oh, hey.”
“Get some rest, if you can.” Cirrus said, “Karin’s still asleep, so you might get an hour or so before breakfast.”
“Thanks. I didn’t see anything, just dawn.”
Sira yawned and left Cirrus to stare out across the wilderness as the sun began to show on the horizon.
Melody and Jarrah both managed to sleep until the smell of breakfast woke them. Cirrus let them have their rest and tried to keep everyone else quiet until they were awake.
“Come and get it!” Karin called.
Asten was the last to arrive to take his little wooden tray of breakfast, he’d been thinking, planning, and worrying since he’d woken.
“Cirrus, can we talk?” He sat down next to Cirrus and poked idly at the food on his tray. “I don’t think I can come all the way to the Great Scar.”
“You’re going home?”
“Yes. I tried so hard to escape it, but I can’t just ignore what Solbren said.” He laid down his tray and pulled out the map from his bag, spreading it in front of them. “If you can get us past the Stonewood Forest, we can head to the first port town we see.”
“Okay. But I think you should wait to make any plans.” She fiddled with the necklace that hung against her chest. “I have a story to tell you, and a gift.”
“A gift?” he laughed, “From a pirate?”
“When you fight alongside us, you’re one of the pack. When you eat with us, ride with us… I’d teach you to howl if you wanted. I know there’s money involved, but you’re still one of us, at least until it runs out. And yes, I have a gift for you.” She reached up behind her neck and pulled on the thread, lifting it over her head. Then she gently placed it over Asten’s head until the little stone rod hung at his chest.
“I think” she said, straightening the thread so it hung centred, “this was meant for you. An ancient artefact that can take you wherever you most want to go. For a few hours at least. You could see your father. Find out what’s happening… Say goodbye…”
Asten lifted the little rod, it was light, and seemed unworthy of such power.
“Wait, it was magic?” Ki suddenly asked from the other side of the fire. “It’s that necklace from the Jaraxans. You’ve been wearing it all this time?”
“I had to hold onto it. You remember what Sacriin said, on the ship? It was not meant for me.”
“It explains why the Jaraxans had it locked up.”
“How did you find out what it was?” Sira asked.
Cirrus suddenly blushed and looked down at her paws lying in her lap.
“I um… I may have used it without thinking. How was I supposed to know it would send me halfway across the world!?”
“What do I do?” Asten asked, holding the rod up to get a closer look at the carved lines that ran over its surface.
“Just twist the bottom half to the left. And… Be ready. You’ll feel quite ill when you arrive.
Everyone watched as Asten held the rod in his hands. Jarrah clutched at his arm and stared at it as he twisted the bottom half just a few degrees to the left.
The wilderness rotated away and was replaced by high vaulted ceilings and long banners depicting the sun and moon. When he looked down, he could see the floor was a mosaic of brightly coloured tiles. He instinctively took a step to the left, then turned around and spotted the little blue tile that was cracked diagonally down the middle. His head swam and he had to close his eyes until he stopped feeling like he was about to fall over. When he opened them again, he was still there, in the grand entrance hall at the foot of the Immortal Spire, but the mosaic was unfinished. He tried to breathe slowly to calm himself as he looked out over the mosaic to where his father stood.
The king looked across the unfinished mosaic approvingly. He rested his hand on the shoulder of a man who was stooped over placing tile after tile into the floor.
“It’s beautiful, Fernir.” he said with a smile, “When it’s finished it will be the pride of Silverdale.”
“Dad!” a voice called out from behind Asten.
He spun around to see a young girl running across the floor where the mosaic would be.
“Wait up, Renata!” he called, and ran after her.
She looked back, laughing, then her foot struck against an uneven patch in the stone floor, and she went flying. The box she carried fell heavily with a clatter and tiles of all colours spilled out across the floor, mixing beyond rescue. The king came over and helped Renata up. She swept her long blonde hair behind her ear and looked down at her feet.
“Asten.” The king said, beckoning for him to come over.
Asten stood beside Renata, looking down.
“I’m sorry father.” he muttered. It seemed to be enough.
“Renata, be more careful.” He turned to go, then looked pointedly at Asten. “And pick them up.” he said as he left the hall.
Asten bent down and began collecting the spilt tiles with Renata. She tried to sort them as best she could, but the paper wraps had split, and the box was just full of a rainbow of tiles no longer in neat stacks. She picked up a little triangle, a tile of bright blue, split in half corner to corner. Sitting on the cold stone floor, she let Asten finish the job. He eventually found the other half, which fitted almost perfectly against it. As her father worked, the two teenagers sat on the wide staircase watching the tiles fit neatly into their places. After a while, he stood up and dusted his hands off on his trousers.
“Renata!” he called out, “watch the tiles. I need a drink.”
He left the room and Renata went running over to where he had been working. The tiles were expensive, handcrafted ceramic of a quality only the Immortal Spire could afford. She stood guard over the box while Asten wandered over the finished portion of the mosaic. It was to be the royal seal, a sun and moon, like on the banners outside. The Spire’s Grand Entrance Hall was one of a few areas that were open to the public, and his father had taken great pride in getting Renata’s father to design a mosaic for the new floor.
Asten pulled his half of the blue tile from his pocket and looked down at the unfinished row of matching tiles below his feet. There was a sticky gritty paste there waiting for the next few tiles. With a glance to Renata, and a grin in return, they showed each other the halves they had kept. Together, they knelt on the mosaic and pushed the tile pieces into the paste until they sat flush with the others. They quickly stood up and tried to act innocent when Renata’s father returned. He let her go and they wandered together towards the windows by the Spire’s great double doors. Renata climbed up to sit on the sill while Asten leant against it, looking out upon the city, the buildings clustered around the tower, higher and denser the closer they got. He knew them well, the grand market house that sprawled wider than the base of the Spire itself, the Watcher’s Guild tower that reached up with its measuring instruments at the top, and the little bookshop that somehow still clung on right by the Spire when all about it was trade, power, and diplomacy. He shook his head and Renata disappeared.
As he stepped back onto the mosaic, he noticed how quiet it was. The great doors stood shut, and only a few wardens moved about, rushing from one place to another. There were no visiting diplomats or ambassadors, no merchants and traders, not even the usual queue of concerned citizens begging for the king to turn his eye to some problem somewhere far off in the realm. One of the wardens stared at him for a while, then ran off, probably sharing the news of his return. He tried not to think of what would happen when he suddenly vanished again, and pressed on towards the grand staircase that rose at the back of the hall, as wide as the White Road that connected the realm’s capitol to all the great cities.
“Asten!” The shout came as he placed his first foot on the bottom step.
“Asten!” This time, it was followed by the sound of boots running and mail clinking.
“Don’t take another step!”
A line of wardens gathered in a wide semicircle that slowly moved to surround him, their long halberds levelled at him.
“What is this?” he asked, trying to put on an air of royal fury.
“This is the natural order of things.” came the reply, a voice he remembered.
The warden captain stepped forwards as the wardens lifted their weapons to let him pass into the centre of the circle. He stood proud before the prince, dressed in his blue robes and white armour with the little golden sun and moon emblem over his heart.
“Those who leave forget that those they leave behind still grow and change.”
“Mordren, tell your wardens to let me pass.”
“No.”
“Who are you to deny me!?” Asten cried, hoping against hope there was some mistake, “This is my home, Mordren!”
“Not any more. Asten,” He stepped forward, pulling a pair of shackles from behind his back. “I am arresting you for treason.”
“My father would not stand for this!”
There was a ripple of laughter from the ring of wardens.
“Shut it!” Mordren roared at them, then took another step forwards. “Your father? Oh you have been gone a long time.”
Asten took a step back, up the stairs, and felt the halberds getting nearer.
“Then on whose authority are you arresting me?” he asked, the power draining from his voice.
“The Lord Viser Ascendent.” Mordren lunged out and grabbed Asten’s arm, snapping one of the shackles onto his wrist in a single swift movement.
“The what!?
Asten tried to pull away, but the halberds were right behind him. Mordren grabbed at his waist and pulled him back closer so he could snap on the other iron ring, leaving his wrists bound together. He pulled at the wooden handle in the middle of the chain, and the wardens began to lift their weapons to take the prisoner as he thrust him towards them.
“Take him to the dungeon!” he called back as he stormed off, “And let the Lord Viser Ascendent know he has a new pet to break in.”
The dungeons of the Immortal Spire lay far below the ground, down twisting tunnels and stairwells that were bored into the solid rock. They were inescapable, with only one way in and out, guarded at every turn, and barred by gates made from the same white metal as the Spire itself. Asten had only been down there once before, sneaking in to peer through the first gate into the endlessly deep passage. He had heard the wails and cries of the condemned below and had never wanted to return. Now, as he was led meekly down the passage, he vaguely noticed how it had changed. The place was wider, larger, and there were new doors opening into further spaces beyond, from which he could hear screams and wails and howls.
The cell into which he was thrown was small, a narrow hole carved from the black stone, and barred with one of the white metal gates. He didn’t bother trying to escape as the wardens slammed it shut, where was there to go anyway? He stood at the gate, trying to reach through the bars.
“Who is the Lord Viser Ascendent? Where is my father!?”
The wardens left without a reply.
Slumping in the corner, Asten listened to the cries from further down, of the other forsaken souls trapped there. With Mordren corrupted by his new master, he wondered what crimes the other wailing voices were accused of. There was no way to mark the passage of time down there, the only light coming from the flickering electric lamps that glowed a warm yellow on the walls of the long tunnel that ran down past his cell. He felt the stone rod at his chest and wondered how long until it dragged him away from here.
Twice he saw screaming people brought down past him, dragged off to their own cells. The third time a warden came past, they brought someone he recognised.
“Wormwood!” He leapt at the bars and stuck his hands as far through as he could with the chain holding them back.
Drendis stood just close enough that Asten could almost touch his robes. He looked down into the cell with a sneering grin and waved the wardens away. When they were alone, he stood back to get a good look at his prisoner. For a while, Asten refused to meet his eye and they both stood in silence. When he finally looked up, he felt the anger return to him. The Chief Viser wore his father’s war crown, a helmet made from a deep blue metal, with golden panels that ran down the sides of his neck. At its top, it had eight golden spikes around the edge that, from above, made it look like the sun on the royal seal.
“Oh, Asten. Why didn’t you just stay lost?” he hissed, “We were all doing so well without you.”
“You think yourself king? You think you have the right to wear that crown?”
“King?” Drendis feigned surprise, then he couldn’t hold it back and laughed loudly, a cackling high laugh that Asten had never felt had any warmth to it. “Far more. I am the Lord Viser Ascendent, the first of a new order of rulers. I will do the things the old kings were too afraid to do. I will remove every obstacle to my ascension.”
“You’re crazy!”
“No. Nobody will ever say that again, not to my face, not behind my back, not whispered in the court! They will bow to me unquestioned and unopposed! The Spire itself will bend to my will! None shall stand in my way, not you, not that old fool who came before me!”
“Where is my father? What have you done!?”
“Oh?” Drendis was genuinely shocked, and it took him a moment to hide it. “He didn’t tell you?” He smiled again, a wide grin that showed the gold fangs that had been recently added to it. “He was an obstacle and I removed him. And let me tell you. It didn’t even take a single coin.” He leant closer to Asten with each word. “Mordren smiled as he put the knife in his back!”
Asten fell to his knees and stared out into the dark stone of the passageway.
“Now that’s the natural position for greeting me.” Drendis said, then bent down to lift Asten’s chin in one of his hands, his fingers encased in cold metal rings with clawed tips. “Soon the world will know my name, and you’ll have the honour of witnessing my ascension first-hand. There’s a place waiting for you beside my throne, with a collar and a chain.”
Asten gritted his teeth and was about to spit in Wormwood’s face when the world twisted ever so slightly to the right and the dark stone was replaced with blue skies. He felt the grip on his chin slip away and found himself among friends again. The little stone rod whined as it cooled down, the surface burnt and blackened from end to end.
“What is that?” Jarrah cried out, rushing over to pull at Asten’s hand. She ran a paw along the chain that still hung between his wrists. “What happened?”
“I have to go back. I have to stop him. He’s gone mad!”
“Your father?” Grais asked, coming to help Jarrah keep his arms still so she could look at the shackles.
“The Lord Viser Ascendent.”
“Who ih is?” Jarrah asked with a fork held between her fangs. She was trying to pick the simple iron locks with it, and a pair of thin knives.
“Wormwood. Solbren was wrong. My father was never ill, he was dead, killed so Wormwood could take the throne. He’s bought the loyalty of the wardens, he’s draining the realm for his own personal gain, and he plans to rule like a god.”
The first shackle pinged open and Asten rubbed at his wrist where the skin was red from the metal biting at it. Jarrah gave Cirrus a pleading look, then went to attend to the other shackle.
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The Saga of the Iron Gods - Wormwood
Chapter 33: Chains
“Ow!”
“I thought you knights were tougher than this.”
“It’s the engine.” Melody explained. “It runs all the time to hold back the pain, then when I take it off it all hits me at once.”
Karin dabbed at the cut on her cheek again.
“Ow!”
“You’ll have a nice new scar across that pretty little face of yours.”
“It won’t heal?”
“If we got you to a doctor maybe, but not on the road. I don’t have the means or the skill to deal with it.” Karin tapped at her muzzle where her own scar ran down her face. “That’s all I can do for you, I’m afraid.” She looked over Melody, at the scratches and bruises that were dotted across her body, some old, some new. A few had even grown or appeared since she had been treating her, the aftermath of the battle with the Wooden Knight. Melody leant to the side and ran her fingers over a fresh bruise that sat just above her hip.
“Ahh!” She hissed, the pain hitting her fresh as if the fight were still happening for her.
She sat on the wooden platform that hung at the back of Rook’s harness, leaning on one of the bags. Her armour lay scattered around her where she had dropped it as she tore it off to get at her wounds. It was always the same after a particularly tough fight, and fighting another knight was worse than anything she’d ever done before.
Karin looked at Melody’s side and made her twist so she could see her back.
“No no.” Melody said through gritted teeth. “It hurts.” She lay a hand on her side, beneath her arm. Karin pulled at the edge of her top and found a deep blue-black bruise there. She gently ran her paws over Melody’s skin and could tell from the noises she made how bad it was.
“I never realised Knights had to deal with this.” she said, sitting down on one of the bags, “I always thought you were… I don’t know. Indestructible.”
“Hardly.” Melody breathed, “We’re human, mortal, weak flesh and bone wrapped in magic. Strip that away and we live and die like everyone else.” When she coughed, she found a drop of blood on her hand. She didn’t tell Karin, just wiped it off on her shorts.
“I’d better get back. Here.” Karin handed her the scrunched-up cotton rag soaked in a strong-smelling Aarouan medicine, then climbed over Rook’s shell to sit on the high seat again so she could steer him. The beetles ran on as fast as the pirates could drive them. A river ran along to the left of the road here, but Cirrus had pushed them on past the first bridge to get as far as possible from the Wooden Knight they had left bleeding in the road.
Asten walked around the platform collecting Melody’s armour and stacking it in the corner. He stole glances at her as she lay there, his eyes running over the bruises and scratches. It was a shock to him to see a knight like this. He’d seen Tiran without his armour, but he lived a relatively simple life in the Roaming Isles and rarely had to fight anyone. Melody could see him trying not to look at her.
“I know I’m a mess.” she said, tilting her head back to rest on the bags with her eyes closed, “Not a pretty sight, huh.”
“Will you be okay?”
“I’ll be fine. I’m used to it.” She reached up and pulled the little wooden pin from her hair, letting the braid fall loose over her shoulder. “What about you?” She pointed it at him.
“I’m fine.”
“No you’re not. You’ve never been in a real fight before, have you? You froze.”
“Spirian never told me about the safety catch.”
“You could barely hold it straight. What happened?”
Asten turned away and busied himself shifting the order in which he had stacked the pieces of her armour.
In the middle of the pack, Ki rode on Ruckus with Grais behind her. She had always been better with people than her sister and took the time to teach the girl how to hold on, how to position her legs against the indented sides of the high seat, and the best position to sit in to stay upright when the stag beetle made a sharp corner. She pushed Ruckus on towards Cirrus at the front and leaned over to talk to her.
“Hey, Cirrus. I just noticed. Where’s Solbren?”
“What?” Cirrus twisted around. “I thought… He’s…” She looked at each beetle in turn, counting the members of her pack, and the three passengers who rode with them. “We lost him?” She thought back to the battle and had a vague idea that she hadn’t seen him after her first bolt hit the Wooden Knight. “He must have fled, that coward!” She called over her shoulder, her muzzle wrinkled in a silent snarl.
The pack rode on until long after nightfall. Cirrus refused to stop until she saw Jarrah struggling to stay awake beside her and Ki grimacing as her wound began to hurt from riding for so long. She spotted a little structure some way off and called everyone together there. It lay on a small rise, an unnatural hill built up from the flat grasslands and topped with a ring of standing stones that were ancient beyond measure, carved by hands that were long forgotten. When Rook caught up, Karin came down alone.
“They’re asleep. Melody’s had it rough. I just threw a blanket over each of them.”
“Let them sleep. We’ll keep a watch. I’ll take it first; I don’t think I can sleep anyway.”
“I’ll take second.” Karin patted Cirrus on shoulder as she walked past. “Please don’t sit up all night. Wake me.”
Cirrus climbed up onto one of the standing stones that had fallen on its side, a long rectangular block that she could sit on to look out across the wilderness. Nobody set a fire, Karin just threw down nestrolls and blankets from one of Rook’s cargo bags. Cirrus heard them all moving about setting up the camp, then slowly one by one falling silent in the darkness behind her. In her paws, she cradled the little stone rod that hung from her neck.
Karin woke to find Cirrus standing over her, shaking her by the shoulder. She felt drowsy and couldn’t work out how long it had been. When Cirrus saw she was awake, she wandered off and fell face down on her own nestroll. Karin stood up slowly and stretched her back to try to wake herself up more. She paced back and forth in the cold night air. It got into her fur, and she was dressed for sleep, not cold weather, but the shock helped keep her awake. She looked back at the pack, thinking about who she would pick for the next watch when she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer.
The stars sailed past overhead as the night dragged on, the long watch feeling like hours upon hours. When she finally decided to wake Sira, the sky was already starting to fade from black to a deep purplish blue. Sira kept watch until morning, sitting on the fallen stone until a paw touched her arm, stirring her from slow and sleepy thoughts.
“Oh, hey.”
“Get some rest, if you can.” Cirrus said, “Karin’s still asleep, so you might get an hour or so before breakfast.”
“Thanks. I didn’t see anything, just dawn.”
Sira yawned and left Cirrus to stare out across the wilderness as the sun began to show on the horizon.
Melody and Jarrah both managed to sleep until the smell of breakfast woke them. Cirrus let them have their rest and tried to keep everyone else quiet until they were awake.
“Come and get it!” Karin called.
Asten was the last to arrive to take his little wooden tray of breakfast, he’d been thinking, planning, and worrying since he’d woken.
“Cirrus, can we talk?” He sat down next to Cirrus and poked idly at the food on his tray. “I don’t think I can come all the way to the Great Scar.”
“You’re going home?”
“Yes. I tried so hard to escape it, but I can’t just ignore what Solbren said.” He laid down his tray and pulled out the map from his bag, spreading it in front of them. “If you can get us past the Stonewood Forest, we can head to the first port town we see.”
“Okay. But I think you should wait to make any plans.” She fiddled with the necklace that hung against her chest. “I have a story to tell you, and a gift.”
“A gift?” he laughed, “From a pirate?”
“When you fight alongside us, you’re one of the pack. When you eat with us, ride with us… I’d teach you to howl if you wanted. I know there’s money involved, but you’re still one of us, at least until it runs out. And yes, I have a gift for you.” She reached up behind her neck and pulled on the thread, lifting it over her head. Then she gently placed it over Asten’s head until the little stone rod hung at his chest.
“I think” she said, straightening the thread so it hung centred, “this was meant for you. An ancient artefact that can take you wherever you most want to go. For a few hours at least. You could see your father. Find out what’s happening… Say goodbye…”
Asten lifted the little rod, it was light, and seemed unworthy of such power.
“Wait, it was magic?” Ki suddenly asked from the other side of the fire. “It’s that necklace from the Jaraxans. You’ve been wearing it all this time?”
“I had to hold onto it. You remember what Sacriin said, on the ship? It was not meant for me.”
“It explains why the Jaraxans had it locked up.”
“How did you find out what it was?” Sira asked.
Cirrus suddenly blushed and looked down at her paws lying in her lap.
“I um… I may have used it without thinking. How was I supposed to know it would send me halfway across the world!?”
“What do I do?” Asten asked, holding the rod up to get a closer look at the carved lines that ran over its surface.
“Just twist the bottom half to the left. And… Be ready. You’ll feel quite ill when you arrive.
Everyone watched as Asten held the rod in his hands. Jarrah clutched at his arm and stared at it as he twisted the bottom half just a few degrees to the left.
The wilderness rotated away and was replaced by high vaulted ceilings and long banners depicting the sun and moon. When he looked down, he could see the floor was a mosaic of brightly coloured tiles. He instinctively took a step to the left, then turned around and spotted the little blue tile that was cracked diagonally down the middle. His head swam and he had to close his eyes until he stopped feeling like he was about to fall over. When he opened them again, he was still there, in the grand entrance hall at the foot of the Immortal Spire, but the mosaic was unfinished. He tried to breathe slowly to calm himself as he looked out over the mosaic to where his father stood.
The king looked across the unfinished mosaic approvingly. He rested his hand on the shoulder of a man who was stooped over placing tile after tile into the floor.
“It’s beautiful, Fernir.” he said with a smile, “When it’s finished it will be the pride of Silverdale.”
“Dad!” a voice called out from behind Asten.
He spun around to see a young girl running across the floor where the mosaic would be.
“Wait up, Renata!” he called, and ran after her.
She looked back, laughing, then her foot struck against an uneven patch in the stone floor, and she went flying. The box she carried fell heavily with a clatter and tiles of all colours spilled out across the floor, mixing beyond rescue. The king came over and helped Renata up. She swept her long blonde hair behind her ear and looked down at her feet.
“Asten.” The king said, beckoning for him to come over.
Asten stood beside Renata, looking down.
“I’m sorry father.” he muttered. It seemed to be enough.
“Renata, be more careful.” He turned to go, then looked pointedly at Asten. “And pick them up.” he said as he left the hall.
Asten bent down and began collecting the spilt tiles with Renata. She tried to sort them as best she could, but the paper wraps had split, and the box was just full of a rainbow of tiles no longer in neat stacks. She picked up a little triangle, a tile of bright blue, split in half corner to corner. Sitting on the cold stone floor, she let Asten finish the job. He eventually found the other half, which fitted almost perfectly against it. As her father worked, the two teenagers sat on the wide staircase watching the tiles fit neatly into their places. After a while, he stood up and dusted his hands off on his trousers.
“Renata!” he called out, “watch the tiles. I need a drink.”
He left the room and Renata went running over to where he had been working. The tiles were expensive, handcrafted ceramic of a quality only the Immortal Spire could afford. She stood guard over the box while Asten wandered over the finished portion of the mosaic. It was to be the royal seal, a sun and moon, like on the banners outside. The Spire’s Grand Entrance Hall was one of a few areas that were open to the public, and his father had taken great pride in getting Renata’s father to design a mosaic for the new floor.
Asten pulled his half of the blue tile from his pocket and looked down at the unfinished row of matching tiles below his feet. There was a sticky gritty paste there waiting for the next few tiles. With a glance to Renata, and a grin in return, they showed each other the halves they had kept. Together, they knelt on the mosaic and pushed the tile pieces into the paste until they sat flush with the others. They quickly stood up and tried to act innocent when Renata’s father returned. He let her go and they wandered together towards the windows by the Spire’s great double doors. Renata climbed up to sit on the sill while Asten leant against it, looking out upon the city, the buildings clustered around the tower, higher and denser the closer they got. He knew them well, the grand market house that sprawled wider than the base of the Spire itself, the Watcher’s Guild tower that reached up with its measuring instruments at the top, and the little bookshop that somehow still clung on right by the Spire when all about it was trade, power, and diplomacy. He shook his head and Renata disappeared.
As he stepped back onto the mosaic, he noticed how quiet it was. The great doors stood shut, and only a few wardens moved about, rushing from one place to another. There were no visiting diplomats or ambassadors, no merchants and traders, not even the usual queue of concerned citizens begging for the king to turn his eye to some problem somewhere far off in the realm. One of the wardens stared at him for a while, then ran off, probably sharing the news of his return. He tried not to think of what would happen when he suddenly vanished again, and pressed on towards the grand staircase that rose at the back of the hall, as wide as the White Road that connected the realm’s capitol to all the great cities.
“Asten!” The shout came as he placed his first foot on the bottom step.
“Asten!” This time, it was followed by the sound of boots running and mail clinking.
“Don’t take another step!”
A line of wardens gathered in a wide semicircle that slowly moved to surround him, their long halberds levelled at him.
“What is this?” he asked, trying to put on an air of royal fury.
“This is the natural order of things.” came the reply, a voice he remembered.
The warden captain stepped forwards as the wardens lifted their weapons to let him pass into the centre of the circle. He stood proud before the prince, dressed in his blue robes and white armour with the little golden sun and moon emblem over his heart.
“Those who leave forget that those they leave behind still grow and change.”
“Mordren, tell your wardens to let me pass.”
“No.”
“Who are you to deny me!?” Asten cried, hoping against hope there was some mistake, “This is my home, Mordren!”
“Not any more. Asten,” He stepped forward, pulling a pair of shackles from behind his back. “I am arresting you for treason.”
“My father would not stand for this!”
There was a ripple of laughter from the ring of wardens.
“Shut it!” Mordren roared at them, then took another step forwards. “Your father? Oh you have been gone a long time.”
Asten took a step back, up the stairs, and felt the halberds getting nearer.
“Then on whose authority are you arresting me?” he asked, the power draining from his voice.
“The Lord Viser Ascendent.” Mordren lunged out and grabbed Asten’s arm, snapping one of the shackles onto his wrist in a single swift movement.
“The what!?
Asten tried to pull away, but the halberds were right behind him. Mordren grabbed at his waist and pulled him back closer so he could snap on the other iron ring, leaving his wrists bound together. He pulled at the wooden handle in the middle of the chain, and the wardens began to lift their weapons to take the prisoner as he thrust him towards them.
“Take him to the dungeon!” he called back as he stormed off, “And let the Lord Viser Ascendent know he has a new pet to break in.”
The dungeons of the Immortal Spire lay far below the ground, down twisting tunnels and stairwells that were bored into the solid rock. They were inescapable, with only one way in and out, guarded at every turn, and barred by gates made from the same white metal as the Spire itself. Asten had only been down there once before, sneaking in to peer through the first gate into the endlessly deep passage. He had heard the wails and cries of the condemned below and had never wanted to return. Now, as he was led meekly down the passage, he vaguely noticed how it had changed. The place was wider, larger, and there were new doors opening into further spaces beyond, from which he could hear screams and wails and howls.
The cell into which he was thrown was small, a narrow hole carved from the black stone, and barred with one of the white metal gates. He didn’t bother trying to escape as the wardens slammed it shut, where was there to go anyway? He stood at the gate, trying to reach through the bars.
“Who is the Lord Viser Ascendent? Where is my father!?”
The wardens left without a reply.
Slumping in the corner, Asten listened to the cries from further down, of the other forsaken souls trapped there. With Mordren corrupted by his new master, he wondered what crimes the other wailing voices were accused of. There was no way to mark the passage of time down there, the only light coming from the flickering electric lamps that glowed a warm yellow on the walls of the long tunnel that ran down past his cell. He felt the stone rod at his chest and wondered how long until it dragged him away from here.
Twice he saw screaming people brought down past him, dragged off to their own cells. The third time a warden came past, they brought someone he recognised.
“Wormwood!” He leapt at the bars and stuck his hands as far through as he could with the chain holding them back.
Drendis stood just close enough that Asten could almost touch his robes. He looked down into the cell with a sneering grin and waved the wardens away. When they were alone, he stood back to get a good look at his prisoner. For a while, Asten refused to meet his eye and they both stood in silence. When he finally looked up, he felt the anger return to him. The Chief Viser wore his father’s war crown, a helmet made from a deep blue metal, with golden panels that ran down the sides of his neck. At its top, it had eight golden spikes around the edge that, from above, made it look like the sun on the royal seal.
“Oh, Asten. Why didn’t you just stay lost?” he hissed, “We were all doing so well without you.”
“You think yourself king? You think you have the right to wear that crown?”
“King?” Drendis feigned surprise, then he couldn’t hold it back and laughed loudly, a cackling high laugh that Asten had never felt had any warmth to it. “Far more. I am the Lord Viser Ascendent, the first of a new order of rulers. I will do the things the old kings were too afraid to do. I will remove every obstacle to my ascension.”
“You’re crazy!”
“No. Nobody will ever say that again, not to my face, not behind my back, not whispered in the court! They will bow to me unquestioned and unopposed! The Spire itself will bend to my will! None shall stand in my way, not you, not that old fool who came before me!”
“Where is my father? What have you done!?”
“Oh?” Drendis was genuinely shocked, and it took him a moment to hide it. “He didn’t tell you?” He smiled again, a wide grin that showed the gold fangs that had been recently added to it. “He was an obstacle and I removed him. And let me tell you. It didn’t even take a single coin.” He leant closer to Asten with each word. “Mordren smiled as he put the knife in his back!”
Asten fell to his knees and stared out into the dark stone of the passageway.
“Now that’s the natural position for greeting me.” Drendis said, then bent down to lift Asten’s chin in one of his hands, his fingers encased in cold metal rings with clawed tips. “Soon the world will know my name, and you’ll have the honour of witnessing my ascension first-hand. There’s a place waiting for you beside my throne, with a collar and a chain.”
Asten gritted his teeth and was about to spit in Wormwood’s face when the world twisted ever so slightly to the right and the dark stone was replaced with blue skies. He felt the grip on his chin slip away and found himself among friends again. The little stone rod whined as it cooled down, the surface burnt and blackened from end to end.
“What is that?” Jarrah cried out, rushing over to pull at Asten’s hand. She ran a paw along the chain that still hung between his wrists. “What happened?”
“I have to go back. I have to stop him. He’s gone mad!”
“Your father?” Grais asked, coming to help Jarrah keep his arms still so she could look at the shackles.
“The Lord Viser Ascendent.”
“Who ih is?” Jarrah asked with a fork held between her fangs. She was trying to pick the simple iron locks with it, and a pair of thin knives.
“Wormwood. Solbren was wrong. My father was never ill, he was dead, killed so Wormwood could take the throne. He’s bought the loyalty of the wardens, he’s draining the realm for his own personal gain, and he plans to rule like a god.”
The first shackle pinged open and Asten rubbed at his wrist where the skin was red from the metal biting at it. Jarrah gave Cirrus a pleading look, then went to attend to the other shackle.
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A knight, given superhuman powers by a magical engine, a pack of wolf-like Aarouan pirates, and the missing prince of Silverdale travel across the world to reunite him with his dying father before it’s too late. But with a murderous stained knight on their trail, they unknowingly end up tangled in the strings of the Drowned King, an immortal being whose century-spanning plans they are now all a part of.
A knight, given superhuman powers by a magical engine, a pack of wolf-like Aarouan pirates, and the missing prince of Silverdale travel across the world to reunite him with his dying father before it’s too late. But with a murderous stained knight on their trail, they unknowingly end up tangled in the strings of the Drowned King, an immortal being whose century-spanning plans they are now all a part of.
Category Story / Fantasy
Species Unspecified / Any
Gender Any
Size 120 x 120px
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