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It was days before anyone saw Asten again. He took to his bed chamber, not that of the king, but that which he had slept in as prince. He still would not sleep in the room where his father had. Servants left food outside the door for him each day, most of which he did not eat. When he eventually emerged, he seemed to have shaken off the sorrows that had plagued him. He walked down the staircase into the grand entrance hall, dressed in blue and white silks and robes, and wearing a light silversteel crown. It had been forged by Fren in the style of the war crown, with a hammered finish and a golden crescent moon upon the brow. The trumpeters saw him, and hurriedly gathered their horns to blow a fanfare at his arrival.
“It’s fine, don’t worry.” He waved at them, and they dropped their horns again, returning to their conversation.
“Sorry I’m late.” he said to the Cawcaasi girl who opened the doors to the doctor’s surgery for him.
“We are early, my lord.” she said with a smile.
“No.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “You needn’t bend to this king. I am late. And you can say it.” He smiled back at her as she tried not to laugh.
“Asten!” Jarrah cried out, running across the room as soon as she saw him.
“My king!” Cirrus called with a grin.
“My friends. It’s good to see you all again. How are you doing, Dog?”
Dog lay in one of the many beds, bandages covering most of both his arms, and across his chest. When the Shadow Order arrived, he fought bravely to protect those who were fleeing or being taken back injured, and had paid for it with blood. He pushed himself up to sitting with a groan.
“Mmmmrrrr… I’m getting stronger.” he said, wincing.
“He’ll be out joining the celebrations soon.” Karin joked.
“They’re still going on?” Asten couldn’t hear them from his bed chamber and had assumed they had lasted just that first night.
“You’ve missed it all.” Cirrus said, “There’s been a midnight feast in the square every night.”
“Where are they getting the food? Wormwood left us with no trade.”
“That’s down to your Grais, actually. She’s been busy while you’ve been sleeping.”
“Grais… Where is she, anyway?”
“She’s probably still giving the tour to the ambassador.”
Asten looked confused, and Cirrus laughed with a wide toothy grin.
“Oh yes! She’s running it all perfectly well without your input, my king.”
“It’s good to know you’re so willing to offer aid.” Grais said, smiling at the Ambassador from Greenvale.
She had a crutch under her arm to support her leg that still healed slowly, and wore a new outfit with a corset in bright blue with an uneven white streak down the front cut as a silhouette of the Immortal Spire
“Of course.” the ambassador replied, “We’ve relied a lot on the protection of the Endless Plains in the past, and if we can return that favour while you rebuild, it would be our honour.”
“Asten!” Grais called as he came running up the stairs towards her.
The ambassador turned and bowed deeply to him.
“Don’t.” he said, “Things are different now. So, fill me in.”
“We have a promise of food, medicines, and access to doctors for six months before we have to offer return trade.” Grais said proudly.
“I hope that’s long enough for your people to get back on their feet.”
“Thank you. It is a gift our realm perhaps does not deserve.” Asten said, giving a slight bow.
“Nonsense. You are not Wormwood, my king. Greenvale understands the damage a tyrant can do. We’ve had a few of our own.” He bowed to Grais, then descended the stairs to return to the little carriage that waited outside the Spire’s doors.
“Grais, you’re amazing!”
“I did what needed to be done. I couldn’t just sit around in the surgery all day; I was going out of my mind.”
“Every king needs a good viser…” Asten frowned. “Though maybe we won’t use that term any more.”
“There’s a whole new realm out there for me to explore. If you can send me off on diplomatic missions, I’d be very happy to help you run it all.”
Asten smiled, but before he could reply there was a commotion downstairs, some loud shouting and something noisily flapping about like a flag in the wind. He walked slowly down the wide staircase with Grais stumbling after him on her crutch.
In the middle of the mosaic in the grand entrance hall, the staff were wrestling with someone who had arrived rather awkwardly and was shouting loudly at them in a tongue few understood, but everyone could tell was full of curses. Asten caught a glimpse of black feathery wings and a bright yellow beak with metal fangs attached to it.
“Spirian!?”
The fighting stopped, and a single yellow eye regarded Asten as Spirian’s head rose slowly from the chaos of arms and wings and cloaks tangled on the floor. He lay beneath a pile of staff, the trumpeters, a plague doctor, and a few of the militia fighters who had taken over from the old wardens after Asten had disbanded them.
“My prince!” he cried, lifting one wingtip in as much of a salute as he could, “Oh no, my king now, yes?” He still had the same charm as ever, even when he was sprawled out in the middle of the floor with people pinning him down like an escaped prisoner.
“Let him up.” Asten sighed.
Spirian sprang to his feet and brushed himself down with his wingtips.
“No treatment for an old friend, is it? I flew in specially, bit of a hard landing.” He pulled a few loose feathers from his shoulder with his beak, letting them drop to the floor. “But still, I hardly think all this was necessary.”
“What do you want, Spirian?”
“Want!? My king, you misunderstand.” He feigned a hurt expression, then pulled something from the folds of his cloak. “I bring a gift!”
“Where did you get that!?” one of the staff shouted at him.
“Thief!” another cried.
“WAIT!” Asten roared, just as they were about to leap on the bird again. “It was his as payment. Leave him.”
He came down the rest of the stairs and swept Spirian out into the square, leaving Grais hobbling down unable to catch up. The square was full of people, of tables and benches and a great fire pit that burned softly waiting for darkness to fall. He sat at one of the tables and pulled over a large plate of fish. He hadn’t realised how hungry he had become after not eating for so long. Spirian sat in silence beside him for a while as he chewed at the fish.
“I thought,” he said between mouthfuls, “you liked shiny things. Why return it?”
“Because there is a far shinier prize I covet.”
Spirian slid the royal seal across the table to Asten, who picked it up and turned it over in his hands.
“You can’t have my crown.” he smiled.
“No, no… For what is shinier than one’s own good name?”
“What are you asking of me?”
“You are a king!” Spirian cried, throwing his wings wide, “And with that comes certain powers… Asten, do you think I became a smuggler by choice?”
Asten tried to imagine what could lead Spirian to live alone in the sad little home he had built within the fort of C’arsa Dascor but couldn’t think of anything that would drive someone to such a life.
“Do you think I chose to fight a knight, to take a scar across my chest?” He leant back to show it clearly, the raw flesh pink between back feathers. “That I enjoy hiding from everyone? That I do not want to have a home?” His eyes suddenly filled with emotion Asten had thought he didn’t have the capacity to feel.
“So what is it you want? A royal pardon?”
“Of sorts. In my home, my… real home, the nest city of Criiaan, I angered the Roost Queen.” He laid his wings out on the table and idly picked over a bowl of fruits with his feathers. “She set me to death and I fled. But you could change it, you have the right to speak with her as a king. Convince her I have suffered enough.”
Asten pushed the seal back towards Spirian.
“So that is your answer?” the bird said, his voice shaking and emotional.
“Spirian.” Asten put a hand on his shoulder. “I do not need another golden trinket; the Spire is full of them. Besides, the sun is a little old fashioned now.” He raised a finger to tap at the crescent on his crown. “But in the Spire lies a room where one day, when the realm is rebuilt, when it is no longer needed to treat the sick and the injured, I will sit and listen to the problems of the people and do what I can to solve them. And there is no need for payment. Spirian, I would go to Criiaan myself on your behalf, but this…” He placed Spirian’s wing over the seal. “is yours.”
Asten returned to his friends, leaving Spirian at the table to sweep the seal back into his cloak. He found Grais and Melody now sitting on the bed next to Dog’s, and joined them for a while. The Aarouans were as rowdy as at mealtimes, and he finally felt like he understood what was so enjoyable about that. Jarrah was talking endlessly about the things she wanted to buy with the portion of the bounty he had given her. Each of the Aarouans now had gold enough that they wouldn’t need to plan another raid for a year. He smiled to himself, thinking of the short time they had left in which he was a part of the pack. Cirrus would probably take them back out on the road as soon as Dog was fit and strong again. And Melody had already confided in him that she felt the urge to wander. He leant against Grais’ shoulder, and she wrapped her arm around him. It felt like home, like he had somehow managed to carry a little piece of the life he had forged in the Roaming Isles with him all this way.
Beyond the surgery where the doctors still busied themselves treating their patients, through the huge archway behind the throne, the Hall of the Fallen was still open to the public, and people came to see the new gravestones, honouring the king they had been tricked into thinking had deserted them, and marvelling at the break in tradition, the first knight ever to be laid there. Somewhere over in the depths of the Spire’s history, among the rulers of the third age, a young girl walked staring up at the ceiling. She stopped beneath a painting of some ancient warrior fighting a monster. Her eyes fell on the great sword cleaving a serpentine neck in two. She wore simple shoes, just leather sandals with two thick straps and wooden soles nailed on. They made a soft clacking noise as she walked that echoed off the walls. Where she stood, they clacked against a stone with words worn and weathered. It was tired and old and parts of it had become almost unreadable under centuries of footfalls down to a shallow carving. In a language few could still read, it said: Here lieth Serana, the Widow Queen, heir to the throne of Helnix, the Drowned King.
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The Saga of the Iron Gods - Wormwood
Chapter 47: Visitors
It was days before anyone saw Asten again. He took to his bed chamber, not that of the king, but that which he had slept in as prince. He still would not sleep in the room where his father had. Servants left food outside the door for him each day, most of which he did not eat. When he eventually emerged, he seemed to have shaken off the sorrows that had plagued him. He walked down the staircase into the grand entrance hall, dressed in blue and white silks and robes, and wearing a light silversteel crown. It had been forged by Fren in the style of the war crown, with a hammered finish and a golden crescent moon upon the brow. The trumpeters saw him, and hurriedly gathered their horns to blow a fanfare at his arrival.
“It’s fine, don’t worry.” He waved at them, and they dropped their horns again, returning to their conversation.
“Sorry I’m late.” he said to the Cawcaasi girl who opened the doors to the doctor’s surgery for him.
“We are early, my lord.” she said with a smile.
“No.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “You needn’t bend to this king. I am late. And you can say it.” He smiled back at her as she tried not to laugh.
“Asten!” Jarrah cried out, running across the room as soon as she saw him.
“My king!” Cirrus called with a grin.
“My friends. It’s good to see you all again. How are you doing, Dog?”
Dog lay in one of the many beds, bandages covering most of both his arms, and across his chest. When the Shadow Order arrived, he fought bravely to protect those who were fleeing or being taken back injured, and had paid for it with blood. He pushed himself up to sitting with a groan.
“Mmmmrrrr… I’m getting stronger.” he said, wincing.
“He’ll be out joining the celebrations soon.” Karin joked.
“They’re still going on?” Asten couldn’t hear them from his bed chamber and had assumed they had lasted just that first night.
“You’ve missed it all.” Cirrus said, “There’s been a midnight feast in the square every night.”
“Where are they getting the food? Wormwood left us with no trade.”
“That’s down to your Grais, actually. She’s been busy while you’ve been sleeping.”
“Grais… Where is she, anyway?”
“She’s probably still giving the tour to the ambassador.”
Asten looked confused, and Cirrus laughed with a wide toothy grin.
“Oh yes! She’s running it all perfectly well without your input, my king.”
“It’s good to know you’re so willing to offer aid.” Grais said, smiling at the Ambassador from Greenvale.
She had a crutch under her arm to support her leg that still healed slowly, and wore a new outfit with a corset in bright blue with an uneven white streak down the front cut as a silhouette of the Immortal Spire
“Of course.” the ambassador replied, “We’ve relied a lot on the protection of the Endless Plains in the past, and if we can return that favour while you rebuild, it would be our honour.”
“Asten!” Grais called as he came running up the stairs towards her.
The ambassador turned and bowed deeply to him.
“Don’t.” he said, “Things are different now. So, fill me in.”
“We have a promise of food, medicines, and access to doctors for six months before we have to offer return trade.” Grais said proudly.
“I hope that’s long enough for your people to get back on their feet.”
“Thank you. It is a gift our realm perhaps does not deserve.” Asten said, giving a slight bow.
“Nonsense. You are not Wormwood, my king. Greenvale understands the damage a tyrant can do. We’ve had a few of our own.” He bowed to Grais, then descended the stairs to return to the little carriage that waited outside the Spire’s doors.
“Grais, you’re amazing!”
“I did what needed to be done. I couldn’t just sit around in the surgery all day; I was going out of my mind.”
“Every king needs a good viser…” Asten frowned. “Though maybe we won’t use that term any more.”
“There’s a whole new realm out there for me to explore. If you can send me off on diplomatic missions, I’d be very happy to help you run it all.”
Asten smiled, but before he could reply there was a commotion downstairs, some loud shouting and something noisily flapping about like a flag in the wind. He walked slowly down the wide staircase with Grais stumbling after him on her crutch.
In the middle of the mosaic in the grand entrance hall, the staff were wrestling with someone who had arrived rather awkwardly and was shouting loudly at them in a tongue few understood, but everyone could tell was full of curses. Asten caught a glimpse of black feathery wings and a bright yellow beak with metal fangs attached to it.
“Spirian!?”
The fighting stopped, and a single yellow eye regarded Asten as Spirian’s head rose slowly from the chaos of arms and wings and cloaks tangled on the floor. He lay beneath a pile of staff, the trumpeters, a plague doctor, and a few of the militia fighters who had taken over from the old wardens after Asten had disbanded them.
“My prince!” he cried, lifting one wingtip in as much of a salute as he could, “Oh no, my king now, yes?” He still had the same charm as ever, even when he was sprawled out in the middle of the floor with people pinning him down like an escaped prisoner.
“Let him up.” Asten sighed.
Spirian sprang to his feet and brushed himself down with his wingtips.
“No treatment for an old friend, is it? I flew in specially, bit of a hard landing.” He pulled a few loose feathers from his shoulder with his beak, letting them drop to the floor. “But still, I hardly think all this was necessary.”
“What do you want, Spirian?”
“Want!? My king, you misunderstand.” He feigned a hurt expression, then pulled something from the folds of his cloak. “I bring a gift!”
“Where did you get that!?” one of the staff shouted at him.
“Thief!” another cried.
“WAIT!” Asten roared, just as they were about to leap on the bird again. “It was his as payment. Leave him.”
He came down the rest of the stairs and swept Spirian out into the square, leaving Grais hobbling down unable to catch up. The square was full of people, of tables and benches and a great fire pit that burned softly waiting for darkness to fall. He sat at one of the tables and pulled over a large plate of fish. He hadn’t realised how hungry he had become after not eating for so long. Spirian sat in silence beside him for a while as he chewed at the fish.
“I thought,” he said between mouthfuls, “you liked shiny things. Why return it?”
“Because there is a far shinier prize I covet.”
Spirian slid the royal seal across the table to Asten, who picked it up and turned it over in his hands.
“You can’t have my crown.” he smiled.
“No, no… For what is shinier than one’s own good name?”
“What are you asking of me?”
“You are a king!” Spirian cried, throwing his wings wide, “And with that comes certain powers… Asten, do you think I became a smuggler by choice?”
Asten tried to imagine what could lead Spirian to live alone in the sad little home he had built within the fort of C’arsa Dascor but couldn’t think of anything that would drive someone to such a life.
“Do you think I chose to fight a knight, to take a scar across my chest?” He leant back to show it clearly, the raw flesh pink between back feathers. “That I enjoy hiding from everyone? That I do not want to have a home?” His eyes suddenly filled with emotion Asten had thought he didn’t have the capacity to feel.
“So what is it you want? A royal pardon?”
“Of sorts. In my home, my… real home, the nest city of Criiaan, I angered the Roost Queen.” He laid his wings out on the table and idly picked over a bowl of fruits with his feathers. “She set me to death and I fled. But you could change it, you have the right to speak with her as a king. Convince her I have suffered enough.”
Asten pushed the seal back towards Spirian.
“So that is your answer?” the bird said, his voice shaking and emotional.
“Spirian.” Asten put a hand on his shoulder. “I do not need another golden trinket; the Spire is full of them. Besides, the sun is a little old fashioned now.” He raised a finger to tap at the crescent on his crown. “But in the Spire lies a room where one day, when the realm is rebuilt, when it is no longer needed to treat the sick and the injured, I will sit and listen to the problems of the people and do what I can to solve them. And there is no need for payment. Spirian, I would go to Criiaan myself on your behalf, but this…” He placed Spirian’s wing over the seal. “is yours.”
Asten returned to his friends, leaving Spirian at the table to sweep the seal back into his cloak. He found Grais and Melody now sitting on the bed next to Dog’s, and joined them for a while. The Aarouans were as rowdy as at mealtimes, and he finally felt like he understood what was so enjoyable about that. Jarrah was talking endlessly about the things she wanted to buy with the portion of the bounty he had given her. Each of the Aarouans now had gold enough that they wouldn’t need to plan another raid for a year. He smiled to himself, thinking of the short time they had left in which he was a part of the pack. Cirrus would probably take them back out on the road as soon as Dog was fit and strong again. And Melody had already confided in him that she felt the urge to wander. He leant against Grais’ shoulder, and she wrapped her arm around him. It felt like home, like he had somehow managed to carry a little piece of the life he had forged in the Roaming Isles with him all this way.
Beyond the surgery where the doctors still busied themselves treating their patients, through the huge archway behind the throne, the Hall of the Fallen was still open to the public, and people came to see the new gravestones, honouring the king they had been tricked into thinking had deserted them, and marvelling at the break in tradition, the first knight ever to be laid there. Somewhere over in the depths of the Spire’s history, among the rulers of the third age, a young girl walked staring up at the ceiling. She stopped beneath a painting of some ancient warrior fighting a monster. Her eyes fell on the great sword cleaving a serpentine neck in two. She wore simple shoes, just leather sandals with two thick straps and wooden soles nailed on. They made a soft clacking noise as she walked that echoed off the walls. Where she stood, they clacked against a stone with words worn and weathered. It was tired and old and parts of it had become almost unreadable under centuries of footfalls down to a shallow carving. In a language few could still read, it said: Here lieth Serana, the Widow Queen, heir to the throne of Helnix, the Drowned King.
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And that's it! The final chapter! Thanks for reading along, folks. It means a lot to watch those view counters ticking up and up, and to see the fave notifications for this project. I've already started writing the second book, so there's definitely plans for this to continue someday. 💖
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.
And that's it! The final chapter! Thanks for reading along, folks. It means a lot to watch those view counters ticking up and up, and to see the fave notifications for this project. I've already started writing the second book, so there's definitely plans for this to continue someday. 💖
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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